289: Chapter 289 Night in the Kremlin

Red palace walls, green towers, and golden church domes.

This ancient fortress, built in 1156, has witnessed eight hundred years of Russia's rise and fall: the terror of Ivan the Terrible, the reforms of Peter the Great, Napoleon's invasion, the cannons of the October Revolution, Stalin's parades, the Cold War confrontation, the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the revival under Vladimir Sergeyevich.

The motorcade passed through the Spassky Tower Gate—the main entrance since the Tsarist era, accessible only to distinguished guests.

The wheels rolled over the ancient stone bricks, making a rustling sound.

They stopped in front of the Senate Palace—a yellow three-story building that once served as the Council of Ministers Building during the Soviet period and is now the presidential office area.

Ushakov, the Russian Presidential Aide for Foreign Affairs, greeted them personally.

Sixty-five years old, with graying hair, wearing a deep blue suit and gold-rimmed glasses. He had worked in the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs for thirty years and was a veteran diplomat.

"Mr. Su, welcome to Moscow." Ushakov's handshake had just the right amount of pressure. "The President is waiting for you."

7:00 PM, St. George's Hall

This was not a formal state banquet.

St. George's Hall is one of the most magnificent halls in the Kremlin, but tonight, only a single long table was set.

The long table was covered with a white tablecloth, set with silver candelabras, crystal wine glasses, and utensils carved from birch wood.

Portraits of successive Russian monarchs—Peter the Great, Catherine II, Alexander I—looked down at the dining table in the candlelight.

Eight people sat around the table.

Russian side:

President Vladimir Sergeyevich, sixty-five years old, in a dark gray suit, with deep blue eyes and a straight posture.

Foreign Minister Lavrov, seventy years old, with gray hair and a serious expression.

Deputy Prime Minister Borisov, sixty-two years old, in charge of the military industry and aerospace, with broad shoulders like a wrestler.

Presidential Advisor Glazyev, fifty-eight years old, an economist by training, with sharp eyes.

Xingchen side:

Su Chen, in a dark gray shirt and black trousers.

Lin Wan, in charge of Xingchen Group, in a black skirt suit, sitting next to Su Chen, responsible for taking notes.

Gu Xinghe, in charge of Xingchen Defense, sitting on Su Chen's other side, with a calm expression.

Li Wanqing, in charge of Xinghuo Chip, sitting next to Gu Xinghe, responsible for technical questions.

Vladimir Sergeyevich raised his glass.

In the crystal glass was "Moscow Special" vodka, colorless, transparent, and ice-cold.

"Mr. Su, welcome to Moscow," Vladimir Sergeyevich's voice was low and steady.

Su Chen raised his glass: "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. President. It is an honor for Xingchen."

Vladimir Sergeyevich smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening: "It's not an honor, it's a necessity. Russia needs Xingchen's technology, and Xingchen needs Russia's land and resources. This is a partnership of equals."

The first glass of vodka was drained in one gulp.

Vladimir Sergeyevich set down his glass and looked at Li Wanqing.

"That 14nm chip of yours, is the power consumption really 35% lower than TSMC's?"

Li Wanqing was well-prepared: "Those are measured data. If you are interested, Mr. President, we can send a batch of samples to your country for testing."

Vladimir Sergeyevich shook his head: "No need for testing. I trust my own eyes. I watched your launch event three times."

He paused, his gaze becoming distant:

"The Soviet Union once possessed the world's most advanced chip industry. The Kiev Microelectronics Center—now a ruin in Ukraine. The Minsk Integrated Circuit Plant—production capacity is down to 10%. The Zelenograd Research Institute—80% of its talent has been lost."

Lavrov added: "Our talent has been draining away for thirty years. What remains now are only nuclear weapons and oil."

Vladimir Sergeyevich looked at Su Chen: "So, when my team said 'Xingchen's technology is five to fifteen years ahead of ours,' my first reaction wasn't jealousy, but relief—relief that there is still a company in the world willing to sit down and talk with us."

Su Chen was silent for a moment.

"Mr. President, Xingchen's principles are: technology can be cooperated on, but core IP cannot be transferred. Industries can be co-built, but control cannot be lost. Profits can be shared, but the rights and interests of employees cannot be sacrificed."

Vladimir Sergeyevich laughed, his laughter low:

"Your team told me, the 'Three Red Lines'."

He poured himself more vodka and raised his glass: "I accept. Because what Russia wants is not to copy homework, but to write a new chapter together."

The second glass was drained in one gulp.

After a round of toasts, both sides began tentative discussions, and Deputy Prime Minister Borisov started talking about specific issues.

"Mr. Su, we are very interested in Xingchen's defense equipment. Particularly the Saber-toothed Tiger Tank and the Peregrine Falcon air defense system."

Gu Xinghe took over: "Deputy Prime Minister Borisov, the Saber-toothed Tiger's active protection system can intercept three anti-tank missiles within 0.8 seconds. The Peregrine Falcon can handle twelve low-altitude targets simultaneously. You have seen the data."

"We have," Borisov nodded, "but our question is: if we purchase them, can we establish a maintenance center within Russia? And can we use Russian ammunition?"

Gu Xinghe looked at Su Chen.

Su Chen spoke: "A maintenance center is possible. But core component replacements must be performed by Xingchen technicians. Russian ammunition can be used, but it will require re-testing and adaptation."

Borisov frowned: "Will that affect efficiency during wartime?"

Su Chen said calmly: "In wartime, Xingchen's technicians will be deployed alongside the equipment. This is our commitment to all our customers."

A flash of admiration appeared in Vladimir Sergeyevich's eyes.

"You are protecting your own technology," he said. "I understand. If I were in your position, I would do the same."

At that moment, a waiter brought out Black Sea Caviar—Beluga Sturgeon Caviar, Russia's finest variety.

Vladimir Sergeyevich picked up a silver spoon and scooped a portion onto Su Chen's plate.

"Try it. This is caviar from the Caspian Sea; it was a special supply during the Soviet era. Now, anyone with money can buy it."

Su Chen took a bite. The salty, fresh flavor exploded in his mouth, carrying the briny aroma of the ocean.

"Very good."

Vladimir Sergeyevich smiled: "You are an honest man. Many people, when eating it for the first time, will say 'it's wonderful,' while actually thinking it tastes fishy."

He scooped a portion for himself as well:

"Thirty years ago, the Soviet Union collapsed. At that time, I was working in East Germany, watching that massive empire crumble with my own eyes."

He set down his spoon, his gaze turning distant:

"For the next twenty years, Russia was crawling through the ruins. In the Yeltsin era, we almost fell apart. When I took office, the country was on the brink of collapse. There was war in Chechnya, the economy was shrinking, and the army was starving."

He turned to look at Su Chen: "Do you know what the most terrifying thing is? It's not failure, but losing direction. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring, not knowing who you are, and not knowing where the country is headed."

Su Chen listened quietly.

"Now, we have found our direction," Vladimir Sergeyevich said. "In a multipolar world, Russia must play the role of an independent pole. But independence requires strength, strength requires industry, and industry requires technology."

He raised his glass: "So, when Xingchen appeared, I knew—the opportunity had come."

The third glass was drained in one gulp.