396: The first pot of gold (third)

In October, Beijing's ginkgo leaves were turning yellow. Inside a ward in the neurology department of Peking Union Medical College Hospital, sunlight streamed through the blinds, slicing parallel bands of light across the floor. Sixty-two-year-old Wang Jianguo lay on the hospital bed, covered by a thin white quilt, his arms as thin as withered branches. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He hadn't spoken a word in three years.

Three years ago, he was diagnosed with ALS. His muscles began to atrophy starting from his toes, moving all the way up like a slow-moving death train. Now, his legs couldn't move, his hands couldn't move, and his torso couldn't move. Only his eyes could still move, and only his brain was still functioning. He was trapped inside his own body like an insect trapped in amber.

A nurse walked in quietly, holding a silver-gray headband in her hands. She placed the headband against Wang Jianguo's scalp, adjusted the electrode positions, and connected the cables. The screen lit up, a blue cursor blinking against a white background. The doctor stood nearby and said into the microphone, "Mr. Wang, try to think 'thank you'."

Wang Jianguo looked at the screen. The cursor began to move. Three seconds later, a character popped up on the screen: 'Thank'. Five seconds later, the second character: 'You'.

"Thank you."

Wang Jianguo's tears began to flow. The nurse also cried, standing to the side and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The doctor took off his glasses and wiped the lenses. Wang Jianguo looked at the words he had typed on the screen; for the first time in three years, he had regained his voice.

That afternoon, in Cambridge. In the offices of the Hawking Foundation, Lucy Hawking stood before the cameras. Behind her was a giant photograph of her father, Stephen Hawking—the scientist in a wheelchair, head tilted, with a slight smile on his lips. Lucy held up a letter of thanks, her voice somewhat choked with emotion: "Stephen's greatest wish during his lifetime was to let ALS patients speak again. Today, Xingchen has done it. Thank you. You are letting Hawking's dream live on."

On November 8th, in Shenzhen. Inside the release hall at Xingchen Headquarters, all three thousand seats were occupied. Shen Mubai stood in the center of the stage, holding a silver-gray headband. It looked like a pair of wireless headphones, but wider, with more elegant curves.

"'Xinyu System' non-invasive Brain-Computer Interface (BCI) headband—no surgery required, no implants needed. Put it on and control a computer with your thoughts."

The large screen lit up with the parameters:

'Xinyu System' Brain-Computer Interface Headband

Technology: Non-invasive electrodes + AI neural decoding

Functions: Thought-typing, thought-controlled mouse, thought-controlled smart home

Typing Speed: 60 characters/minute

Accuracy: 95%

Price: 4,999 Yuan

Shen Mubai paused: "The first batch of one million units goes on sale today."

Thirty minutes later, it was sold out. In the backend of the Xingchen Mall, the numbers were jumping so fast the servers were running hot. Five hundred thousand units in ten minutes, eight hundred thousand in twenty minutes, and one million units in thirty minutes. Netizens' comments poured in like a waterfall: "Four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine yuan to type without hands. Buy!" "In the future, I'll just think to write code." "Xingchen is trying to eliminate keyboards."

That noon, Elon Musk posted a tweet: 'Neuralink announces a partnership with Xingchen to jointly develop the next generation of Brain-Computer Interfaces. Xingchen is faster, we go deeper. Collaboration is the only way to win.' The comment section exploded instantly. 'Translation: Xingchen succeeded, we haven't yet. So, partnership.' 'Musk finally figured it out.' 'Xingchen plus Neuralink, BCI is about to take off.'

That evening, Su Chen looked at Musk's tweet and smiled. Lin Wan stood nearby: "Musk has finally admitted defeat."

Su Chen shook his head: "It's not admitting defeat. It's being realistic. He knows that in the BCI race, Xingchen is already ahead. Better to collaborate than to oppose."

At 2:00 AM on November 15th, at the lunar Oceanus Procellarum. The grey wasteland, illuminated by the sun at a low angle, cast long shadows like black fingers reaching into the distance. The distant ridges traced a jagged silhouette against the horizon. The 'Jade Rabbit' robot was at work, six wheels on the ground, its mechanical arm raised high, the bucket plunged into the lunar soil.

The mechanical arm lifted the bucket, and lunar soil spilled from its edges, shimmering with a faint blue luster in the sunlight—a characteristic of rare earth minerals. The bucket rotated, dumping the sample into the analysis chamber. The laser spectrometer began its work, and the data was transmitted back to Earth via the 'Starlink' satellites.

1.2 seconds later, at the Wenchang Command Center, the data began to flicker on the screens. Scandium content at 0.5%, ten times the highest grade on Earth. Yttrium content at 1.2%, twelve times that of Earth. Lanthanide elements at 5.8%, eleven times that of Earth. When the last line appeared, the entire command center seemed to hit the pause button—'Composite Grade: 10 times Earth's average.'

Chu Tianming stared at the screen, his hands trembling. He took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed Su Chen's number.

Su Chen stood on the stage of the release hall, with real-time footage of the 'Jade Rabbit' robot mining behind him. The grey lunar soil, the blue luster, and the mechanical arm moving slowly in the sunlight.

"The 'Guanghan Palace' base has extracted the first bucket of lunar rare earths."

The large screen displayed the data:

Lunar Rare Earth Deposits (Oceanus Procellarum Mining Area)

Estimated Reserves: 5 million tons

Grade: 10 times Earth's

Main Elements: Scandium, Yttrium, Lanthanides (Core materials for chips, batteries, and aerospace)

Estimated Value: 50 Trillion USD

The three thousand people in the audience gasped. Fifty trillion dollars was equivalent to two years of global GDP. Su Chen's voice was as calm as if he were reading a weather forecast: "In 2024, Xingchen will hold a lunar rare earth auction. The first quota will be 100,000 tons, with a starting price of 100 billion USD."

At 1:00 PM that afternoon, at the New York Stock Exchange. Before the opening bell had even finished ringing, the stock price of Northern Rare Earth began to nose-dive. Twenty percent, twenty-five percent, thirty percent. China Rare Earth fell twenty-five percent, and MP Materials fell thirty-five percent. The entire rare earth sector was cut in half.

On the trading floor, traders in red vests screamed at their screens. An old broker who had traded mining stocks for thirty years held his head in his hands: "I've seen the dot-com bubble burst, I've seen the financial crisis, but I've never seen a scene like this. Rare earth companies, gone in a single day." The CNBC anchor's voice trembled: "The lunar rare earth grade is ten times that of Earth, with reserves of five million tons. Earth's rare earth companies have lost their future overnight."

At the London Stock Exchange. The same waterfall of red numbers, the same screams of despair. At 5:00 PM in Washington. In an emergency meeting on Capitol Hill, Senate Leader Chuck Schumer slammed the table, his voice as shrill as a whistle: "We must pass the 'Lunar Resources Act'! American companies have the right to mine lunar resources!"

A congressman raised his hand and asked: "Can the law be applied retroactively? Xingchen is already on the moon."

Schumer was stunned. A lawyer beside him whispered: "Laws cannot be applied retroactively. Xingchen arrived first, so they have the rights." Silence filled the meeting room.

That evening, in Brussels. The emergency meeting at the EU headquarters also ended without result. Ursula stood on the stage and announced the passing of the 'Lunar Resources Act'. A reporter followed up: "Can EU law govern Xingchen?" She fell silent. Tokyo, London, Paris—on the same day, the same emergency meetings, the same laws, the same silence.

That evening, in Omaha. At Buffett's home, reporters surrounded him. The eighty-seven-year-old man sat on the sofa, holding a can of Cherry Coke.

"Mr. Buffett, what do you think about Xingchen mining rare earths on the moon?"

Buffett smiled bitterly, his face, so familiar to global investors, now filled with regret: "I missed the greatest opportunity of the 21st century. It wasn't missing the internet; it was missing the moon."

Su Chen stood by the office window, looking at the night view of Shenzhen Bay. Lin Wan pushed the door open and entered: "The US, the EU, and Japan have all passed the 'Lunar Resources Act'. But laws aren't retroactive. They don't own an inch of land on the moon."

Su Chen nodded, his gaze never leaving the window: "Let them legislate. Laws can't reach the moon." He paused, "On the moon, only Xingchen has the capability to mine."

Outside the window, the moon hung right above the sea. 380,000 kilometers away, the 'Jade Rabbit' robot was still working, digging up lunar soil scoop by scoop. Those rare earth minerals with their blue luster would be sealed in return capsules and sent back to Earth in 2024. The first batch of 100,000 tons, starting at 100 billion USD. This was the first time in human history that commercial value had been brought back from another planet.

Su Chen said softly: "This is the true first bucket of gold. Not from Earth, but from the moon."