185: Chapter 185

President Zhang was bragging to his old colleagues from Shenfei when the young engineer next to him suddenly nudged his arm and said excitedly, "President Zhang! Have you heard? A real American F-22 has landed on the runway outside! Right here at the airshow! Go check it out!"

President Zhang's eyes lit up instantly.

The F-22! That was the world's first fifth-generation stealth fighter, a prized treasure the US military had kept under wraps for over a decade. Let alone a real aircraft, there weren't even many close-up, high-definition photos of it in China.

"Let's go! Everyone, go take a look!"

With a wave of his hand, the group of people rose in a flurry and rushed out of the exhibition hall.

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As they passed the DYB Warhammer Defense booth, the group suddenly halted.

The massive booth was still empty, with only Li Jianguo standing right in the center with his hands behind his back. He had changed into a well-pressed custom suit, looking like a completely different person from the old engineer who had been wandering around the exhibition in a jacket that morning.

President Zhang stopped and went out of his way to walk over, greeting him "warmly," "Old Li, still guarding this empty booth of yours? Outside, the F—"

—22 has actually arrived. Aren't you going to go broaden your horizons?"

President Zhang thought Li Jianguo would change the subject, fly into a rage out of humiliation, or even throw a helpless tantrum.

But President Zhang realized that the look Li Jianguo gave him was a mix of complexity and... looking at an idiot?!

"No need, I don't have much interest in the F-22," Li Jianguo said.

"Keep pretending, then." President Zhang curled his lip, not bothering to waste any more words on him, and hurried off with his people with a wave of his hand.

In his eyes, Li Jianguo was just a failure who was desperately trying to save face. He didn't even have the right to touch the real aircraft, yet he was putting on airs of being above it all.

Just as the group reached the main entrance of the exhibition hall, a commotion suddenly broke out ahead.

The commotion grew louder and louder, and the crowd quickly parted.

President Zhang squeezed through the crowd and looked up, instantly freezing in his tracks.

On the main road by the entrance, three heavy flatbed trailers were slowly driving in, and behind them was the very F-22

fighter jet.

"The F-22! It's really the F-22!"

Exclamations of surprise rose from the crowd one after another, accompanied by a continuous chorus of camera shutters.

What made everyone's scalp tingle even more was that these three were just the beginning; a steady stream of trailers followed behind them.

Everyone was utterly dumbfounded.

"What's going on? The airshow hasn't even opened, and they're already hauling all these real aircraft in?"

"Wait, that's not right! Why are they pulling US military fighter jets into the exhibition hall? Where are they going to put them?"

"Why are they bringing in so many at once? Are they going to do a tour?"

Soon, everyone got their answer.

The convoy of trailers stopped in the core area of the exhibition hall. The cabs turned, and they drove straight into that massive, two-thousand-square-meter booth—DYB Warhammer Defense.

The entire venue fell dead silent for three seconds before completely erupting.

Chinese and foreign media rushed over like crazy with their cameras, their lenses locked onto the fighter jets slowly entering the booth, their minds buzzing.

Was it unexpected?

Yes, it was.

Yet, it also made sense.

After all, DYB was originally a defense enterprise registered in America. But the problem was, wasn't the F-22 the lifeblood of Lockheed Martin?

How did it become a DYB exhibit?

If there was anyone who was the most shocked, it was undoubtedly President Zhang.

He watched as Li Jianguo stepped forward, methodically directing the trailer drivers and staff on where to place them.

Refusing to believe his eyes, he squeezed through the crowd, rushed into the booth, grabbed Li Jianguo's arm, and asked, "Old Li! This... are these fighter jets yours?"

Li Jianguo nodded. "Yes."

"Isn't this Lockheed Martin's F-22?!"

"Oh, our company bought the entire production line. We restarted production ourselves and even made some upgrades and optimizations," Li Jianguo said calmly, as if talking about the nice weather.

President Zhang's mind buzzed. The words he had used a few days ago to mock him—saying he "couldn't make it abroad and had to return home to find a job" and calling it a "shell micro-enterprise"—now felt like a dozen slaps stinging his face.

His lips trembled, and after a long pause, he managed to squeeze out: "But didn't you say you went to a micro-enterprise?!"

"A micro-enterprise? Oh, you mean our domestic branch."

"That one indeed only handles administrative liaison, so it was registered as a micro-enterprise."

"After all, our domestic branch only handles administrative liaison and employee social security payments. It doesn't conduct actual business operations, so the commercial registration was done as a micro-enterprise. You know how it is."

Li Jianguo raised an eyebrow and patted the fuselage of the F-22 beside him.

"Alright, I have to get back to work, so I won't chat with you guys for now."

Li Jianguo turned to attend to his work, leaving President Zhang standing there. The old colleagues around him took half a step back, their eyes filled with embarrassment and mockery.

At this moment, Li Jianguo's heart was filled with mixed emotions.

Back then, he had spent half his life at Shenfei, barely even getting his hands on the blueprints of foreign fourth-generation fighter jets. Now, the world's top fifth-generation fighter jets were laid out right in front of him, under his sole command.

The words President Zhang had used yesterday to mock Li Jianguo in public—about "not being able to make it and returning home to find a job"—now stung his face like needles, burning hot. He wished he could find a hole in the ground to crawl into.

Li Jianguo scanned the surrounding media and buyers. His voice wasn't loud, but every word was crystal clear: "Thank you all for coming. The day after tomorrow in the morning, our company will hold a new product launch conference here to formally introduce our full range of products and announce their prices."

"I'll give you a sneak peek: the price of our fifth-generation fighter jet is absolutely far lower than that of the US military's F-35."

Instantly, a collective gasp echoed through the crowd.

"There are no political strings attached to the sale, no restrictions on usage scenarios, and no bundled lifetime logistical maintenance. Pay on-site, take delivery on-site." Li Jianguo paused, then added, "This time, we have brought a total of 147 brand-new, ready-to-deliver units. Quantities are limited, first come, first served."

"During the exhibition, all displayed aircraft can be viewed up close under the supervision of our staff. You can enter the cockpit, and you can inspect the avionics system."

As soon as he finished speaking, the entire venue went completely wild.

A fifth-generation fighter jet!

Ready to deliver!

No strings attached!

A price even lower than the F-35!

This wasn't coming to participate in an exhibition; this was coming to flip the table on the global arms trade market!

The news seemed to grow wings, spreading across the entire airshow in a single minute, hitting the headlines of major global media outlets in half an hour, and blowing up all social media platforms at home and abroad within an hour.

Countries that originally had no intention of coming to the airshow initiated their registration processes overnight.

Business and first-class tickets on international flights to Zhuhai were snapped up instantly. Middle Eastern princes chartered entire private jets, rushing to Zhuhai with their procurement teams, legal teams, and armed bodyguards.

All room types in five-star hotels in downtown Zhuhai were completely sold out. Even hotels in neighboring Zhongshan and Jiangmen were fully booked. Buyers with money to burn directly rented yachts in Hengqin Bay, living and dining at sea, just waiting for the airshow to open.

To put it bluntly, who wouldn't want to see this fifth-generation fighter jet up close?

Who wouldn't want to touch the treasure that the US military had kept under wraps for over a decade?

Usually, America wouldn't even let you look at it. Now, someone was opening it up for you to inspect and even buy—who could possibly sit still?

The office of the airshow organizing committee was still brightly lit at midnight.

Telephone rings echoed one after another; the operators never once put down their receivers.

Just after hanging up the hotline with Russia, calls from the joint procurement teams of Persia and the Middle East came in. No sooner had they put down the receiver than the joint exhibition applications from ten Southeast Asian countries landed in the committee's inbox.

"Hello, Zhuhai Airshow Organizing Committee—Yes, the French Ministry of Defense's application to participate has been received. We will process it for you immediately!"

"The German Bundeswehr procurement team? No problem! We will reserve VIP viewing seats and a private negotiation room for you immediately!"

"The Royal Saudi Air Force? Understood, understood! Private reception channels, security teams, and parking bays will all be arranged for you!"

"Ah, Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Yes, the Russian delegation's application? No problem! We'll coordinate immediately!"

The director of the organizing committee hung up the hotline to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Looking at the staff in the room who were running off their feet, and then at the mountain of temporary exhibition applications, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Having run so many airshows, he had never seen such a grand occasion.

Just one day before the opening, official delegations from dozens of countries were still registering overnight. Even those old, established military-industrial powers in Europe, who usually held their noses high, were forming groups to rush over.

This was no longer just hosting an airshow; this was hosting a global military trade summit.

At the venue of the Miss Universe pageant, the finals awards ceremony and the advancement to the world competition had just concluded.

When Fu Haoran returned to the VIP seats, Shen Shuwei was standing in the champion's spot. She had changed into a snow-white satin gown, with two extremely thin straps hanging over her fair shoulders. The fabric below her collarbones wrapped tightly around her, outlining a full curve.

The gown featured a deep V-neck, with the neckline plunging all the way below her sternum. Two pieces of fabric crossed over her chest, barely holding up her heavy, full breasts, which rose and fell gently with the rhythm of her breathing.

The waist was extremely narrow, with the thin satin fabric clinging to her flat abdomen, tracing the clear outline of her abs.

The skirt fell naturally from her hips, with a high slit on the right side that cut almost to the root of her thigh. As she turned slightly, an entire long, snow-white leg was revealed through the slit, the skin on her inner thigh gleaming delicately under the spotlight.

Standing among a crowd of Miss World contestants, she was still incredibly dazzling.

The Latina contestants beside her had smoking-hot bodies, and the blonde contestants had exquisite features, yet everyone's eyes involuntarily drifted toward Shen Shuwei.

She didn't do anything; she just stood there, her chin slightly raised, looking like a swan that had just emerged from the water.

The spotlight shone on the skin of her collarbones and shoulders, making them look so fair they were almost translucent.

The host read out the list of contestants advancing to the world competition. When Shen Shuwei's name was called, the cheers from the audience nearly brought the roof down.

She stepped forward to accept her advancement card and trophy when, suddenly, a staff member delivered a bouquet of flowers.

Shen Shuwei was somewhat surprised. While sending flowers during the competition was allowed, this channel was rarely known and seldom used.

This was because it didn't cost much money and couldn't reflect one's status.

Shen Shuwei saw the name on the flowers: "From Fu Haoran."

Fu?

Puzzled, Shen Shuwei scanned the VIP seats, her gaze landing on Fu Haoran. Only then did she remember this man whom she had crossed paths with twice.

Shen Shuwei nodded slightly to Fu Haoran in gratitude.

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Fu Haoran leaned back in his chair and nodded in response.

Neither side gave the matter much thought.

One was busy making money and building a career, while the other had a multitude of suitors.

Just then, as Shen Shuwei stepped off the stage, a young man suddenly stood up, holding a massive bouquet of Ecuadorian roses high in the air, shouting Shen Shuwei's name.

Her assistant skillfully took the flowers and placed them with the pile of bouquets that had already formed a small mountain nearby.

Shen Shuwei offered him a polite smile, identical to the standard smile she gave the cameras.

When the man sat down, his companions clapped him on the shoulder, teasing him. He beamed, convinced that Shen Shuwei had smiled at him just a little bit more.

In the backstage lounge, Shen Shuwei had just changed out of her evening gown when her assistant walked in with an armful of gifts and greeting cards.

None of these gifts were worth less than 100,000.

There were watches, necklaces, and limited-edition luxury items.

Shen Shuwei was already accustomed to this.

The assistant skillfully sorted them, keeping the valuable ones and packing away the rest.

When the assistant saw the flowers sent by Fu Haoran, she curled her lip.

"Just a bouquet of flowers? How stingy. Does he really think he can woo a wealthy young lady with that?"

With that, she tossed the flowers and the card into the trash can.

The next day, at the Zhuhai Airshow tarmac, a light drizzle suddenly began to fall.

Raindrops splattered against the fuselage of the fighter jet, where two workers wearing DYB Warhammer Defense uniforms were using flat mops dipped in water to wipe the rain off the F-22.

After wiping it, they casually grabbed a thick, waterproof plastic bag and covered the cockpit canopy, calling it a day.

Several Air Force technical experts, having just emerged from the adjacent exhibition area, looked up and saw this scene. Their faces turned green instantly, and they rushed over to grab the workers: "What are you doing?! Is this how you maintain a fifth-generation fighter?!"

"Don't you know how delicate the stealth coating on an F-22 is? You can't just wipe it with a mop! Covering it with a plastic bag when it rains? Where's the climate-controlled hangar? Where's the professional maintenance team? You're ruining it!"

Before the workers could respond, Li Jianguo walked over and offered a wry smile to the experts: "Gentlemen, please don't get excited. It's not that we aren't maintaining it; it's just that this level of rain won't cause any damage to our airframe."

Li Jianguo couldn't very well say that his boss was doing this on purpose to test the fighter's tolerance in different environments for future improvements.

The boss had even declared that if it couldn't withstand a little rain, it didn't deserve to be called a qualified military product.

Is that even something a human would say?

The experts stood frozen, unable to speak for a long time.

They understood all too well what this meant.

The American F-22 requires a dozen hours of meticulous maintenance after every flight, and even the slightest loss of stealth coating requires a factory return for repairs—delicate as a pampered debutante.

Yet, the F-22 reproduced by DYB Warhammer Defense had been reduced to a common workhorse?

Someone muttered to themselves: "High-end fighter jets often only require the simplest cleaning methods—"

Zhuhai Port Dispatch Center, 3:00 AM.

A port entry approval document was finally issued to the Port Authority.

The document contained only one sentence: "The da fu Ro-Ro ship is authorized to dock at the No. 9 deep-water berth."

The veteran employee handling the paperwork looked at the words "Ro-Ro ship" on the document, and his mouth twitched.

Satellite images had been circulating since yesterday; that was no Ro-Ro ship. It was a steel behemoth over four hundred meters long. Only the official documents still insisted on using the declared name.

In truth, the higher-ups had no choice; only by continuing to perpetuate certain errors could everyone get along.

The next morning, just as the sky was beginning to brighten.

A small black dot slowly appeared on the horizon.

At first, the media and the public watching didn't feel much; they just assumed it was an ordinary cargo ship.

But as the massive vessel drew closer, everyone held their breath.

That was no ordinary ship.

It was a moving mountain of steel.

The 420-meter-long full-length flat deck was over 80 meters longer than a Ford-class aircraft carrier. The massive island on the starboard side pierced through the morning mist, and as the hull broke through the surface of the sea, the waves it kicked up slammed violently against the wharf, while a deafening siren pierced the sky.

The massive ship slowly approached the berth, and the overwhelming sense of oppression made the crowd watching on the dock instinctively retreat again and again.

The 420-meter-long steel hull completely cast the entire No. 9 berth in shadow, and the waves raised by the ship's hull crashed against the embankment, causing even the ground to tremble slightly.

Even the veteran port workers, who were accustomed to seeing massive container ships, stood frozen, unable to speak for a long time.

This is no Ro-Ro ship!

This is clearly the largest aircraft carrier in human history!

Images of the giant ship docking spread across the globe in an instant.

Just half an hour later, the America Department of Defense suddenly held an emergency press conference and announced news that shocked the world: "The America Navy's USS Ronald Reagan carrier strike group will participate in this Zhuhai Airshow and is expected to arrive tomorrow."

At the press conference, a Reuters reporter from Britain immediately raised their hand to ask: "Spokesperson, after the USS Ronald Reagan arrives, will it be open to the public for tours?"

The smile on the spokesperson's face froze instantly. He glared at the reporter, cursing the "shit-stirring" Brit a thousand times in his heart.

He bit the bullet and gave a bureaucratic response: "We are still evaluating matters regarding public access and will make appropriate arrangements based on the situation."

Once those words were spoken, everyone present understood.

They had ulterior motives.

The American military wasn't here to participate in the exhibition; they were clearly here to keep an eye on the da fu.

The most awkward position was that of the Zhuhai Airshow organizing committee.

They had just received the notification from the America side. Having just approved the da fu to dock, they now had the American carrier coming, leaving them in a chaotic scramble.

At an internal meeting, someone frowned and said: "We applied to board and tour the da fu, but the other party said they would wait until the official opening days of the exhibition to arrange it. They won't let us board right now."

The person in charge waved a hand and sighed: "Don't push too hard. It's normal for them to have some security requirements when bringing such a massive piece of equipment to an exhibition."

"Besides, it's only a day or two; let them get settled first."

What they didn't know was that inside the bridge of the da fu at that moment, it was an entirely different scene.

Fu Haoran leaned back in his command chair and instructed the Tech-Priest Karen standing before him: "Seal off all technology areas related to the Adeptus Mechanicus. The ship's core power chambers and the lower hangar levels are all restricted zones. No outsiders are permitted to enter."

"Clean up the remaining areas properly and prepare to receive guests."

Nearby, Tychus, with a cigar clamped in his mouth, nearly dropped it upon hearing this: "Boss? Let those mortals board? Is that appropriate?"

Fu Haoran shot him a glare: "What the hell do you know? You alone eat as much as ten ordinary people in a day. The wear and tear on the Planetary Defense Force's equipment, the fuel and ammunition for the fighters—which of those doesn't cost money?"

"I built over a hundred fighter jets in one go, and I'm nearly broke! If we don't take this opportunity to recoup some funds, do you want us all to go back to eating Corpse Starch?"

Ever since he started living the good life with Fu Haoran, Tychus had sworn that he would rather starve to death than touch another bite of Corpse Starch.

He immediately stubbed out his cigar and thumped his chest: "Boss is right! We must make money!! Forget just opening the doors to guests; I'll go stand at the door as a ticket taker if I have to! I swear, I'd rather starve to death than touch another bite of Corpse Starch!"

On the other side, the Tech-Priest Karen wore a pained expression, as if "letting mortals board is a desecration of the Omnissiah." Fu Haoran was not surprised.

He spoke calmly: "There will be more representatives asking later. I believe that if they take a liking to any technology, we can negotiate, provided they trade for it with equivalent industrial or material technology."

Karen immediately straightened his posture, placed one hand over his chest in the salute of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and spoke with reverence: "The Machine God will accept every believer who thirsts for knowledge."

"All who are willing to offer equivalent technology to the Machine God shall be honored guests of our Order!"

"I will immediately arrange to seal the restricted areas, ensuring no core holy relics are leaked, while simultaneously making preparations for the reception!"

Fu Haoran watched his crew, whose enthusiasm had instantly surged, and tapped the table to announce: "During the exhibition, the revenue from all projects will be split fifty-fifty between individuals and the unit."

"The money earned can be exchanged for supplies to take back to the Hive City—whether it's food, alcohol, daily necessities, or weapon parts, anything is fine."

As soon as these words were spoken, the entire bridge exploded with excitement.

In the Hive City world, clean food, fresh fruit, and non-radiated fresh water were all hard currency—more valuable than gold.

The crew members, who had originally been uninterested in receiving guests, were instantly full of enthusiasm, each becoming a fountain of ideas.

"Let's rent out our bunks! 500 a night! 5,000 for officer cabins with private bathrooms!"

"Open up the mess hall! Selling a Grox burger for 200 isn't too much, is it?"

"Carrier-based fighter flight experience! 15 minutes of low-altitude flybys—100,000 RMB per person!"

Half an hour later, the Zhuhai Airshow organizing committee received an official notification from DYB Company:

During the exhibition, the da fu will be open to the public for tours. Admission tickets are 500 USD per person. Onboard accommodation, dining, and flight experience projects will also be open simultaneously. Online booking channels are now open.

Once the news broke, the entire internet was in an uproar.

Everyone thought this was insane.

An aircraft carrier as a hotel? Fifth-generation fighters as an experience project? This is absolutely ridiculous—it's the peak of absurdity!

But no one expected that just three minutes after the booking link went live, the backend server would crash from the traffic.

Tickets were sold out in seconds, bed reservations were booked up for half a month, and even the 100,000 USD flight experiences were completely snapped up for the first three days.