"Welcome to the XXX Evening News. Here's a report from faraway Asia. According to our sources, early yesterday morning, a Chinese cargo plane bound for China was grounded at Incheon International Airport in South Korea due to a mechanical malfunction. The aircraft was subsequently seized by South Korean authorities. Upon learning of the situation, our station immediately contacted the South Korean side, who stated that they had received information suggesting the plane contained contraband. With that in mind, we would like to ask our experts—do South Korea's actions comply with international law?"
Almost every television station in the country covered the story around 7:00 PM the following evening. Of course, this wasn't simply because it was "good news material" for American media.
In truth, whether the story made the headlines or not didn't matter. The reason it did was because Jiang Hai had made a phone call—to John Malone—offering him a share of 100,000 tons of high-quality feed. Otherwise, did anyone really think these capitalists would help him out of kindness?
And John Malone was not just anyone.
Most people in America have never heard of him. Those who have only know him as a former executive of a cable television company who later became the nation's largest private landowner. Many know his name only because of Rupert Murdoch's memoir, which briefly mentioned him.
Low-profile yet immensely powerful, John Malone was, in his prime, one of the most influential figures in the global media industry.
When it comes to cable television, Americans are most familiar with the big networks—CBS, NBC, ABC, CNN, and Fox—known collectively as the "Big Five." In China, people recognize them too, since many of the NBA games and American dramas they watch originate from these stations. But Jiang Hai would argue that those five were merely the surface of a much deeper hierarchy.
In reality, the true giants of American media are companies like Comcast, Time Warner, and Viacom—the three major pillars of the U.S. television industry. However, only two remain today. Last year, Comcast merged with Time Warner, cementing its dominance.
Before the turn of the century, things were different. Comcast was already the largest, but the second and third positions were held by TCI and MediaOne, respectively. AT&T played a crucial role in reshaping the landscape, merging with TCI in 1998 and MediaOne in 1999. In 2002, Comcast acquired AT&T Broadband for a staggering $72 billion, solidifying its position as the most powerful media conglomerate in America.
And John Malone? He was the former CEO of TCI—the man who built it into the second-largest cable company in the nation. Although TCI was eventually acquired, Malone walked away with enormous wealth and significant influence. Even within Comcast, his voice still carried weight.
So when John Malone made a few calls and suggested the media "pay attention" to the seized plane incident, every major evening news network followed suit.
The South Korean government hadn't anticipated this. Overnight, nearly the entire world learned that South Korea had seized a Tamron aircraft carrying premium beef bound for China.
The shipment, worth an estimated $26,455,200, wasn't exaggerated in value. Jiang Hai had charged $400 per pound for thirty tons of top-grade beef.
The plane had already been detained for a day, and Tamron's legal representative announced that if the beef spoiled, they would sue the South Korean government for damages—at retail value, not wholesale.
And that legal representative was none other than Mr. Jiang Hai, who would personally travel to South Korea to resolve the matter.
It was a ruthless move.
As soon as the news broke, South Korean officials were caught off guard. Initially, they'd acted impulsively, hoping to use the plane as leverage to draw Jiang Hai in. Once he arrived, he'd be in their control—or so they thought.
Even if Jiang Hai didn't dare show up, they assumed he'd have no choice but to swallow the loss quietly. After all, what could one man do against a nation?
But they had underestimated him.
They never imagined Jiang Hai had the connections to mobilize nearly every major American TV station, turning what should have been a minor incident into a global headline.
Now, the situation had flipped. Jiang Hai had declared his intention to go to South Korea—but under the watchful eyes of the entire world.
If anything happened to him on South Korean soil, the fallout would be catastrophic.
Those who had once schemed against him were now forced to protect him. Something might happen to anyone else, but nothing—absolutely nothing—could happen to Jiang Hai. Otherwise, South Korea's international image would take a devastating hit.
To seize someone's plane, lure their lawyer into the country, and then have that lawyer suffer an "accident"? The mere thought sent shivers down the spines of South Korean officials.
They couldn't let that happen.
As for the original cause—the thirty tons of beef—the joint statement from Moses Adams and Qi Li's Chinese law firm clearly outlined the numbers. The physical value of the beef was $26,455,200, but its contractual retail value was $34,501,800, excluding additional losses such as shipping fees and restaurant revenue.
If the beef hadn't spoiled, they would sue for $10 million in damages. If it had, they would sue for $100 million.
They also demanded that the meat remain chilled, not frozen, since freezing affected texture and flavor. Everyone knows chilled meat—like fresh fish—lasts no more than seven days. Jiang Hai had already spent a day on slaughter, a day on transport, and now the plane had been detained for another day. With the time needed for his arrival, three days had already passed.
That left the South Korean authorities three more days to resolve the issue—or face a $100 million lawsuit.
That's nearly 120 billion won—a staggering amount by any measure.
Of course, whether South Korea would truly have to pay that much was uncertain. But Jiang Hai could afford to lose the thirty tons of beef—it was only about fifty or sixty cattle, worth maybe a hundred thousand dollars total. South Korea, however, could not afford the political cost.
Especially not the poor official in charge of guarding the plane. He knew that if anything went wrong under his watch, the responsibility—and ruin—would fall squarely on him.
It was no wonder he called almost every day, urging his superiors to resolve the issue as quickly as possible.
This time, however, Jiang Hai's arrival stirred little commotion. He had to admit—connections truly made all the difference.
Had he not known John Malone, or had he lacked something Malone wanted, he might have been forced to surrender his plane in humiliation, just as South Korea had planned.
But Jiang Hai had connections—and those connections made him untouchable.
With a single phone call, the balance of power had flipped completely.
Now, it was South Korea that had to tread carefully.
Of course, Jiang Hai wasn't reckless. He had no intention of putting himself in unnecessary danger.
The next day, after coordinating with Qi Li and Zheng Jin, he chartered a private jet and flew to South Korea. Accompanying him were Azarina, Galina, Wallis, and Cheryl Lee—whom he had personally requested to join him.
"Jiang Hai, believe it or not, this has nothing to do with me," Cheryl Lee said nervously, sitting across from him in the spacious cabin. "I'm just a messenger, nothing more…"
As Jiang Hai leaned back comfortably, he couldn't help but glance around. The jet was beautifully furnished—he found himself tempted to buy one someday. He'd just asked the pilot, and it turned out a plane like this only cost a few tens of millions of dollars. Not exactly pocket change, but within reach for him.
Unlike Jiang Hai's calm demeanor, Cheryl Lee looked pale. This was already the thirteenth time she'd tried to explain her innocence.
"I know," Jiang Hai replied with an easy smile. "I brought you because you helped set up the connection there—and because you said you'd be my guide."
Seeing his relaxed expression, Cheryl Lee couldn't help but feel both relieved and exasperated. Clearly, she'd worried far more than he had.