The auditorium was still buzzing when Su Min announced the raffle. Twenty lucky names were drawn in a little over ten minutes—fifteen from the people who had shown up in person and five from viewers in the live-stream. It was Heifeng's way of thanking the fans who had traveled in to support the launch, and the gesture landed like thunder. Winners were delirious, some so giddy they nearly swooned; those who didn't get picked could only sigh. When each winner was asked which car they wanted, most pointed straight at the Audi TT, while a few older buyers favored the A6. As the crowd filtered out, every attendee received a small souvenir, and each press member walked away with a thick red packet—cash honoraria that made even the most jaded reporters grin. No one could accuse Heifeng of stinginess; they left eager to file their stories and, yes, to hype Audi's advantages.
Heifeng was already thinking two steps ahead at the factory's Phase-IV campus. The product would sell like wildfire—of that he had no doubt—but he also knew what came first: a volley of doubt and smear, the ritual mudslinging that always followed whenever a domestic brand tried to move the goalposts. He had forecast the cycle before the first spotlight snapped on.
An hour later, the floodgates opened. Outlets that had attended the event splashed their headlines across every platform they owned. Dongche.com's editor-in-chief, Du Chengnan, pinned Audi to the top of their channels, then pushed out long reads that broke down specs, pricing logic, and the brand's stance against foreign price hegemony. The pro-Audi pieces were everywhere, and they were punchy:
"Shocking! The most extravagant product launch yet—here's what CEO Heifeng did on stage."
"Audi is the backbone of China's car industry—determined to smash foreign price monopolies."
"Audi A6 and TT detonate the luxury segment—price quake rattles the market."
Positive press alone, though, never decides a fight. Right on cue, a joint statement landed from several foreign marques—BMW, Volkswagen, and others—sneering that the A6 was "a civilian car in luxury cosplay," and that a brand "without history or influence" could only "trick consumers with gimmicks." Within minutes, clips of Heifeng's remarks from the launch were spliced and uploaded, and the internet lit up. People marveled at how young the chairman was; they debated the A6's price point and what made a brand "luxury." They argued about whether a domestic upstart could really break foreign pricing power. Weibo's hot search bar belonged to Audi again.
Supporters were loud and specific. Many repeated Heifeng's core point: if a model is locally produced and pays the same taxes as domestic cars, why should it be so pricier at home than abroad? "As a Chinese buyer," one popular comment read, "I back this pricing all the way. A C-class car that starts overseas in the low three-hundreds should not be north of five-hundred thousand here." Others spoke with their wallets, heading to dealerships to place orders for the A6 and TT. Unsurprisingly, the earliest buyers were the die-hards who had packed the launch hall or watched every minute of the stream; they became Audi's first wave of committed owners.
Detractors fired back with a different tack than before. They no longer dared harp on "the three big components"—engine, transmission, chassis—because Audi had already demonstrated top-tier engineering there. Instead, they shifted the battleground to brand equity. "Who would buy a C-class sedan without the badge to match their status?" one scoffing post asked. "Even at ¥348,000 (≈ $48,000), I wouldn't look twice." It was the oldest argument in the luxury playbook: if we can't beat you on substance, we'll gatekeep on prestige.
The day's narrative, however, had already tilted. For years, buyers had swallowed the idea that foreign-brand models built in China were somehow worth a domestic upcharge. Heifeng put the absurdity under a spotlight and then put money behind the message—precise specifications, visible performance, and prices that reframed value. Media who had handled the car—or at least bothered to read the sheets—now had cover to say aloud what many insiders whispered: parts are standardized mainly across modern platforms, and cost is not a magical explanation for a 30–50% spread. The more that truth circulated, the weaker the "because brand" defense sounded.
In private groups, sales staff at rival dealerships grumbled that the "Audi fanboys" were loud but would fade; their managers were less sure by nightfall. The TT's order interest among younger buyers was genuine, and the A6's spec-to-price ratio made spreadsheets look ugly across several imported or joint-venture trims. Meanwhile, a different sort of professional—market intelligence from those same foreign marques had sat through the launch in disguise, collected brochures, photographed dashboards, and left with gifts. Their first memos were already on the way to headquarters.
None of that changed the tone inside Audi's plant. Heifeng's focus was logistics: production pacing, dealer allocation, and the customer-care scripts the moment online conversation turned nasty. He knew what was coming: snide quotes from "experts," rumor threads about corners cut, and think-pieces about "status." He also knew what stops a rumor: cars that start every morning, feel composed at speed, brake straight, and age without drama. If the first thousand owners spoke up, the next ten thousand would listen.
By late evening, the launch day had settled into its new equilibrium: excited owners posting reservation screenshots; reporters pushing their "most extravagant launch" copy; rival PR shops narrowing in on brand-value talking points; and buyers arguing under every clip of Heifeng's speech. In that din sat one stubborn fact. Audi named a number out loud and tied it to a car that people could touch. The rivals would answer with spin, fees, "mandatory options," or sudden "market adjustments." Audi's counter would be steadier: keep the promise, deliver the units, take care of the first owners, and let the road test write the brand.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, a comment rose to the top that summed up the mood better than any op-ed. "I don't know about 'luxury,'" it read, "but I do know value. I'll call that respect if a domestic brand sells me a properly engineered C-class at ¥348,000 (≈ $48,000). The rest is just logos." It wasn't poetry, but it was the pressure point. And tonight, the pressure had shifted.