Chapter 596: The Eve of the Financial Storm
The birth of an international standard usually follows one of two paths: it is either established by global standards organizations or industry associations—like ISO or IEEE—or proposed by major influential companies, either independently or jointly.
And while the formation and spread of a standard might sound simple, it can range from laughably easy to impossibly complex.
Take 18650, for instance.
When Sony first commercialized the 18650 lithium battery, it standardized all future cylindrical lithium-ion batteries purely based on internal convenience and cost-efficiency—18mm in diameter, 65mm in length, and "0" to indicate cylindrical shape.
But let's talk about complexity—USB.
Even though Su Yuanshan had gathered over ten companies and provided the core technical architecture, USB adoption was still sluggish. Despite being royalty-free, USB controllers introduced added costs. And for the cost-sensitive low-end motherboard and peripheral markets—especially keyboards and mice—this was simply not viable.
This time, however, Su wasn't going to suffer through USB-level headaches again.
He planned to follow Apple's playbook: forget about industry-wide consensus. Just put forth a solution and a product. Whether other manufacturers supported it or not, as long as the users accepted it, it would become a de facto standard.
In fact, many mobile tech standards in later years followed this model—proprietary technology became the rule. IEEE? Who cared?
Even when official standards existed, full unification was a fantasy.
Look at Apple. Their charging cable stayed "uniquely rebellious" for years, refusing to switch to USB-C. Meanwhile, the Android camp was all over the place—USB connectors with 4, 5, 8 pins—you name it.
It wasn't just inefficient. It was outright anti-environmental.
...
"Let's get started on two fronts," Su Yuanshan said, outlining his plan. "First, continue with the notebook route. We'll make sure Yuanxin's 'black tech' reputation shines."
"Second, we push into workstations and servers. These markets are perfect for aggressively advancing new technologies."
He smirked. "Contact relevant companies already in the space. If they're open to collaboration, great. If not, we do it ourselves or support someone new to do it."
"Also, we're about to launch a dedicated CPU project for servers. We're preparing for the coming boom in internet infrastructure."
Li Mingliu nodded. "What about OS support?"
"Linux—we'll do a custom distribution, no problem. As for Windows… well, worst case, I'll go beg Gates." Su grinned. "Making money isn't shameful."
Li Mingliu muttered, "How's the Meijie notebook doing?"
"Didn't lose money."
It had been a month since Meijie officially launched the L3210 notebook. While it couldn't run Windows, it was perfectly capable of handling most productivity tasks.
Retail sales were modest, but enterprise clients placed enough orders to keep the project going.
Which meant the motivation to continue was still there.
After a bit more discussion, Li Mingliu left the office.
Before Su Yuanshan could even stretch, Wen Xiaoqian came in with a stack of files.
Seeing the pile, Su groaned internally.
"Where's Hui-jie?"
"Director Zhou went to Tianju to check on progress."
"…Everyone just loves to disappear." Su shook his head and stared at Wen for a long second before sighing.
Wen, puzzled, subtly checked her clothes to see if something was off.
"It's nothing. You can go." Su waved her off.
—The girl was still too green.
Not that he'd dare push his laziness onto another assistant anyway. Zhou Xiaohui was practically irreplaceable. She had witnessed and participated in every major moment of Yuanxin's rise.
That kind of résumé? One of a kind.
So much so that many believed she was the most likely successor to Chen Jing or Duan Yongping.
"Endless paperwork, endless meetings…"
Su sighed and started flipping through the documents.
The next few days passed in a blur of meetings—but fortunately, that didn't last long. The Spring Festival was around the corner.
And Ye Rudai brought a pleasant surprise.
...
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?"
Outside the airport, under a light misty rain, Su Yuanshan walked briskly to meet Ye Rudai.
It had been over six months. She looked slimmer, with less baby fat on her face. As the drizzle fell, she pulled her coat's hood over her head.
"I didn't want to make you go through too much trouble... Hey, the suitcase is heavy. Just drag it." She quickly stopped Su from picking up both suitcases.
Su grinned proudly. "It's nothing—uh, what's in this thing?"
"Books and some random stuff."
"...Brother Fu, give me a hand, will you?" Su turned to Fu Zhenhua, who stood just a few feet away.
"Sigh… President Su, you just said it was no big deal," Fu muttered as he walked over. He greeted Ye Rudai, then picked up both cases and effortlessly strode to the car.
"Cough… guess I do need to work out," Su admitted as he pulled up his hood and walked into the light rain with Ye.
Once inside the car, Fu drove straight toward the Electronic Science Institute's neighborhood.
"This doesn't look like the tech park route," Ye noticed.
"Nope. We're going home—scared?"
Ye gave him a playful glare, then grew a bit shy. "Just feels a little awkward."
"What's there to be awkward about? It's bound to happen sooner or later. Besides, my mom's been waiting for you—she's been talking about you nonstop."
"Really? What does Auntie want from me?"
"Guess!"
From the rearview mirror, Fu Zhenhua chuckled silently. Of course, he wasn't going to reveal the so-called "dream" that Su's mother had been holding onto. He stepped on the gas and merged into the main road.
...
Ye Rudai had met Su Xinghe before. He already knew his son had picked her, and she'd left a good impression. So this visit brought him joy.
Zhang Xiuyun, however, was more... pragmatic.
She started with a full-body scan—appearance, mannerisms, everything. But when she saw Ye follow her into the kitchen to help, her face lit up.
Knowing it was her first time here and she wanted to make a good impression, Su Yuanshan didn't intervene. Normally, the household had a nanny—but it was the end of the year, and she'd gone home.
Besides, his mom preferred cooking for him herself anyway.
So the two men sat in the living room, sipping tea and watching TV like a couple of retired landlords.
Every so often, Su would glance toward the kitchen. Su Xinghe caught it and smiled knowingly.
"When are you two registering for marriage?"
"Whenever," Su replied, laughing. "Besides, it's not up to me—she still has stuff to handle on her side."
Su Xinghe nodded. As a veteran in integrated circuits, he was well aware of eso.com and its academic search engine, which had become a critical tool for researchers.
"Eso.com's academic search is excellent. Higher-ups are interested in doing something similar here."
"She's thinking the same. She plans to set up a local subsidiary."
"So she's staying a while?"
"More than that. She might need the school's help pulling some strings."
"Haha, that's no problem." Su Xinghe waved it off. "She's an alum. Now she's had international success and wants to give back? Of course we'll support her."
"Pfft… Dad, you sound like a bureaucrat."
While they joked, Ye Rudai finally lost the battle with Zhang Xiuyun and was sent back out of the kitchen.
Seeing her looking a bit nervous, Su Yuanshan pulled her to sit beside him.
"Yezi, report your work to Academician Su here. He might pull some strings for you."
"Cough…"
...
After dinner, while his mother and Ye prepared the guest room, Su took her into his own room.
Aside from a brand-new, probably very expensive bedding set, the room remained untouched.
On the wall was a Stallone poster; at the foot of the bed, a photo of Vivian Chow. His childhood desk was covered with a glass top and packed with old photos.
A dusty dual-tape stereo sat nearby, English cassettes still neatly stacked.
Farther back, an old Laser-310 computer was covered with red silk, and the bookshelves still held textbooks and a few electronics manuals from his school days.
—Other than the new air conditioner, the room was just as it had been when Su woke up six years ago.
Ye Rudai looked around in awe. "Xiao Shan, this room is a total time capsule."
"Heh, that's the point!" Su pulled out a chair for her and plopped down on the bed. "When I'm rich and famous, this will be the Su Yuanshan Memorial Room."
"Pfft..." Ye couldn't help but laugh, flipping through his childhood photos.
The soft desk lamp lit up her cheeks, reminding Su of the years they shared in their tiny apartment in Manhattan.
He had a scholarship from Columbia; she had one from NYU. They had no money, and his family was struggling back home. Most days, he relied on her support just to avoid washing dishes at a restaurant.
They lived seven years in poverty and beauty. On their worn-out eighth-hand pickup truck, they traveled across half the U.S.
Until Su graduated and joined Intel. Then she entered Yahoo in Silicon Valley.
Just when they were dreaming about saving up for a beachfront house… Qin Weimin called.
He asked Su to return and help build China's chip industry.
And even though she was pregnant, Ye supported him unconditionally.
She said, "If you don't go back, you'll never be happy."
So she followed him back and took a position as associate professor.
Then, their daughter was born...
All those long-buried memories flashed across Su's mind like a silent film. His vision blurred.
...
"You were better looking as a kid," Ye teased, looking at his growth photos.
Turning to him, she saw Su blinking hard.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing… must be some dust." Su rubbed his eyes and laughed.
She walked up, knowing full well he was lying—the room was spotless.
Without a word, she wrapped her arms around his head and patted his shoulder gently.
She whispered, "What's really wrong?"
"Just got a little emotional." Su took a deep breath and looked up, smiling. "Nothing's changed… except I've got more money now."
...
Ye only stayed one day—she had to head back to Bincheng for the New Year. But she said that after Spring Festival, she would buy a house in the provincial capital so she wouldn't have to keep traveling.
After she left, Su didn't get much rest.
Li Xiao, freshly back from Japan, came looking for him every day under the pretense of "dodging blind dates." If news of Ye staying at Su's house hadn't spread through the compound, she might have even asked Su to be her fake boyfriend.
Then the New Year passed, and with it, the spring breeze.
After a brief moment of nostalgia, Su opened a folder.
—It was a report from Yuanxin Venture Capital's financial risk monitoring division.
It showed that as of yesterday, Thailand had begun experiencing another wave of suspicious economic activity.
The same old trick: overnight interest arbitrage, fueled by shadowy international capital.
"Looks like Soros is about to make a move."
Su closed his eyes and rubbed his brow, wrestling with his own temptation.
—No one knew the path and outcome of the Asian financial crisis better than he did. If he wanted, he could earn more than even Quantum Fund did in real life.
Just then, his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen. The caller ID read: Qin Si.
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Chapter 597: The True Father of Flash Memory
"President Su, Quantum Fund is preparing to make a move on Thailand—are we in or not?"
On the phone, Qin Si's voice was cool and steady, showing none of the thrill one might expect when discussing the shorting of a national currency.
Of course, it might have simply been her iron restraint.
Su Yuanshan pressed his lips together and stayed silent.
"President Su?"
"Sister Qin Si, what's your opinion?" he asked softly after a long pause.
This time, it was Qin Si who fell quiet.
"You don't have to take my preferences into account," Su added. "Speak purely from your own analysis and reasoning."
"Alright." Qin Si took a quiet breath. "You're familiar with the Washington Consensus, aren't you?"
"Yes, go on."
"The Washington Consensus holds that markets can self-regulate with minimal intervention—so any behavior within a free economy can be viewed as a form of market self-correction."
"Based on our analysis, the prosperity seen in the Four Asian Tigers and Four Little Dragons is essentially the result of excessive foreign capital inflows, leading to domestic economic inflation. Their boom is fake. It's a bubble."
"Keep going." Su Yuanshan nodded.
"So... bursting that bubble is actually a good thing."
There it was—Qin Si's position, unmistakably clear.
Su Yuanshan stayed silent a few more seconds before saying, "Sister Qin Si, setting aside our differing views on the Washington Consensus—I don't see it as a cure-all—but one thing's for sure: short-selling is an effective way to deflate a bubble. Its existence is reasonable and even serves as a warning."
"But capital is uncontrollable. What if this tears Southeast Asia's economy to shreds and takes years to recover? Let's not forget—we left Southeast Asia mainly to avoid risk, not to abandon it. It's still one of our core markets."
That was his central concern.
A financial crisis was necessary—without it, there could be no industrial shift.
But it couldn't go too far.
Qin Si had access to massive U.S. dollar reserves. If she stepped in—combined with Su, who had insider knowledge of every twist and turn in the coming storm—the results might spiral out of control.
A Southeast Asia reduced to the economic level of Sub-Saharan Africa? That would be meaningless for Yuanxin.
Worse still, if the U.S. suddenly turned against Yuanxin, the domestic market alone could never sustain the company.
Southeast Asia, where Yuanxin had spent five years building its foundation, must not be destroyed.
"Here's what we'll do—come back soon and get the groundwork ready. We're not some hit-and-run fund chasing quick gains. We need purpose and strategy."
"Got it. I'll return tomorrow."
After hanging up, Su Yuanshan rubbed his forehead.
In hindsight, scholars had long agreed: the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis started in Thailand. When the baht collapsed, speculative capital swept through the entire region—Philippines, Malaysia, Singapore… Of the Four Tigers and Four Little Dragons, only Taiwan was untouched.
Across Asia, only Taiwan and mainland China avoided the blow, thanks to strong foreign reserves and strict financial controls.
"This really is playing with fire," Su muttered. Gritting his teeth, he picked up the phone and dialed Sun Xihui.
...
The specter looming over Southeast Asia didn't so much as scratch the domestic market. On the contrary, foreign capital kept pouring in, eager to dive into China's low-end manufacturing.
Hongyuan, now fully spun off, seized the opportunity. Positioned in a Special Economic Zone with unmatched advantages in location, policy, and supply chain, Jiang Qingchuan ramped up operations to absorb global orders—especially mobile orders.
In early April, Hongyuan released its Q1 1997 financial report.
Revenue: 4.5 billion RMB. Year-on-year growth: 80%.
The entire industrial sector across Asia was stunned.
Everyone knew OEMs made money by the sweat of their brow. Even if the end products sold for hundreds or thousands, the processing fees were more or less the same—soldering points, workflows, manufacturing lines.
OEM revenue was never high.
Yet Hongyuan had posted a mind-blowing 4.5 billion RMB in just one quarter!
What was their game plan? Announcing themselves as Asia's largest production base? Or were they... preparing to go public?
Then came the big news—Hongyuan opened its first round of funding negotiations.
...
Amid all this, Jobs returned to China.
After seeing Yuanxin's Vidoo6 smartphone, he quietly signed a license agreement to use YOS.
Apple, however, would not attend the May YOS conference.
On the surface, Su Yuanshan acted disappointed—"not cool, Steve"—but inside he was ecstatic.
Apple was still rebuilding, focused on reclaiming the Mac's lost glory. Creating a new lightweight OS wasn't even on their radar.
As long as they used YOS now, Su could count on them continuing to use it later.
Shortly after seeing off Jobs, Su welcomed another heavyweight guest from Japan—and personally escorted him to take up his post in Shanghai.
...
At Shanghai Airport, Li Mingliu and several flash memory division heads had been waiting. When they saw Su letting an elderly man in his fifties walk ahead of him, Li whispered, "Yep. That's the real deal."
Despite the joking tone, Li Mingliu quickly stepped forward and shook hands tightly with the short, gentle-looking old man. His face was uncharacteristically solemn.
"Mr. Masuoka, welcome to Yuanxin."
This seemingly unremarkable man was none other than Fujio Masuoka—a name Su had pulled every string to bring into the fold.
Not just a major figure.
The true father of flash memory.
Whether it was the concept of flash itself, NOR flash, or NAND flash—all originated from him.
And ironically, Toshiba had dismissed him with just a few hundred dollars in reward money, then buried his name. For years, they never mentioned him.
Not until Yuanxin cracked the MLC chip architecture, formed a NAND alliance last year, and triggered a global response that forced Intel and Sandisk to form the IS alliance.
Masuoka had finally decided—he would not die with that resentment.
No longer at Toshiba, he had filed a lawsuit accusing them of diminishing his contributions. Even now, despite joining Yuanxin, he refused to settle. He wanted Toshiba to see how blind and unjust they had been.
Su and Li exchanged a subtle look, then Su made the introductions.
"Mr. Masuoka, this is Li Mingliu."
"I know of you. You're remarkable!"
Masuoka grasped Li's hand, praising him in Japanese without checking if Li understood, like an old craftsman reunited with a long-lost protégé.
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Chapter 598: The Final Collaboration
When it came to hosting a true industry legend, Yuanxin spared no expense. Even if Masuoka never produced another groundbreaking result, his name alone was worth its weight in gold.
The gold used to buy a fine horse to attract thousands—this was that kind of gold.
After touring the Shanghai Tech Park and witnessing the sheer scale of Yuanxin's flash memory division—with over a thousand engineers—Masuoka was visibly overwhelmed.
"Su-san, I no longer have any doubt about your achievements in flash memory," he said, sitting in the sunlit rooftop lounge, visibly moved.
"All of this is built on the foundation Mr. Masuoka laid years ago," Su Yuanshan replied with sincerity. It might have sounded like flattery, but it wasn't. As far as he knew, the IEEE's Special Contribution Award for Masuoka was already on the way. And in years to come, Masuoka's name would be mentioned again and again. He might even win a Nobel Prize.
Of course, Masuoka himself hadn't yet realized just how "legendary" he was. He was still caught up in the frustration of being ignored by Toshiba and was deeply moved by the stark contrast between their treatment and Yuanxin's welcome.
"Besides," Su continued, "right now, flash memory is charging toward a completely new direction..."
"I've read all your papers on flash." Masuoka nodded, cutting Su off—but not rudely. "Over the past few years, I've realized: a good technology disconnected from the market might still be good, but it'll never shine. If we can commercialize it faster, it will reach its peak faster."
Su and Li Mingliu both smiled.
Clearly, in his frustration, the old man had done some deep thinking. If Toshiba had reacted faster after Masuoka's invention of NOR flash, if they had developed products and cut costs earlier, things might've turned out very differently.
"So the future of flash must focus on lowering the cost per bit stored," Masuoka continued, "and getting that tech into the hands of consumers as fast as possible."
"Exactly," Su and Li nodded in unison. "And Mr. Masuoka, what direction are you thinking of pursuing next?"
"I want to follow the path you've laid out and dive deeper into multi-level electron structures. Based on your current theories, there are only two routes to increasing capacity. Compared to 3D stacking, multi-electron structures might hit their limit more easily, but they're easier to reach in the short term."
For the first time, there was a flicker of ambition in Masuoka's eyes.
Su understood exactly what drove him.
—To finish what he started.
He had created flash memory. If he could push it to its pinnacle as well… for a technologist, there could be no greater fulfillment.
This old man was not done yet.
"I believe you'll make it, Mr. Masuoka." Su stood up and extended his hand. "Once again, welcome to Yuanxin."
...
To accommodate Masuoka, the Shanghai Tech Park immediately established a new Flash Memory Research Lab, naming Masuoka as its director. The lab would focus on developing next-gen flash architectures and supporting technologies.
Su returned to the provincial capital the very next day to begin final preparations for the major events scheduled for May.
...
"George Soros made a public statement today—he's officially shorting the Thai baht."
In Su's office, Zhou Xiaohui handed him the latest briefing and sat down on the sofa.
She had her own office now, of course. But she still made it a habit to stop by Su's every day, delivering documents personally.
"Same old tactic—talk it down to stir panic." Su flipped through the report. "Thailand doesn't have many reserves, but they can probably hold out for a while."
"How long?"
"Who knows… two months maybe? But honestly, what worries me more is our own business—whether our telecom partners and distributors have contingency plans."
Zhou shrugged. "Thailand's in full-on panic mode. The government's trying to calm people, but small-scale bank runs are already happening. Our partners... well, let's just say, if the baht really crashes, we might actually benefit."
Su chuckled. If the currency plummeted and partners couldn't pay in foreign currency, Yuanxin would gain more leverage in negotiations—more market share, more influence.
"True. But what if they just declare bankruptcy on the spot?"
"...They wouldn't be that shameless, would they?"
"Who knows?" Su laughed and set the briefing down. "Either way, we stay alert and keep in contact. Just remember—Yuanxin must maintain the image of the 'good guy' in Southeast Asia."
Zhou nodded, but hesitated for a moment. "About the new Flash Lab... was it really necessary to make it a Level 1 lab right away?"
Yuanxin now had dozens of labs, all heavily focused on R&D. But Level 1 labs were rare and prestigious.
Yuanxin's labs were ranked from Level 4 to Level 1. Only three had ever reached Level 1: Pandora, NEWBEE, and YOS.
From a "political" standpoint, a Level 1 lab was on equal footing with Yuanxin's major business divisions.
"Someone's complaining?" Su raised his eyebrows. He'd been so busy preparing for the coming conferences and traveling back and forth to Shanghai that he'd only skimmed most meeting summaries.
"Sort of. You know how hard it is to get that designation. Director Chen from YOS fought for years before earning it. Now some of the Level 2 and 3 labs are grumbling."
Su nodded slowly, then smiled. "And what do you think?"
Zhou replied without hesitation, "I've read about King Zhao of Yan and his Golden Terrace—how he used gold to lure heroes."
Su chuckled. "That's one part of it. But Masuoka isn't a horse bone or even a Gongsun Guo. His contributions to flash are Nobel-worthy—and time will prove it."
"Having him here gives us legitimacy. Outside of Toshiba, most Japanese firms will view us as the rightful heir."
"And I don't care how Toshiba feels," Su added with a sneer. "IEEE's Special Contribution Award is about to be awarded. When Masuoka steps on that stage as the head of Yuanxin's Flash Lab, Toshiba's embarrassment will say more than we ever could."
"Most importantly, flash is our foundation for entering the digital era. If anyone has a problem with it, they can show us results. Li Mingliu's on board—if he's fine with it, no one else gets to complain."
Zhou said nothing, just nodded.
At that moment, Wen Xiaoqian entered the room.
"President Su, we've received a fax from TI. CEO and Chairman Mr. Vincente requests a visit."
Su blinked, then grinned broadly.
"Reply: tell them I'm always available."
...
Three days later, Vincente's flight arrived from Tokyo to Beijing. After a brief meeting with Chen Jing, he flew to the provincial capital.
Su personally welcomed him at the airport.
On the drive to the tech park, the two chatted amiably, steering clear of any talk of technology or cooperation. Instead, they marveled at the city's growth.
"I remember last time I was here, the area across from the software park was just construction. Now they call it the Silicon Valley of the East," Vincente said, as they stood atop a rooftop lounge enjoying the sun behind glass.
"Yeah. Back then, Yuanxin was the only tech company here. Everything around us was farmland. Now just a few years later, our buildings look outdated," Su replied, pouring tea. "So, Mr. Vincente, there's tremendous opportunity here on the mainland."
Vincente turned to him, eyes gleaming with meaning. "Yes, but what about the poor families? Has their life improved?"
Su's smile deepened. Back when they negotiated TI's entry, he had taken Vincente to visit rural villages and told TI's board that Chinese citizens also deserved human rights and the pursuit of a better life.
Back then, Vincente had firmly backed him—sealing their partnership.
"Of course," Su said without hesitation. "If you like, I'll take you on another tour."
Vincente stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled and shook his head. "No need. I believe you."
"This country is vast. Even the wind can only blow so far. But I believe... in ten years, our slogan will shift—from solving hunger to pursuing prosperity."
At the phrase "ten years," Vincente paused, then smiled again. "Pity. I'll be retiring next year."
"You're welcome to join us then—Yuanxin would be honored to have you as an advisor."
Vincente blinked in surprise. Seeing that Su was completely sincere, he chuckled. "Su, are you bribing me?"
"..."
The joke passed, and Vincente's expression grew serious.
"I really am about to retire, Su. So... you know what I'm saying."
"Yes." Su nodded, meeting his gaze. "Mr. Vincente, I've always believed that after years of partnership, TI would take time to understand our country and its people."
"But now it seems you haven't."
Vincente frowned slightly, surprised. He gestured for Su to continue.
"If you saw China as a person, we're a gentleman—one who repays a drop of kindness with a spring."
Vincente looked stunned, thinking over Su's words carefully.
"The currency short-selling in Thailand is going to trigger a financial crisis. It will sweep Southeast Asia. I assume you've already assessed the risk?"
Vincente sighed and nodded. "Yes. Worst-case scenario."
"If analysis shows a crisis is likely... then by Murphy's Law, it will happen."
"And when it does, the semiconductor winter will be inevitable. We're already seeing the signs—DRAM prices are falling."
"Last year, we offered TI a lifeline: a pivot to flash. We even waived upfront fees and only asked for royalties to help you exit the DRAM swamp."
"And yet?" Su looked him square in the eye. "Mr. Vincente, it's been a year. The license conditions have expired."
He didn't need to say it—if a company didn't produce within the agreed time, the license was void.
"Yes." Vincente admitted it. As TI hesitated, IS and Yuanxin had launched wave after wave of innovations. In just a year, flash had grown into a hundred-billion-dollar industry.
Worse yet—it was tied to the emerging digital revolution.
Last year, when Su shouted "The digital age is here," some still doubted him. But now? With USB drives, MP3 players, PDAs everywhere—no one questioned it anymore.
"So TI's problem," Su said quietly, "isn't just about process technology. It's about your mindset."
Every word struck deep.
TI had risen by leaning on manufacturing, analog ICs, and DRAM. But when the financial storm hit Asia, they were the most exposed.
"In terms of strategy," Su added, "Yuanxin has always been ahead—and correct."
"Yuanxin and Xinghai's rise proves your vision," Vincente nodded.
"So if TI focuses only on process, it will still fall behind."
Su's gaze was sharp and concerned, as if he were TI's own CEO, worried for its future.
Vincente sipped his tea, thinking deeply.
Su pressed forward: "Let's work together again—before the next wave hits."
"I'll give TI the 0.35-micron process. If needed, I'll even reauthorize flash tech. But that's not the condition for collaboration."
"If TI still sees us as a junior partner, or worse, a patent thief, this will be my final offer."
Vincente's eyes narrowed. He sat up straight.
"What direction?"
"Automotive chips. Analog."
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Chapter 599: The Application Center in the Shadows
Su Yuanshan lifted his teacup and took a light sip.
Outwardly, he appeared calm and composed, but inside, his thoughts were far from still.
Texas Instruments… wasn't nearly as bad as he'd made them out to be. Historically, in the years to come, TI wouldn't exit the semiconductor industry—they'd simply retreat from the battlefield of cutting-edge wafer manufacturing.
In fact, TI would go on to thrive in analog chips and DSP (Digital Signal Processing), especially in automotive and power management applications.
This recent downturn? It was nothing more than growing pains during a strategic pivot for one of the oldest and most established semiconductor giants in the world.
And for Yuanxin, this was a rare and possibly final opportunity to grab onto TI's leg and fill its own shortcoming.
Yes, Yuanxin had weaknesses—glaring ones.
In analog chip design? Yuanxin was still in kindergarten.
For most companies, that was understandable—not everyone could be IBM.
But for Yuanxin?
Let's put it this way—Yuanxin was currently the only Chinese enterprise with the potential to dominate a sector and compete internationally. It was a magnet for the top minds of the country—every elite graduate school wanted to send their best to Yuanxin.
In this era, if a company gathered the smartest brains of a generation and aimed only to "make money," it would be scorned by history.
And it wasn't just academia that held Yuanxin in high regard—the state did too. Since its founding, Yuanxin had never been hit by bureaucratic nonsense or political entanglements.
Multiple times, individuals and even organizations had submitted anonymous letters to top authorities accusing Yuanxin of being a "capitalist company," a "monopoly," or even a "semiconductor trust."
But none of those letters ever sparked any investigation.
One story claimed that a high-ranking official—formerly an engineering student who later went into finance—saw a particularly "heavyweight" accusation and was furious: "These people don't even know what a trust is."
Yuanxin's chairwoman, Chen Jing, had attended many high-level meetings about the semiconductor industry. Each time, she advocated for more R&D investment in raw materials, aiming to free China from foreign technological dependence.
Was there ever a so-called monopoly that didn't touch raw materials?
So yes—if Western critics said Yuanxin was a company supported by national might, they weren't wrong.
That support came with expectations.
...
Vincente, too, was deep in thought.
Su's read was accurate—TI was indeed in a state of wandering. While still powerful in DSP, custom ASICs, and foundry scale, TI was unsure about its future direction. Their investments in Xinghai and Deyuan looked promising, and on the surface, TI seemed stable and energetic.
But big companies had big fears—chief among them, losing their way.
IBM had once ruled the world, the indomitable blue giant. Yet how long had it taken them to fall near bankruptcy? And how long did it take to bounce back?
As long as you walked the right path, even a nobody could rise to prominence.
Like Yuanxin.
After a long pause, Vincente finally nodded slowly.
"Automotive analog chips?"
"Yes, automotive analog chips. We've already acquired an auto manufacturing plant. And I'm not afraid to tell you... we plan to revolutionize car security. Stealing one of our cars will be harder than hacking the Pentagon." Su shrugged and smiled. "So—Mr. Vincente, do you want in or not?"
Vincente smiled too. "That just tells me you're confident in this field."
"Yeah... we've made some breakthroughs in encrypted data transmission. So—what do you say?"
"I accept your invitation."
TI's board quickly approved the collaboration agreement, and surprisingly, it wasn't blocked by the WA.
That spoke volumes—Yuanxin was no longer the eager junior begging for tech transfers. It had become a peer.
That said, their plan to establish a joint lab in China was mysteriously stalled. Maybe it was interference, maybe not. Instead, both sides agreed to set up their own labs independently, exchanging tech teams and sharing results.
Su Yuanshan agreed with a smile.
Internally, though, he was cursing.
This was a clear play to peek into Yuanxin's core, and maybe even poach some top talent.
So Yuanxin sent "Aobai" from the Pandora Lab to lead the delegation.
Aobai was Yuanxin's number-one guy in digital encryption and secure communications—the only person promoted to P14 last year.
Most importantly, the guy had an ego taller than a skyscraper and a spine made of titanium. He was the type who couldn't physically kneel in front of white men, no matter the situation.
Soon it was May, and panic over the Thai baht began to spread, triggering mass withdrawals.
Despite the Thai central bank's efforts to raise interest rates and introduce emergency measures, the cost was steep—money dried up, and pressure mounted on the stock and housing markets.
Years of growth fueled by foreign capital and export expansion had created a bubble.
And the bubble was reaching its breaking point.
...
On May 2nd, Masuoka finally received the IEEE Special Contribution Award.
At the award ceremony in New York, Masuoka thanked the IEEE for the recognition and remarked that although flash memory had been underappreciated early on due to some companies' shortsightedness, the vision of firms like Intel and Yuanxin had helped make it the cornerstone of the digital era.
Finally, he announced that he had joined Yuanxin and founded its Flash Memory Research Lab. He pledged to help push the architecture of next-gen flash forward and welcomed flash memory experts from around the world to join him.
His speech was calm and measured—with just a tiny sting for "certain companies."
After receiving the award, Masuoka immediately returned to Shanghai to co-host the second Flash Memory Alliance summit with Li Mingliu.
If last year's theme was about founding the alliance and shaping the market, this year was about technological forecasting and setting standards.
Besides pushing last year's TF card standard, this year's event unveiled something new for high-capacity devices like digital cameras—thus was born the Secure Digital Memory Card, or SD card.
Under current tech limits, SD cards already supported 256MB. Given modern digital camera resolutions, SD cards now surpassed film in both practicality and ease of use.
More importantly, these large-capacity cards let consumers make the choices—offering a clear edge over traditional cameras.
Su Yuanshan didn't attend the flash summit. His focus was YOS.
May 8, one day before the expo.
Shanghai Exhibition Center.
This grand old building, built in the 1950s, had witnessed decades of glory. It had hosted major meetings and, later, been converted to accommodate trade shows. With a usable area of over 30,000 square meters, it wasn't massive, but it could easily hold over 10,000 people.
On Su Yuanshan's advice, the city brought in Baisen International Exhibition Co. as consultants. From venue selection to event layout, speech scheduling, and booth order, Baisen handled everything. Shanghai officials, eager to learn, asked "Why?" at every step.
...
In a side conference room at the expo center, Yuanxin had leveraged its political pull to avoid the chaos of the main floor and secure a quiet space.
"VP Duan, make sure to manage the timing. The organizers only gave us thirty minutes," said Cao Xiaoliang from the headquarters marketing team.
Though he called Duan Yongping "master" in private, in public he always addressed him formally.
"No worries," Duan said, accepting the presentation schedule. "I'm not President Su."
At that, everyone laughed.
—President Su was infamous for going off-script and off-topic. Once he started talking, it could go anywhere and last hours.
As the team chuckled, the door opened. Su Yuanshan walked in, smiling. "Someone called me?"
"Haha!" Duan rose and smiled. "Xiaoliang was just telling me to keep it short. I said I'm no good at giving multi-hour speeches like you."
"Hey, I just ramble." Su waved him off and sat down beside him. "I just came to cheer you on. I won't be at the launch tomorrow."
"Don't worry, President Su," Cao smiled. "We're ready for anything."
"Good." Su turned to Duan. "Old Duan, focus on YOS. At CES we didn't even get a proper stage. We relied on our laptop demo and Sony's rushed PDA. This time is different—we've got phones, and Sony has a polished second-gen PDA. The more we hammer YOS, the more it'll stick."
"Got it," Duan nodded, handing Su the key points for his review. "The system section has a dedicated spotlight."
"Perfect." Su glanced at it, then waved it off. "On my way here, I saw a lot of 'rivals'... just reminding everyone: this event's target audience matters."
Duan turned to the group. "Exactly. The expo center is small because our target isn't the public—it's the vendors. Owners of electronics markets, telecom shops, even corner-store mobile retailers from across the country and abroad. And of course, industry insiders."
"So don't treat this like a product booth. Treat it as a marketing campaign. We've got a lot of competition, and they're strong—international brands alone number in the dozens, not counting the new wave of domestic 'rat-and-cat' brands."
That last jab made the room laugh again.
...
With everything in Duan's hands, Su finally relaxed.
Back at the hotel's meeting room, YOS head Chen Gang was reviewing the developer handbook line by line, making sure every detail was flawless. Others were testing apps and core functions on Sony PDAs—without any logos.
At CES, YOS had just been a platform. This time, it was ready.
Besides an improved handwriting recognition engine, the YOS team had also launched several essential apps: a dialer, internet browser, email client, calendar, world clock, MP3 player, and lyrics display.
Most importantly: the Application Center—connected to Yuanxin's internet hub in Hong Kong. PDA users (with compatible hardware) could browse, download, and install apps directly.
"President Su, I doubt these folks are developing their own apps," Chen Gang said, rubbing his eyes. "I've been staring at these all day."
"Take a break," Su said, picking up a PDA and fiddling with it.
The device resembled a 3.5-inch smartphone, but it was monochrome and slightly bulky. It had a TF card slot, micro-USB port for data and charging, and a 3.5mm headphone jack.
Overall, the ergonomics were decent.
Su weighed it in his palm and shook his head. "Sony's still stingy. Not even an RJ11 modem port?"
"That would've made it too expensive," Chen laughed. "Sony figures if you've got RJ11, you're at home or the office—with a PC. No need for a PDA."
"Hmm… fair." Su tapped the stylus on the screen. The lag made him nostalgic for modern capacitive screens.
Still, thanks to YX architecture, the apps loaded fast and ran smoothly.
"Anyone ever consider using our baseband chip in this?" Su asked, holding the PDA up. "Add voice calling?"
Several engineers looked up from their laptops. One nodded. "We've considered it, but the cost… would be too high. It wouldn't sell."
Su grinned.
"Heh… I wouldn't be so sure."
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Chapter 600: Nokia's Full-Frontal Assault
Actually, attempts to combine PDA functionality with phone features date back quite a while—three years ago, IBM had already created a device with a TFT resistive touchscreen: the IBM Simon. It had no physical buttons and was operated entirely with a stylus.
But due to its storage limitations and underwhelming operating system, its feature set—though flashy—was ultimately disappointing. That's why, while it's recognized as the first smartphone, it never really lived up to the "smart" label.
It also came with a hefty price tag: $899 at launch.
—To put that in perspective, Yuanxin's Vidoo5M, released last year with MP3 functionality, 512KB of RAM, and 128MB of flash storage, retailed for just 1199 yuan.
After IBM's failed experiment, few dared to try combining phones and PDAs again.
As mobile phones became lighter and more fashionable, PDAs resigned themselves to their niche: being productivity tools for professionals.
And truthfully, some people were busy enough to need one. Take Su Yuanshan, for example—he didn't use a PDA, but Zhou Xiaohui and Wen Xiaoqian both did, and their calendars were packed.
Historically, the first truly "smart" phone wouldn't come until two years later: the Motorola TACO A6188.
But even into the 2000s, people still thought of touch-based, OS-powered phones as phones with PDA functions—not as digital ecosystems with app economies. Some even predicted smartphones would kill off desktop PCs.
It wasn't until the iPhone burst onto the scene that the concept of the smartphone really took hold.
Now, Yuanxin was offering not just a baseband chip, but an operating system. If it had to wait another decade to bring this vision to life, it would only be due to the shocking lack of imagination in the industry.
...
Su Yuanshan picked up the stylus and opened the Notes app. He scribbled a few characters and immediately noticed that Sony's PDA only supported English and Japanese kana handwriting recognition.
"No way—Sony's seriously not including Chinese support?" He tried writing a few more strokes and confirmed that Chinese characters weren't recognized. He couldn't help but complain.
Sony had clearly learned from past disasters—particularly Apple's Newton PDA, which had flopped mainly due to its poor handwriting recognition. That failure, from sky-high expectations to widespread ridicule, eventually brought down Sculley himself.
So as soon as the project was approved, Ken Kutaragi brought a whole team to live near Yuanxin and co-develop handwriting software—eventually licensing it for YOS as a system-level application.
"It's coming in the next update. Chinese characters are complex." Chen Gang smiled. "Fortunately, the Pandora Lab helped Ziguang develop their OCR, which gave us a solid base to build on."
"Good thing we can push updates. Otherwise, people would roast us alive."
Chen Gang nodded. "President Su, if PDAs or PDA-like phones become ubiquitous, with everyone owning one… wouldn't our App Center basically become a money printer?"
"In theory, yes." Su grinned. "But for now…"
At present, both YOS and the broader PDA market were still in their infancy. Most manufacturers hadn't even realized that selling apps post-sale could be a business model.
Of course, the 3G standard had only just entered its consultation phase last month, and the 802.11 protocol had only just been formally standardized by IEEE. To get online, PDAs still needed a modem chip and an RJ11 port to dial in via landline.
"It's still early days. Everyone, keep at it!"
...
The next day, the exhibition officially opened.
Yuanxin had an unspoken rule: unless absolutely necessary, their core executives would not all appear together at public events.
So Su Yuanshan skipped the expo, leaving Duan Yongping in charge.
The organizers had given Yuanxin plenty of spotlight, and the company came prepared.
Right at the opening, Duan Yongping unveiled three new digital products: the iMusic player, now equipped with lyric display and TF card support, and two smartphones—the Vidoo6 and Vidoo6M—powered by the new YX0566 processor.
These phones not only supported MP3 playback, lyrics, and playlist management, but thanks to cross-licensing with Qualcomm and other telecom giants, they supported all major frequency bands, including GPRS.
In other words, no matter when or where you were—or what network your local carrier used, whether 800MHz, 1800MHz, or 1900MHz—Vidoo6 could connect without a hitch.
Even better, Yuanxin's advanced signal detection tech allowed the Vidoo6 series to seamlessly switch between GSM900, DCS1800, and PCS1900 to maintain optimal call quality.
"This is our new concept," Duan said, holding up the ultra-slim, 8mm-thick Vidoo6M with a smile.
"A tri-band phone."
"When the first Vidoo6 units rolled off the line, I couldn't wait to take one into areas with messy frequency coverage—and I've got to say, the experience was fantastic. No more yelling into the mic or tapping it to check if it's working."
The crowd chuckled in agreement.
Most of them were seasoned travelers who knew all too well that base station frequencies in China were far from standardized. Older GSM900 was common in rural areas, while DCS1800 was stronger in urban zones.
And going abroad? Forget it. China's single-band phones were useless in North America, where GSM1900 was dominant.
"In addition," Duan continued, "thanks to YOS and our highly integrated CPU, these phones support modem mode under GPRS."
He glanced at Cao Xiaoli, who pointed at his watch and held up two fingers—two minutes left.
"So when connected to a computer via USB, with the appropriate dialing software, it functions as a modem, letting you get online anytime, anywhere."
"And finally, the prices—"
"6999 yuan and 4999 yuan, respectively."
As applause filled the hall, Duan handed off the mic and bowed offstage.
...
Compared to last year's Vidoo5 and 5M models, the prices were roughly 1000 yuan cheaper. This was mainly due to falling costs in flash memory and DRAM over the past year.
"I wonder what Nokia is launching this time," Duan mused, sipping water backstage with some familiar distributors. "They seem very prepared, and they've kept everything under wraps."
Clearly, he had full confidence in Yuanxin's Vidoo line.
Honestly, since he entered the mobile sector, he hadn't seen a single rival catch up to Yuanxin in either tech or creativity.
Last year, Yuanxin sold MP3 phones for half a year before Motorola hastily released an MP3-capable model around New Year's.
But by then, thanks to the iMusic and Vidoo5M, the market had already formed a mental association: MP3 phone = Vidoo.
And this year's tech upgrades were even more impressive.
Just then, Nokia's regional head took the stage to introduce their new lineup.
"Want to go see?" Cao Xiaoli asked, grinning.
"No need. Just grab some brochures later," Duan said, lounging in his chair. "Let's just listen."
He listened with amusement—there was nothing innovative. Worse, Nokia had launched four models at once, in different colors and shapes.
Looks like they're going for style, he thought.
Then came the bombshell: "Three of our four models support MP3 playback and the SID flash card standard."
Duan nodded silently—now that was something.
SID cards, introduced last year by Intel and Sandisk to counter TF cards, matched TF in size and specs. A true head-to-head.
"Now, I'm sure everyone wants to hear prices…"
The speaker smiled. "At Nokia, we believe in respecting consumers and giving them choices. That's why we don't build in fixed storage—we let you decide."
"So the Nokia 1750 is 3999 yuan."
"The 2760 is 3699."
"The 2710 is 2999."
"And the 3370... is 1999."
Duan had been relaxed at first, even smirking. But when he heard "1999," his face changed instantly.
...
At Deyuan's fab, Su Yuanshan wasn't at the product launch, but he was far from idle.
After the CPU team's morning technical meeting, he received a call from his mentor, Chen Jianguo: "Come by when you can. Let's talk."
"Senior, Dr. Liang."
Su strode into the office—and was surprised to see Liang Mengsong already there.
"President Su," Liang greeted him, shaking hands with surprising intensity. His expression was calm, but his eyes gave him away.
Liang had been at Deyuan long enough to understand why Zhang Rujin had invited him over and over—because President Su had personally asked for him.
At first, Liang hadn't known much about Su—just that he was some chip design genius with a reputation for software and architecture.
But after joining Yuanxin and working alongside Chen Jianguo, he'd realized—
President Su's genius was across the board.
And for someone like Su to extend a personal invitation—and offer better conditions than even TSMC—he could only be described as a true talent scout.
"Dr. Liang, thank you for your work." Su shook his hand with both of his, smiling warmly. "I haven't come by lately—not because I forgot the process team's contribution. I was waiting for the right time to bring your team to HQ and give you the recognition you deserve."
"Haha, just doing my job. Please, have a seat."
Liang wasn't bothered. After they cracked the new process node, Zhang Rujin had handed out generous bonuses and vacations. Liang had skipped the break, diving straight into Chen Jianguo's lab.
Because he saw a breakthrough in copper interconnects.
But that light at the end of the tunnel came with problems.
Su sat down, and Chen Jianguo poured tea himself.
"Su, here's the deal." Chen looked serious. "We're working with IBM on copper process R&D, right? A few days ago, they submitted a proposal claiming their process is ready."
Su's eyes narrowed. "Already? That's fast... Why haven't I heard anything?"
Liang smiled faintly. "Because it's unreliable."
"What do you mean?" Su looked at him.
Liang exchanged glances with Chen, then said, "Their process is indeed complete. But first, it's expensive. Second, it's flawed. It can't truly replace aluminum wiring."
"They probably had some kind of fluke and want us to validate it. We ran tests, and the results confirmed our doubts."
"So they're unreliable," Liang repeated with a shrug.
Su frowned. "Then let's keep pushing forward."
Chen sighed. "The issue is—they want to declare the copper process done. Then divide credit. And they're offering us less than 30%."
Su's eyes bulged.
"What the hell?! We spent four years on this project, and we get less than 30%?!"
"Yep... so much for my youth," Chen said wryly, brushing a hand over his thinning hair. But the fire in his eyes was impossible to hide.
Ever since he left UMC and returned home, Su had tasked him with building the copper process lab.
From zero staff to over a hundred engineers now working day and night, Chen Jianguo was the soul of the team.
Even someone as proud as Liang Mengsong deeply respected him.
Copper interconnects were Chen Jianguo's life's work.
And now... they wanted to give him less than 30%.
Su calmed down quickly. He knew these two hadn't called him here just to vent—they were clearly refusing the offer.
And why wouldn't they?
Even with history changed, Liang Mengsong's genius remained constant.
Now with Deyuan as a platform, he would only shine brighter.
Su turned to Liang.
Sure enough, Liang took a deep breath and said, "President Su, we actually have a plan of our own. We're just one step away."
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