At his desk, journalist Li Tiejun lazily refreshed the Army Ant Company's official website.
Ever since he began tracking their news, he had a knack for catching first-hand updates. Now, with a recent promotion under his belt, he didn't have to run around for every assignment—just focus on the big scoops. And Army Ant Company had no shortage of those.
He'd noticed a pattern: most of their major announcements were posted directly to the official site. It had become a hub of attention for media folks like him, especially in the aftermath of the Internet Conference. The buzz around their robot was still hot, and anything new from the company was sure to be explosive.
Then he saw the update—and blinked.
"Research on Earthquake Early Warning"? A paper? Signed by… Chen Mo?
Four words jumped out at him: earthquake early warning. The weight of those words was immediate. They weren't just scientific—they were life-and-death level significant.
Chen Mo had published a paper on earthquake early warning? If the theory held, it could mean a giant leap in humanity's fight against natural disasters. Potentially, a world-changing achievement.
Without hesitation, Li Tiejun whipped up an article titled:
"Army Ant Releases Groundbreaking Earthquake Early Warning Research"
Whether or not the theory would hold up wasn't his job to decide—he was a journalist. His role was to report the facts, and this was big.
Within minutes of his article going live, the views skyrocketed. The Army Ant brand never failed to draw attention. The news spread like wildfire.
Other media outlets quickly picked it up. When Army Ant dropped a bombshell, no outlet wanted to be left behind. Within five minutes, a dozen sites had already reposted it.
Just as the heat from the robot launch was starting to cool, now this paper exploded onto the scene. It showed that Chen Mo had quietly shifted gears into earthquake-related research—something no one expected.
The company, already a symbol of cutting-edge tech, was back in the headlines.
If Chen Mo's theory proved true, he wouldn't just be known as a tech genius. He'd become a hero in the annals of human progress. After all, typhoons could now be forecasted—but earthquakes remained stubbornly unpredictable.
And yet, not long after the excitement came the backlash.
Some experts weren't having it.
Earthquake prediction? That was holy grail territory—scientists worldwide had spent decades on it, and even then, the best results only gave vague warnings, maybe ten minutes in advance, with limited accuracy.
Now Chen Mo, a tech entrepreneur, publishes a theoretical paper and claims a breakthrough?
A well-known academic was first to voice his skepticism:
"Interesting ideas, but science demands rigor. A theory with no experimental backing is just speculation. The paper contains no data—how can it be validated?
I respect Chen Mo's talent in computing, but that doesn't make him an all-around genius. Young people need to stay grounded and not overreach. Don't become a flash in the pan. Stay humble."
That kicked off a flood of expert opinions—all equally dismissive.
Yes, Chen Mo was a respected figure in AI and materials science. But in seismology? He had no background, no credentials. Why should they believe he had solved something the global academic community couldn't?
As more and more authorities chimed in, the criticism intensified. The internet joined in too, bringing its own chaotic energy.
A few netizens stood by Chen Mo, hoping there might be something there, but most piled on with jokes and mockery.
"God said: That's outrageous. I cause earthquakes, and now Chen Mo wants to predict me?"
"First it was AIs, now it's earthquakes? Next, what—weather control? Chill, my dude."
"I'm from Sichuan. I hope he's right. But I'm not holding my breath."
"Earthquakes are just the planet's bed shaking from too much action. Japan gets so many because… you know. Just look at the videos. Scientific."
The sarcasm, memes, and hot takes flowed freely—even on Army Ant's official Weibo page. The paper, once a quiet scientific post, had triggered a full-blown internet frenzy.
This was why Chen Mo had tried to publish through authoritative academic channels in the first place. Peer-reviewed journals would have helped establish credibility and minimized public ridicule.
But the paper had been rejected—twice—and so, he'd opted for the company website.
He never imagined the reaction would be so explosive.
Then again, earthquakes were a sensitive topic. They involved trauma, disaster, and national safety. Any breakthrough—real or imagined—was bound to stir emotions.
The next day, Army Ant's headquarters was swarmed by reporters again.
Every media outlet wanted a piece of Chen Mo.
Inside the office, Zhao Min stood beside him, looking out the window at the crowd.
"You planning to respond?" she asked, rubbing her temple.
Her boss had a real talent for making headlines. One appearance, and he became the center of gravity. A walking news magnet.
All this… over a single paper.
Chen Mo glanced at the chaos outside and chuckled. "Getting a little out of hand, huh?"
Then he grinned. "Let's bet a hundred million he's wrong. I bet I can actually build this seismograph."
Zhao Min stared at him.
"You are from Earth, right? You're not planning to blow it up just to prove a point?"
Chen Mo shrugged. "How else do you make it big?"
"Are you pulling an Einstein now?"
"When Einstein proposed relativity, no one believed him at first either," Chen Mo said lightly. "Time will prove the truth."
"I'm not telling you to retract the paper," Zhao Min said quickly. "Doing that would make us look guilty."
The last thing they needed was to appear as if they were backing down. That would only feed the mob and embolden critics.
Marching Ants had faced cyberbullying since their rise—accusations, rumors, and outright attacks from jealous competitors. To those major players in the industry, Army Ant was a disruptive threat. And the wolves were always circling.
"This is bigger than it looks," Zhao Min said, more seriously. "A lot of those voices… they're being nudged by someone."
"You want an official response?" Chen Mo asked.
"Yeah. Just a quote I can release. Something that doesn't escalate too far."
Chen Mo thought for a second.
Then he smiled.
"Lu Xun said: Genius is always not understood."
Zhao Min burst into laughter.
"Fine. I'll go with that," she said. "Let's give them something to chew on."
This boss of hers was just too wild sometimes—but weirdly, it always seemed to work.
As she walked out, she muttered, "Managing this company just means running damage control on you."
Later that afternoon, Army Ant's official Weibo posted a short but pointed update:
"The boss said: Lu Xun once said—genius is always not understood."
And just like that, the internet had new fuel.