After a brief but productive meeting, the three officials left the Marching Ant Company satisfied.
Meanwhile, the world remained fixated on the unfolding disaster in the island nation.
It wasn't just the massive scale of the earthquake and tsunami—or the worsening Fukushima nuclear crisis—that dominated headlines. It was also the fact that Marching Ant Company had predicted the event an hour in advance. Yet, despite the warning, the casualty count remained devastatingly high.
To ordinary people, the tragedy was heartbreaking. To governments, the implications were electrifying.
One accurate prediction could be a coincidence.
Two in a row? That wasn't luck—it was a breakthrough.
Natural disasters may be inevitable, but predicting them meant lives could be saved. And now, a Chinese company had cracked the code.
Inside the lab at Marching Ant Company, Chen Mo was focused on sealing a vial of freshly synthesized silicon carbon when Xiao Yu stepped in.
"The ambassador from the island nation contacted us," she said softly. "They're asking about the seismograph. Zhao Min didn't respond and asked me to check with you."
Chen Mo's hand paused mid-motion.
"Now they want to buy it?"
"After what they pulled?"
He gave a cold smile.
"They refused to return the seismograph they recovered. They tried to string us along. And now they want to talk?" He sneered. "Let them hang. No reply. When they're ready to return the device, compensate us for the damage, then we'll talk. Otherwise? Let them beg."
"Understood," Xiao Yu said with a nod and quietly left.
In the past 48 hours, ambassadors from several countries had contacted Marching Ant Company. After the second successful earthquake prediction, interest in the seismograph technology had surged.
As Zhao Min made clear, they weren't selling to private companies or individuals. Their only partners would be governments.
In countries prone to seismic activity, earthquake-related damages could cost billions annually. Even allocating a fraction of those losses toward early warning systems made complete economic sense.
If Marching Ant could scale up production, they wouldn't need to sell the seismograph.
Countries would compete to buy it.
Aside from the domestic network being prioritized, New Zealand had emerged as the most eager buyer.
As a nation perched on the Pacific Ring of Fire, New Zealand was acutely aware of the risks. Recent years had brought a spike in both earthquakes and volcanic activity. Now, experts feared the Hikurangi subduction zone—the country's largest fault line—was awakening.
A single rupture across three known fault segments could unleash a quake that would devastate the island nation—and potentially trigger a tsunami.
So when news broke that Marching Ant's seismograph had again successfully warned of an imminent quake, New Zealand wasted no time. Their envoy was already in talks with Zhao Min.
Chile, Indonesia, and several other earthquake-prone nations were also reaching out—but hesitating at the price.
Chen Mo wasn't concerned. Production capacity was still limited. His priority was China's network. The rest could wait… including the island country.
After Xiao Yu left, Chen Mo returned to his experiments. He was deep in the process of refining room-temperature superconducting materials. Though he had successfully synthesized some samples, their purity still wasn't sufficient for use in superconducting chips.
For bulk production and true cost-efficiency, the purity needed to be near-perfect during the synthesis stage, not after expensive post-processing.
The challenge was frustrating—but progress was steady.
Meanwhile, at the Island Nation Embassy, Ambassador Inada Jinnan was seething.
"I can't believe they just ignored us," he muttered. "Completely shut down the request. No explanation."
As ambassador to China, Inada had dealt with his share of diplomatic snubs, but this was different. It wasn't just a matter of pride. It was desperation.
The earthquake had left the country shaken—literally and politically.
Public anger was surging.
Aftershocks continued.
Anxiety was climbing.
And the opposition was circling like sharks.
The current administration needed results. Fast.
They'd issued orders: obtain Marching Ant's seismograph—by purchase or other means.
But Inada's attempts had failed spectacularly.
Word had already reached them that New Zealand and Chile were progressing smoothly in talks. Yet he—representing a G7 country—had been given the cold shoulder.
And why?
He knew the reason but didn't want to admit it.
Sitting beside him, his counselor Yokoi Yu finally voiced the obvious.
"Ambassador, could it be because of the last incident… when we recovered their seismograph and refused to return it?"
Inada's eyes narrowed.
Back then, they'd thought they were being clever. They'd "recovered" the device from the ocean floor during a joint mission—but then refused to return it. Visa applications from Marching Ant employees had been blocked. Their excuse was national security.
And the Marching Ant Company?
They hadn't made a fuss. No press conference. Just a single bland statement.
"Device unrecoverable. Signal terminated. No further comment."
But clearly, they hadn't forgotten.
And now, Inada was paying the price.
"What do we do?" he muttered, fingers tapping against the desk.
Yokoi answered carefully. "We could return the damaged seismograph. Quietly. Frame it as a gesture of goodwill."
Inada scowled. "That would make us look weak. A government bowing to a private company."
Yokoi leaned in. "The media's attention is still on the disaster. If we keep the gesture quiet, we won't attract too much criticism."
Inada thought it over, then slowly nodded. "Contact the Foreign Ministry."
The response from Tokyo was swift.
The Marching Ant seismograph they had in storage was completely non-functional. Core boards and chips had been fried. After months of analysis, they'd gained no meaningful insights. Holding onto it served no purpose.
The pressure from citizens was intense. Returning the broken device might be humiliating—but importing working seismographs was vital for public morale and political survival.
The Ministry gave the green light.
Inada Jinnan exhaled as he hung up the phone.
The order had been approved.
The seismograph would be returned discreetly, and official compensation talks would begin.
They'd lost the first round.
But if they could still purchase the technology, stabilize public opinion, and avoid another disaster… maybe, just maybe, the humiliation would be worth it.