Zhao Min set down the phone, the corners of her lips curling into a knowing smile.
The island nation had finally relented.
They were returning the seismograph they'd seized—quietly, of course, under the guise of a misunderstanding. They even requested the return be kept low-key, likely out of embarrassment.
"Interesting," she mused. "They damage our equipment, then quietly send it back without compensation or apology?"
"They must think we're running a charity."
She went straight to Chen Mo's lab.
"The island nation claims it was a mistake," she said casually. "They say they mistook our instrument for a general oceanic monitor and will be returning it in two days. Privately, of course."
Chen Mo smirked. "They finally remembered."
"This time, they're sending it to a coastal port and asking us to retrieve it. Discreetly."
"They're trying to save face. Makes sense—having a government bow to a private company is awkward any way you spin it. But they don't want it public, huh?"
Zhao Min's expression sharpened.
"They've made it clear they want this done quietly. No press, no fuss. But when we needed cooperation, they denied our people visas and kept the seismograph. So I say we flip the script."
Chen Mo chuckled. "That's right. When they took our gear, they broadcasted their victory. Now that they're returning it? Why should we stay quiet? It's only right to give them the welcome they deserve. After all..."
He paused, eyes twinkling.
"Returning things you wrongfully took?
That's a traditional Chinese virtue."
Zhao Min blinked. "Wait... what are you planning?"
Chen Mo waved her off with a grin. "You'll see."
Two days later — Marina Port
Ambassador Inada Jinnan stood before a sealed shipping container, a forced smile plastered across his face.
Beside him were Yokoi Yu and a translator, their expressions equally tense.
Inside the container: the salvaged seismograph. Or rather, what was left of it.
He had no choice but to hand it back in person. His government needed the Marching Ant Company's cooperation—this humiliation was the price of progress.
As a black car rolled into the lot, Inada recognized the man who stepped out.
Li Lingfeng. A senior executive at Marching Ant. He'd met him during earlier negotiations—before everything soured.
"Ambassador Inada," Li greeted him with a professional smile. "Our boss appreciated your sincerity and sent me to receive you. He's waiting at the company."
"Of course." Inada nodded, hiding his frustration.
They checked the container contents, verified the equipment, and set off for the company headquarters.
On the drive over, Inada wore a polite expression, but his thoughts were laced with contempt.
"These Chinese really are simple-minded.
Show them a little 'sincerity' and they act like you're their best friend."
He almost pitied them.
That feeling didn't last.
Marching Ant Headquarters — Front Entrance
As the black car rolled to a stop, Inada's confident stride faltered.
Dozens of reporters waited outside, cameras flashing like fireworks. A makeshift stage had been assembled. A massive red banner hung above the platform.
"Island Government's Return Ceremony for Stolen Seismograph"
Inada froze.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Rage surged in his chest. His plan had been a quiet return—no fanfare, no media. But here it was: a full-blown public spectacle.
Even Yokoi looked panicked. The Marching Ant Company clearly wanted the world to see this moment.
From the entrance, Chen Mo emerged with a warm smile.
"Ambassador Inada," he said, extending a hand. "Welcome."
Inada took it, barely suppressing the urge to snap it off.
"Mr. Chen," he said stiffly, "we deeply regret the accidental use of your company's experimental equipment. We've confirmed ownership and are personally returning it."
He delivered the statement through gritted teeth, each word a diplomatic dagger.
Chen Mo nodded graciously. "Ah, there's no need to stand on ceremony. I could feel your sincerity—so we prepared a small platform for the public to witness this historic moment."
He gestured toward the stage.
"After all, it's not every day we receive the return of a prototype that nearly changed history."
Right on cue, a dump truck arrived carrying the container. Staff sprang into action, unloading the seismograph and gently placing it on the stage.
The reporters erupted. Photos snapped. Video rolled.
Many had seen the seismograph in photos—but this was their first close-up, in the flesh. A real artifact of cutting-edge earthquake prediction.
Chen Mo led Inada up the steps.
"Shall we take a photo?" he asked, still smiling.
Inada clenched his jaw, then offered his hand. They shook again under the barrage of camera flashes. Every shot was a political nightmare.
Then Chen Mo leaned over and asked, "Would you like to say a few words to the press?"
Inada's translator looked startled. "He says he's not prepared. Too sudden."
Chen Mo nodded as if understanding.
"Then allow me."
Inada's stomach dropped.
He stepped aside, standing awkwardly as Chen Mo adjusted the mic.
The crowd hushed.
"I'm honored," Chen Mo began, "to welcome the return of our deep-sea seismograph. The island nation has shown admirable sincerity today by returning the equipment and apologizing for its accidental use."
"Apologizing?" Inada nearly choked.
Chen Mo continued, voice calm but deliberate.
"This particular seismograph was among the first of its kind, and today marks its first public appearance. We intend to preserve it in the Binhai City Museum, where future generations can study the evolution of earthquake science."
He paused—then let the next line drop like a hammer.
"However… I do have one regret."
The press leaned in. Inada tensed.
"We've received many questions online: why didn't Marching Ant Company announce the precise location of the last earthquake?"
He looked up, somber.
"The truth is—we could have."
Commotion rippled through the crowd.
"We deployed six seismographs in the western Pacific, in one of the most seismically active areas in the world. Two of them were nearest to the epicenter of the recent mega-quake."
Behind him, a projected map lit up, showing red dots—seismograph positions—and the epicenter.
"The first of those two—" Chen Mo gestured to the salvaged unit on stage, "—was brought online just days before the quake. It was the most critical node in the early warning network."
"But it was removed before it could fulfill its purpose."
A subtle gasp rippled across the press line.
Chen Mo turned, gesturing to the device behind him.
"The second seismograph, stationed nearby, successfully detected the quake and began transmitting warnings—but was suddenly cut off. Whether by accident or interference… we don't know."
He turned back to the press.
"With both closest seismographs gone, we were unable to triangulate the precise epicenter."
He stepped back from the mic.
"That," he said quietly, "is my greatest regret."
Below the stage, Ambassador Inada's face had gone completely pale.
The reporters? Already transmitting breaking news alerts to their media networks.
The photos of him shaking hands.
The banner above the stage.
The subtle but damning implications of Chen Mo's words.
"They sabotaged their own chance at early warning."
And now? The whole world would know.