Reborn in 2005, starting with repairing mobile phones

In the hotel suite, Wu Ming also put down his phone.

The screen displayed a message just sent by a subordinate: "Confirmed. Lin Dong's team met with Old Jackson at the Fisherman's Wharf Cafe this morning for about 45 minutes. The details are unknown, but the other party seemed relaxed when he left."

Wu Ming picked up the now-cold tea, took a sip, and felt a bitter taste on his tongue.

Old Jackson...the Rossi family's public face.

Lin Dong acted faster and more directly than he had anticipated.

Instead of using intermediaries, they went directly to the ground forces.

What does he want to do?

Leveraging resources?

Or is it simply scouting ahead?

Another phone on the table vibrated; it was an encrypted message from Hong Kong: "Gulf Capital has been frequently contacting several independent inspection agencies in Los Angeles recently, seemingly seeking a third party to conduct a non-public secondary assessment of goods in Zone C. The motive is unclear."

Wu Ming put down his teacup, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the smooth mahogany table.

Gulf Capital inspected the goods privately.

Lin Dong was making contact with local bullies.

What about himself?

They are still methodically clearing the port's bottlenecks, trying to buy all the goods in the safest but slowest way.

He hesitated for a moment, then picked up the phone and called his deputy, who was in charge of communicating with the cargo owner, Anderson: "Let things cool down with Anderson for now. Postpone the scheduled second pricing meeting... just say I have an urgent matter to attend to in Hong Kong."

"Boss, this..."

The second-in-command hesitated. "Anderson's already getting a bit anxious. If we ignore him now, might..."

"Do as instructed." Wu Ming's tone was calm but unquestionable. "Let him rush things. Let's see who will lose patience first when we get cold."

At the same time, in the study of that secluded villa in the Bay Area.

Jamal has just finished a brief video briefing with the royal family.

He turned off the screen and rubbed his temples.

"Lin Dong... Dongfang Technology..." he repeated the name in a low voice.

The background check revealed limited information, but the UCLA report was substantial.

How did an unknown small Chinese company manage to obtain such crucial technical approval in advance?

Was it luck, or was there a more professional force guiding them from behind?

More importantly, were their contacts with Stan Jackson intended to exert pressure through the Rossi family, or...?

Do they want to bypass traditional buyer competition and directly collaborate with ground controllers to secure the delivery?

Either way, it means that this suddenly appearing variable may be more troublesome than expected.

"gentlemen,"

The assistant whispered a reminder, "The 'concerns' we expressed to Anderson through the intermediary seem to have put him under a lot of pressure. This morning he asked us again if we had a clear intention to buy and a timeline, and his tone... was very anxious."

Jamal waved his hand: "Keep giving vague responses. Tell him we're interested, but need more time to complete internal procedures."

The assistant nodded and made a note of it.

"Also," Jamal added, "have our men keep an eye on Wu Ming and Lin Dong's movements. Especially... see if there are any signs of contact between them."

Driven by their own calculations and doubts, the three parties unanimously chose the same action—to postpone, observe, and exert pressure.

The pressure, like a rising tide, surged towards the person standing at the eye of the storm—the cargo owner, Anderson.

Anderson paced anxiously back and forth in a somewhat cluttered temporary office near the port area.

The ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts, and the air was thick with the smell of anxiety and nicotine.

"Wu Ming's people say the meeting is postponed? Why? Aren't they the most enthusiastic ones?!"

"Gulf Capital is still using the same old rhetoric! They need time! Damn it, are they even going to buy or not?!"

"What about that new Chinese kid? Wasn't he interested too? Any news?!"

His assistant, a pale-faced young man, huddled in a corner and cautiously replied, "For now... there's no further news."

Wu Ming's side said the boss had an urgent matter to attend to. Gulf Capital said the process wasn't complete. As for Mr. Lin... we sent an email to him using the contact information he left, but haven't received a reply yet.

No reply?!

Anderson stopped abruptly, his eyes red. "What are they all waiting for?! To let my goods rot in the warehouse?!"

The initial excitement and anticipation have long been worn away by the back-and-forth, probing, and push-and-pull dynamics of the past few days.

Instead, a growing sense of panic prevailed.

This shipment tied up a huge amount of his capital and even higher leverage; every day it was delayed was a cost and a risk.

He felt as if he had been thrown into a silent, deep sea, where the buyer signal lights that had once been flashing around him were now dimming or flickering away one after another.

What terrified him most was this sudden, unanimous silence.

Is there something wrong with the goods?

What rumors did he hear at the port that he didn't know about?

Or... have these big buyers made some other collusion in private, and are trying to force him to lower the price?

Various terrifying speculations grew wildly in his mind.

He picked up the phone, then put it down again, and finally slumped into a chair, running his fingers through his hair.

"Go find it!"

He growled hoarsely at his assistant, "Go find out! What's going on in the port right now? What are Wu Ming, Gulf Capital, and that Chinese guy doing?! Why aren't they making any moves?!"

The assistant nodded hastily and fled the office as if escaping.

Anderson sat alone in the thick smoke, looking out the window at the cranes and containers that lined the port, and for the first time felt how cold and oppressive that vast metal forest was.

This feeling of being choked by an invisible hand is more suffocating than fierce price-cutting.

In his suite at the Peninsula Hotel, Lin Dong stood by the window, watching the clouds gradually gather over the bay.

Chen Wei'an stood behind him and reported softly, "Wu Ming has postponed his meeting with Anderson. Gulf Capital continues to delay. We read the email we sent to Anderson's assistant, but haven't received a reply. As you instructed, we haven't followed up."

Lin Dong nodded, his face expressionless.

He, of course, did not reply to Anderson.

Not only did he not reply, but the email he had Chen Wei'an send was extremely flat and restrained, merely stating that "we have received information about your goods and are conducting a preliminary assessment," without any urgency or promises.

What he wanted was for Anderson to feel this "suspended" feeling.

When all anticipated support points become vague, delayed, and unreliable, the person standing on the edge of the cliff will desperately search for any rope that might be hanging down, even if that rope doesn't look very strong.

"That's about enough," Lin Dong said slowly. "Wait one more night. Tomorrow, Anderson's panic will reach its peak. Then, contact him again."