It was late Saturday night on the U.S. West Coast, but in Shanghai, China, it was already Sunday afternoon.
On the Bund, at 18 Zhongshan Road, Chen Qing woke from her afternoon nap, exactly at two o'clock. Ten minutes later, she descended from her sixth-floor bedroom to a tastefully decorated home office on the third floor. There, she found Emanuelle Brandt, the chairman of Skobber, and Charlotte Brenetta from Switzerland in a discussion at a small conference table by the window, while two assistants sat at a long office desk, focused on their laptops.
Also present was Ran Yue, who oversaw the day-to-day affairs in China.
Ran Yue had been lounging on a sofa in the break area, reading a magazine, but immediately stood up when she saw Chen Qing enter.
"Ran-jie, please, stay seated," Chen Qing smiled, stopping her with a wave. She walked over to Lily Favre at the office desk and asked, "Did the research institute send over the materials I requested?"
Lily nodded and handed her a folder.
Chen Qing took it and, without acknowledging Emanuelle or Charlotte, moved to a single sofa next to Ran Yue. She opened the folder and, looking up briefly, asked, "Ran-jie, is there a new issue with tomorrow's launch ceremony?"
Tomorrow, June 10th, marked the official opening of the first large-scale Egret Cloud Computing Data Center in China, located in Shanghai.
A little over a month earlier, Simon had made a high-profile visit to China, and this data center showcased the country's commitment to advancing its information technology industry. The government had arranged an elaborate ceremony, emphasizing the importance of the center and announcing a group of major local companies as new clients.
Since Chen Qing and Lin Su were currently in China, they were both invited to attend the ceremony the following day.
Ran Yue had called earlier to discuss some matters related to the launch, which was why Chen Qing had brought it up now. Ran Yue explained, "Yes, Xiao Qing. A senior official will be attending the event, and they've asked if it would be possible for Mr. Westeros to make a short statement via video."
Chen Qing noticed Ran Yue's reluctance to specify who the official was, so she motioned with her fingers, prompting Ran Yue to clarify with subtle gestures. After understanding the implication, Chen Qing shook her head. "If it's not anyone specific, I think we should avoid pursuing this."
Ran Yue wasn't surprised, though she looked slightly disappointed. She quickly added, "In that case, how about Mr. Jeff Bezos? Trust me, arranging this would only bring benefits. I can't explain everything now, but in time, you'll understand."
Chen Qing studied Ran Yue's expression before nodding thoughtfully. "If you can tell me a bit more, Ran-jie, it would make things easier for me."
Ran Yue hesitated, glanced at the others in the office, and discreetly wrote down a name in her notebook, showing it to Chen Qing before crossing it out.
Chen Qing only had to look briefly to understand the significance. Nodding again, she said, "I'll get in touch with the boss directly."
With that, the matter was settled.
Relieved and a little excited, Ran Yue realized how fortunate she was to have taken on this assignment. Executing it well would benefit both her and her husband, who still worked in the government. Chen Qing's understanding confirmed she hadn't misjudged her.
With business taken care of, Ran Yue glanced at the file in Chen Qing's hands but didn't ask about it. Instead, she remarked, "Where's Lin?"
"She took her brother and sister-in-law to Hangzhou," Chen Qing replied.
"Lin Dong?"
Chen Qing smirked. "Yes, he's about to head to the U.S. soon, so he's saying his last goodbyes to his hometown and family."
Ran Yue picked up on the light teasing in Chen Qing's voice but kept her response neutral, just offering a smile.
As they continued their casual conversation, Chen Qing turned her attention back to the corporate report from Cersei Capital's China Economic Research Institute.
The report detailed the operations of Giant Group, and as Chen Qing read through the ten pages, she saw a picture emerging of a chaotic, mismanaged company on the verge of collapse. The internal issues were far more severe than just the overly ambitious Giant Tower project.
This was a minor project Simon had assigned to her, and she had been quietly following up.
Now, she realized the company exemplified many Chinese private enterprises that had risen rapidly, only to fall just as suddenly. It was a cautionary tale.
Making a few notes at the end of the report, she closed the folder and looked over at Ran Yue. "Ran-jie, after tomorrow's ceremony, Lin and I are returning to North America. I'll need you to keep an eye on things at Zhubo."
Just this past Friday, Zhubo Computers, a project Chen Qing had been secretly preparing for half a year, officially launched its first model, priced at 4,999 RMB.
The model, called Zhubo B-10, was named after the "barrel theory" (B as in Barrel). Since they had used an AMD processor, which was not as powerful as Intel's top-tier chips, Simon had suggested marketing the B-10 as a balanced "barrel machine" with no weak points and superior overall performance. This strategy emphasized that Zhubo wasn't skimping on other components, unlike some companies that focused solely on CPU specs.
The approach had worked well.
In South China, twelve Zhubo stores opened on the same day, and they took in 239 orders for the Zhubo B-10, generating 1.2 million RMB in revenue.
A solid start.
Since only 120 units were available at launch, the rest would be delivered within two weeks.
The limited stock approach was intentional.
Since the profit margins were tight due to high-quality components, Zhubo minimized risks by only releasing a small quantity at a time while accepting preorders.
In essence, it was a "hunger marketing" strategy.
And it was proving effective. The more challenging it was to get something, the more people wanted it, even if it was just to take a closer look.
Between the competitive pricing and the scarcity marketing, Zhubo had sparked media interest, with other computer manufacturers taking note.
Apart from the CPU, the B-10 boasted high-end features usually reserved for more expensive models. At 4,999 RMB, competitors found it difficult to keep up. Even though Zhubo had a powerful backer, it was still a relatively small company, and its sales were currently limited to a few provinces in South China.
The push for information technology had driven China's PC market to skyrocket. In 1995, sales hit 3.2 million units—quadruple the number sold in 1994. This year, the growth rate was expected to slow down slightly, but estimates for 1996 still placed sales at around 5 million units.
If Zhubo continued to sell an average of 239 units per day, the total would reach about 87,000 units over a year—a mere 1.6% market share.
Nothing too alarming.
That was exactly what Zhubo wanted.
Still, their sales on day one had far exceeded expectations, prompting Zhubo to quietly scale up its assembly plant.
Chen Qing's tight cost control extended to staffing as well, so when she said she needed Ran Yue's help, it was no formality. With Zhubo running lean, Ran Yue and her team in the China operations office had also taken on roles to support the company.
"It's my job," Ran Yue said with a smile. Chen Qing's generous compensation had left her and her colleagues content with the extra workload.
Sensing it was time to leave, Ran Yue rose, though she was reluctant to leave the luxurious office. She knew her place, however; Chen Qing, despite the friendly "Ran-jie" she used, was not one to let others get too close.
As they said their goodbyes, she couldn't resist asking, "Xiao Qing, when can we expect an answer?"
"It's the middle of the night in North America right now," Chen Qing replied. "By 12 tonight, we should have a response. If he agrees, the video link will be ready by tomorrow."
After seeing Ran Yue out, Chen Qing returned to sit with Emanuelle and Charlotte. "What were you two discussing?"
"Business," said Emanuelle, who was here for a VCD industry event. "With the data center launching tomorrow, Charlotte thought that technical guides on network technologies might be popular. We could translate some of these books from North America and sell them here."
Chen Qing poured herself a cup of coffee from a tray on the table, responding, "That's publishing, though. Do you know how tightly regulated publishing is in China?"
Emanuelle replied, "Chen, we're not completely ignorant. These are instructional books, not political content."
"Still, it's the domain of publishers, not something we can just jump into. And you're forgetting the piracy issue—it's not worth the trouble." She took a sip of coffee, thinking, and suddenly had an idea. "But what about setting up a training center? That's where the real money is. With so many people rushing into the internet sector, demand for professional training will be huge."
Charlotte looked uncertain. "Training centers sound more difficult than books. It would need a dedicated team, like the international school we're planning."
"This is different. It's vocational training—standards are lower. You wouldn't believe how much money those training schools make." Chen Qing's eyes
lit up as she jotted down some rough ideas, pulling her two colleagues into the discussion.
They continued brainstorming when Chen Qing's phone rang. It was Lin Su. Holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, she continued writing. "Yes?"
"…"
"There's no point bringing this to me. The decision on Geely was Simon's, and we both know why… No, looking for other investors isn't feasible. It'll eventually involve us and drain our resources… Come on, use your head… Fine, then tell Li directly. Wait four or five years, until China joins the WTO. If there's still interest on their end, there will be room for cooperation. Right now, it's out of the question."
In a city thousands of miles away, it was just past 9 a.m. in Rivne, Ukraine.
On a street in a residential area north of Rivne, Eve Besonovskaya arrived with another bodyguard after receiving an urgent call. As they stepped out of their car, they spotted two burly young men exiting a black sedan nearby. Seeing Eve, the men walked over respectfully. "Ms. Besonovskaya?"
"Thank you for coming. I don't yet know what happened here."
As she glanced around, confirming the address, she strode toward a nearby courtyard, and the others followed. As they approached, they heard the sound of a woman crying. Eve quickened her pace, heading directly toward the noise.
Seeing Eve and the others, a drunk man in the courtyard began thrashing at three women cowering together before turning his rage toward the intruders. "Who are you?" he shouted.
"Stop that," Eve ordered, moving forward to restrain him, but the two young men had already taken control, wrenching the whip from the man's hand and pinning him to the ground. They looked up at Eve for further instructions.
One of the women on the ground shouted, "Eve!" and ran into her arms, trembling.
Eve held the girl, Galina, comforting her as she stroked her back. "It's alright, Galina. You're safe now."
Between sobs, the girl explained, "My father went drinking last night, and when he came back this morning, he started hitting us. I had no choice but to call you, but he took my phone…"
One of the young men searched the man's pockets, found a small Nokia phone, and tossed it to Eve, who caught it. She signaled the other female bodyguard to check on the two women still huddled on the ground.
The man, realizing what was happening, glared at Eve defiantly. "I know who you people are—you work for Simon Westeros! I'm Galina's father. Let me go. You're not taking her away from me. I'm her father. I have custody."
His defiance had no effect on Eve. She ignored him, comforting Galina and then moving to check on the two other women. One was older, likely Galina's mother, and the other a younger sister.
"Eve," Galina pleaded, clutching her, "please, take Mom and my sister with us. We don't want to stay here."
The man began shouting again, "You little wretch! Don't even think about it. I'm the head of this family, and you all have to listen to me." He shifted tactics, sneering. "Fine. If you want to leave, I want a factory as compensation. I know Westeros has a trillion dollars, so he can give me a million-dollar factory. Hey, last time Andrei tried to fob me off with just a thousand. I bet he kept the rest of the money. I want my million in cash. Or you can take me to the UK—get me a villa in London too."
Eve was a naturally gentle person, but seeing the whip marks on Galina's back and the bruises beneath her torn dress made her press her lips together in anger. She signaled her bodyguard to lead the two other women out while she held Galina close, guiding her out of the courtyard.
"Stop!" the man shouted, but when Eve felt Galina hesitate, she turned to her two companions, her voice cold. "I don't know what's going on, but contact whoever you need and handle this."
As she left the courtyard with Galina and her family, she realized her voice had sounded uncharacteristically like Simon's.
In Geneva, Switzerland, it was still Sunday morning.
At a villa overlooking Lake Geneva, Celia Miller was in a tense meeting with an assistant to the French president.
The two sat facing each other in the reception room, tension thick in the air.
"The situation is clear. General April Lavier has been abusing his position for personal reasons. One of his close friend's nephews was captured in Rwanda, and we've uncovered deeper connections behind that. We're not interested in those connections. All we want is Lavier to step down."
The tall, slightly balding middle-aged man leaned forward. "That's out of the question. We won't punish a general who's served his country, especially not for an outsider."
"Mr. Preck, I'm not here to negotiate. I'm here to relay my boss's demands."
The man narrowed his eyes. "Ms. Miller, don't you think it's unwise for a single individual to challenge a nation?"
"Mr. Preck, would you provoke a nation on your own accord?"
"Of course not," he replied instinctively, then hesitated as he realized his mistake.
Celia pressed on, "Exactly. Nobody would intentionally pick a fight with a country. But if a nation keeps harassing someone, causing trouble for them, wouldn't they retaliate?"
"Perhaps we should discuss the root of this conflict."
"The root of the genocide France initiated in Rwanda?"
"Watch your words, Ms. Miller. France had no involvement in the Rwandan genocide."
"Then why does a French general overseeing African affairs hold such a grudge against my boss—the man who prevented a major humanitarian disaster?"
The man remained silent, then said, "I'll convey your message to the president."
Celia didn't stop there. "One more thing: Simon wants Mr. Chirac to know we'd like to avoid further tension between the Westeros Group and France. This isn't a concession; it's simply a reminder. We noticed delays in approving The Mummy and Mission: Impossible 2 for release in France. This approach seems quite petty. If France continues to obstruct Westeros Group's businesses domestically, we will oppose French businesses globally."
The world continued to spin as the day passed.
Time drifted westward across the Atlantic, over the Americas, until it was Sunday morning in Los Angeles.
Despite a late night, Simon woke at six, freeing himself from the grasp of the two British roses beside him, dressing and getting ready for his morning exercise.
By seven, two guests arrived at the cliffside mansion in Beverly Canyon: Leslie Wexner and his wife, along with his private investment advisor, Jeffrey Epstein, and Epstein's girlfriend. Simon had invited one of his early-rising companions to join them for breakfast.
The Wexners had been in San Francisco for the past few days, exploring investment opportunities in the internet sector.
After Simon discreetly took control of Victoria's Secret, Leslie Wexner had been left to manage the Express fast-fashion brand under the parent company, LTD. While he'd done well with it, he was gradually losing interest and was beginning to hand it over to professional managers.
Which suited Simon just fine.
Though only 59, Leslie Wexner was still young and capable by the standards of billionaire investors.
Lately, he'd been eager to branch out and start something new. Though he had essentially lost control of the company he'd founded, the Wexner family's wealth had grown significantly in recent years with Simon's help, and he had no shortage of capital for new ventures.
As they all sat at an outdoor table with a view of the sunlit city below, Wexner's feelings toward Simon remained mixed.
On the one hand, his wealth had increased considerably, but his influence had waned. Without the latent power that wealth once gave him, his desire for more money had faded.
Sitting with them were Epstein and his girlfriend, Ghislaine Maxwell, who took care to show proper respect.
Epstein and Maxwell had essentially tagged along to bolster their own connections.
For them, even a breakfast with Simon Westeros was a mark of success—a credential. A mere mention of having dined with him could lend credibility to future business dealings.
So while Wexner's thoughts were conflicted, Epstein was more at ease.
Epstein understood the world's realities: what an average man might spend months pursuing—a relationship, a touch, a look—might be granted in mere minutes to those with wealth and power. A woman could, in an instant, offer herself entirely, seeking only to please, humbly offering her every charm to attract a man's favor.
That was the way of the world.
And so, one had to either fight to reach the top—or accept one's place.
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