Outside the Marching Ant Company headquarters, three black cars slowly pulled up to the front gate.
Alexander Rothschild sat in the middle vehicle, a sleek black Audi, gazing calmly out the window at the towering building ahead.
He'd seen countless pictures of the Marching Ant HQ in reports and news articles, but this was his first time seeing it in person.
The Marching Ant Company had seemingly appeared out of nowhere—emerging like a bolt of lightning—and in just a few short years had grown into a world-class unicorn. Its rise had been so fast that many traditional giants hadn't even had time to react. Now, the names Chen Mo and Zhao Min were permanent fixtures on the desks of top global executives.
Countless investment firms had tried to acquire a stake in Marching Ant, but all had failed.
No matter the approach—friendship, pressure, offers, or proxies—every attempt was rejected. Because Marching Ant was a sole proprietorship, it had never released financial statements, and the company's true revenue remained a mystery to this day.
Still, based on the estimates of various top investment institutions, Marching Ant's cash reserves alone surpassed those of any tech company on Earth.
Many industry insiders already understood one thing:
Chen Mo held nearly 100% of the company's shares.
This quiet young man was no longer just a rising star—he was already the richest person in the world.
Alexander had inherited a banking empire, taking control of one of the world's top twenty investment banks before the age of forty. But compared to Chen Mo and Zhao Min, who had built Marching Ant from nothing, he knew his achievements felt… different.
As Alexander pulled his thoughts back, the car slowly passed through the company gate.
Waiting outside the entrance was Zhao Min, personally greeting their guest—an almost unprecedented gesture. Standing beside her were Xiao Yu, a humanoid robot, and a group of welcoming staff in company uniforms.
This wasn't just any visit. Alexander Rothschild wasn't only a business partner—he was someone with deep ties to global capital. Now that he had come in person to discuss mobile phone cooperation, Zhao Min naturally gave him the highest standard reception.
During this period, Marching Ant had kept a low profile, but insiders still whispered about its unique position. It wasn't just a tech company—it was an anomaly in the modern business world.
In some ways, it was like Huawei—but more radical.
Huawei distributed shares among its researchers and had ties to institutional capital. But Marching Ant? Its entire ownership was in the hands of one person. No outside capital, no shareholders, no external influence.
This reality left many old money tycoons helpless.
Attempts at technological or resource blockades had failed. Initially, there may have been a chance—but Marching Ant had risen too fast, and now the technical gap was unbridgeable.
Most tech companies grew through repeated rounds of financing—getting cash, gaining resources, building slowly.
But Marching Ant? It had shattered the rules with sheer technological dominance, growing explosively while the world was still watching cat videos.
Its rise was inevitable and unstoppable—a product of the information age, where breakthroughs couldn't be hidden.
And that made it dangerous to entrenched interests.
For niche fields like seismographs and robots, no one cared much. But in phones and computers, every step Marching Ant took triggered strategic ripples.
Now, Alexander had come to pursue cooperation in the mobile phone sector, which was high-risk territory—and Zhao Min treated it as such.
"Miss Zhao, nice to meet you," Alexander said, stepping forward and offering a hand—speaking in slightly awkward but earnest Chinese.
"Hello, Mr. Alexander. I didn't expect you to speak Mandarin," Zhao Min replied in surprise.
"Only a little," Alexander smiled, switching to English. "But I find Huaxia culture deeply fascinating. I've already arranged for a tutor—I'll be learning the language soon."
"Oh?" Zhao Min smiled and shook his hand.
Alexander looked to be in his mid-thirties, though his youthful face made him seem even younger. He wore a tailored suit and had a calm, collected smile. His posture exuded a natural grace and elegance, without being arrogant or stiff.
Zhao Min recognized it instantly: genuine aristocratic bearing—the kind only ingrained through generations of etiquette training.
At such a young age, Alexander had taken over a two-hundred-year-old bank. Zhao Min had to admit—Rothschild's last generation still had vision.
Alexander was also evaluating Zhao Min.
She was younger than him by nearly a decade, yet she was the CEO and co-founder of Marching Ant Company—one of the most valuable tech companies in the world.
Even as a self-proclaimed genius in investment and finance, he hadn't reached Zhao Min's level ten years ago.
Industry insiders knew: while Chen Mo provided the tech, it was Zhao Min who built the corporate empire.
Their earlier cooperation on intelligent robot distribution in Europe had gone well, and it had given them a glimpse into Marching Ant's potential.
In the past, Rothschild Bank had operated primarily as an investment consultant, but times were changing—and they needed to diversify.
His father had entrusted him with the bank, hoping he could lead a transformation. And to him, this new round of cooperation with Marching Ant was a golden opportunity. If it worked, it might become the Rothschild family's second rise.
After a few pleasantries, Zhao Min turned to lead him into the building. "Let's talk inside."
"Of course."
As they walked side by side into the Marching Ant headquarters, Alexander wasn't surprised to see robots patrolling the halls or handling logistics.
After all, he'd purchased several of their intelligent robots himself as part of the European distribution deal.
"Miss Zhao," Alexander asked as they entered the lobby, "will Mr. Chen Mo be joining us today?"
"He's currently in the lab," Zhao Min replied with a smile. "When he's conducting research, I try not to disturb him. But don't worry—he'll definitely come out before you leave."
In this entire company, perhaps only Xiao Yu dared to interrupt Chen Mo mid-research. Even then, she rarely did so.
"I see," Alexander nodded. "Then let's begin."
He paused and smiled again. "You know, we're not so different."
"Oh?" Zhao Min raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Our companies—while different on paper—are both family-run," Alexander said with a chuckle.
Zhao Min laughed in understanding. "That's true."
Marching Ant was essentially Chen Mo's private enterprise, and Rothschild Bank was a generational family business. In that sense, both were cut from the same cloth.
Ironically, that commitment to family control was one of the reasons for Rothschild's decline.
Years ago, they refused to go public. Meanwhile, rivals like Citibank and Morgan seized the opportunity to raise capital, rapidly expanding and leaving Rothschild in the dust.
Now, with the world transformed, the Rothschilds were trying to pivot.
Inside the conference room, both sides took their seats.
Alexander's expression grew serious.
"Miss Zhao," he began, "we came with sincerity this time. Let's discuss business. How do you want to cooperate?"