Back at the hotel, Elena's expression was grim.
The trip had gone poorly.
She had assumed Marching Ant Company was adjusting its strategy and would be more open to foreign cooperation. But the reality hit hard—they were airtight.
If this were any other country, she could've used pressure, leverage, or backdoor tactics to force a compromise. These methods had been tried and tested countless times. But this was China—a place where state protection of the national market was far beyond imagination.
No consortium, no matter how powerful, dared to mess around in China's backyard. Anyone who tried would find themselves quickly overpowered, unable to swallow the blow.
After some thought, Elena picked up her phone and dialed a number.
Since Marching Ant had flat-out rejected cooperation, she needed to report back.
The call connected. A calm female voice came through.
"Elena, that was fast. Did Marching Ant agree to the partnership?"
It was Laurie, Pfizer's Executive Vice President in charge of strategy, investment, and operations. Elena had been sent personally by her.
"…They refused," Elena said bitterly. "Flat-out rejected us."
She didn't even get to name a price. Zhao Min dismissed the idea before it could even be tabled. While countless pharmaceutical companies dreamed of clinging to Pfizer's coattails, Marching Ant acted as if they didn't need anyone.
"Refused?" Laurie's voice dropped, her fingers tapping the desk rhythmically.
She knew the rumors about Marching Ant—arrogant, unyielding, proud. In financial circles, they were infamous for going against the grain.
"What now?" Elena asked. "Zhao Min didn't even let me finish explaining. She shut me down before negotiations even began."
"It's clear Marching Ant has no intention of cooperating with us," Laurie said coolly.
"Why are they so against us?" Elena's tone brimmed with frustration. "Every Chinese executive I've ever dealt with was courteous, eager, and quick to compromise over minor benefits. Zhao Min treated me like I didn't even matter."
That was precisely why Laurie had chosen Elena—because she thought she understood Chinese business culture.
But Marching Ant? They played a different game entirely.
"Our shareholder structure and Marching Ant's history aren't exactly harmonious," Laurie explained.
She understood the undercurrents well. In the world of capital, grudges ran deep. Why had Huawei struggled so hard to break into the U.S. market? Because it touched the wrong interests.
Now came Marching Ant—a fully privately-owned enterprise with all equity held by Chen Mo. A unicorn with no debt, no foreign backers, and no leash. To Wall Street, that was a fat piece of meat just waiting to be sliced.
In the U.S. or other markets, they could have used every trick in the book—legal pressure, media manipulation, regulatory capture—to bring them down. But not in China, where the government guarded its national champions like a hawk.
Everyone in global finance knew that Wall Street had its eyes on China.
Some predators didn't even hide it—they lobbied their own governments to sanction China or applied other forms of pressure, all in the name of "opening financial markets." But the real goal was to let American bankers and investors in—so they could wrest control of China's economy.
This model had succeeded in many regions—Europe, island nations, developing countries—but not China. China's market was under tight regulatory control, with little room for foreign manipulation.
That's why, despite its size, Marching Ant remained untouchable.
"So… what do we do now?" Elena asked.
"What else?" Laurie paused in thought. "Stay there. Wait for my instructions."
After ending the call, Laurie's eyes darkened. She mulled something over in silence, then picked up another phone and dialed again.
"Ian, Elena's sent in her report."
On the other end of the line was Ian, Pfizer's CEO.
"Oh? Did Marching Ant agree to the share transfer?"
"No. They rejected us outright," Laurie said, voice cold. "Elena didn't even get a chance to propose terms."
"Then it's pointless to continue. Tell Elena to come back and move on to Plan B."
"By the way," Laurie added, "how's the analysis going on their drugs?"
"Good news," Ian replied. "Our lab successfully broke down the active compounds. We're now combining them with our proprietary formulations to create generic analogues. We'll have similar drugs ready for market very soon."
His tone was full of anticipation.
Viagra's patent had already expired, and it was now widely copied—especially by Chinese pharmaceutical companies. Pfizer's monopoly was eroding, but the drug still generated significant revenue.
Now, Starfish had launched two revolutionary drugs—Haizhiwei, a side-effect-free erectile aid, and Yujie, a breast-enhancement drug.
To Ian, this felt like déjà vu—the same kind of product disruption Pfizer had once used to rise to power.
If they couldn't buy into the company, they could still copy the formula. Combine it with Pfizer's research and launch their own "breakthrough" treatments.
"Perfect," Laurie said. "I'll begin implementing Plan B immediately."
The Next Morning
Suddenly, foreign media and social networks were swarming with alarming headlines:
"Authoritative Report: Sea-based Drugs May Increase Breast Cancer Risk"
"Concerns Mount Over Breast Enlargement Drug 'Yujie'"
"Warning: Haizhiwei May Raise Risk of Kidney Stones with Repeated Use"
Out of nowhere, waves of negative press about Starfish Company filled the air.
Until now, most coverage had been glowing. Yujie had been on the market for over a month with impressive results. Sure, there had been whispers and skepticism, but nothing serious.
Now, these unverified reports, all claiming to come from vague "authoritative organizations," looked suspicious.
The smear was obvious. And yet, the impact was real.
As these stories spread back to China, they stirred up waves of controversy. Online trolls jumped in, calling for mass recalls and compensation.
Inside Marching Ant's headquarters, Zhao Min sat in her office, sipping tea while scrolling through the latest headlines.
She had noticed the moment the reports appeared.
Every article was anonymous, vague, and lacking sources—classic disinformation tactics. They didn't even mention which lab or research group supposedly conducted the studies.
The origin? All overseas.
She knew exactly what this was: the same "old routine."
Find a case—say, a patient who took Yujie and happened to later be diagnosed with breast cancer—and spin a story from it. A few planted posts, some bought media, and suddenly you have mass panic.
"A mediocre company isn't worth attacking," she murmured. "But this? This tells me we've hit a nerve."
Compared to the past media storms Marching Ant had weathered, this was barely a drizzle. A probing shot. But it showed that someone was rattled.
As she pondered the timing, Xiao Yu burst into the office.
"Zhao Jie! The Ministry of Infrastructure just called. The first production line of the holographic projector is finished and ready to begin mass production!"
Zhao Min's eyes lit up.
"Finally... Let's go have a look."