The moment Chen Mo stepped outside, the crowd of reporters surged.
Shutters clicked nonstop. Dozens of cameras locked onto him, capturing every blink, every breath—as if afraid to miss even a flicker of expression. The buzz in the air was electric.
Chen Mo was no longer just a national figure—he had become a global icon, recently dubbed the "Time Giant" by Time Magazine itself.
A title that, surprisingly, no one questioned.
From artificial intelligence, carbon crystal materials, and the Chinese programming language, to seismographs, intelligent robots, and now the full realization of holographic technology—any one of those achievements would crown a lifetime. Yet Chen Mo embodied them all.
He wasn't just a genius. He was a polymath, a true scientific force of nature. "Time Giant" felt almost modest.
The moment he stopped, the reporters pounced with a barrage of questions.
"Mr. Chen Mo! What are your thoughts on being called the Time Giant?"
"Mr. Chen, there's a rumor you're nominated for the next Nobel Prize in Physics. Can you confirm it?"
"What's the future of holographic computing?"
Even with security standing by, the energy was almost overwhelming.
Chen Mo raised his palm, signaling for calm. The chaos quieted instantly.
"First of all, thank you all for your support and interest," he said, smiling. "You all threw questions at once—I don't even know where to start. Let's take it one at a time."
He pointed toward a shy-looking woman in a white blouse and glasses near the edge of the crowd.
"You, the lady in the white shirt."
The young woman blinked in surprise. "Me? Oh! Uh… thank you!"
Her name was Li Ying, an intern from a small local paper. She'd been sent out with little hope of getting anything beyond a photo. She never imagined she'd get to ask the first question.
"Mr. Chen Mo, I'm with People's Financial News. Yesterday, BrandFinance ranked Marching Ant as the world's most valuable tech company, and Morgan estimated your company's worth at 1.5 trillion dollars. What are your thoughts on that? And… will Marching Ant ever go public?"
Chen Mo nodded thoughtfully.
"From the day I founded Marching Ant, I set out to build the most advanced tech company in the world. I'm not surprised we're here now, because we've worked hard and earned it. As for valuation, to me, Marching Ant is priceless."
"We'll continue pushing the frontiers of technology—just like marching ants do in nature. As for going public…" He smiled. "We're not short on money."
That last line made the crowd stir. A tech company not short on money? That was unheard of.
Another reporter stood. A blonde Western woman spoke fluently in English, her voice calm and polished.
"Mr. Chen, some believe that—like Tesla—you should release your patents to the world. Would you consider open-sourcing technologies like the seismograph, holographic projection, or AI systems, for the benefit of all mankind?"
The robot translator relayed the message in Chinese. The room went tense.
Even veteran reporters flinched. It was a loaded question, practically moral blackmail. She'd invoked Tesla, implying Chen Mo should be a self-sacrificing saint.
But Chen Mo didn't flinch.
"Thank you," he said. "Tesla is one of my greatest inspirations. His work advanced human civilization in ways we're still building on today. He was a Time Giant."
"But I am not him. We lived in different eras. Tesla fought against capital empires and was left penniless, betrayed. I admire his spirit, but I'm not walking his path. I'm more of a Time Businessman."
"But tell me—if I don't open my patents, does that mean humanity won't benefit from my work? Clearly, it already does."
The crowd murmured in agreement. Chen Mo's calm but firm response earned subtle nods—and even a few quiet claps.
The blonde reporter simply smiled, unoffended. She had played her role, provoked a great quote, and returned to her seat.
Chen Mo pointed again, this time at a domestic journalist.
"Mr. Chen, I'm Lu Zhimin from Headline News. Recently there have been troubling reports. Some youths, desperate to buy your new holographic phone, have resorted to theft, even selling their bodies. How do you respond to that?"
Chen Mo's expression turned solemn.
"That's… tragic. Shameful. And saddening."
"Our products are meant to enhance society, not corrupt it. If people are breaking their principles or losing their dignity for a phone—then we've failed to spread the right message."
"I'd rather not make a single cent from such desperation. Dignity is worth more than any technology. Phones can wait. Your self-respect should never be for sale."
A deep silence followed. No more questions for a moment—just a powerful truth hanging in the air.
The impromptu conference lasted nearly an hour.
By the end, Chen Mo had fielded over a dozen questions—some earnest, some sly, some provocative. He kept his composure throughout.
Back in his office, Chen Mo collapsed onto the sofa with a groan.
"That was harder than a full day in the lab," he muttered.
Moments later, Zhao Min walked in, amused by the sight of him sprawled out.
"So... how did it feel?"
Chen Mo sat up, rubbing his temples. "It felt like verbal combat with a dozen poets and lawyers. Every reporter out there is a genius in disguise."
Zhao Min chuckled. "You did fine. Actually, you handled it really well. I was watching."
She meant it. The old Chen Mo used to be calm but withdrawn, always focused on his research, rarely speaking unless necessary. But this new version?
Still calm—but now with confidence, wit, and leadership. The world had forced him to grow, and he had.
"You're turning into quite the public figure, you know. Sooner or later, you'll have to get used to the spotlight."
Chen Mo sighed. "I don't know if I can get used to it. But… I'll try."
"Good. You're the face of a trillion-dollar empire now. Even if you don't want the fame, it'll come looking for you."
They chatted a bit more about holographic mobile phone rollout plans before Zhao Min left. Once alone, Chen Mo relaxed for a moment—then got up, changed into his lab clothes, and headed straight for the lab.
Some things never change.