With just a few phone calls and some well-placed "persuasion," Zhao Min pushed Tang Baiming to a complete mental collapse. In the end, he chose the most tragic exit—jumping to his death.
It was a chilling reminder of just how much influence the Marching Ant Company truly wielded.
For years, the company had maintained a mild, amicable public image. But now, it revealed the other side of its nature—aggressive and unyielding, just like its name.
Tang Baiming's downfall was not just the result of his own decisions—it was a clear warning from the Marching Ant Company to anyone harboring hostile intent.
The company was willing to play fair. But if someone tried to stir up trouble behind the scenes, they wouldn't hesitate to retaliate. In today's world, the Marching Ant Company was not to be trifled with.
The impact of Tang Baiming's suicide was like a small ripple in the midst of a violent storm. Overshadowed by the recent success of controlled nuclear fusion, it barely caused a stir in the public eye.
But within the energy and mining industries, everyone understood the message—and the fear was real.
Three days after Tang Baiming's death, Cao Jiangmin, the man responsible for organizing the protests, turned himself in. He admitted to bribing workers and inciting demonstrations. The official reports painted a clear picture, leaving no room for conspiracy theories or speculation.
Meanwhile, outside the Marching Ant Company headquarters, protesters finally realized they had been used. With encouragement from the police, they quietly dispersed and left.
Liu Qingguo sat on the sofa in his modest home, a cigarette burning between his fingers. His face was tired, lined with anxiety and indecision.
He was a coal worker—a miner.
Ever since national policies on energy conservation and emissions reduction had been rolled out, the coal industry had been shrinking quietly. Outsiders didn't notice much, but workers like him felt the change deeply. Over the past two years, his income had dropped by a third while prices kept rising.
It was government policy. The country was progressing. There was no fighting it.
Two months ago, his mining company received an order to reduce output. The younger workers were laid off first.
The logic was clear: young people had more options and could still find work elsewhere. The older miners, with years of experience but limited mobility, were kept on as long as possible. It was a compassionate decision—but Liu was among the younger crowd. He'd been let go.
Yes, there was some severance pay. But life didn't stop. He had a family to feed, and a child in school. Other mining regions were going through the same thing.
Workers often discussed the future. With nuclear fusion now a reality, coal power would eventually be phased out. Everyone agreed—it was just a matter of time.
When protests erupted a while back, Liu didn't join. It felt wrong to him. Pointless, even.
But still, he needed work. His education was limited, and he wasn't familiar with life in the city. Finding a job was no small task.
As he sat there in a daze, his phone suddenly rang. The number made his eyebrows rise.
He quickly answered.
"Hello, Manager?"
"Liu Ge, have you found a job yet?" came a deep, familiar voice.
"Not yet. Still looking," Liu replied quickly.
"There's a new project. The authorities are planning to restore vegetation around some abandoned mining areas. A contractor got in touch with me—they're short on workers. Interested?"
"Yes, absolutely. Thank you, Manager!" Liu's eyes lit up with joy. He'd found work. At least now he didn't have to worry about getting by.
Like Liu, many coal workers laid off due to production cuts found new opportunities in land restoration and environmental projects. As employment gradually stabilized, the panic subsided.
Protests quietly faded. Life returned to normal, as though none of it had ever happened. The brief unrest became just another closed chapter.
Cadarache, France.
In the main conference room of the ITER project office, a heated meeting was in full swing.
"This kind of demand has no place in a serious scientific forum," Li Jian said, voice raised, eyes blazing.
"We've participated in the ITER project in good faith from the beginning. We even offered our 'Oriental Super Ring' facility as an experimental site. We've done everything possible to support the initiative.
"The Star Ring Institute, however, is not part of the ITER framework. It's a high-energy plasma research institute jointly established by the Marching Ant Group and the Chinese Academy of Sciences. All its research and development is self-funded by Huaxia Nuclear Energy Group. The world offered no help. And now that the technology has succeeded, you expect us to hand it over for free? Aren't you ashamed to even ask?"
Across the table, an American physicist retorted, "China is a member of the ITER project. If we all shared our advancements openly, the project would progress faster. We're willing to share our most advanced plasma technologies—why can't you do the same? Isn't it selfish to hold back?"
"Selfish?" Li Jian scoffed, staring the man down. "Where were your 'open shares' before our breakthrough? You want to trade a bicycle for a plane? Don't you think that idea is ridiculous?"
"We're even willing to compensate for some of your R&D expenses. But if you refuse, we have the right to ban sales of certain key parts and materials. Without our tech, China won't be able to build future Tokamak devices."
The representatives from several Western countries were relentless, cloaking their demands in the language of cooperation. But the underlying threat was clear.
Li Jian sneered. "Oh, now you want to use carrots and sticks? You've spent decades blocking our progress—and now you expect us to fear your embargo? China didn't rise by begging. We stood up through your sanctions."
He was seething.
Finally, he stood, gave a cold snort, and left the room—leaving a table full of silent, embarrassed delegates behind.
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Regular Press Briefing
"A number of physicists and ITER officials have called on China to share its nuclear fusion technology with the world to help solve the global energy crisis. What's your response?"
The spokesperson replied calmly:
"We've noted the reports. China has always supported the ITER project and remains committed to global cooperation on energy issues.
"That said, the Star Ring Institute is not under the ITER framework. It's a joint effort between the Marching Ant Group and the Chinese Academy of Sciences. The success of their fusion project was achieved without any foreign assistance—funded entirely with domestic capital, talent, and resources. The credit belongs to our own scientists."
As news of the fusion breakthrough spread, so too did calls from around the world for China to "do the right thing" and share its technology.
Public figures, NGOs, and academics weighed in, urging China to help "save humanity" by offering their research.
Some small nations, heavily dependent on coal exports, found themselves in economic distress. Under pressure from major powers, one even proposed at a UN meeting that China should halt the construction of its fusion power plants and share its technology freely.
Naturally, the proposal was rejected.
The great power game had officially begun.
A subtle global confrontation was taking shape. But China held its ground, matching pressure with composure.
Neutral countries tried to stay out of the fray. Even if they resented the coercion from Western powers, they didn't dare get involved. This wasn't their fight.
The once-stable global landscape—both politically and economically—was beginning to crack.
Controlled nuclear fusion had changed everything. The ripple was becoming a wave.