Chapter 35

The expo was winding down; booths all around were starting to pack up, ready to call it a day.
The Prime team’s scheduled takedown time was six p.m., just ten minutes away. Everyone was basically on standby, waiting to close up shop.
That’s when two men in sharp suits walked in.
One looked a little over thirty, square-jawed, shrewd, pure business type. The other, about the same age, wore thick black glasses and had the deferential air of a personal assistant.
As soon as they entered, the assistant pushed his glasses up and scanned the room. Ignoring the model display completely, he went straight to Jing Ming, who was closest, and asked, “Who’s in charge here?”
Jing Ming: “That’s me.”
The assistant looked surprised. He still wore that condescending attitude many businesspeople reserved for college students, but tried to be somewhat polite. “And your name?”
“Jing Ming.”
The assistant introduced his boss. “Mr. Jing, this is Mr. Dong Cheng, CEO of Pengcheng Motors.” As he spoke, he handed over a business card on Dong’s behalf.
Jing Ming took it and said, “That’s not really the right way to address me.”
The assistant blinked, a little thrown.
Dong Cheng smiled and offered his hand. “Mr. Jing, it’s a pleasure.”
Jing Ming shook hands, brief and businesslike.
Dong Cheng said, “I’m very interested in your project, maybe we’ll have a chance to work together.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time to wrap up, how about dinner tonight? We could talk business over the table.”
Li Wei, overhearing, rolled his eyes inwardly. This wasn’t going anywhere. This guy had more money than sense.
Sure enough,
“Sorry, the lab schedule’s tight, no time for dinner.” Jing Ming pointed to a corner table. “Interested in collaborating? Leave your info over there.”
The men turned and noticed that the table was already stacked with brochures and documents from potential partners.
Jing Ming glanced at the pair. “Looks like you didn’t bring any materials.” He lifted his own business card. “Well, this’ll have to do.” He walked over and tossed the card onto the pile.
The assistant’s face soured. He stepped forward: “Mr. Jing, Pengcheng Motors is a new company, you might not have heard of us. But surely you know Ruifeng Motors?”
A top-tier auto brand in China.
“Mr. Dong here is the second son of the Ruifeng family. Pengcheng is their new startup, backed by Ruifeng, focused solely on developing autonomous vehicles. Whatever you need, funding, resources, we’re extremely competitive compared to anyone else.”
“Mm.” Jing Ming gestured at the card, unmoved. “Just leave your details there.”
“But…” The assistant frowned. An eighteen-year-old freshman, meeting his boss and acting like he couldn’t care less?
Dong Cheng looked Jing Ming up and down again, black shirt, impassive face, lean build.
Legacy kid or not, Dong Cheng had survived almost a decade in the business world and met all kinds of people. He could usually tell at a glance who was competent and who was all talk.
But even he rarely saw someone so young act with this much confidence.
He came from a rich family, most young teams from top schools would kill for a partnership, to ride the big wave and make their dreams come true.
With a smooth smile, Dong Cheng said, “You seem pretty direct, Mr. Jing. I appreciate that, so I’ll get to the point. Our parent company has decades of experience in car manufacturing, excellent sales channels, and our new branch is pushing hard on autonomous vehicles. We’re hoping to team up with you, what do you think?”
He signaled to the assistant, who handed over a slip of paper stacked with zeroes, a huge offer, yet to Jing Ming, it was just another number.
He glanced at it, unimpressed, but polite. “If we’re interested, we’ll let you know.”
Dong Cheng’s smile was looking strained now.
Li Wei stepped in, smoothing things over: “Apologies, but we’ve got a long list of interested partners. We’ll need time to review and select, we can’t decide on the spot. If our values match, we’ll be in touch.”
Jing Ming turned to leave, but the assistant just couldn’t take a hint and pleaded with Li Wei, “Money’s flexible, cash on the table if you want. I doubt any other investor can offer a deal like this. Why don’t we have dinner and talk?”
Now even Li Wei was speechless.
Jing Ming lost all patience, checked his watch, and called to the team, “We’re done. Shut it down.”
Li Wei: “Sorry, we’re closing up.”
Dong Cheng’s expression soured for a flash, but he was seasoned, he forced a polite smile and said, “Very well. I hope we can work together in the future.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out, jaw clenched.
The assistant followed, scowling.
Once they were gone, Li Wei couldn’t help but mutter, “Dinner, dinner, dinner. If you don’t share a meal, nothing gets done, huh.”
Wan Zi’ang snorted, “Did you see? They didn’t even glance at the model, didn’t ask about the exhibit or the tech, just started waving money. What a joke. Ruifeng’s such a giant, and this is who they put in charge? Total amateur hour.”
“It’s a publicity stunt,” Jing Ming said.
“Huh?”
Jing Ming: “Set up a ‘high-tech’ company, slap on some buzzwords, launch a couple of products, have a big press conference, let the media hype it up, list the new stock, cash out the investors, then get out while you’re ahead.”
He scoffed. “It’s an assembly line, nothing more.”
No one had a comeback. After a moment, someone sighed, “There are way too many cutthroat companies out just to make a quick buck.”
Jing Ming’s tone was icy. “This is exactly the kind of crap that’s ruining the tech startup scene here.”
Li Wei hefted the stack of partnership proposals and declared, “We’ve got to choose partners and investors who actually share the Prime philosophy.”
Zhu Tao was still upbeat, patting the tall pile. “With this many candidates, we’ll easily find three or four decent ones. I’m feeling good about it.”
“Alright, let’s pack up. Group dinner tonight,” Jing Ming said.
Li Wei: “Let’s go!”
As Prime shut down its booth, Orbit across the aisle was packing too.
Du Ruo helped her teammates carefully box up all the prototypes, then ran outside to collect more models from the entrance.
The upper display shelf was pretty tall, and the plastic model standing on top of it looked down at Du Ruo like a judge from on high.
She rose onto her tiptoes to move it, barely able to brush her fingers against the model’s feet. Inch by inch, she struggled to shift it toward her. Just as she was about to grasp the base, the tall model suddenly tipped, and toppled straight down.
Du Ruo froze in panic. For a split second, her mind short-circuited. Should she try to catch it or just cover her head? The model hurtled down toward her, when suddenly a hand intercepted it midair.
She saw, right above her head, the faint embossed pattern on the sleeve of a black shirt.
When she turned, Jing Ming had already set the model down on a lower shelf. He didn’t even look at her, his profile was all chilly indifference.
Her heart hadn’t finished racing, and she hadn’t even managed to thank him before he walked away without a word. All she saw was that sharp black silhouette vanishing at the end of the corridor after a single turn.
Du Ruo frowned unconsciously, then, after a pause, quietly hugged the model back to pack it up.
She returned from the exhibit to the lab for another round of tidying up.
It took until seven that evening to get everything in order.
Wu Zhengbo announced that if there was nothing else, everyone could call it a night and head home.
One by one, people trickled out.
Du Ruo was just about to leave when Wu Zhengbo called out, “Wait a sec.”
Du Ruo stopped. “Yeah, senior? What’s up?”
Wu Zhengbo said, “You worked hard today. Yi Kun wanted me to give you a shout-out.”
Du Ruo wasn’t really used to him being so agreeable. She smiled. “It’s nothing, really.”
“There’s also something more important.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve been working with us for a while now. Everyone can see your skill and your attitude. Up to now, you were mainly helping out with repairs and making robots, but you haven’t participated in our core projects. This time, I wanted to ask if you’d like to join us for the automatic braking project.”
Du Ruo stared for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!”
After nearly half a year of hard work, she was finally going to touch a real project, one that pulled together every discipline, a golden ticket to level up her skills.
“Great.” Wu Zhengbo grinned and pulled out a contract. “Let’s extend your agreement.”
“Awesome.” Du Ruo took the contract, flipped through it, and was about to sign, only to notice her position was still “lab assistant,” the salary was still two thousand a month, a one-year term.
She couldn’t say why, but suddenly she felt prickly inside, oddly recalling something Jing Ming once said over dinner.
She hesitated a moment, then asked, “So, if I join the project, wouldn’t I get a cut of the profits?”
Wu Zhengbo looked a little surprised by the question. An eyebrow arching, he dropped the nice-guy act. “Our team’s been around for five, six years.”
Du Ruo understood exactly what he meant, but said, “I’m not talking about the whole team, just this project specifically.”
“The project started over two years ago.”
“Then...what about a technical share, based on my contribution?” Du Ruo tested the waters.
“Right now, what we need are assistant employees.” Wu Zhengbo wouldn't budge an inch; it was all big-boss energy now. “Think it over. Joining the project is an incredible learning opportunity, tons of freshmen would kill for it.”
She stood there, her voice quiet: “So you’re saying, either I stay on as an assistant, or I’m out. Is that it?”
Wu Zhengbo laughed. “I’m not saying that exactly, but there’s no other position for you here. We’ve worked well together, and I hope we can keep that up.”
Du Ruo: “I want to wait for Senior Yi to come back before I decide.”
Seeing her stubbornness, Wu Zhengbo’s tone hardened too:
“Even if he’s back, something like this is a team decision. Let me be straight with you, Du Ruo. You’re good. But the rest of us have been grinding away on this for years. Now the project’s about to make money, and you want in on the shares? Does that sound fair? At least half the team would be pissed. It’s a matter of benefits, no one person can decide. Technical shares? It’s too late for that. At the beginning, sure, but now our team’s solid, we need employees, not more partners.
I get it if you think I’m being unreasonable right now. But I hope this can be settled peacefully. I don’t want it to mess up the vibe and relationships in orbit. Go home and think about it.”
His meaning was painfully clear to Du Ruo.
When she left the lab, her mind was in a spin.
All this time, she’d gotten along with everyone, fighting for the same goals, never thinking about money or personal gain.
But…
Ignoring personal gain doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.
And once money comes up…it’s like nothing else matters.
The truth was, she was still an outsider.
Now, her only choices were to suck it up or start a fight. But in a startup, as soon as there’s a fight over “revolutionary bonds” and team, the whole atmosphere turns sour.
The more she thought about it, the more stifled she felt. She just couldn’t let herself stew overnight, so she marched back and shoved open the laboratory door.
Wu Zhengbo sat behind his desk, looking up. “Made a decision?”
Du Ruo forced a smile. “Here’s how I see it, Senior. I think of myself as a newcomer joining a startup, I don’t care if it’s a small share, I just want to be part of the team. But you, and others, see me as just a temp worker. No one’s wrong here. We’re all standing where we have to.
But in a startup, harmony matters most. It’s best to talk things through at the start. If there’s consensus, great. If not, as the project moves forward, those differences only grow, and then everyone gets hurt when it blows up.”
“You’re pretty clear-headed.” Wu Zhengbo said. “You can stay on in the role of employee if you can accept that. Otherwise, walk away, it’s better than letting resentment fester and ruin things.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Du Ruo said. “Which means, what I have to decide now is whether to swallow it. And my answer is…I won’t.”
Wu Zhengbo stared, honestly surprised she’d give up a spot others could only dream of.
“Thanks for the chance to work here. I’ve learned a lot.” Then she added, “Honestly, I’ve contributed a lot too, I know that in my bones.”
“Right.” Wu Zhengbo replied, lips curled but without a trace of a real smile. “Well, it’s been a good ride. And good luck to you.”
Du Ruo: “Save the luck for someone else, I didn’t get this far on luck, but on skill.”
Wu Zhengbo shrugged. “Fine. Call it skill.”
And just like that, their split was cool and quiet as the sea after a storm.
Du Ruo could logically accept it, but inside she was still a tangled knot of frustration and bitterness.
She didn’t want anyone to see her falling apart. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and began to pack her things, important items into a cardboard box.
But as soon as she opened her locker, her heart sank. Her IMU module, gone.
She spun to face him. “Where’s my IMU unit?”
Wu Zhengbo’s face darkened as well. “No can do.”
Du Ruo was genuinely furious now. “I developed and improved that myself!”
“In this lab, any upgrade or improvement by anyone is property of the Orbit team. That’s the rule!” Wu Zhengbo was agitated too. He tossed her a piece of paper. “You signed the agreement. Read it yourself.”
Du Ruo snatched up the paper and saw the clause: “Any improvement or advancement made to any project during the period of a lab assistant’s employment shall belong to the Orbit team.”
For a moment, all she felt was a wave of despair, pouring through her from head to toe, leaving her stunned and in disbelief.
“Every student assistant has been treated exactly the same. You’re not a special case.” Wu Zhengbo said forcefully. He opened a drawer, took out a red envelope, and slid it across the table. “Here’s your assistant salary, every cent.”
“Take it.” he said. “You earned it.”