Chapter 479: Dragon Soars the Rhine: Wanshang

In March 1996, the sky over Düsseldorf was as gray as a lead sheet soaked in water.

Li Yaozong stepped out of the train station, the cold wind laced with fine rain droplets hitting their face, carrying the Rhine's distinctive scent of coal smoke and iron rust.

They tightened the collar of their windbreaker and looked up at this German industrial hub—chimneys everywhere, rail tracks crisscrossing, and heavy Baroque buildings lining the streets, like a stern old-fashioned aristocrat.

Three people followed behind: Chief Financial Officer Old Qian, head of the legal department Chen Anbang, and German translator Xiao Zhou.

Four people, two pieces of luggage—that's the entire lineup of Wanshang's overseas acquisition vanguard.

"President Li, the hotel is booked on King Avenue, three kilometers from the target company," Xiao Zhou reported softly, "They have scheduled a meeting tomorrow at ten a. m. at Schmidt Machinery headquarters."

Li Yaozong nodded, their gaze falling on the clock tower in the station square.

The hour hand pointed to four p. m., but the sky was already as dark as an evening in Beijing. The jet‑lag‑induced dizziness throbbed at the temples, yet they forced themselves to stay alert.

This was Wanshang's first truly meaningful overseas acquisition.

Target: Schmidt Machinery, a German mid‑size firm with a 130‑year history that specializes in producing high‑precision ball‑screw and guideway for CNC machine tools—these two components are the weakest links in the domestic machine‑tool industry and the points where Japanese firms choke us hardest.

Negotiations had been ongoing for half a year.

The price moved from an initial $30 million, to $25 million, and now to $20 million.

Old Schmidt, the third‑generation head of the Schmidt family, finally relented, but the added conditions were harsh: retain the brand, retain the management, keep the technology out of China, and use the plant only as Wanshang's overseas production base.

Put bluntly, it's paying to buy an OEM factory.

"Tomorrow," Li Yaozong withdrew their gaze, "our goal is clear—technology must be shared, the R&D center must be set up in Shenzhen. If we can't reach an agreement, we'll pull out."

Old Qian frowned, "But President Li, the domestic five‑axis machine‑tool project can't wait. Without high‑precision screws and guideways, our own development would take at least three years…"

"Three years is three years," Li Yaozong interrupted, "We can't sign a rights‑stripping, humiliating treaty for speed. That's the bottom line."

The headquarters of Schmidt Machinery is a four‑story red‑brick building, its exterior walls covered with withered ivy, windows of old‑style wooden grilles, looking more like a museum than a factory.

The conference room is on the second floor, a long oak table polished to a shine that reflects silhouettes. On the wall hang portraits of successive heads of the family, the oldest dating back to the Bismarck era.

The air carried a heavy mix of aged wood and cigar smoke, so dense it made breathing difficult.

Old Schmidt sat at the head of the table, over seventy, his silver hair meticulously combed, gray‑blue eyes like two cold glass beads.

Next to him sat his son Young Schmidt, in his early forties, with an aquiline nose and thin lips—a man who does not look easy to deal with.

"Mr. Li, welcome to Düsseldorf," Old Schmidt's English carried a thick German accent, "I heard your country is undergoing huge changes."

They made small talk for ten minutes about the weather, the journey, and China‑Germany friendship.

Then they got down to business.

"Regarding the acquisition terms," Young Schmidt opened the folder, "We stick to our previous stance—technology patents stay in Germany, the R&D center stays in Germany, production can be partly shifted to China, but the core processes must be handled by German engineers."

Chen Anbang handed over a revised agreement, "Mr. Schmidt, we wish for technology sharing. As compensation, the purchase price can be raised to $22 million."

"It's not a money issue," Old Schmidt shook his head, his fingers lightly tapping the desk, "The technology is the 130‑year accumulation of the Schmidt family, the legacy our grandfather and father left us. We cannot let it… flow to the Far East."

"Far East"—he said it lightly, but the condescending tone felt like a thin needle pricking the ear.

Li Yaozong lifted the coffee cup and took a sip. Bitter, astringent, unsweetened.

"Mr. Schmidt," he set the cup down and said in fluent English, "I understand your reverence for family heritage. But do you know that China now imports high‑precision screws and guideways worth over $500 million annually? Sixty percent of that is monopolized by Japanese firms."

Old Schmidt raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

"If we cooperate, Wanshang could become Schmidt's Asian foothold," Li Yaozong continued, "We can jointly counter Japanese firms and reclaim market share. Isn't that a better continuation of the Schmidt family's legacy?"

Young Schmidt sneered, "Mr. Li, you're too optimistic. The technological accumulation of Japanese firms is not something you Chinese can catch up to in a short time."

The temperature in the conference room suddenly dropped to freezing.

The negotiations hit a stalemate.

For the next three days, each day followed the same cycle: meetings in the morning, the other side stubbornly refusing technology transfer; factory tours in the afternoon, watching how those precise machines produce screws with an error no greater than one‑thousandth of a millimeter; evenings back at the hotel, the team meeting until late night, debating the next move.

On the third night, Old Qian finally couldn't hold back.

"President Li, how about… first agreeing to their terms? Getting a production permit would also work, at least it solves the urgent domestic need."

Chen Anbang objected, "That would be spending $20 million to buy a private‑label right. The core technology would still be in their hands, ready to choke us at any moment."

"But if we keep dragging it out, they might not even sell at all!"

Li Yaozong stood by the hotel window, watching the tramcars weaving through the street below. Orange‑yellow lights stretched long halos across the wet pavement, resembling swimming goldfish.

He recalled his father's words.

Before he left, Li Ping'an had said in his study, "Yaozong, when you go to negotiate, remember two things. First, technology can be bought, but dignity cannot be sold. Second, Germans value rules, but they value strength even more. If you can prove your strength, the rules can be changed."

Prove strength?

How to prove?

He suddenly turned, "Xiao Zhou, arrange a meeting for me tomorrow."

"Who?"

"The chief technician of the Schmidt plant, Hans Müller. When I toured yesterday I noticed his workstation was the neatest and his workpieces the most precise. Moreover… his look at Japanese machines seemed off."

Hans Müller was a man just over sixty, short and stout, bald, with a burn scar on the back of his hand. When he saw Li Yaozong, he was smoking in a corner of the workshop, using an old‑style pipe.

"Mr. Müller, sorry to disturb you," Li Yaozong had the translator hand over a Hongta Mountain—a brand specially brought from China—"Try our Chinese tobacco."

Hans took it, sniffed, lit it. He drew a deep breath, the smoke drifting slowly out of his nostrils.

"Mr. Li, you didn't call me here for a smoke, did you?"

"I'd like to hear your view on Japanese screw technology," Li Yaozong said straight to the point.

Hans's hand paused.

He remained silent for a long time, long enough that Li Yaozong thought he would never answer.

"Japanese technology…" Hans finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "was stolen. In the 1960s they sent engineers to Germany to learn, then back home they copied our machines. Now… they make them better than us."

In his eyes there was resentment, humiliation, and deep fatigue.

"Mr. Schmidt always says we must protect German technology," Hans chuckled bitterly, "But what's the result of that protection? Market share fell from thirty percent to eight percent. The plant cut from three thousand workers to eight hundred. My son… went to Siemens, unwilling to take over."

The pipe's tobacco was clearly dwindling.

Li Yaozong listened quietly.

"Mr. Li, did you know?" Hans looked at him, "In my grandfather's generation, Schmitt's machine tools were sold worldwide. China? Back then you were still plowing fields with oxen. But now… you can make cars, make televisions, make so many things."

A glimmer of light suddenly appeared in his eyes.

"My father said on his deathbed that the Mueller family's craftsmanship must not be broken in my hands. But… if Schmitt continues like this, my craftsmanship will inevitably break."

Back at the hotel, Li Yaozong revised the negotiation plan through the night.

The next morning, when Xiao Shimi Te again raised the argument "technology must stay in Germany," Li Yaozong did not rebut, but asked a question.

"Mr. Schmitt, are you aware that Japan's THK company last year captured 42% of the global market in the ball‑screw sector?"

Xiao Shimi Te's complexion shifted.

"Schmitt, only six percent." Li Yaozong continued, "At this rate, in five years Schmitt may withdraw from the mainstream market and become a museum exhibit."

"That's alarmist!" Xiao Shimi Te slammed the table.

"Is that so?" Li Yaozong took a report from his briefcase, "This is a market analysis we commissioned from a third party. In the past ten years, Schmitt's sales in the Asian market fell by 70%, and in Europe by 35%. Meanwhile, your company's R&D investment has declined by a cumulative 40% over the past five years."

He pushed the report over.

"The technology is well protected, but the market is gone. What is the point of such protection?"

Lao Shimi Te stared at the report, his hand trembling slightly.

"Our proposal," Li Yaozong said, easing his tone, "is to let Schmitt's technology regain vitality in the new era. Building an R&D center in China is not to steal technology, but to adapt it to the Asian market, and to use China's cost advantage to reclaim the market taken by the Japanese."

He paused.

"If the Schmitt family agrees, we can retain the brand, keep the German factories, even keep part of the management. But the technology must be shared, R&D must cooperate. Otherwise—"

He put the documents away.

"We can only look for other partners. Or… like the Japanese did back then, develop it ourselves. It may be slower, but we can wait."

The negotiations paused for a day.

That evening, Li Yaozong received an unexpected call—Lao Shimi Te himself called, inviting him to dinner, not at a restaurant but at his home.

It was an old villa on the outskirts of the city, its walls covered in ivy, the garden planted with roses that hadn't bloomed yet in March but were neatly trimmed. The living room was filled with antiques: his grandfather's pocket watch, his father's medal, old photos of the family business.

Dinner was simple: mashed potatoes, pan‑fried sausages, sauerkraut, and dark beer.

"When my grandfather founded Schmitt, Germany had just unified," Lao Shimi Te wiped his mouth with a napkin, "Back then, the whole world bought German machines. China? Li Hongzhang came to Europe to inspect and bought our machine tools."

His gaze drifted to the oil painting above the fireplace, a panoramic view of the Schmitt factory in 1870.

"Over a hundred years… we once thought German manufacturing was unsurpassable," Lao Shimi Te smiled wryly, "But now, the Japanese have surpassed us in precision, the Americans in automation, and even the Koreans are catching up."

He looked at Li Yaozong.

"Mr. Li, you are right. If technology cannot become a market, cannot become profit, it will eventually turn into dust in a museum."

After dinner, the two talked in the study for three hours.

No lawyers, no documents, just two entrepreneurs discussing technology, market, and the future.

At eleven o'clock, when Li Yaozong left, Lao Shimi Te escorted him to the door.

"I will persuade the board," the elder said, gripping his hand with great strength, "but there is one condition— the director of the R&D center must be German. Not my son, but Hans Mueller."

Li Yaozong was stunned for a moment, then smiled.

"Deal."

The final round of negotiations took place in the Workshop of the Schmitt factory.

Hans Mueller was summoned to the site; the veteran technician wore a faded work uniform and held a micrometer. When Xiao Shimi Te still wanted to argue, Hans suddenly spoke.

"Karl," he called Xiao Shimi Te by name, "I've worked at this factory for forty‑two years. I've watched it go from glory to decline. Why? It's not that the Japanese are too strong; it's that we are too conservative."

He picked up a freshly machined ball screw, its silvery surface glowing coldly.

"Such a fine product, sold only to Europeans, not to Asians. Such fine technology, hidden in Düsseldorf, not taken to Shenzhen, Shanghai, Tokyo. It's like… like burying gold in the ground and then complaining you're poor."

Xiao Shimi Te's complexion shifted from red to white, then from white to blue.

"Mr. Li," Hans turned to Li Yaozong, "if you can truly bring Schmitt's technology to China and let it rise again in Asia, I… I am willing to go to Shenzhen, take apprentices, teach the technology, until I can no longer work."

The Workshop was so quiet that the hum of the machines' cooling fans could be heard.

Lao Shimi Te slowly stood up.

"Vote."

Schmitt Machinery's board ultimately approved the new plan by five votes to three: Wanshang purchased a 70% stake for $21 million, technology sharing, establishing a joint R&D center in Shenzhen, with Hans Mueller appointed as the German director. The German factory was retained as a European production base.

The signing ceremony took place at City Hall.

When Li Yaozong signed his name on the thick stack of documents, the sky outside cleared. A beam of sunlight pierced the clouds, fell on the signing table, turning the Montblanc fountain pen golden.

On the flight home, Lao Qian looked at the signed agreement and still felt it was unreal.

"President Li, did we really… bring German technology back?"

"It's not bringing it back," Li Yaozong corrected, "it's inviting it back. From now on, Schmitt's technology is Wanshang's technology, but Wanshang's market is also Schmitt's market."

He looked out the porthole.

A sea of clouds spread beneath his feet, endless. This route his father had taken many times—going to Japan to buy equipment, to the United States to negotiate cooperation, to Hong Kong for financing. Each time, it was to seek help, to buy, to learn.

Now it was his turn.

But this time, it wasn't to buy, but to cooperate. Not to learn, but to co‑create.

The plane crossed the terminator, the eastern sky gradually turning a pale yolk‑white. When the first ray of dawn pierced the clouds, Li Yaozong suddenly grasped the deeper meaning of his father's words.

"Dignity cannot be sold."

Dignity is not given by others; it is earned. When you have strength, confidence, and the wisdom of a win‑win, those once‑closed doors will open one by one for you.

Shenzhen, Wanxiang Dasha.

Li Ping'an listened to his son's entire briefing in the office. He offered neither praise nor criticism, only asked a question.

"Hans Mueller—are you sure he can hold his ground?"

"Hold?" Li Yaozong laughed, "Dad, I don't need to hold him back. What I need is to make him willingly pass on his craft. So I've already arranged ten master's students from Tsinghua and Harbin Institute of Technology to be his apprentices. I also promised him that within three years we'll build in Shenzhen a lab better than Düsseldorf."

Li Ping'an nodded, and finally a smile appeared in his eyes.

"Grown up."

He walked to the window and looked at Shenzhen below. The city was growing at a staggering speed. And his son, the company he founded single‑handedly, was also growing in another way—expanding from domestic to international, from following to parallel, from learning to co‑creation.

"Dad," Li Yaozong said suddenly, "I'm wondering, should our next step be the United States? Chip design software, EDA tools, those choke‑point technologies…"

"Not urgent." Li Ping'an turned, "First we win this battle with Germany beautifully. Once the technology is digested, the team melded, the market opened, then we think about the next step."

He patted his son's shoulder.

"The road must be taken step by step, the meal bite by bite. But remember—today we can walk into Düsseldorf, tomorrow we can walk into Silicon Valley, walk into Wall Street. The key is not how fast you go, but how steady, how far."

One month later, Hans Müller arrived in Shenzhen.

The German old man was startled by the humid heat of the south when he stepped out of the airport. But when Li Yaozong showed him the Joint R&D Center under construction, his eyes lit up.

Covering five thousand square meters, with an equipment budget of twenty million dollars, the planned temperature‑and‑humidity‑controlled workshop, precision measurement room, material analysis laboratory… these conditions were things Schmidt had never seen in his whole life.

"Mr. Li," Hans said in stiff Chinese, "Here, the world's best lead screw will be born."

"Not just lead screws." Li Yaozong said, "We aim to build a complete CNC system, a high‑end machine tool of our own Chinese design. Your craft will be the first cornerstone of this dream."

That evening, Li Ping'an hosted a banquet at home to welcome Hans.

At the table, Hans drank two glasses of Moutai and began to talk at length. He spoke of how his grandfather rebuilt a factory on the ruins after World II, how his father sparred with Japanese engineers, and how he himself rose from apprentice to chief technician step by step.

Finally, he raised his glass.

"Mr. Li, President Li, my grandfather once told me: good technology should be like a seed—where you sow it, it will bloom there. Now I've sown Schmidt's seed on the soil of Shenzhen. I believe… it will blossom into a different flower."

Li Ping'an clinked glasses with him.

"To the blooming."

Night had deepened.

Li Ping'an stood on the balcony, watching the lights of the distant industrial park. There, German technology and Chinese ambition were colliding and merging. There, his son was walking a path his father had never walked.

Lin Xueqing came over and draped a coat over him.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Thinking of my parents." Li Ping'an whispered, "If they knew their grandson could now invite a German master craftsman to China to teach his craft… what would they feel?"

Lin Xueqing grasped his hand.

"They would be proud."

Yes, they would be proud.

From the hungry boy who left his village in 1942 to the 1996 enterprise that could bring back a century‑old German company's technology home. This road has been walked for fifty‑four years.

Yet everything is worth it.

Because this road still stretches forward.

Toward farther places, higher peaks, brighter starry skies.

And the people walking this road, generation after generation.

Never ceasing.