Chapter 485: Five-Year Plan

December 18, 1998 was the coldest day since winter began in Shenzhen.

A thin layer of water mist condensed on the floor‑to‑ceiling windows of the thirty‑eighth floor of Wanxiang Dasha; through this haze, the traffic on Shen Nan Avenue below flowed like a woven cloth, those red taillights linking in the twilight into a moving river of light.

Farther away, the cranes at Shekou Port stood like silent giants, their signal lights blinking on and off, as if waving a final farewell to the departing twentieth century.

The meeting room was unusually quiet.

Around the long redwood table sat a circle of people, the core leaders of each division of Wanxiang Group. He Xiaogang had rushed back from the Bao'an test track, where a prototype of the first‑generation fuel‑injected engine was being tested; Zhang Wei's lenses still reflected the lab's fluorescent light, he had spent seventy‑two straight hours in the crystal‑element design center; Xu Jiaoming had spread a thick stack of technical roadmaps before him, dense annotations crawling like ants over every edge; Zhou Wenbin had just arrived from Hong Kong, his suit still carrying the sea breeze of Victoria Harbor; Li Yaozong sat to his father's left, his notebook already turned to page thirty.

No one spoke.

The only sound in the air was the continuous hiss of the central air‑conditioning, and the cup of Longjing Tea Tea tea before Li Ping'an, whose thin steam rose like a stick of incense about to burn out.

He gently pushed the tea cup aside, crossed his hands on the table, and lifted his head.

"I called you all together today not to review the past."

His voice wasn't loud, but each word struck like a nail driven into wood.

"It's to discuss the future."

The projection screen lit up.

The first slide showed a ranking of the world's top twenty companies by market value in 1998.

General Electric of the United States, first.

Microsoft, second.

Coca‑Cola, third.

Exxon Petroleum, fourth.

……

Li Ping'an drew a circle in the center of the screen with a laser pointer.

"Among these twenty companies, the United States accounts for fifteen, Japan three, Europe two. China," he paused, "zero."

No one spoke in the meeting room, yet everyone felt something lightly tap their spine.

"Ten years ago, this ranking still had many Japanese companies—Sony, Matsushita, Mitsubishi, Toyota… Back then the whole world was asking whether Japan would replace America and become the next super‑economic power."

He switched to another slide.

1998 comparison of major Japanese corporations' market values—compared with 1989, the average drop exceeded sixty percent.

"Why did Japan lose?"

He asked and answered himself.

"Because during the bubble era they were busy buying Rockefeller Center and Columbia Pictures instead of buying the future. While they enjoyed the fruits of victory, others were developing Windows 95, laying the Internet backbone, and designing the first digital mobile phone."

He put the laser pointer down.

"Ten years from now, when our children reach your age, will there be any Chinese companies on the world market‑value ranking?"

He scanned the room.

"If not, that will be our disgrace."

The third slide.

It was neither a ranking nor a line graph, but a handwritten slogan.

The handwriting was Li Ping'an's own—vigorous and strong, with the bone structure of brush script.

"Sell one generation, pre‑research the next, conceive the one after that."

When He Xiaogang saw those words, his fingers clenched unconsciously. He was the head of Wanxiang Auto, having progressed from vans to sedans, from carburetors to fuel injection, and he thought his pace was already fast enough. But looking at those eleven characters on the screen, he suddenly felt that speed deserved only to be called a stroll.

Li Ping'an gave no one a chance to catch their breath.

The fourth slide.

Timeline: 1999‑2003.

The title consisted of only four characters: Five‑Year Plan.

"What has Wanxiang done in the past fifteen years?"

Li Ping'an's voice remained calm: "Minivans, pagers, DVDs, color TVs, air conditioners, machine tools, crystal elements, banks, real estate, hotels…"

He read them off one by one, as if counting the children he had raised.

"Not a single one of them was invented by us."

The air in the meeting room suddenly grew thin.

"Whoever holds the core technology, we stand one step behind them. The Japanese can choke our lithography machines, the Americans can choke our CPUs, the Germans can choke our CNC systems. Why? Because we have none."

He uttered the two words "not have" softly, yet they landed like a hammer on each person's chest.

"In the past one could say, first solve the question of whether we have it, then worry about how good it is; one could say, first make money, then chase technology; one could say, take it slow, no rush."

He paused.

"And now? Twenty days remain in 1998. In four hundred days humanity will enter the twenty‑first century."

His gaze swept over every face.

"Will the twenty‑first century still give us the luxury of taking it slow?"

No one answered.

It wasn't that they didn't want to answer; they didn't know how.

Zhang Wei pushed his glasses up, his Adam's apple bobbed a few times, and he finally spoke.

"Boss, regarding crystal elements… our gap from the world's leading level is about seven years."

His voice was low, as if confessing some crime.

"Intel's Pentium II processor released last year uses a 0.25‑micron process and integrates 7.5 million transistors; our Nanshan R&D Center has just begun mass production of the 'Tengyun One,' which uses a 0.8‑micron process and integrates 2 million transistors."

He paused a moment, as if gathering the courage to continue.

"If we keep catching up at the current rate—one year per year—we'd need seven years. But Intel also advances each year, releasing new generations, so the real catch‑up cycle is at least ten years."

Ten years.

Someone in the meeting room quietly drew a sharp breath.

Xu Jiaoming took up the conversation: 'Our computer operating system, our 'Pangu' system, and the gap with Microsoft Windows98...'

He shook his head, not continuing.

That gap has become too large to be measured by numbers.

He Xia murmured: 'Car engines, we just got the fuel injection prototype working, while abroad they are already developing hybrid technology. The Japanese Prius went on sale in 1997.'

Zhou Huaming lowered his head to look at his own hand. The apparel division had nothing to do with chips or automobiles, yet he also felt that wave of suffocation.

That was not the relief of a light boat having already passed ten thousand mountains.

It is the pressure of rowing against the current: if you do not advance, you retreat.

Li Ping'an stood up.

He walked to the window, his back to everyone, watching the lights of Shenzhen rising outside.

This city he helped build was a barren construction site ten years ago.

Now, skyscrapers stand in rows, traffic flows like a river, and young faces run, strive, and dream on this land.

They run very fast.

But the world runs even faster.

'Seven years, ten years,' Li Ping'an said without turning back, his voice coming from the window: 'If this is the gap, then chase it. If you can't catch up in one year, chase for two. If you can't catch up in two years, chase for five. If you can't catch up in five years, chase for ten.'

He turned around.

'Ten years isn't enough, twenty years. Twenty years isn't enough, thirty years.'

His gaze was like tempered steel.

'Wanshang is not a nation; it cannot bear the burden of the nation's technological turnaround. But Wanshang can be an awl, piercing into the most critical point and tearing open a gap.'

He walked back to his seat, did not sit down, and placed both hands on the edge of the table.

'Starting in 1999, Wanshang officially launched the 'Five-Year Plan.' Five directions, five goals, five years.'

He raised his first finger.

'One, chips. Within five years, we must have our own 32-bit embedded processor, with performance reaching the level of international mainstream products from five years ago.'

Zhang Wei clenched his pen.

'Two, computer operating system. Within five years, the 'Pangu' system must be able to run office software, go online, play multimedia, be compatible with mainstream applications, and—be completely independent, not subject to any foreign company's licensing.'

A thin mist formed on Xu Jiaoming's glasses.

'Three, mobile phone chips and operating system. Within five years, from chip to system, Wanshang must have a complete digital mobile phone solution. Today's big brother phones are relics of the analog era; the twenty-first century is the age of digital communications, and we cannot be left behind.'

Li Ping'an raised his fourth finger.

'Four, automotive electronics. Within five years, Wanshang automobiles' fuel injection engines must be fully domestically produced, while initiating preliminary research on hybrid power. Electrification is a long-term direction; we can pursue it gradually, but we cannot ignore the road.'

The last finger.

'Five, the Internet. Within five years, Wanshang must have a young team that understands networking, software, and new business models. They don't necessarily have to build something themselves, but they must know what is happening in the world and not be blind.'

He lowered his hand.

'Five directions, five years. Manpower, material resources, and financial resources will be prioritized by the group.'

He paused.

'This is Wanshang's 'Starry Sea' for the next five years.'

The meeting room fell into a long silence.

No one clapped, no one expressed an opinion.

It was not because of disagreement.

It was because each word was too heavy, weighing on the shoulders, sinking into the heart, needing time to digest.

He Xia spoke first.

'Boss, regarding automotive electronics, I have a request.'

'Speak.'

'I want to hire a few retired veteran engineers from Japan.' He Xia said slowly, each word as if weighing it: 'Not people from Mitsubishi, Toyota, or those big factories, but veterans from their secondary suppliers who make sensors, ECUs, and actuators. Their skills are solid, unlike the big-factory engineers who have many watching over them, and...'

He paused.

'Moreover, they are willing to come. After Japan's bubble burst, companies can no longer support so many elderly. Some veterans' pensions aren't enough for retirement, so they are willing to bring out their hidden skills to earn money.'

Li Ping'an looked at him.

'Go hire them. Offer preferential treatment, with family relocation, housing, medical care, and children's education all covered.'

He paused for a moment.

'But there is one condition: bring the technology back, and do not treat people as mere tools. If they are willing to pass their skills on to our young people, treat them well. If they wish to return to Japan after retirement, we will cover the travel expenses. If they wish to stay in China, we will take care of their aging and end-of-life.'

He Xia nodded heavily.

Zhang Wei took off his glasses and slowly wiped them with the corner of his shirt.

This gesture he makes when nervous, when thinking, and before making major decisions. Those who follow him know that Director Zhang wiping his glasses is winding up his brain.

'Boss, regarding the chip side...' He put his glasses back on, 'The process gap is seven years, an objective fact. Trying to close that gap in five years is not realistic.'

He stared directly at Li Ping'an.

'But if we change our approach—not chasing Intel's general-purpose CPUs, but focusing on specialized embedded chips—in this direction, our gap with foreign competitors is not that large, and in some fields we could even set our own standards.'

He opened his notebook, on which a structural diagram was drawn.

'DVD decoder chips, we have already achieved first domestically and top three internationally. Next, mobile phone communication baseband chips, automotive control chips, smart card security chips... these are markets that will explode in the next three to five years.'

His pen tip touched the center of the structural diagram.

'In these niche tracks, we don't need to go head-to-head with Intel. We can follow our own path.'

Li Ping'an did not respond immediately.

He quietly watched the picture, watching the dense network of connecting lines and annotations.

Then he said: "Then walk your own path."

"But you must remember—using dedicated chips too much makes you become a 'specialist'. When the conditions are ripe in the future, you still have to strike at general‑purpose computing. No matter how hard that road is, someone has to walk it."

Zhang Wei fell silent for a few seconds.

"I've noted it."

Xu Jiaming's hand kept drawing something on the paper.

No one saw what he was drawing; only he knew it was a sketch of the fourth‑generation core of the "Pangu" system.

"Boss," he began, his voice a little hoarse, "the operating‑system part, the hardest thing isn't the technology, it's the ecosystem."

"Why is Windows unbeatable? Not because its code is beautifully written, but because millions of programmers worldwide write applications for it, tens of millions of enterprises have invested in its ecosystem, and hundreds of millions of users have gotten used to its interface."

He lifted his head.

"Our 'Pangu' system, even if we push the technology for another five years, might catch up to Windows 95's level. But the ecosystem… ten years, twenty years, we can't catch up."

Li Ping'an looked at him.

"Then do you think we should still do it?"

Xu Jiaming was silent for a long time.

"We will." His voice was low but firm, "Not because we can win, but because we can't have none."

"What if one day the Americans say Windows will no longer be sold to Chinese companies. All computers in China become scrap metal—what a situation would that be?"

He paused.

"Our 'Pangu', even if it only captures one percent of the market, even if it can only be used in Government, state‑owned enterprises, and education, as long as it exists, others won't dare to overturn the table casually. Because it is an option, an 'even if you cut off supplies, we still have a meal' option."

Li Ping'an gave no comment on the idea.

He simply said: "Then do it. Slow is fine, ugly is fine, even if no one uses it is fine. As long as it keeps updating, keeps iterating, keeps moving forward, it isn't a loss."

Zhou Wenbin never spoke.

He is a finance specialist; chips, systems, automobiles, the Internet are not his direct battlefield.

But Li Ping'an did not overlook him.

"Wenbin, you also have a five‑year plan."

Zhou Wenbin sat up straight.

"In the next five years, Hong Kong will be the top destination for tech companies to list. Nasdaq in the United States is too far, the threshold too high; the mainland's GEM is still brewing, not realistic in the short term. Hong Kong is the only choice."

Li Ping'an looked at him.

"Wanshang Investment will set up a dedicated technology investment department, focusing on startups that have core technology, young teams, and growth potential. No need to take controlling stakes, no need to interfere with management—just invest money, resources, and connections."

He paused.

"Within five years, I want to see the tech companies that Wanshang Investment has taken equity in listed on Hong Kong's GEM."

Zhou Wenbin wrote down rapidly.

"Also," Li Ping'an added, "the founders of these startups are mostly in their twenties or thirties, lacking experience in large companies and mature management systems. We can provide incubation services—finance, legal, HR, office space—at cost."

He paused again.

"When they don't need us, we just watch from afar. When they need help, we lend a hand. When they grow up, they'll naturally remember who didn't stand by idly in those early years."

Zhou Wenbin looked up.

"Boss, this is building an ecosystem."

"Right." Li Ping'an said, "Competition in the twenty‑first century isn't product versus product, it's ecosystem versus ecosystem. The larger the ecosystem, the deeper the roots, the harder it is for others to pull you out by the roots."

The meeting ran from three in the afternoon to nine at night.

Six hours, no break, no one left their seats.

Tea grew cold and was refilled, refilled and grew cold again. The ashtray filled three times, cleared three times. The notebook went from blank to half‑full, from half‑full to page‑turning.

The final slide projected onto the screen.

It was Li Ping'an's handwritten "Five-Year Plan" outline, dense red and blue annotations, like a battle map about to set out.

He did not explain every detail—that requires a dedicated meeting and dedicated people to implement. He simply placed the outline in the center of the table.

"Five years later, on December 31, 2003, we'll sit here for a review. By then, I hope to hear not 'what we did', but 'what we achieved'."

He looked around the crowd.

"Chips, start moving."

"Systems, stay alive."

"Mobile phones, have their own core and brain."

"Automobiles, have their own feet."

"Internet, at least must not get lost."

He gently closed the outline.

"I said these today, you've remembered them. Five years later, we'll check the answers together."

No one said "mission guaranteed".

But when everyone stood up to leave, their steps were heavier than when they arrived.

Not because of fatigue.

It was because something extra rested on their shoulders.

After the meeting adjourned, Li Ping'an did not leave immediately.

He sat alone in the conference room, facing the now‑darkened projection screen, finishing the cup of completely cold Longjing Tea Tea tea.

Li Yaozong pushed the door open and entered.

He didn't speak, just walked to his father's side and sat down.

Father and son sat like that in silence.

Outside the window, Shenzhen's night is always that bright. This young city never tires, every day it grows taller, bigger, stronger. In those office buildings lit all night, countless young people his age are working overtime, staying up late, striving.

They didn't know what had happened in this meeting room tonight.

But their fate had already been quietly rewritten by tonight's decision.

"Dad." Li Yaozong spoke softly.

"Hmm."

"Those things you mentioned—crystal cores, systems, phones, cars… can they really be made?"

Li Ping'an didn't answer.

He set down the empty cup and looked out the window.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Back then I didn't know which day I would live to see, nor whether I could find your aunt in this lifetime. I only knew that moving forward brings hope."

He turned his head and looked at his son.

"It's the same now."

"Moving forward brings hope."

When Li Yaozong left, it was already late at night, eleven o'clock.

The whole floor had only a few ever‑on lights left; the night‑shift guard was softly making a Telephone call at the end of the hallway. The air still held the mixed scent of cigar and Longjing Tea Tea tea, the unchanging smell on his father.

He took a deep breath and walked toward the parking lot.

His father's words from just moments ago kept echoing in his mind—

"Moving forward brings hope."