Chapter 494: Wanshang Phone Breaks Free of Its Cocoon

March 18, 2001, Shenzhen.

In the laboratory on the fifth floor of Building No. 3 at the Nanshan R&D Center, the air was so dense you could wring water from it.

The over‑sixty‑square‑meter space was packed with a couple dozen people.

Zhang Wei stood at the front, the oscilloscope's green light reflected on his lenses, the cuffs of his white lab coat rolled up to his elbows, revealing the old Shanghai watch on his wrist that he had worn for over a decade.

Chen Feng crouched in front of a device, holding two probes in his hand, his fingertips trembling slightly. Xu Jiaming leaned against the corner, clutching the test report that had gone through thirty‑seven revisions, the paper already softened by sweat.

Everyone stared at the phone in the center of the test table.

Its black shell was a third thinner than today's Motorola phones, and the screen covered almost half of the front.

The keyboard wasn't the raised rubber‑dot type; it was flat, giving a faint vibration feedback when a finger pressed it. A tiny memory card was slotted into the side of the body, even smaller than a matchbox.

It was Wanshang's first phone.

Codename: Phoenix.

Li Yaozong stood at the outer edge of the crowd, farthest from the phone. It wasn't that he didn't want to get close; he just didn't dare. At thirty‑four, the head of Wanxiang Group, his palms were slick with sweat.

"Chen Feng," Zhang Wei's voice wasn't loud, but each word hammered into the wall like a nail.

Chen Feng lifted his head.

"Let's begin."

Chen Feng inhaled deeply, gently placing the two probes onto the phone's test points.

A string of waveforms jumped onto the oscilloscope's screen.

Green, steady, like a heartbeat.

"Power on," he said.

An engineer beside him pressed the power button.

Zero point three seconds.

The screen lit up.

Blue backlight, white text, and in the middle the two characters they had seen thousands of times: Wanshang.

Then an animation— a star rose from the bottom of the screen, climbing higher until it hovered at the exact center. It was the Morning Star, the brightest before dawn.

Three seconds.

Boot complete.

No one spoke in the laboratory.

Chen Feng watched the still‑steady waveform on the oscilloscope and suddenly felt a sourness in his eyes. He blinked, keeping the sting from spilling out.

Zhang Wei walked over and picked up the phone.

It felt heavy, a bit heavier than he imagined. It was the battery's weight— two thousand milliamp‑hours, a domestically made cell he had packaged himself, with a claimed standby time of one hundred twenty hours.

To achieve those one‑hundred‑twenty hours, the seven‑person battery team toiled for nine months, burning through three Spring Festivals.

He pressed the menu button.

The response was swift, almost without lag. The screen switched to the main menu, nine icons arranged in three rows: Telephone, SMS, Contacts, Alarm Clock, Calendar, Calculator, Voice Recorder, Camera, Settings.

He tapped the Camera icon with his thumb.

The screen switched to a viewfinder, aimed at Chen Feng's face. Chen Feng instinctively tried to dodge to the side but didn't get away. Zhang Wei pressed the confirm button.

Click.

The sound came from a tiny speaker on the side of the body, not loud but very clear.

The screen froze on Chen Feng's dodging face, hair a mess, glasses askew, expression as if he'd seen a ghost.

Someone in the lab couldn't hold back and let out a snort of laughter.

Then the laughter surged out like water breaking a dam, roaring.

Chen Feng laughed too. He stood up, walked to Zhang Wei's side, and stared at his own disheveled face on the screen.

"Director Zhang, this photo…" he scratched his head, "Can it be deleted?"

Zhang Wei ignored him.

He handed the phone to Li Yaozong.

"Director Li, give it a try."

Li Yaozong took the phone.

His palm was still sweaty; he quietly dabbed it on his trousers, then grasped the device.

It felt heavy, not from the battery but from something else.

He opened SMS and sent a message to himself.

An input interface popped up on the screen, a nine‑grid Pinyin input method. He tapped a few times with his thumb, "nihao" appeared in the input box, and the first candidate was "hello".

Send.

Three seconds later, the phone vibrated.

A new notification popped up on the screen: You have a new SMS.

Sender: self.

Content: hello.

Li Yaozong stared at the message for a long time.

"How many can it store?" he asked.

Chen Feng leaned over.

"The device's internal memory holds five hundred messages. With a memory card inserted, you can store as many as you want."

Li Yaozong nodded.

He opened Contacts again, created a new entry. Name: Zhang Wei. Phone number: 139********. Saved it, then retrieved it. In less than a second.

"Telephone capacity?" he asked.

"Two thousand," Chen Feng said, "each can store three numbers and two notes."

Li Yaozong put down his mobile phone and lifted his head.

He looked at the more than twenty faces in the lab. Some were young, some were no longer young. Some had jet‑black hair, some were half‑white. Some had deep eye sockets, some had reddened eyes.

"How long has it been?" he asked.

Zhang Wei thought for a moment.

"Counting from the first meeting, one year and four months."

One year and four months.

Four hundred eighty‑seven days.

From the first sketch to the first screen lighting up. From the first chip tape‑out failure to the seventh baseband version stabilizing. From the first software prototype freezing to the thirty‑seventh test report passing.

Four hundred eighty‑seven days.

The lights in this lab hadn't gone out a single day.

Li Yaozong gently placed the mobile phone back on the workbench.

"Is it ready?" he asked.

Zhang Wei looked at him.

"It's ready."

That evening, Li Yaozong treated the R&D team to a meal.

At a street stall on the old road at the foot of South Mountain, more than twenty people crowded three tables. No private rooms, no delicacies, just fried rice noodles, fried snails, grilled oysters, and cold beer.

Chen Feng sat beside Li Yaozong, spoke little, and drank hard. After downing three bottles of beer, his face flushed and his conversation opened up.

"Director Li," he said, holding his glass, his tongue a bit loose, "let me tell you, those chips… the hardest part of the chips isn't the design, it's the tape‑out."

Li Yaozong listened.

"The first tape‑out came back, one test showed power consumption 40% over spec. A few of us crouched in the lab, facing that pile of waste chips, unable to say a word. Chen Nian—he crouched there, picking up each waste chip, cleaning it, and putting it into a bag. He said, keep them as a souvenir."

Chen Nian, another engineer on the chip team, didn't come today; he said his wife was giving birth and took leave.

"The second tape‑out reduced power consumption, but the RF was still bad. In weak‑signal conditions, the drop‑call rate was 30%. People from Liu Jianguo's side came with the test report, their faces as black as a pot bottom."

Chen Feng took another sip.

"Third, fourth, fifth… I can't even recall which number it was. I only remember one night, at three A. M., I fell asleep on the table. When I woke up, I was wearing a coat. It was Director Zhang's. He was sitting beside me, looking at the oscilloscope, still watching the waveform."

He lifted his head and looked at Li Yaozong.

"Director Li, let me be honest. Those months, every night I thought, maybe give up. Too hard, really too hard."

He paused.

"But the next morning, as soon as I entered the lab, seeing Director Zhang still there, seeing Chen Nian still there, seeing those waveforms still moving, I thought I could push on for another day."

Li Yaozong said nothing.

He raised his glass and clinked it with Chen Feng's.

"Well done. Everyone in your R&D department will receive a reward of three months' salary, paid together with next month's salary."

Everyone was delighted to hear that.

At that table, Zhang Wei was surrounded by a few youngsters offering to toast.

He was fifty‑one, usually never touched alcohol, but tonight made an exception and drank two glasses. After two glasses, his face reddened to his ears, and he talked more.

"Don't toast me," he waved his hand, "toast yourselves."

A young man stood up, holding his glass.

"Director Zhang, I toast you. I come from a materials background; when I first arrived I didn't even know what a chip was. These past four hundred plus days, you taught me hand‑by‑hand."

Zhang Wei looked at him and smiled.

"Do you know now?"

"I know," the young man nodded, "I know, and I'm even more scared."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid I'm not learning fast enough," the young man said, "afraid I'll fall behind. Afraid I'll delay things."

Zhang Wei was silent for a few seconds.

Then he lifted that glass.

"Let me teach you a principle," he said, "In this field, there's no point in stopping learning. Chips have a generation every three years, a replacement every five. You think you're up to speed now; in two years you'll be behind again."

He paused.

"Being behind isn't scary. What's scary is stopping."

He finished his drink.

"Got it?"

The young man nodded.

"Got it."

Xu Jiaming didn't drink.

He sat in the corner, a plate of fried snails in front of him untouched. In his hand he clenched an old Hero fountain pen, drawing something on a napkin.

Zhao Ming came over.

"Director Xu, what are you drawing?"

Xu Jiaming handed the napkin to him.

It depicted a mobile phone. Not the straight‑bar type like Qiming's, but a flip phone, with the screen on top and the keypad below. When opened at just the right angle, and closed, the screen could still display the time.

"This is…" Zhao Ming was momentarily stunned.

"Next generation," Xu Jiaming said, "Phoenix is the first generation; next year we should make the second generation. Flip‑cover, color screen, can take photos, can play music, and also…"

He didn't finish, and laughed himself first.

"Never mind, it's too early to talk about that. Let's first sell the Qifenghuang well."

Zhao Ming stared at the napkin for a long time.

"Mr. Xu," he said, "May I keep this?"

Xu Jiaming waved his hand.

"Keep it."

Zhao Ming carefully folded the napkin and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

Li Yaozong didn't drink.

He sat at the table, watching the group and listening to the sounds.

One year and four months. Four hundred eighty‑seven days.

These people boiled those four hundred eighty‑seven days into a mobile phone.

He recalled something his father had said.

"Making a product is about simmering. If you can endure the simmer, it will emerge. If you can't, you lose everything."

Now, they have simmered it out.

But he knew this was only the beginning.

The phone is made, it must be sold. After selling, there is after‑sales service. After that comes iteration. With iteration comes facing rivals' blockades, market testing, and technological replacement.

This road has only just begun.

He picked up his phone— not the Qiming, but the two‑year‑old Motorola he had been using— and sent his father a text message.

The content was only four characters:

"Dad, it's done."

March 20th, the Wanshang mobile phone launch event was held at the Shenzhen Wuzhou Hotel.

More than three hundred people sat in the audience: distributors, reporters, suppliers, and a few leaders who had come from Beijing.

Onstage was a huge backdrop that read: Wanshang Phoenix— Chinese chip, Chinese made.

Li Yaozong stood onstage, wearing a dark‑gray shirt, without a tie.

Next to him was a table covered with a red silk cloth.

"Everyone," he began, his voice not loud but audible throughout the hall, "the reason I invited you today is to show you something."

He lifted the red cloth.

Three rows of mobile phones were neatly arranged on the table.

The left row was black, with a plastic case, a slightly smaller screen, larger buttons, and a price tag reading: Phoenix‑1, 688 yuan.

The middle row was silver‑gray, metal‑finished, with a screen a notch larger, a tiny star printed on the body, and a price tag reading: Phoenix‑2, 1,288 yuan.

The right row was bright silver, flip‑cover design, the largest screen, the keyboard hidden beneath the lid, and a price tag reading: Phoenix‑3, 2,988 yuan.

A stir rose from the audience.

Li Yaozong waited for the commotion to subside before continuing.

"These three phones, from chips to operating system, from screen to battery, from case to software, are all made by Wanshang themselves,"

He picked up the 2,988‑yuan Qiming‑3 and opened its lid.

The screen lit up, in color.

"This phone can store two thousand contacts, receive five hundred text messages, take photos, play music, and also accept a memory card— store as much as you want,"

He paused.

"Price, 2,988."

The audience erupted in applause.

Someone shouted, "Mr. Li, when can we get the stock?"

Li Yaozong smiled.

"Next month," he said, "all two thousand Wanshang exclusive stores nationwide will launch simultaneously."

After the launch event ended, Li Yaozong was surrounded by reporters.

"Mr. Li, compared with Motorola and Nokia, what advantages does the Wanshang phone have?"

"Mr. Li, what is your target sales volume?"

"Mr. Li, are the chips really made in‑house?"

Li Yaozong answered each question, unhurriedly.

When the last question was asked, a young reporter raised his hand.

"Mr. Li, I heard your father, Mr. Li Ping'an, once said, 'Sell one generation, research the next.' May I ask, after the Qiming, where is Wanshang's next‑generation phone?"

Li Yaozong was silent for two seconds.

Then he smiled.

"In my pocket," he said.

He pulled the napkin from his pocket—the one drawn by Xu Jiaming that Zhao Ming had given him.

"What is drawn on it is our second‑generation phone."

The reporters were stunned.

"Just a napkin?"

Li Yaozong nodded.

"Just a napkin. This is our engineer's inspiration that struck while eating, sketched on the napkin; it's not merely a sheet of paper, but a future worth a hundred million."

He carefully folded the napkin and put it back in his pocket.

"One year from now, what's on this napkin will become real."

The press conference ended, and the crowd dispersed.

Li Yaozong stood alone on the stage, looking at the huge backdrop.

"Wanshang Fenghuang—China chip, China-made."

He recalled how his father looked seven years ago when he wrote that "Five-Year Plan". The sixty‑one‑year‑old elder sat at his desk, writing stroke by stroke, filling three pages.

At that time, Wanshang didn't have its own chips.

At that time, Wanshang didn't have its own operating system.

At that time, Wanshang didn't have its own phone.

Now, it has them all.

He pulled out his phone—not a Motorola, but a Fenghuang-3, the prototype just given to him—and pressed the power button.

The star rose, hovering at the center of the screen.

He stared at the star and suddenly recalled a sentence his father had said.

"The morning star is the brightest one, because it appears before dawn."

Now, dawn has already arrived.

He tucked away the phone and stepped down from the stage.

At the doorway, Zhang Wei, Xu Jiaming, and Chen Feng were waiting for him.

Zhang Wei still looked the same, still in his white coat, sleeves rolled up.

Li Yaozong walked up to them.

"Let's go," he said.

"Where to?" Zhang Wei asked.

Li Yaozong thought for a moment.

"Back to the lab," he said. "The thing on that napkin needs to be acted upon."

The group all smiled.

Stepping out of the hotel, the sunlight was just right.

In March in Shenzhen, the kapok blossoms were in full bloom, each tree a blaze of red on the branches, like the city's heartbeat that never stops.

In the distance, the outline of the Nanshan R&D Center was clearly visible.

The laboratory lights would still be on tonight.

That Fenghuang Phone will be shipped nationwide tomorrow.

And what's on that napkin has only just begun.