Chapter 496: Blind Struggle and Breakout

September 2002, Shenzhen.

In the display window of the Fenghuang Phone boutique, the three silver‑gray devices still glowed. The morning‑star icon on the screen flickered, as if winking at every passerby.

But Li Yaozong knew that this star was now being watched by many.

Not merely watched, but intended to be snuffed out.

"President Li," Zhou Wenbin said on the Telephone from Hong Kong, his voice three tones deeper than usual, "the United States has taken action."

He paused.

"The Ministry of Commerce has accepted a joint complaint from Motorola and Ericsson, accusing us of dumping. They intend to launch an investigation."

Li Yaozong held the Telephone, saying nothing.

"Also," Zhou Wenbin continued, "the Wall Street Journal published an article today claiming the Fenghuang Phone 'infringes intellectual property' and 'copies Motorola's design.' There's no evidence, but the headline is big enough to intimidate."

He paused.

"Europe is the same. Germany's Mingjing Weekly and France's Le Figaro are both following up."

Li Yaozong closed his eyes.

He recalled a saying his father once told him.

"When you start snatching their rice bowls, they will no longer tell you the rules."

Now, the rules are gone.

September 15, the 38th floor of Wanxiang Dasha.

The conference room was filled with people: Zhang Wei, Xu Jiaming, He Xiao, Zhou Wenbin, … and An Bang. He is the 32‑year‑old Group Legal Department Director, a graduate of Peking University Law Department, and has been with Wanxiang for ten years.

Li Yaozong placed the complaint document faxed from the United States in front of An Bang.

"An Bang, this is their pleading. Take a look—do we have any chance of winning?"

An Bang took it and flipped through page by page.

The conference room was very quiet, only the sound of pages turning.

After ten minutes of flipping, he lifted his head.

"The odds aren't great," he said, his voice as calm as if commenting on pleasant weather. "This is a political lawsuit, not a legal one. Motorola has legislators backing it, and the Ministry of Commerce people are theirs. We have no foothold in the United States, we can't win."

Xu Jiaming grew anxious.

"Then what do we do? Admit defeat?"

An Bang shook his head.

"Admitting defeat is impossible, but we can't confront them head‑on either."

He looked at Li Yaozong.

"Yaozong, I suggest we take a two‑pronged approach. First, hire American lawyers, pursue legal procedures, and buy time. Second, use our Chamber of Commerce to contact Ministry of Commerce officials, explain the situation. We can stall as long as possible, until they lose patience themselves."

Li Yaozong nodded.

"You handle it. Money is not an issue."

An Bang nodded.

Zhou Wenbin spoke up.

"We also need to figure out something for the media side."

He pulled up a document and projected it onto the screen. It was a statistic of mainstream European and American media coverage of the Fenghuang Phone over the past month: thirty‑seven articles, thirty‑three of which were negative.

"These reporters," Zhou Wenbin said, "aren't digging the story on their own; someone supplied them with material. Motorola maintains a public relations team dedicated to this."

Li Yaozong stared at those headlines and was silent for a few seconds.

"What shall we do?"

Zhou Wenbin thought for a moment.

"Two options. First, enlist celebrities. Have influential football and basketball stars use our phones to speak for us."

He paused.

"Second, sponsor events—football, basketball, rugby… Whatever Americans love to watch, we sponsor. Let them know Fenghuang isn't here to steal, but to make friends."

Li Yaozong's eyes lit up.

"Who should we invite?"

Zhou Wenbin pulled a photo from the folder.

"Michael Jordan."

The conference room was quiet for a second, then erupted.

"Jordan? The basketball god?"

"How much does his endorsement cost?"

"Can we afford him?"

Zhou Wenbin waited until they finished arguing, then continued.

"We're not hiring Jordan himself, but NBA stars. Kobe, Shaquille O'Neal, Allen Iverson… Their fees aren't that terrifying, and their influence is huge."

He looked at Li Yaozong.

"Yaozong, if you agree, I'll contact them right away."

Li Yaozong nodded.

"Go."

He Xiao had remained silent.

He was pondering a question.

"President Li," he finally said, "our public opinion war and legal battle are all valid, but fundamentally, it's still the product."

He looked at Zhang Wei.

Zhang Shu, the second‑generation Fenghuang Phone, when can it be released?

Zhang Wei pushed up his glasses.

"The prototype is already ready," he said, "color screen, 65,000 colors. Camera 300,000 pixels, can take photos, can record video. Memory is four times larger than the first generation, can store two thousand photos. Battery upgraded, standby time one hundred fifty hours."

He paused.

"But the performance can still be improved."

Li Yaozong looked at him.

"How to go?"

Zhang Wei pulled up a diagram.

"First, memory. It's currently one terabyte; we can make it two terabytes, four terabytes. Stored texts, photos, apps can be doubled."

"Second, photography. Three hundred thousand pixels, can be upgraded to one million. The photos taken can be printed as five‑inch prints."

"Third, processor. The current frequency is 33 MHz; we can reach 66 MHz, 100 MHz. Apps run faster, video playback smoother."

"Fourth, screen. The current resolution is 128×128; we can achieve 160×128, with finer color."

"Fifth, battery. Currently 1,200 mAh; we can make it 1,800 mAh. Standby time, over 200 hours."

He listed them one by one, as if reciting a menu.

Li Yaozong listened, then was silent for a few seconds.

"How long will it take to achieve these?"

Zhang Wei thought for a moment.

"Two years. Within two years, the Fenghuang Phone's performance will double."

Xu Jiaming pushed up his glasses.

"Performance is one thing; ecosystem is another."

He looked at Li Yaozong.

"General Manager Li, a phone is not isolated. Users buy a phone, then need to download things, need software. We must have our own app store, so developers are willing to write applications for Fenghuang."

Li Yaozong nodded.

"You continue."

Xu Jiaming pulled up another diagram.

"I came up with a name, 'Fenghuang Garden.' Users can download games, tools, ringtones, wallpapers inside it. Developers can sell apps there, and we take a cut."

He paused.

"At first there may be few users, but as long as the phone sells well, people will gradually come."

He Xiao interjected.

"It's like planting a tree. First plant the sapling, water and fertilize, then wait for it to grow."

Xu Jiaming nodded.

"Right."

Li Yaozong stared at that diagram for a long time.

Then he said, "Do it."

Chen Anbang began filing lawsuits in the United States.

He took three lawyers, flew to Washington seven times, met thirty‑seven congressional aides, handed in twenty‑one briefing documents. Each time he came back, his eyes were bloodshot, yet each briefing he gave was very calm.

"Yaozong, it's delayed," he said, "the Ministry of Commerce's preliminary ruling has been postponed to March next year."

Li Yaozong patted his shoulder.

"You've worked hard."

Chen Anbang shook his head.

"It was my duty."

Zhou Wenbin began contacting the NBA.

Kobe agreed, the endorsement fee was $800,000 per year. Iverson agreed, $600,000. Shaquille O'Neal's agent asked for $1,500,000, and Zhou Wenbin gritted his teeth.

In November 2002, the Fenghuang Phone's advertisement appeared on American television for the first time.

In the footage, Kobe held the second‑generation Fenghuang, took a photo, and sent it to Iverson. Iverson glanced at it, smiled, and forwarded it to O'Neal. O'Neal took the phone, and the screen showed the rising star.

The voice‑over had only one line:

"Fenghuang from China. Let the world see you."

In January 2003, the Las Vegas Consumer Electronics Show.

The Fenghuang Phone's booth was packed to the brim.

Americans lined up, wanting to get their hands on that color‑screen, photo‑capable phone with a 150‑hour standby. The billboard featuring Kobe's endorsement hung above the booth; that black‑and‑white photo made every passerby look up.

In three days, the Fenghuang Phone signed forty‑seven distribution agreements, covering twenty‑three U. S. states.

Li Yaozong stood behind the booth, watching the queue of Americans, and recalled that September a year earlier.

Back then, Motorola was suing them, the media were slamming them, and everyone was waiting to see the joke of Fenghuang.

Now, those queuing people are the best answer.

His phone vibrated.

It was a text message from Zhang Wei:

"General Manager Li, the third‑generation Fenghuang prototype is up and running. 100 MHz processor, 2‑megapixel camera, 2 TB memory, 160×128 color screen. Chen Feng said this is the limit he can achieve."

Li Yaozong replied with three words:

"Thanks for your hard work."

In March 2003, the U. S. Department of Commerce's preliminary ruling was released.

There was no finding of dumping.

It wasn't because they won the lawsuit; it was because Motorola withdrew the suit first. The Fenghuang Phone had been sold in the United States for a year, and user reviews were far better than they had expected. If they kept suing, the media wouldn't back them, and the consumers wouldn't either.

Chen Anbang called from Washington on the Telephone, his voice carrying a rare smile.

"Yaozong, it's over."

Li Yaozong stood by the office window, looking at the distant Fenghuang Mountain.

The mountain was still the same mountain, but the one looking at it was no longer the self from a year ago.

"An Bang," he said, "come back. We'll give you a warm welcome."

After hanging up the Telephone, he sent his father a short message.

It contained only four characters:

"Dad, we held on."

May 2003, Wanxiang Group's annual strategic meeting.

The same conference room, the same people. But the atmosphere was completely different from a year ago.

Li Yaozong sat in the head seat, a thick stack of reports before him.

"Last year," he began, "we fought several hard battles: the dumping case, the media war, product upgrades, and ecosystem construction."

He paused.

"We got through all of them."

Zhang Wei pushed up his glasses.

"Fenghuang 3, mass production next month. One hundred‑megahertz processor, two‑million‑pixel camera, two‑gigabyte memory, a 65,000‑color display. Standby time measured at one hundred eighty hours."

Xu Jiaming took over.

"Fenghuang Garden has been online for three months, with 2,300 registered developers and 870 applications. The most downloaded is a game called 'Snake', with a total of 670,000 downloads."

Zhou Wenbin smiled cheerfully.

"The agents in the United States added another thirty. Europe has also been secured—Britain, France, Germany—stocking will begin next month."

He Xiao, unusually silent, just smiled.

Chen Anbang sat in the corner, twirling the steel pen he had used for ten years, his face showing fatigue yet satisfaction.

Li Yaozong looked at them, one by one.

These people had followed him through the hardest year.

Now, they were all still here.

"Everyone," he stood up, "thank you."

Zhang Wei waved his hand.

"Thanks for what? Just get to work."

In the evening, Li Yaozong stood alone on the balcony.

In the distance, Fenghuang Mountain was dyed gold by the setting sun; at its foot lay the Nanshan R&D Center, and the laboratory lights had already begun to glow.

He recalled the phrase his father often said.

"Running a business is like walking a night road. You don't know what's ahead, but you must keep walking."

Now, he had walked through the toughest stretch of that night road.

Is there still road ahead?

There must be.

He took out a Fenghuang 3 prototype and pressed the power button.

The screen lit up, and a star rose from the bottom, climbing higher and hovering at the center.

He stared at the star and suddenly laughed.

Then he slipped the phone into his pocket, turned, and walked back inside.

The Telephone on the desk rang.

It was Zhang Wei.

"President Li, there's something."

"Go ahead."

"Our Fenghuang 3's performance can still be pushed further. I wonder if we could…"

Li Yaozong listened without interrupting.

Outside the window, night deepened.

But the laboratory lights grew brighter and brighter.