Chapter 341: Asia Sent a Fat Lamb—Cut for $200 Million

After finishing communication with Qu Fang, Gao Wei left a set of keys on the table.

Chen Yansen lifted his head but said nothing; he knew these were the keys to the villa near Sanjiaozhou Park.

This should be the seventh house he had ever bought in his life.

As for Room 0418, he had no intention of canceling the lease—it was only 400 yuan a month, and occasionally returning allowed him to relive the past with Meng Jie or Song Yuncheng.

All five villas in Lucheng were under renovation; they would move there once the Orange Tech headquarters was completed.

The original plan was to buy three, but after a moment’s thought, Chen Yansen told Gao Linwei to buy two more.

Three weren’t nearly enough!

After handling the Xiaohongshu matter, Chen Yansen opened Cadence Spectre and resumed his unfinished work.

Wu Shengyu and Mike Keller were leading their teams in round-the-clock development of the Tiangong T100 chip.

He certainly wouldn’t sit idle.

Otherwise, with only the chip department’s small team, it would take half a year just to get Tiangong T100 online.

Time slipped away second by second; nightfall soon painted the glass with speckles of starlight.

After wrapping up the new product launch, Wang Teng took his intellectual property team, legal, and finance staff to Britain to negotiate an architecture licensing agreement with ARM.

But ARM’s price was exorbitant: a one-time licensing fee of $200 million, plus a 3% royalty on chip shipments.

Before departing, Wang Teng had studied ARM’s past licensing rates, which typically ranged from $30 million to $80 million in “slot fees,” plus 1% royalty.

For major clients like Apple, Qualcomm, Broadcom, and MediaTek, ARM would even reduce the royalty to 0.5%.

Clearly, ARM had no qualms about treating Orange Tech as a fat lamb from Asia to be slaughtered.

After a full day of talks, ARM would only lower the royalty to 2%, keeping the one-time fee at $200 million.

“Buzzzz—!”

At that moment, the phone on the desk rang.

Chen Yansen picked it up without thinking and pressed answer.

“Boss, it’s complicated—ARM is holding firm at $200 million, and they still want 2% royalty.”

Wang Teng stood in the hallway of ARM’s headquarters, face dark with rage; he was seething—these bastards were treating him like a fool to be fleeced.

But in ARM’s executives’ eyes, Orange Tech was valued at over $20 billion, and Chen Yansen, as head of Senlian Capital, had a net worth of over $50 billion—was $200 million really excessive?

If Orange Tech wanted to go the in-house chip route, wasn’t paying some tuition fee reasonable?

These British bastards had no problem fleecing Apple, Qualcomm, and Broadcom—why should they spare Orange Tech?

More than a decade later, Huawei paid $1 billion to secure permanent licensing of the ARMv9 architecture.

Thus, for Orange Tech’s market scale, $100 million plus 1% royalty would be reasonable—but $200 million plus 2% was outright greedy.

“Can’t reach an agreement?” Chen Yansen asked calmly.

“They won’t budge on the one-time fee. The royalty might drop another 0.5%,” Wang Teng replied honestly.

ARM in the chip field was like a developer providing raw housing—its instruction set architecture was like a toolkit; only after obtaining the license could one design processors.

For example, Huawei’s HiSilicon K3V2 processor was a heavily modified version of the ARM Cortex-A9 architecture.

Apple and Qualcomm were no different—every chip had to pay ARM a “toll.”

Because ARM’s RISC patent offered higher compilation efficiency, granting processors lower power consumption and energy savings.

ARM had spent over twenty years, with thousands of engineers, building its technical moat through massive code and patents—it wasn’t easily breached.

That was precisely why ARM dared to demand so much!

“Alright, I understand. Come back.”

Chen Yansen narrowed his eyes and spoke coldly.

“Boss, are we not buying the architecture license?” Wang Teng blinked in surprise, immediately asking.

He knew full well how critical ARM’s RISC architecture patents were to Tiangong T100 and Orange Tech’s future.

Getting fleeced by ARM was one cut; getting fleeced by Qualcomm or MediaTek was two.

After all, Qualcomm and MediaTek paid ARM royalties, and those costs were naturally passed on to customers.

“We’re not buying.”

Chen Yansen said firmly.

Although in 2012 ARM held over 2,700 instruction set and microarchitecture patents, as long as they avoided Thumb instruction set, multi-core scheduling, and conditional execution, Orange Tech could still forge a new CPU architecture from scratch.

He knew that in the future, ARM would even shift its royalty target from chips to end devices.

A single chip cost between $5 and $40, while a smartphone retailed for over $150.

In other words, ARM had raised its royalty by several times—even tenfold.

As a result, Apple had to launch Apple Silicon; domestic firms accelerated development of the free, open-source RISC-V architecture; European and American nations launched “chip laws,” pooling billions to develop their own instruction set patents.

There was no choice—ARM had always been ruthless in fleecing customers.

“Then what about Tiangong T100?” Wang Teng assumed his boss was just venting.

“I’ll handle it,” Chen Yansen declared firmly.

If he couldn’t even solve a CPU architecture problem, what was the point of his rebirth? What was the point of his system?

He had originally planned to enter the semiconductor industry gradually through chip design—but ARM was determined to cut him down, and Chen Yansen wouldn’t tolerate it.

Fine—he’d activate the [Planck Clock] talent for two seconds daily. He refused to believe that if Apple’s R&D team could solve this, Orange Tech couldn’t!

If ARM wanted to die, he’d oblige it.

Chen Yansen immediately decided: once developed, he’d license the new architecture at low cost to crush ARM into bankruptcy.

Seeing this, Wang Teng realized his boss wasn’t joking—he took a deep breath and said, “Boss, I know what to do.”

Meanwhile.

In a meeting room at ARM’s headquarters, five or six business negotiators whispered among themselves.

“Warren, your price is too high—Orange Tech will likely refuse,” said a bald middle-aged man.

“Victor, you don’t understand this phone maker’s position in Asia—reports say Orange Phone shipped 40 million units globally in 2012. Do you know what that means?”

Another man, of average build in a black suit, smiled and countered.

“I get your point, but there must be a reasonable baseline—your price is clearly inflated,” Victor shrugged.

“No no no! Asians are richer than you think—MediaTek paid $160 million. How can a billionaire worth $50 billion not afford $200 million?”

Warren waved his hand dismissively.

Victor smiled and shook his head, about to speak, when he heard movement outside—he fell silent instantly.

“Creeeak!”

The meeting room door slowly opened. Wang Teng stood outside, eyes bright, a faint beam of light shining from behind him into the room.

On either side of him stood six accompanying staff.

“Mr. Warren, Mr. Victor, due to your company’s utterly unreasonable offer, our side has decided to terminate negotiations,” Wang Teng straightened his posture and announced loudly.

“That’s truly a pity.”

Warren spread his hands, feigning indifference, interpreting Wang Teng’s move as a negotiation tactic—pretending to walk away to force a better offer.

In his view, Wang Teng would surrender within two days and sign the licensing contract. He’d seen this exact tactic countless times with Qualcomm, Apple, and MediaTek reps.

“Don’t try to fool me!”

Warren muttered inwardly, then stood to escort Wang Teng and his team out of ARM’s headquarters.

“Victor, want to bet? I bet they’ll be back within a day,” Warren said confidently to his colleague.

“Judging by his expression leaving, I’d say it’ll take a day just to spread the news—I bet two days,” Victor replied with full confidence.

In 2012, ARM held a pivotal position in global chip design and manufacturing—that was their confidence.

But Warren and Victor never expected that for two straight days, they received no call from Orange Tech.

When they checked the hotel where Orange Tech stayed, they learned the team had left Cambridge a full day earlier.

They stared at each other, utterly baffled.

…

…

Meanwhile.

Chen Yansen hung up the phone and began studying complex instruction sets, then RISC, EPIC, moving from x86 to PA-RISC, PowerPC, MIPS, and SPARC, aiming to design a completely new CPU architecture.

First gather data, then integrate and restructure, finally activate the [Planck Clock] talent to select the optimal technical solution from tens of thousands of possibilities.

It had to offer higher compilation efficiency and lower power consumption.

By eight p.m., he staggered out of his office, exhausted, eyelids heavy, on the verge of falling asleep.

“Boss, what’s wrong?”

In the lobby downstairs, Ye Qiuping was about to leave when she saw Chen Yansen approaching, pale-faced.

“Nothing. Just need to sleep it off,” Chen Yansen mumbled.

He turned to leave, preparing to drive away.

Ye Qiuping’s heart softened—she couldn’t bear to see him like this. Without thinking, she raised her hand and felt his forehead.

“Good, no fever,” she sighed in relief.

Then, ignoring his objections, she pushed him into her car.

Driver Xiao Li, seeing this, silently got into the driver’s seat and drove smoothly toward Ye Qiuping’s neighborhood.

Chen Yansen leaned against Ye Qiuping’s shoulder, inhaling her milky scent, closing his eyes slightly.

Though he looked worn out now, if he wished, he could unleash a force of tens of thousands of kilograms with a single wave.

Half an hour later, Chen Yansen lay on Ye Qiuping’s bed, watching the woman bustle about, a faint smile on his lips.

“Can I make you a few small dishes? And cook you a bowl of sweet soup?” Ye Qiuping asked tentatively.

“Whatever’s fine—I trust your skills,” Chen Yansen said, licking his lips.

Ye Qiuping caught this detail instantly and turned to pour him water.

Unlike the innocence of Meng Jie and Song Yuncheng, Ye Qiuping was like a ripe peach, radiating fragrance all over.

She excelled in life skills: not only could she cook, but she could wash Chen Zong’s socks and underwear without blinking.

After some time, Chen Yansen drifted back to consciousness, hearing Ye Qiuping calling his name; he slowly opened his eyes to see a bowl of red sugar fermented glutinous rice in her hands.

“Want me to feed you?” Ye Qiuping asked with a soft smile.

Chen Yansen opened his mouth—his intent was obvious.

Ye Qiuping scooped up a spoonful of sweet soup and placed it gently into Chen Yansen’s mouth, as if caring for a child.

In no time, Chen Yansen finished the entire bowl.

When he reached the living room, he found Ye Qiuping had already prepared four dishes and one soup—all simple home-style meals, yet beautifully plated and fragrant.

As soon as Chen Yansen sat down, Ye Qiuping handed him chopsticks and a bowl.

“A gift for you.”

Before eating, Chen Yansen pulled a key from his pocket and dropped it into Ye Qiuping’s lap.

“The key to your place?” Ye Qiuping clutched the key, a hint of joy blooming in her eyes like a blooming peach blossom.

“Sort of—the apartment is in Luzhou, still under renovation,” Chen Yansen replied.

“How many did you buy?” Ye Qiuping quietly slipped the key into her pocket, then asked suddenly.

“One,” Chen Yansen said seriously.

Don’t ask—ask and you’ll get the same answer: one. Anyone asking gets the same reply.

“Thanks,” Ye Qiuping didn’t believe him, but didn’t press further.

Sometimes, leaving things unspoken was best—for three, four, or even five people.

“No need to thank me—it’s just a key,” Chen Yansen teased.

The implication: Ye Qiuping had the right to live there, but not ownership.

“Do you have to be so clear? Can’t you let me be happy for a few seconds?” Ye Qiuping rolled her eyes, pouting.

“When have I ever not made you happy for two hours?” Chen Yansen raised an eyebrow, smirking at her.

“Then eat faster,” Ye Qiuping said abruptly, as if lost in thought.

Chen Yansen chuckled silently—he was just mentally drained, not physically weak.

For some reason, the overhead light suddenly seemed softer.

The next dawn, the sky was just beginning to lighten.

Chen Yansen rose from bed feeling refreshed; outside the window, everything was white, a fine layer of snow dusting the balcony.

December hadn’t arrived yet, but Xucheng had already seen its first snow.

The cold wind howled past, leaving behind a low, rumbling roar.

For him, the three-second 【Planck Clock】 still felt taxing—even though his physique had surpassed 47, he could barely maintain mental clarity and sufficient stamina after disabling his talent.

He already had a general direction for the instruction set design; all that remained was to proceed step by step.

At 9 a.m., Chen Yansen returned to the company by car, finished his work emails, then, building on the RISC instruction set’s principles, completely discarded ARM’s fixed-length instructions, general-purpose registers, and conditional execution rules, replacing conditional execution with delay slot technology.

……

……

“Clock Limited Technology? Chang Wei?”

On November 28, Cheng Wei first learned of Chang Wei’s existence.

DiDi Bikes now had a new rival!

(End of Chapter)