enjoyebooks Chapter 445 Ling Yun's Counterattack Plan
Chapter 445 Ling Yun's Counterattack Plan
Ling Yun stayed in the office for three days.
On the first day, he kicked everyone out, including Zhao Hu. On the table were a supplier list sent by Zhao Weiguo, Zhang Weinuo's yield report, and Ma Baoguo's fax from Shenzhen regarding his unconventional stockpiling activities.
He spread the papers out one by one, covering the entire table, and then spread them on the floor. After he finished, he squatted down beside it and looked at it, like an old farmer squatting on the edge of a field watching over his crops. He didn't speak or write anything; he just watched.
The cleaning lady came to clean the house at night. When she opened the door, she saw paper all over the floor. Thinking she had entered the wrong room, she went back out.
The next day, he started writing on the whiteboard. First, he wrote "screen," drew a circle, pulled a line, and wrote "Xinvino → Hongguang" on the line. Then he wrote "battery," pulled a line, and wrote "Sunwoda → Pending." When he got to "camera module," his pen ran out of ink, so he took a new one from the drawer and continued writing. After writing about ten circles, he threw the pen into the pen holder, took two steps back, looked at the dense cluster of circles and lines on the whiteboard, reached out and erased the words "Pending," changing them to "Second-tier, third-tier." After finishing, he stood there for a long time, erased one of the lines, redrawn it, drew it again, erased it again, and drew it again.
On the third day, Zhao Weiguo brought him lunch, a boxed meal from the cafeteria, one meat dish and two vegetable dishes. Ling Yun placed the lunchbox on the corner of the table, ate a couple of bites, then put it down again. He picked up a pen and added a line to the whiteboard: "Three months ahead of schedule." After writing it, he stared at those four words for a long time, then wrote: "Release the news about the self-developed production line. Don't make it too true, just spread the word." After finishing, he took a step back, snapped the cap off the marker, and called Chen Zhongming on the landline.
"Notify a few people to come to a meeting. Call everyone related to the supply chain."
The meeting started at 2 PM in the same small conference room on the fourth floor. Fewer people attended this time because Ling Yun instructed Chen Zhongming to control the number of attendees, only inviting those who could actually make the decisions: Zhao Weiguo, Ma Baoguo, Zhang Weinuo, Li Mo, and Chen Zhongming himself.
Five people sat on either side of the table, while Ling Yun stood in front of the whiteboard. He hadn't erased anything on the whiteboard; the circles and lines just hung there, covered with layers of old pen marks that hadn't been completely wiped clean, like a draft paper filled with writing, erasing, and rewriting.
"Yixiang is hoarding goods," Ling Yun bluntly stated. "The first step is to lock up all the top-tier components on the market, forcing us to buy from them at high prices. The second step is to create panic, making other suppliers afraid to accept our orders because they're afraid of offending Yixiang, a major buyer. The third step is the most effective, though not the most complicated—once our phones are delayed and the market becomes vacant, they'll use their stockpiled goods to negotiate partnerships with Nokia and Motorola, saying, 'Look, Xinghuo is dead, I'll provide the supporting components for you.' Every step is an open secret. They're not afraid of us knowing because they think we have no other options."
"We really don't have the necessary licenses," Ma Baoguo said, throwing his pen on the table. "I went to Hongguang Optoelectronics again yesterday. Their boss is willing to cooperate, but their production line is really not up to par right now—a few days ago, during the debugging process, after the backlight panel came out, there was a dark line running from beginning to end. Their engineering department spent three hours disassembling it and still couldn't find the problem. If they supply us with a production line like that, we'll be lucky if the yield rate reaches 60%."
"Then help them fix the production line," Ling Yun said. "What we lack isn't the production line, it's time. What they lack isn't technology, it's money and experienced engineering support. We have the manpower, we have the money. Transfer ten people from Xinghuo Electronics' technical department to Hongguang for three months. Xinghuo will pay their salaries, Hongguang will provide food and lodging. They can come back whenever the yield rate improves. You make a budget for how much money you need, send it to me via email, and I'll approve it as soon as I see it."
Ma Baoguo opened his mouth, picked up his pen to jot something down on the paper, then stopped, looked up at Ling Yun again: "Are you serious? That's no small amount of money. Just setting up the equipment for a production line from start to finish costs hundreds of thousands, plus worker training—" Ling Yun gave a figure that was twice Ma Baoguo's estimate. Ma Baoguo's pen paused on the paper, the tip leaving a small dent.
"It's the same with the batteries," Ling Yun said, turning to Zhao Weiguo. "Go find that battery factory in Shenzhen. They have no orders right now, so they can't start production. The workers are playing cards at the workshop entrance. Tell them that Xinghuo has signed a three-year contract with them—not a letter of intent, but a full contract. Pay a 30% deposit upfront, and let them use that money to complete the equipment purchase. Price it at market rate—remember, don't try to bargain. They're negotiating with you while they're starving. If you try to bargain now, the first thing they'll do when they recover is think you're taking advantage of them. What we need is a long-term, reliable supply chain, not a one-time bargain."
Zhao Weiguo took out his notebook, wrote a couple of lines, and then looked up. "What if Yixiang also tries to get prices from these second-tier factories? They can afford to pay even more."
"Then we'll raise the bar," Ling Yun said, walking to the whiteboard and pointing to the center of the tangled lines and circles. "Supporting second-tier manufacturers isn't just a matter of business cooperation; it's a strategic issue. The technology and capital we invest today will become their barriers to future contracts. You taught them to use Xinghuo's production line standards, our people installed their equipment debugging software, we helped write their quality control manuals, and we trained their workers. When Yixiang approaches them again, will they be able to accept Yixiang's orders? They won't, because accepting them would mean starting from scratch, and the cost of starting from scratch would be higher than the profit margin of the orders Yixiang would offer them."
Ma Baoguo suddenly leaned back in his chair, making it creak. "I understand—if we can get these factories up and running in a month or two, our costs won't increase. On the contrary, because they're second-tier factories, their labor and land costs are much lower than first-tier factories. Once production ramps up, our profit margins will be even larger than they are now."
"One more thing," Ling Yun picked up his cup, took a sip of water, found it was dry, and put it down again, "While supporting the second-tier factories, spread the word—say that Xinghuo is developing its own screen production line and battery production line. No need for specific details, just let the news circulate. What do you think the first-tier suppliers will do when they hear this?"
Zhao Weiguo paused for a second, then tapped his finger on the table: "They'll be anxious. They originally thought we could only buy from them, and they could raise prices arbitrarily. Now that they hear we're going to do it ourselves, they're not afraid anymore. I mean Samsung and LG, their sales managers will call us tomorrow."
"Let them fight."
Chen Zhongming hadn't said a word since he entered. He sat in the corner, holding a thermos, the lid unscrewed three times and then screwed back on each time, without drinking from it. When Ling Yun finished speaking, he screwed the lid back on and gently placed it on the table. "President Ling, you just mentioned mass production three months ahead of schedule. At the current pace, the earliest the components will arrive is after February next year. If the second-tier factory's production line takes three months to stabilize supply, the earliest it will be is April next year."
"Get them to complete equipment debugging within a month and start small-batch trial production simultaneously. Don't strive for perfection in the first batch; just make sure it works. The production line yield can gradually increase in the first two months, but we must allow extra time for mass production—if unrealistic stockpiling drives up the market price, second-tier suppliers will have room to lower prices and compete for orders. They are even more eager to ship than we are. Believe it or not, they are already working overtime in the workshop, because every finished panel is a banknote that can be exchanged for money," Ling Yun said.
"The yield rate for the first batch might be less than 50%," Zhang Weinuo hesitated for a moment, "and the quality control will have a hard time getting it right."
"The first batch of goods will be used in our self-built internet cafes and brand experience stores, and will not be shipped to distributors. The machines in the experience stores do not need perfect yield rates; what they need is for users to be able to touch the actual products. The quality inspection standards remain the same, but the intended use can be categorized."
Ma Baoguo stood up and stuffed his notebook into his pocket. "Then I'll go to Hongguang tomorrow. I'll take my ten best engineers with me. We'll squat next to the production line and not come back until we find that hidden line."
Zhao Weiguo also stood up. "I'm leaving that battery factory in Shenzhen this afternoon. I'll arrive tonight, and by tomorrow morning when I get to their workshop, they probably won't be open yet."
Zhang Weinuo was the last to stand up. He ran his finger across the sample panel again, then flipped it over and placed it face down on the table. "I'm going back to the meeting and giving those people a piece of my mind. The problem with the vapor deposition machine must be resolved this week. You've already offered to invest money, so the production line issue is my own responsibility."
After everyone left, Chen Zhongming was still sitting in the corner. His thermos was on the table, the lid half-open, and a thin wisp of steam escaped from the crack.
"Your approach," he said, picking up his thermos but not drinking from it, "is not the conventional approach. The conventional approach is to compete with them on money; you've chosen to compete with them on time."
"We may not be able to compete with Goldman Sachs in terms of money, but we can compete in terms of time—Goldman Sachs' decision-making chain involves three committees, while my decision only requires one."
Chen Zhongming screwed the lid on the cup, picked it up, and stood up. "There's another problem. We'll start mass production three months ahead of schedule. The supply chain is sorted out, but if the brand launch is pushed back to early next year, clashing with the Spring Festival season, the logistical pressure will double."
"Logistics is your responsibility. I'll handle the supply chain, and you'll take care of the rest. Clear division of labor, no overlap, and no shirking of responsibility."
Chen Zhongming didn't say anything more, pushed open the door and went out. At the door, he turned back and added, "I'm going to call the logistics company to pre-lock the warehouse and schedule the delivery."
Ling Yun was the only one left in the room. He stood in front of the whiteboard, looking at the circles and lines, and picked up the eraser to wipe away the word "Pending" on the battery line. After he finished, chalk dust dripped down from the edge of the eraser and landed on his sleeve, but he didn't pat it.
The landline on the table rang. He pressed the speakerphone button.
"President Ling," Zhao Hu's voice was very low, as if he were pressing his mouth to the microphone, "the signal from the teahouse is back. This afternoon at three o'clock, the same IP address and the same account logged into the code repository, this time staying for almost twenty minutes. I've already had the tech department print out a list of all the files associated with that account. Should I send it over now?"
"Send it over," Ling Yun said.
He put the eraser back in the slot under the whiteboard, took out a new marker from the slot, uncapped it, and wrote a word in a blank space—"wait".