Yang Qiang let the suspense simmer a moment longer, then swept back onto the stage.
"The Hongmeng S3 comes with 25-watt fast-charging and a 3,400 mAh battery, so say goodbye to power anxiety," he declared, ticking off every spec that enthusiasts had been whispering about: infrared remote, full-function NFC, and a tight, responsive rotor motor for haptic feedback — all the trimmings usually reserved for true flagships. Netizens poured across the live-stream chat, admitting that the phone looked like a bargain before the price appeared.
Yet Yang Qiang knew polish meant nothing without the number everyone was watching for. He clicked his remote, and the hall lights dimmed. A single slide popped up, replacing the spec grid with crisp, no-nonsense pricing. Gasps rippled through the crowd; online comments froze for half a beat and then exploded.
Hongmeng S3 (4.6 in.)
2 GB + 32 GB — ¥2 999
2 GB + 64 GB — ¥3 299
3 GB + 64 GB — ¥3 699
Hongmeng S3 Pro (5.5 in.)
3 GB + 32 GB — ¥3 499
3 GB + 64 GB — ¥3 999
3 GB + 128 GB — ¥4 599
Star Series
Star Q2 2 GB + 32 GB — ¥1 999 • 2 GB + 64 GB — ¥2 499
Star M2 2 GB + 16 GB — ¥ 999 • 2 GB + 32 GB — ¥1 399
"666! There's one for every wallet," someone typed; another shouted, "This price is unbeatable!" The bullet screen soon filled with rainbow emojis and fist bumps as viewers scrambled to decide which storage tier to grab first.
Chief Executive Haifeng allowed himself a rare grin at the back of the hall. The entire pricing matrix had been built around his mantra of small profits and quick turnover: keep per-unit margin under five hundred yuan and let volume do the rest. He reasoned that if consumers balked even at this, nothing would ever satisfy them.
Honor's mobile phone chief, Zhao Liangyun, turned ashen while he watched the webcast from headquarters. With those numbers on the board, his just-released Honor 7 series suddenly looked bloated and slow. Slashing prices hard enough to compete would knife the brand's existing users and obliterate already-thin margins, but doing nothing meant ceding shelf space overnight. "Is Huaxing trying to starve the rest of us?" he muttered, eyes fixed on the scrolling chat that now treated Honor like last season's leftover stock.
Yang Qiang pressed his advantage. "First sale goes live at ten a.m. on the tenth," he said, voice buoyant. "Online and offline at the same time. Register with your ID in any Huaxing experience store that day and we'll hand you a ¥50 coupon on the spot." Viewers dove toward the Huaxing website to locate the nearest brick-and-mortar outlet, while executives at the so-called Blue and Green Factories — kings of offline retail — felt their chests tighten.
Behind the curtain, Haifeng outlined the supply plan: nearly ten million units already boxed and palletized, but only a third released per batch. Three waves would keep buzz high, starve scalpers of certainty, and give factories breathing room to replenish. In his words, the strategy would test Huaxing's production sinews and the market's patience.
Online, praise mixed with playful outrage. Gamers cheered the Zhulong A3 chipset that could post 170 000-point benchmarks, while students pored over the entry-level Star M2, amazed that a sub-1 000-yuan handset still carried Huaxing's design language. Parents budgeting for the family group chat argued whether the mid-tier S3 or S3 Pro offered the sweeter spot. Tech bloggers fired off hot takes: "Honor forced to rethink mid-range," "Blue Factory blindsided," "Huaxing revives offline retail."
Haifeng's inner circle monitored the noise. Vice-President Liu Jianyu, ever the realist, reminded them that scarcity breeds desire: "Let the complaints flow. What people can't have today, they'll crave twice as hard tomorrow." Competitors might breathe easier if Huaxing's stock seemed thin. Still, the executive team knew better — ten million phones, paced correctly, would cover most demand while stretching the hype through several pay cycles.
Meanwhile, Lei Jun was halfway across South Asia, preparing Xiaomi's first overseas conference. He caught snippets of Yang Qiang's stream from his hotel room and laughed wryly: so Huaxing was finally flexing offline muscle again. Good. The market would be noisier than ever; Xiaomi could afford to wait until the dust settled before firing its volley.
As the press event wound down, orders for demo units left the hall, and Yang Qiang basked in the collective roar of approval. He signed off the broadcast with a bow, lights fading behind him, but the conversation outside the venue had only begun. Netizens started prediction threads about how fast the first drop would vanish. Some placed playful bets: would it be ninety seconds? Sixty? Even less?
Standing at the rear exit, Haifeng watched the flood of reporters and influencers hurry to file their stories. For a brief, silent moment, he imagined the tenth: servers straining, queues wrapping around storefronts, and that sweet white-on-black screen that read, Sold Out. Then he turned to the operations chief. "Make sure the logistics crews get a hot meal," he said. "Tonight they'll load the first batch."
The man nodded and jogged away, leaving Haifeng alone with the fading echoes of applause. The numbers would speak for themselves soon enough. For now, the only sound was the soft hum of stage lights cooling, and the quiet certainty that Huaxing Technology had just redrawn the price map of an entire industry.