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Chapter 251 - Chapter 251 - Throwing Money

Heifeng signed off on the third round of Star Technology's phone sales and, without catching his breath, cued up the first cut of Audi Motors' national commercial. The agency he'd hired was one of Daxia's heaviest hitters—television, outdoor, portals, video sites; if it had a screen, they could light it. Heifeng had told them to move fast and hit hard. Two hundred million yuan wired up front bought him speed, polish, and the confidence to demand one thing: saturation. As soon as the rough cut ended, he gave a single nod. "Good. Run it everywhere, no mercy. I want Benma, Baolai, and Otto choking on this." The account director on the other end didn't try to hide the thrill in her "Understood, President Heifeng."

At noon the next day, three foreign executives were toasting champagne in Arthurfu, the Daxia head of the Volkswagen Group's living room. Steve Zien of Benma and the Daxia chiefs of Baolai and Otto were frequent guests, compatriots abroad and rivals aligned by habit. They gossiped, traded market whispers, and, when convenient, mocked the upstarts who didn't know their place. Arthurfu, relaxed and curious, swirled his flute. "Mr. Zien, Audi's noise on has quieted down. Why needle them in front of reporters? Aren't you worried they'll flip the table again?"

Zien waved it off with a smirk. He'd answered a question; that was all. What else should a Benma executive say when asked about a Daxia brand dreaming of C‑class luxury and coupes? In his mind, Audi Motors was a punchline, a local firm bluffing with paper chips. The Baolai chief chimed in with a shrug: product positioning alone would break Audi—convincing buyers to treat a Daxia badge as luxury was a cliff few ever climbed. The others laughed. Only Arthurfu's smile thinned. He'd watched Audi refuse to play by anyone's rules but their own, and that—more than "positioning"—made them dangerous.

Zien's phone trilled. He excused himself, took the call, and his expression curdled from bored to black in seconds. "Send me the video link. Now." He hung up to three expectant stares. "Audi," he said, jaw tight. "They've pushed an ad. The content is… unfriendly."

The link arrived. Four heads leaned toward one screen.

After Weibo blocked Star Technology's official account, Heifeng hadn't argued; he'd bought a small shareholding instead. That purchase didn't bend rules but put his calls on a different line. Every user who opened Weibo saw an interstitial from Audi Motors at noon. Tap. The screen went dark. A low, layered growl—starter, ignition, idle stacked like drums—rolled out of the speakers. A silhouette slid into view, then a second and a third, three cars holding still in the black like patient predators.

Comments exploded the moment the clip hit timelines. "Is that a tuned A4L? That outline is wicked." "Audi TT—my first love." "What's in the middle?" "No clue, but the stance is mean."

A click, a hum. Three sets of daytime running lights snapped on in perfect unison. The new matrix LED beams woke in a choreographed cascade—segments breathing to life, edges carving the dark into clean geometry. The cars didn't move; the light did, and that alone drew a hush out of the scrolling crowd. Deep and deliberate, the voice‑over landed a beat later, like a signature pressed into wax: "Audi quality. Relentless perfection."

Then the show began in earnest. Indicators swept, high and low beams cross‑faded, projectors pulsed in a lattice—an eleven‑second light ballet written to prove a single point: if technology could feel like theater, Audi owned the stage. On Weibo, the slang came hot and shameless—"666!" "Damn, forgive my vocabulary, but damn." "Headlights are black magic; give me this and I'll kneel." "It's a party out there."

The choreography wasn't an accident. Heifeng had insisted the light control unit ship with a "stage mode," a factory Easter egg that, when toggled, turned the headlamp array into a living marquee. No roads, no drivers, no dialogue about torque, wheelbase, or crash beams—just a sensory thesis: our engineering speaks for itself. The agency had polished the idea, but the bones were his. And with the Weibo blast forcing the playhead open for every user at lunch hour, the message didn't compete for attention; it colonized it.

Back in Arthurfu's living room, Zien watched silently, lips pressed tight as the beams danced. What rattled him wasn't only the craft. It was the audacity of the placement and the instinct behind it. He'd mocked Audi for aiming at segments reserved for legacy badges. But luxury wasn't only stitched leather and heritage brochures—it was the ability to make people feel something the instant a product breathed. A C‑class sedan that could command a room with a blink had a path to legitimacy. So did a couple that treated its lights like jewelry and language. The Baolai and Otto chiefs kept their faces careful, but their eyes betrayed the calculation: if this was the opening shot, what did the second ad look like?

For ordinary users, none of that calculus mattered. What they felt was simple: cool, precise, expensive. The darkness had turned the headlights into protagonists, and the script had permitted viewers to project status onto a Daxia brand with no apologies. Even those who would never buy one found themselves sharing the link, adding the kind of profanity‑laced praise that algorithms adore. The ad didn't argue with the establishment; it made the establishment look late.

Heifeng had promised "no mercy," and the budget burn made good on it. Two hundred million yuan wasn't a media plan but a siege. National television slots, as would outdoor walls, elevator screens, cinema pre‑rolls, and every high‑traffic portal that sold a rectangle would follow. But the Weibo blitz at noon did the strategic work—seeding the image, fixing the phrase "Audi quality, relentless perfection," and letting the crowd do the rest. If Benma wanted to dismiss them as a local joke after this, they would have to pretend they didn't see the numbers.

The video ended where it began, in darkness, the last frame a thin white logotype floating like a challenge. Zien killed the sound and set the phone down. Champagne no longer tasted like victory. He realized someone had just thrown a mountain of money at an idea—and worse, had done it wisely. Across from him, Arthurfu finally allowed himself a breath of relief. He didn't like being right about opponents, but he liked being blindsided even less. Audi Motors wasn't asking permission to sit at the table. They'd arrived with floodlights and their chair.

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