The internet detonated again two hours after Audi's provocative ad went live. A joint lawyer's letter from Benma, Baolai, and Aoto swept across portals and social platforms, its tone frigid and formal, accusing Audi of insulting the three marques and demanding a public apology within forty‑eight hours. If Audi refused, they warned that they would sue in the Great Xia courts for damage to reputation and trademark rights. The timing, the orchestration, even the rhetoric—they wanted momentum, headlines, and the weight of public opinion pressing down before any judge eouched a file.
The recent shift in the national feeds made the blast land even harder. For months, traffic had been gorged on celebrity gossip and tawdry scandals. Suddenly, over the past two days, the lead stories weren't infidelity charts but torque figures and badge wars. The gossip crowd discovered that car‑industry news was more addictive than rumor when pride and face were on the line. The comments ran hot under the lawyer's letter posts: some cheered the legal offensive, most mocked it. People called the ad the year's most creative spot and joked that the three firms should "accidentally send the letter to the wrong address." The tone was irreverent, but the implication was clear—public sentiment tilted toward Audi's audacity.
The escalation didn't end there. The Volkswagen Group stepped out to "support" Benma, Baolai, and Aoto, condemning Audi and declaring itself ashamed of such behavior, even invoking the "German automotive spirit." The paradox was delicious: a German giant rebuked a German brand for insulting other brands. To the crowd, it looked like a family brawl; to Heifeng, it looked like an open goal. The more voices tiled on, the more oxygen his ad received, and the deeper the association carved into viewers' minds. Once you'd seen that spot, whenever a Benma, Baolai, or Aoto badge flashed by, your brain would tug up Audi's silhouette and the punchline that followed. Repetition would do the rest: an idea planted, watered by outrage, and harvested by memory.
While the outside world frothed, Chen Changchun from Legal brought the printed lawyer's letters into the office. Heifeng barely glanced up. Apologize? "They're overthinking," he said, lip curled. "If they have the ability, let them sue. If they can win, I'll take their surname." The confidence wasn't bravado; it was preparation. From the start, he had told the marketing team: leave no handle, no evidence. The three keys in the ad were custom models, sixty to seventy percent reminiscent of the competitors' fobs—enough to tickle recognition, not enough to satisfy an exhibit list. In a rule‑of‑law society, evidence is the drawbridge. Without it, accusations drown in their volume. And if they tried to bluff the bridge down, Audi could countersue for defamation.
What irritated him a little was Volkswagen's grandstanding. The dispute was between Audi and the trio; why was Volkswagen inserting itself? If they wanted a spectacle, he would oblige. "They want an apology?" he said, eyes sharpening. "Fine. Send another ad to every platform, and let's apologize properly." He took a pen and sketched the storyboard, adding simple diagrams so no one could misunderstand the beat he wanted to hit. This time, there was no need for cameras or elaborate sets. Pure CG would suffice: cleaner, faster, safer. Marketing received the brief from Huang Ming and returned in two hours with a cut. Heifeng watched, nodded. "Not bad. Still some talent in the department." Then the order went out: buy slots, push it wide, make sure everyone who saw the lawyer's letter sees this, too.
Across town, in the home of Assef, Volkswagen's head in Great Xia, the principals from the four foreign brands reconvened. They had just finished coordinating the legal volleyball when the room became strained. No one wanted to speak first about next steps; no one wanted to be the one who proposed a move that backfired. Steve Zean finally broke the stalemate, face tight, urging them to decide how to give Audi a lesson it wouldn't forget—ideally something that choked the brand at the source. Before strategies could take shape, Assef's phone rang. He answered, froze, and color drained from his face. "Send me the link," he said. Then, to the room: Audi had released another advertisement—a twenty‑second video. The timing mirrors the first act—wait for the opponents to raise their banners, then cut in with a fresh blade.
When the file arrived, the joint statement demanding a public apology was still climbing the hot lists. The second ad slid into the stream like a fish into a current, catching every pair of eyes already fixed on the controversy. That, more than any courtroom threat, was why they looked stricken. Lawyers' letters work on paper; public sentiment works everywhere. If the video turned their moral high ground into a meme—if the "apology" twisted the frame one more notch—their carefully staged indignation would convert into Audi's reach and resonance. And once a narrative hardens in people's heads, it takes more than a press release to scrape it clean.
A few core currents ran beneath the surface:
Heifeng had engineered plausible deniability: look‑alike, not identical keys; suggestive composition, not explicit naming. Proof was the other side's burden.
He harnessed repetition psychology. Make the audience think of Audi whenever they see a rival badge; let rivals help by amplifying the message.
He answered legal pressure with creative pressure, using a second ad to frame the "apology" on his terms and keep control of the conversation.
What the four companies faced now wasn't just a marketing duel but a tempo duel. They moved by committee—draft, circulate, sign, release—each step a footprint in wet cement. Heifeng moved like a startup—conceive, produce, publish—each step a wrist flick. The longer they argued over doctrines and dignity, the more their opponent trained the public to laugh at their outrage and remember Audi when they looked at anyone else's key. And laughter, in a market, is far more lethal than anger.
If the second video landed like the first one, the courtroom might still open its doors, motions might still be filed, and statements might still thunder. But the verdict that mattered—purchasing intent—was already written in the margins by millions of viewers, one smirk at a time.