Chapter 87 More Responsibility
After hanging up the phone, Su Yuanshan took several deep breaths, opened the window to let the night breeze in, and only then gradually calmed down.
He sat back down, grabbed a ballpoint pen, and spun it between his fingers.
Su Yuanshan knew that Cyrix would definitely settle with Intel — not because of luck, but because of the nature of the Western legal system, and also because Intel couldn't afford to gamble.
If Intel gambled and lost, it would mean the collapse of their 338 patent hammer, opening the floodgates for countless cloners learning from Cyrix.
If Xinghai could successfully acquire Cyrix, then Xinghai could build a factory with Yuanchip back in the mainland. And once Yuanchip got involved... future developments of the X86 instruction set would be dominated by Yuanchip!
The only problem now was that even if Cyrix was willing to sell, Xinghai might not pass the asset audit.
Currently, OCSS was nominally a subsidiary of the offshore company Xinghai. The legal representative was Xi Xiaoding, but his status was complicated — he wasn't even officially classified as "Chinese" anymore, just a green card holder. Meanwhile, the actual controller behind the offshore company was Su Yuanshan.
Still, it wasn't impossible.
Last year, the Lighthouse Nation had just steamrolled its way across the desert and then crushed the northern great power, leading to a period of extreme overconfidence. Everyone was high on their own superiority complex. (Further sensitive commentary omitted — will be included separately if necessary. Thanks for understanding — no one wants to get 404'd...)
Cyrix, meanwhile, was still a barely four-year-old startup, struggling along.
Now facing a lawsuit, it seemed practically "worthless."
Moreover, Cyrix wasn't even a publicly listed company — which meant it wouldn't trigger higher levels of scrutiny, drastically increasing the possibility of acquisition.
And even more importantly, to most people, Cyrix was just a low-end troublemaker, with nowhere near the technical prowess of Intel or even the more established cloner AMD.
...
Su Yuanshan methodically wrote down all his analysis in a notebook, then tore out the page and tucked it into his briefcase.
A week later, Professor Su Xinghe's delegation "successfully" returned.
The quotation marks were necessary — because just before leaving, not only the tech media but even the island's entertainment media had somehow caught wind of Su Xinghe's identity.
A swarm of reporters flocked to him like flies, bombarding him with a bewildering range of questions that left Professor Su completely stunned.
Aside from the usual cliches about mainland professors' meager salaries, the most common question was: "Professor Su, what have you gained from this trip?"
To which Su Xinghe had replied with his trademark smile: "The biggest takeaway is that your entertainment shows are really impressive."
Even after returning home, Su Xinghe couldn't help but grumble:
"They really depict the mainland as unimaginably poor. I don't know if it's deliberate or ignorance, but one reporter even asked if professors here still received extra rations. She even asked if it was sweet potatoes or corn — her pitying expression was so over-the-top I didn't know whether to laugh or cry."
Everyone burst into laughter.
Su Yuanshan poured his father a glass of water and laughed:
"This kind of deliberate propaganda will probably be the norm for a while. In twenty years, they might still think we can't afford tea eggs."
Professor Li Gaoliang added with a chuckle:
"Don't laugh — tea eggs are genuinely expensive right now. Not everyone can afford them."
"That's why we have to be patient," Su Yuanshan said with a smile. "Uncle Li, congratulations on your promotion."
"Haha! You brat," Li Gaoliang said, scratching his head proudly.
"But your dad got promoted too! He's about to become a department head. Shouldn't you congratulate him?"
This year, Electronics Tech had officially set up the School of Electronic Engineering, with Li Gaoliang as its dean, and Professor Su Xinghe appointed head of the Department of Computer Science and Engineering.
The school was also planning to further expand and upgrade the department to a full-fledged college.
Su Yuanshan recalled that by 1994, the School of Computer Science and Engineering would indeed be established — with his father as its first dean.
"I'll congratulate him privately," Su Yuanshan said with a smile, helping his mother set a plate of watermelon on the coffee table.
"By the way, Uncle Li, Dad — Senior Brother Xi Xiaoding should be coming back at the end of the year," Su Yuanshan said, picking up a slice of watermelon casually. "He's thinking of taking a position at Electronics Tech."
Li Gaoliang immediately brightened:
"Really?"
Su Xinghe also looked at his son in surprise — he knew Xi Xiaoding had always preferred pure research.
"Yes. When he returns, Yuanchip will appoint him as Chief Scientist. He plans to set up a lab focused on computer algorithms, not just for internal development but also to train future talent domestically."
"But that involves qualifications. So... I'm hoping you two can sort that out. Dad, you know Senior Brother Xi is more than qualified to supervise PhD students."
Su Xinghe nodded without hesitation:
"Of course! Honestly, even in the West, he's first-rate in algorithms."
Su Yuanshan smiled and added:
"In the field of algorithms, you could count the people who can match him on one hand."
Su Xinghe nodded again, turning to Li Gaoliang:
"Old Li, you'll have to talk to President Zhou. I'm not the right person for this."
"No problem," Li Gaoliang said cheerfully.
"We already discussed giving him an associate professorship last year. It'll go through. Someone like Xi Xiaoding would be wasted on routine teaching. Algorithms belong to the realm of pure mathematics. His age and energy are perfect for leading cutting-edge research."
He chuckled: "Leave the lecturing to old guys like me."
"Uncle Li, you're too modest."
Su Yuanshan exchanged a few more polite words, but he knew Li Gaoliang's research level wasn't that high — mainly because he had spent too much time in administrative roles.
Still, he had always been clear-eyed about his own strengths and weaknesses, describing himself as "an athlete who missed his prime" — and now a coach who might not be brilliant himself but knew how to manage others.
Thanks to his leadership, the School of Electronic Engineering had grown rapidly.
After that, they began discussing plans to establish a joint laboratory between Yuanchip and Electronics Tech.
Yuanchip would contribute at least twice as much funding as the university, focusing on collaborative R&D projects.
The proposal was quickly endorsed by both the school and the Ministry, intended as a pilot for industry-academic cooperation.
But it also exposed a new issue.
Yuanchip was a pure private enterprise born out of the market economy. No matter who the legal representative was, the company's fundamental goal was profit.
Meaning Yuanchip's investments would only target projects that served its needs.
From the Ministry's and Electronics Tech's perspective, however, they hoped Yuanchip could take on more responsibility — supporting a broader range of projects.
After all, this year, Electronics Tech's entire research budget was only seven million yuan.
That was just a drop in the bucket for Yuanchip.
Thus, the school hoped that Yuanchip's funding could be distributed more broadly to benefit all departments.
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