News had spread fast, but Cook was nowhere to be seen.
The media crowding outside Marching Ant Company found it strange. Cook hadn't visited the company. In fact, he hadn't appeared anywhere else in Binhai since the airport photos.
Inside the Marching Ant building, everything remained calm. No scheduled visits, no announced guests. To the reporters waiting outside, the silence was maddening.
Reporters weren't allowed to enter without an official invitation, and Cook's hotel remained unknown. The man had vanished, leaving nothing but rumors in his wake.
As the hours ticked by, journalists grew anxious and restless.
Meanwhile, in his hotel suite, Cook sat on the couch, eyes closed, exhaustion etched across his face.
He hadn't adjusted to the time difference, and his mood matched his jet lag—grim.
The U.S. stock market had just closed, and Apple's stock had dropped another 1%. And now, Marching Ant had rejected him—again.
The sting of being turned away twice was starting to get under his skin.
Marching Ant had made it clear: if he wanted cooperation, he'd have to come to them. But showing up would mean giving away the initiative. If he just left Binhai without any progress, then this trip was a complete failure.
His mind spun with options, none of them ideal.
The Apple S2 launch was coming soon. On paper, the specs were comparable to Marching Ant's Butterfly Eye, but there was a gaping hole—no intelligent assistant. Siri couldn't hold a candle to Xiaodie, and their battery tech was still lacking.
Aside from the edge in bionic chips, Apple had no significant advantage. And if things continued like this, their sales could hit Waterloo in Greater China.
They'd even tried a covert cyber attack—sending black-hat hackers to steal Marching Ant's smart assistant source code—but had failed. Worse, the Marching Ant servers countered with an embarrassing trap. The incident hadn't been made public, but internally, it had shaken their confidence.
Apple was now scrambling to upgrade Siri and boost its AI department. But it was nearly impossible to catch up in such a short time.
If they couldn't get the smart assistant, they'd lose the China market. And once Marching Ant went global? It'd be even more trouble.
Eventually, Cook opened his eyes and called his secretary.
"Contact Marching Ant," he said, voice low. "Ask them if they'd be willing to meet somewhere else tonight."
Back at Marching Ant headquarters, Chen Mo was having lunch with Xiao Yu in his office.
She had brought food again today. Sometimes they'd eat out, but more often than not, Xiao Yu prepared homemade meals and brought them in. It was their quiet routine.
"You know," Chen Mo said, smiling as he picked up another bite, "your cooking's way better than anything outside."
Xiao Yu's eyes lit up with a shy grin, though she gave him a playful glare in return.
"You always say things like that," she said, pretending to scold.
"Well, it's true," he replied with a wink.
Seeing him enjoy the food, she eagerly scooped more dishes into his bowl.
"Here, eat more."
"You're feeding me like a pig."
"I am feeding you," she said, laughing.
Just then, Xiaodie, the company's smart assistant, chimed in.
"Zhao Min is calling."
"Put it on speaker," Chen Mo said without putting down his chopsticks.
"Chairman, am I interrupting lunch?" Zhao Min's voice came through.
"What's up?" Chen Mo asked.
"Cook wants to talk tonight. He asked us to meet him outside."
Chen Mo's expression turned faintly cold.
"He wants us to go to him again?" He shook his head. "Tell them—if they really want to talk, let them come to the company. If it's too much trouble just to visit us, then forget about cooperation. We're not on some back-alley 18th floor."
Zhao Min could hear the calm finality in his tone. "Got it. I'll have someone reply right away."
Chen Mo hung up, then casually continued eating with Xiao Yu as if nothing had happened.
After lunch, he sat at his computer and resumed work on the robot design.
The parts list had already been drafted and handed to Zhao Min, who'd have her team start sourcing materials immediately.
Before long, the manufacturing phase could begin.
"You're not going to rest?" Xiao Yu asked as she finished cleaning up their lunch.
"You go nap for a while. I'm still good. If I get tired, I'll stop. You have work later, I don't."
She walked over, curious, watching the complex schematics on his screen.
"What are you working on?"
"Robot design."
"You're making a robot?" Her tone was full of surprise.
In her mind, robots were still sci-fi things—movie props or lab experiments. The idea that Chen Mo was casually building one was shocking.
"Just a fun little toy," Chen Mo said. "Anyway, I've got free time now. Once it's done, maybe I'll give you one."
"I don't need a robot. What would I do with it?" She smiled and stretched. "I'm gonna rest a bit. Don't overwork."
She lay down on the couch in his office while Chen Mo focused on the blueprint.
The robot's structure was divided into four main parts:
Actuators
Drive unit
Control system
Sensor array
At this stage, Chen Mo was still building out the basic layout.
The Science and Technology Library had only given him design schematics—not supporting tech. So he had to fill in the gaps himself.
The drive unit would use carbon crystal batteries to power an electric drive. No arc reactor stuff—this wasn't a war robot. He just needed it for lab use, a functional assistant for experimentation.
As for control, it would be managed by Xiaodie, their smart assistant. She would need data integration and feedback from onboard processors located in the robot's joints.
The sensors were perhaps the most critical. Cameras, laser sensors, audio pickups, thermal imaging—these would serve as the robot's "eyes," "ears," and "nerves," feeding information back to Xiaodie in real-time.
In fact, this was why Chen Mo had developed the laser sensor first—to give the robot precise visual recognition capabilities.
Back at the hotel, Cook sat stiffly on the couch, face tight with frustration.
He'd been rejected again.
Once—maybe understandable. Twice? Unheard of.
He'd underestimated how firm Marching Ant's stance would be. They weren't desperate to meet him—and they knew it.
He sat in silence for a long moment, thoughts churning.
Eventually, Cook stood up, put on his jacket, and quietly left the room.