Cook hadn't expected Marching Ant Company to be so… unyielding.
Three rejections in one day. And each one more direct than the last.
There had never been a day quite as frustrating as today. Even if things weren't going his way, he had no choice but to endure. Losing his temper now would only make matters worse—not just for the potential acquisition, but for any cooperation at all.
This route was clearly blocked. He had to try something else.
"Ms. Zhao," Cook broke the awkward silence, "could I speak with your chairman directly?"
Zhao Min offered a polite smile, then turned to Xiao Yu.
Xiao Yu immediately called Chen Mo. "Chen Mo, Mr. Cook would like to speak with you."
"Alright," Chen Mo's voice replied calmly.
The room returned to silence. Moments later, Chen Mo entered the reception lounge.
"Mr. Cook, this is our chairman, Chen Mo," Zhao Min introduced.
Cook blinked in surprise.
So young.
Far younger than he'd expected. It took him a second to recover before standing and offering a handshake. The two men exchanged brief greetings, and then Chen Mo took his seat across from him.
"Mr. Chen," Cook began, "I'd like to buy your company. Before coming here, we commissioned a valuation from BrandFinance—13 billion U.S. dollars. I personally felt that was low, so we're offering 15 billion for 100% acquisition."
"Sorry," Chen Mo replied flatly. "Not for sale."
Zhao Min had yet to translate when Cook already sensed the meaning. Still, she did the translation out of courtesy.
Cook's face darkened.
Zhao Min's earlier rejections had at least been politely worded. Chen Mo, however, had cut straight to the point. Barely a sentence.
Fifteen billion wasn't spare change. The sheer bluntness stunned Cook into thinking he had misheard. But after confirming it through Zhao Min, he realized he had not.
"Mr. Chen," Cook repeated with emphasis, "we're offering fifteen billion U.S. dollars."
"I know," Chen Mo said, unfazed. "Still not for sale."
There was no ambiguity in his tone.
Cook sighed internally. This man had no interest in selling. He had to switch gears—fast.
"In that case," Cook said, composing himself, "let's explore another form of cooperation."
"Go ahead," Chen Mo replied with a casual smile.
Zhao Min took on the role of interpreter as the conversation resumed.
"Would your company be open to outside investment?" Cook asked. "We can invest eight billion dollars for a 51% stake."
"We're not short on money," Chen Mo answered flatly. "If you're looking for another angle of cooperation, feel free to suggest it—but we're not selling shares either."
Cook fell silent for a moment. Chen Mo's tone was firm. It was becoming clear that gaining control over Marching Ant was out of the question.
"…Then let's talk product-level cooperation," Cook offered. "We'd like your intelligent assistant—Little Butterfly—to launch on iOS."
"I'd like that too," Chen Mo replied. "But it's not possible unless we have access to the core source code and architecture of iOS. Without that, we can't properly integrate our assistant. It would be treated as unauthorized software and restricted by the system."
Chen Mo looked Cook in the eye. "So, Mr. Cook, are you willing to open iOS's source code to us?"
The room went still.
It was the last thing Cook wanted to hear.
Opening iOS's source code to Marching Ant would be tantamount to Apple bowing down to a much younger, much smaller Chinese tech company. Unthinkable.
Chen Mo's logic was clear: without deep system access, Little Butterfly would never function properly on iOS.
Cook's mind spun. The implications were massive.
After a long pause, he finally said, "We can open the source code. But only under one condition."
"I'm listening."
"We exchange. You provide us with the complete source code for your intelligent assistant. We'll open iOS to you in return. A fair trade."
Chen Mo didn't even blink. "Impossible."
The refusal was immediate and final.
Little Butterfly was Marching Ant's crown jewel—its most advanced AI asset. The source code had never been shared—not with domestic firms, let alone international ones.
Besides, Chen Mo didn't need iOS. His company's own operating system was more advanced, more integrated, and more secure than Apple's in nearly every metric.
Cook's expression darkened further. "Mr. Chen, if we can't agree on any terms, this conversation is going nowhere."
"We don't need to cooperate," Chen Mo replied, calm and composed. "We develop software. But we can't release it on iOS unless we have deep system-level access. If Apple can't provide that, then there's nothing more to discuss."
He took a sip of tea, letting his words settle.
The room grew heavy with tension.
Cook's mind raced. Even if he wanted to share iOS's source code, the security risks were astronomical. Apple's board would never approve. The iOS ecosystem was their fortress, their moat.
There was no chance they would hand that over—not to a foreign company, and certainly not to one rising this quickly.
"Mr. Chen…" Cook finally said, his voice softer, "is there any other path forward?"
"Your iOS system is too locked down," Chen Mo explained. "Without core access, we can't control basic functions. And besides, your company already has Siri. Why would you need our Little Butterfly?"
Cook was silent.
He knew the answer, of course.
Siri had fallen behind. And Little Butterfly was years ahead in natural language processing, contextual awareness, and integration.
After a long pause, Cook sighed and stood up. "Mr. Chen, I'll need time to consider your offer."
"Of course," Chen Mo said. "Would you like a tour of the company before you go?"
"No. I'll return to my hotel. I look forward to seeing you again."
Cook extended his hand. Chen Mo shook it with a faint smile.
"Zhao Min," Chen said as he turned toward her, "please see Mr. Cook out."
"Of course." Zhao Min nodded and led the group out of the room.
As Cook stepped outside, the crowd of over forty reporters that had gathered instantly surged forward.
The news that Cook had entered Marching Ant's building had already gone viral within the journalist community. Some who had previously left had rushed back. Cameras clicked furiously.
"President Zhao, what kind of cooperation have you reached this time?"
"Mr. Cook! Is Apple buying Marching Ant?"
"Was an agreement signed?"
A flurry of questions rained down.
Cook paused by the car, turned, and offered a polite smile.
"Thank you, friends in the media. I'm very happy to have visited Marching Ant today. We had a very pleasant conversation, and I believe there will be many opportunities for cooperation in the future."
With that, he stepped into the vehicle.
The door shut.
And the moment it did, Cook's expression collapsed.
The smile was gone.
His mood plummeted once again.
To the reporters outside, it looked like success.
Inside the car, all Cook saw was failure.