Chen Mo wasn't the only one who received the signal.
Far out in the Pacific, radar systems aboard an island nation patrol vessel also picked up the same transmission. Though the signal was encrypted, and the contents unreadable, its location and consistency made one thing clear—it was coming from the seafloor nearby, and it wasn't going away.
"Turn the ship around. Unknown signal detected due east," Shi Tengchuan ordered, hanging up the phone and glancing at his deputy.
Command had already forwarded the signal's coordinates. It matched the route taken by the last Chinese expedition team. That meant there was a high chance the signal originated from another Marching Ant seismograph.
The previous one they'd salvaged had been badly damaged—rendered useless thanks to a self-destruct mechanism. But if this new one was intact…
Shi's thoughts turned calculating.
The outside world claimed Chinese tech was inferior. But deep down, many knew the truth: in several fields, China had already surpassed them.
And the Marching Ant Company? A rising star in advanced technology. Dismiss it at your peril.
He wasn't the only one thinking that way.
Thousands of kilometers away, aboard a US Navy vessel "freely patrolling" the Pacific, technicians monitoring undersea signals also intercepted the same encrypted ping.
They didn't know the contents, but they knew who sent it.
Everyone remembered the Marching Ant Company's earthquake warning paper. Most had laughed at it then. But now that the device was broadcasting, the calculus had changed. Whether or not the tech worked as advertised, it was now a military-grade black box.
And even if the prediction tech proved false, the underwater communication system alone was a massive breakthrough. Transmitting stable signals from the seafloor wasn't something just anyone could do.
Orders were swift.
"Intercept. Investigate. If possible—retrieve."
Back in Binhai, inside the Marching Ant Company office, the Ink Girl's voice cut through Chen Mo's focus.
"Mergo, American warships and vessels from the island nation are converging on the seismograph's signal location. It appears they intend to retrieve it."
"F*ck."
Chen Mo swore under his breath.
They were addicted to stealing his stuff. He had only six units in total. If they managed to recover another one, it would be a serious blow.
After a moment of frustration, Chen Mo calmed himself. Getting angry wouldn't solve the problem.
He needed to act.
"Contact Zhao Min."
On the other end of the line, Zhao Min's voice was slightly weary when she picked up.
"Big boss? What's going on?"
"I just received a seismic alert from one of the devices in the western Pacific. It predicts an earthquake within the next two hours. I'm going to release a statement on the official website."
"What?" Zhao Min's voice shot up an octave. "We're still in the testing phase! If you mess this up, the backlash—"
"I know. I'll be careful with the wording. But this alert has to go out."
"Why?" she asked, almost pleading.
"You'll understand soon enough. Trust me on this."
Zhao Min paused, then sighed.
"Fine. I'll inform Li Lingfeng and get the PR team ready. Just… be cautious. If this fails, we'll be humiliated globally. If it works, we become world-shaking."
"Exactly," Chen Mo replied.
After the call ended, he turned to his computer.
"Post a message on the company website. Make it subtle—no mention of earthquakes. Remove any sensitive terms. Just post the coordinates and the estimated magnitude. Add a location map."
"Roger that, Mom~" the Ink Girl chimed playfully.
Chen Mo leaned back.
He could jam their navigation systems if he wanted to—but that would only delay them. What he really needed was to show them why stealing his tech was a mistake.
If they dared take another seismograph, they'd have to suffer the consequences.
Officially, Chinese law prohibited individuals or companies from releasing earthquake warnings without government approval—to avoid public panic. But this wasn't happening in domestic territory. The location was over open ocean.
That gave him room to operate.
Within minutes, a new message appeared on the Marching Ant Company website:
"At approximately 37.5° North and 146.2° East, seismic anomalies have been detected. Estimated event: magnitude 6.0. Depth unknown. Occurrence projected within two hours."
It was vague, but everyone watching knew exactly what it meant.
Newsrooms across the country exploded.
"The Marching Ant Company just posted a seismic warning!"
Even though the post carefully avoided using the word "earthquake," the implication was unmistakable. Coming from the company that had just confirmed its seismograph project, this was no longer speculation—it was a direct warning.
And most crucially: it was issued two hours in advance.
That window was game-changing.
Lives could be saved. Infrastructure could be shut down. Flights diverted. Submarines recalled. All within two hours.
One short message, and the world trembled.
The media went into overdrive. Major outlets across Asia, Europe, and the Americas rushed to analyze, translate, and repost the coordinates and predictions.
The countdown had begun.
Back in the Pacific, aboard the island nation's patrol ship, Shi Tengchuan's phone rang again.
"Full speed to target coordinates," he ordered without hesitation.
He had just seen the Marching Ant announcement.
"They're not bluffing. If this earthquake hits—this tech becomes priceless."
Not far away, US Navy ships also picked up speed. The location of the signal matched the published warning. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore.
They weren't going to let the Chinese company keep its edge—not without a fight.
And so, in the heart of the Pacific, as dark clouds began to gather on the horizon, multiple ships raced toward one point on the ocean—each of them desperate to capture a piece of the future.
But none of them knew that time was ticking.
And the Earth was about to shake.