Three Boeing 747s streaked through the sky in a triangular formation as they entered Chinese airspace. Each aircraft was outfitted in jaw-dropping extravagance, their interiors resembling airborne palaces.
Inside one of the flying giants, eleven people sat around a lavish conference table.
At the head sat a middle-aged man with gray hair, a broad forehead, a neatly trimmed moustache, and a sharp jawline. His black suit and tie were crisp, exuding both power and elegance.
He was known as the "Arab Buffett"—Prince Walid of Saudi Arabia, the Middle East's own stock market legend and one of the few people in the world capable of casually writing a check for $100 million.
Exiled to Egypt with his father at age five, Walid had returned to Saudi Arabia years later. At just 22, he received $15,000 from his father—and that seed capital launched a legendary investment empire.
Now he was the Chairman of Kingdom Holding Company, the largest individual shareholder in Citigroup, and had stakes in global giants like Apple, Twitter, Disney, Time Warner, Amazon, and the Four Seasons Hotel chain.
Alongside Warren Buffett, he was one of the two living investment myths—East and West—and a personal friend of Buffett himself. His lifestyle was extravagantly luxurious, with an Airbus A380, three private Boeings, a $600 million mega-yacht, and palaces across continents. Yet he was also a generous philanthropist with a sterling public image.
To outsiders, Walid seemed like the perfect man—wealth, power, vision, and legacy.
Now, his sharp eyes swept across the other ten individuals seated around the table—his handpicked think tank. None dared to relax. Walid was a known workaholic with absolute authority in his organization.
The sole topic of discussion: the Marching Ant Company.
Each person had a dossier in front of them—detailed profiles of Chen Mo, Zhao Min, and the company's development trajectory.
Walid had come to Binhai City with one clear goal: to invest in the Marching Ant Company. The company was already on his watchlist, but until now, he'd found no entry point.
"From what we can see," said a spectacled man with a scholarly appearance, "they're unlikely to accept any shareholding proposal. Marching Ant is currently the most cash-rich tech firm in the world. Just their seismograph product alone is worth over $10 billion USD. They simply don't need money."
Walid was well known for investing in companies with huge potential but lacking funds. His historic investment in Citigroup had come during their cash crunch—timing was everything. But the Marching Ant Company had more cash on hand than even his own empire. Money wouldn't open this door.
"There's another route," Walid said, fingers interlaced, his voice deep and steady. "We offer strategic assistance—help them enter international markets—in exchange for equity."
The room was silent. Then someone began cautiously, "Based on our analysis, that might—"
"Stop," Walid interrupted sharply. "I didn't bring you here to tell me what can't be done. I pay you to find possibilities within the impossible. I'm going to shower. I expect a feasible plan on my desk before we land."
With that, he stood and walked out, leaving the think tank scrambling.
Outside Binhai International Airport, a convoy of fifty brand-new BMWs lined the tarmac, forming a spectacular welcoming formation. Onlookers were stunned.
People quickly snapped photos, flooding social media with captions like:
"What kind of crazy lineup is this??"
"Is this a royal visit or a movie shoot?"
Local reporters rushed in, sensing a major story. Moments later, three planes touched down, and Prince Walid exited the aircraft surrounded by an entourage of bodyguards. He stepped into the central BMW like a king returning to his palace.
"Damn... not human," someone muttered as they watched the convoy roll out.
"That's Prince Walid of Saudi Arabia—Middle East's richest man," said a more informed onlooker. "When he travels, it's three Boeings minimum. His Airbus A380 didn't even come this time, or you'd really know what 'local tyrant' means. Our domestic rich guys? Can't even polish his shoes."
Cameras flashed like crazy.
The Middle East's investment kingpin had just landed in Binhai, and with the Marching Ant Company's recent unveiling of their intelligent robot, everyone knew this visit was more than just tourism.
Within minutes, the BMW convoy departed toward the Marina Grand Hotel, which Walid had fully booked.
Back at Marching Ant HQ, Zhao Min stepped into Chen Mo's office.
"Walid's here. Three planes, 76-person entourage, and rented fifty new BMWs. He's booked the entire Marina Grand. So far, no contact with us."
Chen Mo looked up from his reading and quipped, "Wow. That's on another level. Poverty really does limit imagination."
Zhao Min rolled her eyes. "You know, when you say stuff like that, I really want to slap you."
"You can't beat me," Chen Mo replied with a deadpan expression. "Anyway, back to business."
Zhao Min regained her composure. This visit from Walid could be a major turning point. She hadn't yet told Chen Mo the full details.
"I think he's here for two reasons."
"Go on."
Chen Mo motioned her to sit, poured a cup of tea, and handed it over.
Zhao Min took a sip, then handed over a folder. "This is his profile, though I imagine you already have it memorized."
Chen Mo gave it a glance and set it aside. He'd already asked Mo Nu to compile detailed background data. Every move Walid had made was etched in his memory.
"A born investor," Zhao Min continued. "Started with $15,000, made bold bets during the Iran-Iraq oil crisis, profited from the Kuwait invasion, then flipped land for his first fortune. His stakes in Saudi banks and Citigroup established him globally. Sharp instincts. His first goal is definitely to invest in Marching Ant."
Even Zhao Min, a seasoned strategist, admired Walid's business sense. His work ethic was notorious—crossing a dozen countries in a week to finalize deals. She thought she worked hard. Walid made her look lazy.
"He'll leave empty-handed," Chen Mo said calmly. "We're not selling any shares."
"I know. But he won't come all this way just for that," Zhao Min said. "So his second purpose is probably to purchase the smart robot. And here's where we have wiggle room—his global network is unmatched. If we cooperate, he could help launch our products internationally. As long as he profits, he'll play ball."
Last time, the Butterfly Eye phone had been blocked in Europe, delaying international rollout. That setback still gnawed at her. This time, she wouldn't let the chance slip.
"Get ready," Chen Mo said, half-joking. "We'll be hearing from them soon. I've always heard stories of Middle Eastern tycoons, but seeing it in person… different level. I heard he's the 'Diamond King'—so Zhao Min, are you...?"
Chen Mo didn't finish the sentence—Zhao Min's death glare shut him up instantly.
"If I was going to date anyone, you'd be my pick," Zhao Min said with a mischievous smile. "Why would I go for an old guy who's been married four times? Relax, little brother."
With that, she turned and walked out, leaving Chen Mo staring after her, speechless.
"Damn... Did she just say that?" he muttered under his breath, watching her retreating figure in disbelief.