"Sorry, Mr. Li, we have no plans for financing. If that ever changes, I'll contact you personally."
Zhao Min ended the call, hung up the landline, and leaned back into her chair with a sigh.
It had been a week since the Butterfly Eye phone officially launched. In that time, Zhao Min had been buried in nonstop calls—every one of them asking about financing.
iDG, Penguin Investment, Sequoia, Jiuding Holdings... practically every major VC firm in the country had reached out, along with countless independent investors.
Over the last seven days, she had answered over 70 calls. If not for her work ethic, she might've unplugged the phone altogether.
Chen Mo, the chairman, had washed his hands of the matter entirely, dumping everything on her shoulders. At this point, Zhao Min felt like she'd lost a bet with Chen Mo and fallen into a very deep pit.
Still, there was a bright side: phone sales were going strong. Users praised the waterproof feature, and the experience with the Marching Ant OS had been impressively smooth.
The early precautions had paid off. Delivery was on schedule, and no major issues had cropped up. A few complaints surfaced online, but nothing that could make a dent.
As for the waterproof interface, other smartphone manufacturers had already begun reaching out to them.
While many companies used proprietary charging ports or standard 3.5mm headphone jacks, the Butterfly Eye's unique waterproof interface had drawn a lot of attention.
Zhao Min had announced at the press conference that the technology could be licensed out. Since then, many tech firms had initiated talks about potential partnerships.
After all, not every company could afford wireless charging like Apple. The waterproof interface was more cost-effective, practical, and added tangible value.
With things moving steadily, the company just needed a little more time to solidify its position.
Zhao Min was reviewing some documents when an urgent knock came at the door. Li Lingfeng rushed in, visibly flustered.
"What's going on?" she asked, frowning. Li Lingfeng was usually calm under pressure.
"Zhao Zong, there are new articles spreading online claiming that the Marching Ant system has major security vulnerabilities. It's blowing up fast."
"Security vulnerabilities?" Zhao Min sat up, instantly alert. "Are they real?"
"Fake. I went straight to the tech department. Lao Luo confirmed it's nonsense. It looks like someone hired a water army to smear us. Julie also reported a rise in refund requests."
Zhao Min picked up her phone and opened the news feed. Sure enough, just as Li Lingfeng said, articles alleging security flaws in the Marching Ant OS were trending.
She browsed through a few of them, then checked the comments. It was a storm of trolls and bandwagon critics, slamming the company with no clear logic.
Zhao Min exhaled slowly and set her phone down.
So, it had begun.
Clearly, someone didn't want to see Marching Ants rise too smoothly.
"What do we do?" Li Lingfeng asked.
The launch of the Butterfly Eye and the Marching Ant OS had shaken up the mobile phone industry. Whoever orchestrated this was likely hoping to tarnish their reputation, then swoop in, acquire the system for cheap, rebrand it, and relaunch under their own name.
An old play—but still effective.
"Don't panic. Let me contact the chairman."
She motioned for Li Lingfeng to sit and dialed Chen Mo's number. Times like these, she really resented how he always vanished during chaos.
"The bad news is out," she said when he answered.
"You mean the fake security hole in the Marching Ant OS?" Chen Mo replied. He'd already seen the headlines.
The OS was his creation. No way he could ignore this.
As for the online smear campaign—he couldn't care less. Any successful company would go through it eventually.
"You're already aware. Good," Zhao Min said.
"I'm telling you—there are no loopholes. I'd know. It's all fabricated. You can handle it, can't you?" Chen Mo asked.
"I can. But since you know the OS better than anyone, I was hoping you had a more strategic response."
"Hmm…" Chen Mo paused. "I've got a bold idea."
"Your ideas are always bold. Let's hear it."
"Put out a bounty. If anyone can find and exploit a real security hole—data intact—I'll give them one million."
"You're crazy."
"Relax. No one will succeed."
Chen Mo was confident. The Marching Ant OS was developed from the tech library and optimized extensively. It wasn't perfect, but it was as secure as anything out there. Without source code access, cracking it was nearly impossible.
That's why he could confidently say their system was stronger than any mainstream OS.
"Fine," Zhao Min said. "You're relaxed, so I'll handle the PR. But I'll tweak your idea. We'll raise the bounty to two million—half goes to a children's fund, the other half to whoever finds the exploit. Valid for six months."
"Anything below five million, go wild."
Zhao Min smirked and hung up. She turned to Li Lingfeng.
"Put this on our official channels: Any individual or team that can discover a security vulnerability in the Marching Ant OS and successfully exploit it while keeping all user data intact will receive two million yuan—one million donated to the Children's Fund, one million as a direct reward. Valid for six months."
She wanted to turn this smear campaign into an opportunity.
It was a clever move—charity made the company look good, and the bounty would showcase their confidence in the product.
Plus, it would boost mobile sales and public trust in the OS.
"Understood," Li Lingfeng said and left to post the message.
—
Online, the buzz around Marching Ant's OS was at an all-time high. Accusations of security flaws were still spreading.
But then, the official Marching Ant account posted their response, forwarding one of the viral articles and adding a bold announcement:
"BATTLE POST: The chairman says—A vulnerability is worth 2 million.
If any individual or team can discover a real vulnerability in the Marching Ant OS and successfully crack the system while maintaining data integrity, we will reward them with two million yuan: one million to the Children's Fund, one million as personal reward.
(Valid for six months. Final interpretation rights belong to the company.)"
It was like tossing ice water into a deep fryer—BOOM.
The internet exploded.
The hashtag #MarchingAntCompanyResponds shot straight to the top of the trending list.
Under their post, comment sections turned into comedy gold:
"Me: Mom, I need money for school. Mom: For what? Me: To make a million hacking phones. Mom: Is this about playing games again? Your dad's coming."
"Last year they told me to beg in Dubai, then marry in Ukraine, then gamble in jail. Now they want me to learn cybersecurity? Boss, I quit the construction site. I'm going to school."
"Bamboo rat, bamboo rat! Everything must go!"
Jokes, memes, and parodies flooded the feed. The reward announcement completely overshadowed the original smear campaign.
News outlets quickly pivoted from covering "security concerns" to covering the bounty.
The impact was massive. Even Apple had never made such a bold public offer. But here was a tiny new player daring to throw down the gauntlet.
Soon, elite security experts joined the fray. Top hacking teams and cybersecurity groups began replying to Marching Ant's post, pledging to test the system.
Penguin's security division, the Seven Tigers team—big names all started sharing the post and promising to join the challenge. Some even pledged to donate their winnings to charity.
A single message had ignited a full-blown cybersecurity frenzy online.