Ch8: Mr. Yuan, we don’t intend to pressure you

A few days later, when my patent application finally entered the review stage, I let out a sigh of relief.

"It seems Wu Wen didn't let me down. He's actually quite reliable," I thought, feeling a bit lucky. If things weren't already in his hands and seemed secure, I wouldn't have agreed to anything.

I had long accepted that this world was brutally realistic. Relying on the kindness of others was a crime against oneself. But even so, I believed in maintaining a good heart and holding on to the idea that the world had its bright spots and a promising tomorrow.

During these days, I also took the opportunity to register my own company at the Industry and Commerce Bureau. With a little extra money—1,500 yuan for expedited processing—it took only three days to get everything sorted.

Now, holding the company documents in my hands, I opened the portfolio and looked at the papers inside. It wasn't just a stack of files—it was the beginning of my career.

Pingxing Meteorology Technology Co., Ltd.

A meteor crosses the atmosphere and falls to the ground, adding mass to the Earth. Similarly, meteorological technology accelerates the progress of human innovation.

I even envisioned the company's slogan on its website: Skyfall Technology—Born to Create.

"Yes, yes, I'm a genius," I muttered, grinning as I kissed the folder a few times. Of course, I wouldn't admit that I had picked the name mostly because it sounded lucky. The real stroke of luck was having the bionic technology system—everything else was just for show.

Just then, my phone rang.

"Smoke a cigarette, drink a glass of wine…" my ringtone blared before I cleared my throat and answered.

"Hello, this is the Logistics Equipment Department of the Southeast Theater. My name is Kobayashi. Is this Mr. Ben Yuan?"

The voice was sweet—a female soldier. But what mattered more was that I had been waiting for this call for days.

"Oh, hello, I'm Ben Yuan," I responded quickly.

"One of our department's commissioners has already arrived at the Mingzhou City City Armed Forces Department. Please be there before 3 PM today for a discussion. Don't be late."

"Understood, no problem."

Hanging up, I checked the time—12:30. I quickly gathered any materials I thought I might need, grabbed a fast lunch, and headed straight for the armed forces department.

I had been to the Lu'an Ling City Armed Forces Department once before—when I was eighteen, during the military recruitment medical examination. Back then, skipping the exam was a legal offense, but enlisting was still a personal choice. When they asked if I wanted to serve, I had politely declined.

The department looked as old as ever. My father had told me that even when he was seventeen, the buildings were in the same state of disrepair. That meant these structures were more than twice my age.

Today, though, the atmosphere was different. The place felt as tense as during recruitment season, and an active-duty soldier stood at the entrance.

After registering my details, I was escorted by a soldier into the main building. The exterior walls had clearly been repainted countless times, but that did nothing to hide their age.

"Mr. Yuan, please place your phone and any electronic devices in the storage box. You can retrieve them after the meeting," the soldier instructed firmly.

I glanced at the storage box and saw at least eight other phones inside. That meant there were at least eight people in the meeting room.

"My God, is all this really necessary?" I muttered internally.

Though my balance stabilizer worked well, it wasn't irreplaceable. It even had flaws—it adjusted its horizontal position regardless of whether it was needed. Hardly something to warrant this level of secrecy.

Sighing, I switched off my phone and placed it in the box. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"You must be Mr. Ben Yuan. I didn't expect you to be so young," a middle-aged man in military uniform greeted me warmly. "Come, let's get started."

He led me to the first seat on the right side of the conference table and sat down beside me. "I'm Zhang Qitian, the Armed Minister of Mingzhou City City. Let me introduce you—this is the Deputy Director of the Logistics Department from our war zone."

I gave him a polite nod. The rest of the attendees were easy to recognize—they wore military uniforms.

Then Zhang Qitian introduced the three men in suits. "This is DJI's Chief Designer, Xiao Dang. Next to him are Zhang Yang and Hu Lin, two senior R&D engineers from DJI's technical department."

I kept a smile on my face, but my mind was racing. Weren't we supposed to be discussing things with the army? Why was DJI—one of the biggest drone manufacturers—here?

As if reading my thoughts, Xiao Dang adjusted his glasses and said, "Mr. Fang, your balance stabilizer is highly valuable for fixed-wing drones. We were invited to assess its capabilities and explore potential collaboration opportunities."

DJI drones were legendary. The company called itself a private enterprise, but in reality, it was deeply tied to the military.

Why?

Simple. DJI drones were sold in over 200 countries—including the world's only superpower. The U.S. military had even bought DJI drones to supplement its field operations.

DJI drones had been modified into attack drones on multiple battlefields—used for launching precision grenades and even as self-destructing drones. Deutschland, a nation famous for its industrial prowess, had developed drone interception systems based entirely on DJI models.

"Xiao Dang, my drone isn't a drone," I said, attempting to clarify. Whether they believed me or not wasn't my concern.

DJI dominated the quadcopter market. They were the undisputed leaders in mid-to-high-end drones. Did I really want to compete with them? No way.

But the fact that they were interested in my balance stabilizer made me uneasy. The army had reported my device to DJI, and their team had arrived in Anlin that very night with advanced testing equipment.

For the past few days, they had been assessing my stabilizer's performance.

Yes, it had flaws, but compared to its benefits, those flaws were insignificant. They weren't trying to achieve Hollywood-style drone maneuvers—they needed reliability.

DJI specialized in quadcopters, but if they wanted to grow, they had to expand beyond that. Their next goal? Fixed-wing drones—the kind often seen in military strike footage.

These drones could be programmed to autonomously strike a target at high speeds while remaining undetectable.

Patents didn't matter in military technology. If something was useful, it would be copied—end of story.

DJI had almost perfected their fixed-wing drone project, but they had one major issue: they couldn't ensure the drone's safe landing in abnormal conditions.

Their solution had been costly—developing specialized vehicle-based landing platforms. But that wasn't feasible in real warfare, especially in China, where military bases were scarce compared to the U.S.

Just when they were considering alternatives, my balance stabilizer had appeared out of nowhere.

Its concept was simple, yet groundbreaking. No one could believe it had been developed by a fresh graduate.

Even I didn't fully grasp how powerful my own invention was. I had manually polished the components to extreme precision using diamond sandpaper.

"No, I'm not being modest, nor am I playing games," I stated firmly. "The balance stabilizer is our first product. If you want it, you can place an order."

Xiao Dang smiled, unfazed. Before he could respond, the deputy director of the logistics department, who had been silent until now, chuckled.

"Mr. Yuan, we don't intend to pressure you. We will, of course, purchase your product through standard business channels. But if you're open to discussing patent rights, let's talk numbers."

"No, no, no—patents are not up for discussion," I said.

My words seemed to surprise everyone. First, I said I only sold products. Now, I implied patents weren't impossible to sell. Contradictory? Maybe. But I knew what I was doing.