"A country that even its fighter jets rely on 'borrowing' technology from our F-4 Phantom,"

Mike deliberately dragged out the last syllable of the word "borrow," making it sound humiliating, and looked around the room as if seeking approval.

"Give them a hundred years! Can they build a truly revolutionary fighter jet? Can they master energy weapons? That's the biggest joke of the century! Trash, forever trash!"

The room erupted in commotion. Whispers filled the air.

Some representatives from the Western camp wore knowing and contemptuous smiles.

Soviet representative Vasily frowned and remained silent.

The South Korean representative nodded subconsciously in agreement, while the Japanese representative, Yamamoto Ichiro, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze behind the lenses flickering uncertainly.

---

Jiuquan Base, observation corridor of the "Suirenshi" hangar.

The huge live screen was divided into two parts.

On the left is a replay of the stunning firing of the "Starflame" main cannon. The golden spear of light that tore through the sky and the huge lava crater, tens of meters deep and with smooth, mirror-like edges, instantly melted into the depths of the desert, silently tell of its destructive power.

On the right, a live video of the global summit is playing, showing Mike Howard's arrogant and mocking face, and his jarring declaration that "trash is always trash."

The hangar was deathly silent.

The excitement and pride I felt witnessing the successful launch were instantly replaced by a chilling sense of humiliation and overwhelming anger.

The military experts looked ashen-faced, their fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

The military representative's eyes were sharp as knives, and his chest heaved violently.

Zhang Mingyuan stared intently at the microphone's face on the screen, his jaw clenched and veins throbbing on his forehead.

Only Mingzhao remained calm.

Her gaze didn't even linger on Mike's repulsive face, but was fixed on the small split screen on the right.

That was a playback of a subtle fluctuation data segment from the dark gold energy circuit on the surface of the "Starflame" that was captured by the ground monitoring station after its launch.

The fluctuation was extremely faint, fleeting, and almost negligible amidst the massive energy emission data stream.

But Mingzhao's pupils suddenly contracted at that moment!

That's not normal energy dissipation feedback!

It was a kind of... structural, slight tremor stemming from the limits of the materials!

The dark gold energy circuit of "Starflame" suffered extremely minor, irreversible damage under the 120% energy output that exceeded theoretical limits! This damage is insignificant now, but it's like the first crack appearing on a perfect piece of porcelain...

Its existence means that this energy system has a fatal design redundancy flaw!

It cannot withstand continuous high-load operation under extreme conditions!

"Special effects? That's a joke!"

Zhang Mingyuan's deep, suppressed voice broke the deathly silence, each word seeming to be squeezed out from his chest, carrying burning anger and resentment.

"We sacrificed our best pilots, and the technological breakthroughs we achieved with our blood are being called a hoax in their mouths?!"

He abruptly turned to Mingzhao, his eyes burning with resentment and a thirst for validation: "Comrade Mingzhao! We must fight back! With even stronger evidence, we'll slap their stinking mouths shut! The next test launch..."

His words came to an abrupt end.

Because Mingzhao raised his hand.

Her movements were light, yet carried an undeniable air of authority.

She finally shifted her gaze from the data playback to Zhang Mingyuan. In his clear, cold eyes, there was no anger after being humiliated, only a icy solemnity that indicated he had discerned a fatal hidden danger.

Her fingertips pointed to the almost submerged, subtle waveform representing the abnormal tremors of the dark gold circuit in the screen playback.

“Energy circuit,” Mingzhao’s voice was not loud, but it clearly reached everyone’s ears, with a calm that seemed to announce a disaster, “The overload damage has reached the critical point.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the Starflame prototype in the center of the hangar, which still shone with a dark golden light but had revealed its fatal weakness in her eyes, and over the screen where Mike Howard's face was still chattering away, full of superiority.

“It,” Mingzhao’s voice was icy, “cannot withstand such an effect a second time.”

Like being doused with ice water, all the burning anger inside the hangar instantly froze.

The indignation on Zhang Mingyuan's face froze, replaced by disbelief, astonishment, and a hint of panic.

All eyes turned to Mingzhao's expressionless face, then to the "Starflame" aircraft that carried boundless hope, with horror.

The dark gold light flowed slowly across the machine, but now it looked like silent cracks mocking their incompetence.

Some people began to lose heart: "Is there really no hope for them?"