Chapter 305 This is not what I want: I won't become your money bag

The June sun in Moscow shone brightly, turning the walnut floor a honey color. The tassels hanging from the edge of the lace tablecloth swayed gently in the warm 26°C breeze, making the watermelon slices in the glass bowl on the table seem to sway slightly as well.

The window was open, and the sound of an accordion drifted in from downstairs, carrying the unique vibrations of metal reeds, accompanied by the melancholy song of a street performer: "Ивремябежитназад (Time reverses), Яищутебявтенидеревьев (I search for you in the shadows of the trees), Ноты—лишьпризрак, лишьслепойсон. (But you are just an illusion, a blind dream)..."

This is the Russian traditional folk song "Heartbeat," which metaphorically represents the pain and loneliness of unrequited love.

The sound drifted in through the window at that moment and reached Wang Xiao's ears, sounding utterly ridiculous.

Look at the state of the room now: a walnut wooden table with four people sitting there.

On the left are her and Ivanov, and on the right are Punonin and Yura.

The two people opposite him had intense gazes.

To be honest, Wang Xiao didn't mind at all that Ivanov sat opposite them, shoulder to shoulder.

After all, it's better for the three of you to live a good life than anything else.

No, no, she really can't let her thoughts wander any further, or she'll definitely burst out laughing.

To avoid being mistaken for a lunatic, she ate watermelon bite after bite, her gaze occasionally drifting to Punoning's hand.

Thank goodness, he finally took off his gloves. The hideous scars on the back of his hands would be perfect for a tattoo.

In winter, the scar doesn't seem to exist.

Yura was like a firefighter, always ready to put out fires.

Seeing this, he felt he had found a way to ease the tension between the friends, and hurriedly emphasized to Ivanov: "Oh God, you have no idea how dangerous it was. Explosion, terrible explosion, shrapnel pierced Punonin's palm. Our friend escaped death."

He wasn't exaggerating; the first half of the year was anything but peaceful in Moscow. Shootings, explosions, and car accidents never stopped.

As for whether the dead or injured were the target or just collateral damage?

The inefficient Moscow police simply couldn't provide an answer.

“Alright.” Punonin refused to continue showing weakness, not even glancing at Ivanov, seemingly not expecting any reaction from him.

In fact, Ivanov didn't react much. When it came to surviving near-death experiences, he considered himself no less experienced than Punonin.

Furthermore, isn't the government's responsibility that Moscow's security situation is a complete mess? As a high-ranking tax police officer, Punonin has no right to complain to ordinary citizens who are not government officials about the security situation in Moscow that has caused him harm.

Wang Xiao couldn't help but laugh again.

Because she thought of the scenes in CEO romance novels where the CEO, who has survived countless near-death experiences, reappears in front of the innocent female lead (or the male lead), pretending to be nonchalant while secretly hoping for her concern.

So what role does she play in such a scenario? She has to be the vicious villain.

Unbeknownst to her, Punonin was already staring meaningfully at her legs. This time, without the wall to obstruct him, his eyes were like the fire of a furnace, seemingly capable of burning a person's bones to ashes.

He then said something that seemed like concern: "Madam, I'm so glad to see that you can stand up again."

Wang Xiao used a silver fork to pick up a piece of watermelon, put it in his mouth, smiled slightly, sipped the watermelon juice and swallowed it before speaking: "Major General, as a gentleman, staring at a lady's legs does not seem to be a commendable act of politeness."

She forked another slice of watermelon and fed it to Ivanov, while her own mouth was also busy, cutting off Punonin's next words, "As for my opinion on your hands—"

She smiled almost sweetly. "Don't you men always say that scars are a man's badge of honor? I'm praising your badge of honor."

Yura rubbed his forehead in frustration; he shouldn't have brought up that terrible topic.

Pronin's gaze deepened, like the unfathomable depths of Moscow's secret passages. He spoke expressionlessly, "Thank you for your compliment, madam—"

He raised his scarred hand, took the documents respectfully handed to him by his subordinate behind him, then placed them on the table and pushed them toward Wang Xiao. "So, madam, could you please explain to us why an elegant lady like yourself would be so interested in Russian tank track coatings and conductive fibers for the space station?"

His fingers pressed down on the corner of the document to prevent the woman from suddenly going crazy, snatching the document, and swallowing it whole.

He believed she could do it.

The Chinese people, this crazy nation, are capable of anything.

However, Wang Xiao and he were not on the same script. At least in Wang Xiao's script, there was no need to torture oneself over such a trivial matter.

She also raised her hand, took the document respectfully handed to her by her assistant, placed it on the table, faced Punonin and Yura, and made an inviting gesture, indicating that this was the fax we sent to the institute.

The fax contained very simple information. Stripping away the polite opening and closing remarks, it simply stated: "Does your company possess the technology for civilian antistatic gloves, mature antistatic gloves that have already been produced on factory production lines? We are planning to build a factory to produce gloves."

"Next one," Wang Xiao reminded them, "is a fax from the research institute, giving a positive answer and guaranteeing that the antistatic gloves produced according to their technology can meet the production needs of the refrigerator and color TV factory."

She said, word by word, "From beginning to end, we've been talking about civilian applications, mature civilian technologies, which have absolutely nothing to do with space stations or tanks."

Punonin's eyes were as dark as the sky before a storm, veins bulged on his forehead, and sunlight filtering through the trees outside the window cast dappled shadows on his face, making him look unpredictable.

So when he slammed his fist on the table and stood up, Wang Xiao actually felt relieved.

The next slipper finally landed.

"You did this on purpose!" Punonin's gaze was murderous. "You know perfectly well that Soviet military technology is basically not used for civilian purposes. You talk about civilian technology, but you know perfectly well that all they will give you is military technology!"

Wang Xiao remained unmoved, even managing to raise his head and stare directly at Punoning, who seemed ready to crush him: "Major General, your requirements for buyers are too high. Only the seller truly knows what their goods are. As for me—"

She shook her head. "I don't know. As a serious buyer, I naturally choose to believe the seller."

A wind picked up, making the curtains rustle. From downstairs came shouts of surprise, vendors packing up their stalls, and the sounds of people rushing to find shelter from the rain.

The June wind also brought the June rain, which pattered and pounded on the ground like popping beans.

The assistant busied himself closing the windows, even taking back the flowerpots on the windowsill, and the room was immediately filled with the fragrance of lilies.

However, the fragrance of the blooming flowers clearly did not improve the mood of the tax police major general.

Punonin did laugh, but it sounded more like a laugh born of extreme anger.

"You don't understand? Ma'am! If I remember correctly, you're a top student majoring in chemistry. How could you not understand paint formulations?"

Wang Xiao raised his fair face, his expression frank and open: "I didn't study well, so I'm self-aware enough not to hold a position without doing anything, and I've changed careers and gone into business."

Punonin gave her a deep look, his gaze sweeping over the silent Ivanov before finally landing heavily on Markov: "So, sir, how do you intend to explain your act of betraying state secrets?"

This is a case of making an example of someone.

After this battle, who would dare to easily sell technology to Wang Xiao and Ivanov in the future?

The two frightened monkeys seemed completely oblivious to the sinister intentions behind it, and instead silently ate the watermelon, bite after bite.

Although spring and summer come late in Moscow, thanks to the large temperature difference between day and night, the watermelons grown in greenhouses taste pretty good.

Ivanov even tried to sell to the restless Yura: "Try it, our watermelons are no worse than the imported ones."

Yura wanted to kneel down to him again. Brother, is this the time to just watch the drama unfold? How can you possibly be eating this?

Wang Xiao not only ate it, but she also ate it with great satisfaction. She said that watermelon is a fruit that can be eaten plain; there's no need to add honey or yogurt to change its natural flavor.

The capitalists immediately distanced themselves from the researchers, showing no intention of standing up for them or protecting the unfortunate ones.

Poor Markov had slumped off the sofa, almost kneeling on the floor, his hands raised above his head: "Sir, please..."

It's unclear whether the "sir" he was referring to was Ivanov or Punonin.

The latter coldly moved his leather shoes away, preventing the researcher's hand from touching him, and indifferently announced his crime: "You have revealed the existence of the classified information, enough for you to mine coal in the Kolyma River for ten years."

Whether it was the mention of coal mining, the phrase "ten years," or a combination of both that provoked Markov, as the tax police dragged him toward the door, he suddenly struggled desperately: "No, they're not classified! They're all outdated, long-obsolete documents!"

Yura, who had been watching all this with a complicated expression, suddenly stood up and strode up to him: "What did you say?"

The government official's imposing presence caused the tax police to loosen their grip slightly, and Markov, driven by a strong will to survive, struggled desperately to break free.

He lunged at the documents he had brought, frantically flipping through them, and impatiently emphasized: "The old ones are all outdated technologies. The coating formula for tank tracks is from 20 years ago. As for the space station, there's no specific data; the standard is only 'appropriate amount'!"

"What?!" Yura couldn't believe her ears. She rushed over to take a closer look, then glared at the researchers with eyes blazing with anger. "You guys actually tried to scam money with stuff that should be thrown in the trash?"

Markov revealed a manic expression that was both crying and laughing, and he shouted hoarsely, "So what? Anyway, the Chinese don't understand, they can't do it at all!"

With a "crack," a flash of white lightning illuminated his face, a face that was both mad and arrogant, yet unable to conceal the pain.

One thunderous boom after another erupted, as if some great demon was undergoing a heavenly tribulation.

Wang Xiao laughed and said slowly, "In Chinese terms, this situation is like being struck by lightning and dying a horrible death!"

Enraged, Yura swung his fist at Markov, the torrential rain unable to quell his fury: "You shouldn't sell, but you shouldn't lie! Russia, great Russia, shouldn't be a breed of thieves and liars!"

Markov was a lump of mud, lying on the ground, panting heavily, like a fish on the verge of death.

Wang Xiao withdrew his gaze from him and turned to Punonin, a half-smile on his face: "Major General, congratulations on finding another ally. I sincerely hope that you can find your ideal buyer and try to sell the Soviet corpses for a good price."

She looked curious. "So, Major General, how many suitable buyers have you found so far?"

The rain poured down, as intense as the sunshine that had been shining brightly. The interplay of light and rain created a Moscow summer that resembled an oil painting.

Punonin said expressionlessly, "Madam, this is none of your business."

Wang Xiao did not stop the conversation because of his cold rejection; instead, he deliberately provoked the tiger.

She picked up the glass bowl and, like a true bystander, ate while gossiping: "Let me guess, I guess the ideal buyer is hard to find."

Her tongue savored the sweetness and refreshing taste of the watermelon, and she analyzed with great seriousness, "Because you're not a traitor, you wouldn't sell out military technology. What a pity—"

She shook her head, a look of regret on her face. "The other technologies, which you see as the ideal buyers, are not interested in."

She picked up a slice of watermelon with a silver fork, but didn't eat it; she just turned it around. "Samsung in South Korea recruited so many scientists in Russia and Ukraine, but didn't hire a single engineer because what they needed was basic Soviet research, not production technology."

A smile played on her lips. "Of course, please don't misunderstand, I'm not denying Soviet technology. To this day, I still firmly believe that the Soviet Union created a tremendous achievement in human history. So, do you want to know why they didn't buy your technology?"

Punonin tightened his chin, trying to turn himself into a statue, completely unmoved.

With the windows closed, the air in the room circulated aimlessly, unable to escape, making it unbearably stuffy.

Yura, lacking his composure, impatiently pressed, "Why?"

Although he wasn't an ally of Punonin in this respect, he was genuinely curious as to why. He believed that Soviet-trained engineers were no less capable than scientists.

Out of respect for Ivanov, Wang Xiao gave Yura face: "Because you didn't follow the same technological path as the West from the beginning."

Fearing he might not understand, she gave an example: "There's a company in Taiwan called TSMC, which manufactures chips for international giants like Intel. It's growing very fast."

"However, the concept of contract manufacturing wasn't first conceived by TSMC in Taiwan; it was the head of UMC. Why didn't they do it first? Because UMC was already an IDM (Integrated Device Manufacturer) company. If they suddenly switched to specializing in wafer foundry services, it would harm the interests of those in the existing structure." (Note ①)

She steered the conversation back to the Soviet Union, saying, "The same applies to Soviet technology. Although we were all based on the same scientific theories, we didn't follow the same technological paths. So, the mature Soviet technology was of little significance to countries that relied on Western technology."

She reiterated, "Because using them means overturning the existing foundation and starting from scratch. Who would be willing to do that?"

No one would do something so stupid.

Even though Yura's academic performance was no less poor than Ivanov's, she clearly understood this.

Putting aside all the fundamental issues, the most basic point is that the United States still exists, American research has not been interrupted, and the technology inherited from the United States means that it can still receive continuous technological updates from the United States.

What about the Soviet Union? The Soviet Union no longer exists, and all the CIS countries that inherited its legacy, especially Russia and Ukraine, are not capable of updating and developing its technology.

So, anyone who still wants to inherit Soviet technology is essentially walking a dead end, never to receive any newer technology.

The wind and rain in June were fierce and urgent, and dark clouds pressed down on the city, threatening to crush it.

Yura stared blankly out the window, recalling a sentence he had read in the newspaper—

The death on this land is a gradual, silent, comprehensive, and utter death.

But after the storm, hope should be born.

Wang Xiao finished the last piece of watermelon and put down the glass bowl.

Yes, no matter how strong the wind and rain are outside, it can't stop her from enjoying the melon.

She slowly wiped her mouth with a wet wipe and said deliberately, "Actually, I'm not surprised at all by your attitude."

She threw away the wet wipes. "I left the chemistry institute and lost my secure job. I'm not a petty person. If I don't do well, I'd rather my old employer go bankrupt. That way, those who didn't make the same choice as me will only end up worse off than me."

She smiled, glanced at the gradually lessening rain outside the window, and struck an elegant pose. "Fortunately, I'm doing quite well. So, I sincerely wish the chemical research institute where I worked all the best. The better it does, the brighter my future will be."

Yura had no idea how others felt after hearing this—Punoning remained expressionless, and the fraudulent researcher was still sprawled on the ground, looking completely out of sorts.

Only Yura himself, unable to suppress the burning sensation on his face as if he had been slapped, cleared his throat, trying to turn the page: "Alright, it's just a misunderstanding. Everyone, it's just a misunderstanding."

Ivanov suddenly laughed.

Throughout the entire standoff in the room, he remained a mere background figure, never uttering a single word.

It seems that his purpose in existence is simply to be a bystander, an NPC.

Now, wiping his mouth, he gave a cold laugh: "How interesting, Moscow, all of Russia is truly interesting. You—"

He pointed in the direction of Punonin and the others, "On the one hand, we rely on merchants to organize production, provide jobs for workers, and supply the market with sufficient goods. On the other hand—"

His sneer deepened. "You've once again decided that extorting and deceiving businessmen is your inherent right. No one has to pay the price for it, and no one has to bear the psychological burden."

Yura's face was practically burning with rage. He tried to smooth things over: "No, my dear friend, it's just a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding..."

Ivanov ignored him completely, looking directly at Punonin: "So, sir, what are you trying to do? Are you after my people, trying to bring God's sheep back from their misguided ways? Or—are you after my money?"

He smiled, a sweet smile, his peach blossom eyes curved, naturally affectionate, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

“You need money, I know that. Realizing any political ideal requires a lot of money. That's been true from the October Revolution until now. But—”

He shook his head, refusing decisively, "I have absolutely no interest in your political ideals. No matter how you threaten or blackmail me, I will not be your moneybag or pay for your self-righteous ideals!"

The rain had lessened; it was light and barely perceptible.

The assistant opened the window to let the bosses get some fresh air.

After the rain in Moscow, the air was crisp and refreshing, carrying the earthy scent of soil, as if mint leaves had been soaked in rainwater to make mint water.

Ivanov was acutely aware that all those former Soviet officials who were so eager to see the Soviet Union reduced to ashes were, in fact, an integral part of the Soviet Union.

Look at their consistent stupidity.

One of the most criticized aspects of the Soviet Union was that it turned what should have been its closest allies into enemies.

Isn't this exactly what the Punoning is like now? They could have pretended to be decent and maintained the image of old friends who live in peace.

A draft of rain-soaked wind blew in through the window, and Yura involuntarily shivered. He raised his arms, trying to get his friends back together: "Hey! Don't get carried away and say hurtful things. Calm down!"

He suddenly changed his mind and started pushing Punoning out, saying, "Calm down, my friend, please calm down and don't say anything now."

Punonin put his gloves back on and gave Ivanov a deep look: "You know better than anyone what you've done. You know, titanium alloy."

Ivanov raised his hands, not intimidated at all, and said indifferently, "Please go ahead, Major General."

Yura had no choice but to cling to Punonin's arm and plead, "God! Please shut up! We're friends, not enemies!"

Good heavens, don't they have enough enemies already? Chaotic Moscow, a chaotic Russia, they must unite all forces they can to have any chance of making it to the end.

The tax police stared blankly at Markov, who was sprawled on the ground, and had no choice but to bite the bullet and ask their superior, "So what about him, sir? Should we take him with us?"

Yura showed a look of disgust and took the opportunity to express to Ivanov that he absolutely did not agree that merchants could be easily deceived.

“Take it away! Who knows what he sold to his ideal buyer.”

Markov struggled desperately, but this time the tax police wouldn't let go, and he couldn't break free no matter what he did.

Punonin looked intently at Ivanov once more, but the latter turned away, ignoring him and continuing to make a phone call.

Yura sighed and could only drag Punonin out of the cabin: "Alright, alright, everyone's tired today. Ivanov needs to rest. You know, his cabin conditions aren't great."

The people he said should rest, however, have no intention of doing so.

After hanging up the phone, he turned his head and looked at Wang Xiao with bright eyes: "Hey! Wang, there's a factory that makes anti-static gloves. They're planning to sell the factory."

Wang Xiao looked up at the window and exclaimed, "Hey! It really is like the sun shining after the rain, and a rainbow hangs over Red Square!"

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Good morning! Note ① states that UMC did not engage in wafer foundry before TSMC; another interpretation is that it was accumulating strength and preparing for its next move. However, as a businessman, Wang Xiao would certainly choose the version of events that is more advantageous to him during negotiations.