Fu Zhan leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his throbbing temples. The past two weeks of industrial process bombardment had left his mind swirling with algorithms for polygons and lighting rendering.
"We must, absolutely must, hire him."
Fu Zhan's voice was hoarse from too much smoking, and he didn't even open his eyes. "Executive Director Nakayama put it crudely, but he's right. We used to be wild and reckless, the barefoot ones who weren't afraid of the shod. Now that we've got Sega's two million dollars in our pockets, we're the ones wearing leather shoes. If we step into the mud now, it's our own feet that get dirty."
The car merged onto the airport expressway, the tires producing a rhythmic thud as they passed over the expansion joints.
Fu Zhan opened his eyes and pulled out the notebook that Takuya Nakayama had flipped through from his bag.
The cover was worn and faded, but inside weren't any secret martial arts manuals. Instead, it held the entry ticket that would transform them from "workshop artisans" into "regular industrial soldiers."
"Don't feel wronged," Fu Zhan said. "They pulled us out of the Famicom graveyard, gave us money and technology. What do you think they wanted in return?"
"They wanted us to grow decent crops on this undeveloped land." Fu Zhan glanced at the rapidly receding Japanese buildings outside the window, his voice growing somber. "If we go back and get sued for copyright infringement, it won't just be Mercury's reputation on the line—it'll close the door to the international market for good."
The team members who had been complaining earlier shrank back in their seats, falling silent.
At 3 PM, CA920, the flight to Shanghai Hongqiao, taxied onto the runway on time.
As the engines roared to life, the intense acceleration pressed everyone back into their seats.
Through the window, Fu Zhan watched the behemoth that was Tokyo shrink rapidly into a gray geometric shape.
This trip back to Fuzhou would be without flowers or applause. What awaited all of Mercury Electronics Technology was a self-revolution that would require iron will. All this talk of "modding" and "localization"—it all had to be thrown in the trash.
They had to chew through the dense, indecipherable industrial standards they'd swallowed over the past two weeks, digest them, and transform them into flesh and blood that could take root in Chinese soil.
"Get some sleep," Fu Zhan said, patting his companion who was still flipping through his notes. He yanked down the window shade. "We still have to transfer and make the long haul back to Fuzhou after landing in Shanghai. You'll be crying your eyes out when you get home."
The cabin lights gradually dimmed, and Fu Zhan's fingers tapped absently on the cover of his notebook.
The grand vision Takuya Nakayama had painted was tempting, but whether they could actually bite into it depended on how tough their teeth were.
Two million dollars, copyright supervision, an industrial-scale process.
This wasn't just about making a game; it was forcing them to undergo a complete transformation.
But it was also the path for China to formally enter the global gaming industry as a pioneer.
Just a few days after seeing Fu Zhan's group off, Takuya Nakayama received an email from Silicon Valley Online.
The sender was Frank, and the subject line was all caps followed by a string of exclamation points, making his eyes spin just looking at it.
"BOSS, check the news! Netscape Corporation has officially released their browser!"
October 13, 1994—a day destined to be etched in the annals of the Internet.
Marc Andreessen and his Netscape Communications Corporation officially released the Mosaic Netscape 0.9 Beta version.
These tech geniuses from the University of Illinois uploaded their browser to an FTP server, offering it for free download to everyone.
"Try before you buy."
In an era when software still came on floppy disks and sold for tens of dollars on store shelves, these six words were like throwing a sodium bomb into a calm lake.
They offered a 90-day free trial, permanent free access for students and educational institutions, and even a nominal charge of just $39 for commercial users.
This "almost giving it away" strategy yielded immediate results.
Takuya Nakayama flipped through the presentation Frank had attached to his email.
In just 24 hours, Netscape's server bandwidth was completely saturated.
That green progress bar and spinning "N" logo were conquering personal computer desktops across the US and the globe at a rate of thousands per hour.
But that wasn't what excited Frank the most.
What kept him up all night, sending three emails to pester his boss, was the sudden spike in traffic on Silicon Valley Online's backend.
Takuya Nakayama dialed Frank's number.
"Takuya! You'll never guess what happened!" Frank's voice sounded like he'd just inhaled a tank of oxygen. "Netscape's Mosaic Browser has gotten so many people trying the Internet, and our Webdir traffic has skyrocketed!"
"As expected," Takuya Nakayama replied, pulling open the blinds to gaze at the overcast sky outside. His tone remained cheerful. "Once users install a browser, they need somewhere to go. Right now, there aren't many websites that can guide them. Besides our Webdir, they don't have many options."
This was the power of strategic positioning.
Even before Netscape's launch, Silicon Valley Online had already infiltrated major BBSs and tech forums, seeding Webdir links through various channels.
For novice users encountering the graphical Internet for the first time, the immediate question after installing a browser was: "Now what? Where do I click?"
In that moment, a well-organized Webdir, complete with listings for ICQ, newsgroups, sports scores, and stock information, became a lifeline.
"The numbers are incredible," Frank marveled over the phone. "Webdir's independent visitors doubled overnight! And the best part? Netscape, in their testing of the SSL Protocol, actually put our BIog on their recommended bookmarks. It's like free GG!"
Though the Netscape Browser in this timeline didn't achieve the same market dominance as in the original history—Silicon Valley Online was already a behemoth—its widespread adoption as a tool had undeniably expanded the Internet's pie.
"Don't get carried away with the celebration," Takuya Nakayama cautioned. "We've got the traffic, but can we handle it? How's the Portal Site Project coming along?"
At this, Frank's tone immediately turned serious, even urgent.
"The Development Team has produced the first demo. Since Netscape has paved the way for us, I think we can skip waiting until Christmas. Next month, before Thanksgiving, we'll launch SVOPortal."
"The name's too clunky," Takuya frowned. "Think of something easier for new Internet users to remember. We're not just building a website; we're creating the daily starting page for all Internet users."
"Understood. I'll have the Marketing Department come up with a catchy name and slogan." Frank clearly tasted the sweet nectar of traffic. "By the way, George from Goldman Sachs came to see me again yesterday. Seeing Netscape's momentum, they've raised their valuation expectations for our IPO by another 20%. These vampires are now looking at us more fondly than they look at their own fathers."
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