1novels Chapter 108 Replica Machine
Chapter 108 Replica Machine
Chapter 108 Replica Machine
Nolan Bushnell beamed with joy as he looked at the neatly bundled stacks of green banknotes tied with paper strips.
In the days before credit cards were widespread, cash was always the most potent stimulant for Silicon Valley's entrepreneurial fanatics.
"Mr. Qin, I knew it. People in Hollywood are never short of sincerity." He quickly calculated in his mind: the channel price for each Pong sold to distributors is eight hundred.
Mr. Qin has now come to his store and bought the machines at the retail price of 1,200 each. The extra 1,000 dollars he made is Atari's biggest profit this week.
"Steve!" Nolan turned around and yelled at the boy who was still standing barefoot in the garbage heap, "Stop studying your damn philosophy! Take this distinguished Mr. Qin to the warehouse and get four of the latest Pongs. Remember to check the knobs; I don't want to get a call from customer service tomorrow."
Steve Jobs didn't even look up, only letting out a disdainful snort.
He tossed the still-warm soldering iron onto the table, turned around, stared at Nolan for a long time, and finally blurted out, "That was stock reserved for Sears. You're willing to throw away your reputation for a little cash?"
"Those Sears bureaucrats are still going through their procedures, while this gentleman has already slapped the money in front of me." Nolan waved his hand dismissively. "Go on, don't keep my big client waiting."
Jobs glanced at the cash box on the counter, then at Qin Han, who was smiling.
Without arguing further, he walked through the messy piles of parts and headed towards the back of the shop.
"Let's go." Qin Han gave Stallone a look, and the two of them stepped onto the slightly damp floor and followed Steve Jobs into the warehouse that was filled with the smell of pine resin.
The interior was dimly lit, with only beams of light coming in through a few ventilation windows high up; there wasn't even a lamp.
Jobs walked up to a sealed wooden crate and his toes curled restlessly on the floor.
"Nolan will ruin Atari sooner or later." His voice sounded hollow in the empty warehouse as he struggled to pry open the edge of a wooden crate, as if talking to himself: "He doesn't care how these machines will develop in the future; he just wants to turn them into a pile of money as quickly as possible."
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Qin Han stood behind him and laughed: "Then I hope that after you come back from India, you can create something that will blow our minds."
Jobs stopped prying open the box.
He slowly turned around, the shadows obscuring most of his face, but his eyes shone with an astonishing brightness.
"Who exactly are you?" Jobs scrutinized Qin Han. "I've never seen this kind of—strange feeling—in any of those Hollywood businessmen. Mentioning India is like you're watching me sit on the banks of the Ganges."
"Who I am isn't important." Qin Han stepped closer, and together with Stallone, they began unpacking the wooden packaging. "What's important is that the machine I have here has a much more complex internal structure than these Pongs, involving some extremely extreme electrical pulse control. If you can thoroughly understand it, even just to produce a logically clear analysis report—"
Qin Han pulled out a wad of cash wrapped in an envelope from his pocket. It wasn't much, about a thousand US dollars: "This is enough to sponsor your trip to India for spiritual practice."
Jobs stared at the cash, his throat bobbing involuntarily.
For him at this moment, what was inside the envelope was not money, but an admission ticket to the liberation of his soul!
"I'm leaving for Hawaii early tomorrow morning and will be back in about a week." Qin Han stuffed the envelope back into his pocket. "You have my business card. In the meantime, you can continue repairing these Pongs here, or you can come to my house and study that machine properly."
"If you can figure out that machine by the time I get back, the money is yours, and I'll even give you a plane ticket to New Delhi."
Jobs looked at Qin Han's calm face for a long while before finally nodding, but his voice still carried a hint of stubborn arrogance: "Deal. I don't think your machine can stump me. When you come back, I'll study it thoroughly."
Four heavy Pong arcade machines were loaded into the delivery pickup truck, and by the time the two returned to West Hollywood, it was past noon.
"Boss, I still don't understand," Stallone asked as he unloaded the machines from the truck. "Are these little white dot game consoles that can only move left and right really worth all this effort?"
Qin Han directed the deliveryman and Sylvester Stallone to set up the machine in the villa's yard, saying with a smile, "Slye, look. One machine costs twelve hundred dollars, and in Los Angeles these days, any random bar has at least five hundred customers a day."
"If even one-fifth of people are willing to spend twenty-five cents to play once—which wouldn't even buy a cup of coffee in Hollywood—then this machine would make a net profit of twenty-five to thirty dollars a day."
"Including maintenance costs, the investment in this machine should be fully recouped in a month and a half at most. Every coin that clinks after that is pure profit."
Stallone was dumbfounded. If Qin Han hadn't done the calculation, he wouldn't have realized how terrifying the machine's earning power was.
This is the charm of video games: they don't profit from producing physical goods, but rather from the pleasure hidden in fragments of time.
Although Qin Han was not clear about the history of video game development, this seemingly rudimentary machine in front of him was the first stepping stone to the "electronic age".
"Tomorrow morning, arrange the logistics. Send one to Warner and one to Universal. Make sure to put a metal plaque that says 'Hans Pictures, Pioneers in Cross-Industry Entertainment' on it. Tell Ted and Sidney that this is a gift from Hans Pictures to their strategic partners."
The lobbies of these two companies probably see no fewer than several thousand people coming and going every day. Making money is secondary; they're really doing Han's Film Industry a disservice.
"No problem, what about the remaining two?" Stallone asked.
"Send it via Pan Am cargo. Deliver it to Hong Kong, and have Andrew hand it over to Xiang Huaqiang."
"Tell them to put one in the busiest bar under the Xiang brothers' jurisdiction as a gimmick to attract young customers. The other one—have Andrew find a reliable electronics factory, a few experienced technicians, and have them disassemble it for me."
Stallone was taken aback: "Torn down?"
"Yes, the structure of this thing isn't complicated." Qin Han revealed a wicked smile: "The current 'Pong' has no patent protection. The factories in Hong Kong that can assemble radios and flashlights are more than capable of assembling it."
"If we can successfully replicate it, the cost of the machine should be reduced to less than one hundred US dollars! Then we can sell these machines throughout Southeast Asia, and even Japan—"
Qin Han sneered, "I'll show those bastards from the Qinglan Society what real cultural dumping is."
"When all the young people in Japan are playing video games made in Hong Kong, their dream of becoming 'Asian leaders' is already doomed."
Back inside, Bruce Lee walked up to him and asked, "Han, how are the preparations for going to Hawaii going?"
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Qin Han patted his chest pocket and took out a telegram: it was a message Fred had urgently requested from Bill.
It was because of this telegram that he put his trip to Hawaii on the agenda.
In 1973, this pearl of the Pacific was not only a resort destination, but also a transit point on the front lines of the Cold War.
The "Japanese faction" has deep roots here.
MacArthur's former subordinates, the officers who reached an understanding with the Japanese zaibatsu in the later stages of World War II, now control several key departments of the Pacific Command.
After General Bill learned of Qin Han's needs, he told him about a very important person.
The telegram ended with a name: Samuel Fuller.
This veteran brigadier general, who had participated in the Normandy landings and later made outstanding contributions in the Pacific theater, has been living in seclusion in Hawaii since his retirement.
He was General Bill's combat instructor at West Point and a staunch advocate of "homeland interests first".
It is said that the old man was forced to remain in the position of brigadier general until his retirement because he refused to compromise with MacArthur's Japanese executive order.
He loathed the "Japanese clique" that treated the defeated nation's zaibatsu like their own fathers.
"An old soldier, strong liquor, and a common enemy." Closing the telegram, Qin Han sorted out his thoughts: "It seems I need to have a good heart-to-heart talk with this old general."
The following day, Los Angeles International Airport.
Lorna Barrett wore an extremely eye-catching deep V-neck printed maxi dress today, with a semi-transparent black veil hanging from the brim of her wide sun hat, exuding the aura of a Hollywood socialite to the fullest.
"Qin, I have to warn you. The paparazzi in Honolulu are much crazier than those in Los Angeles." She took Qin Han's arm and whispered in the first-class lounge, "If we meet Elvis so openly and get photographed by the paparazzi, the whole of America will probably be buzzing about Elvis's comeback by the next day."
"Let them speculate. Elvis has been resting for quite some time now. It's time for America to hear his songs again."
Qin Han looked at the Boeing 747 on the runway through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lounge: "And this time, what we're going to do is not just sign a 'King of Pop'."
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