Chapter Seventy-Seven: Embarking on a Path of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics in the Realm of Imitation

“Old Ma, you’ve really let me down!” That was Wu Xiang’s answer, the response from the major shareholder of Penguin.

“Huh?” Ma Hua Teng hadn’t expected Wu Xiang to be so dissatisfied. It didn’t make sense—by all accounts, choosing Korea’s Paper Doll system was a solid move.

But Wu Xiang pressed on, “Tell me, Old Ma, how did your Penguin come about?”

“I, uh, well…” Ma Hua Teng fumbled, embarrassed by the question.

Wu Xiang answered for him, “Didn’t you copy someone else? That legendary AOL company’s stuff, isn’t that right?”

AOL was indeed formidable at the moment—they’d just acquired Time Warner, though this would be their last flourish.

“Yes!” Ma Hua Teng admitted, risking his reputation.

“So what if we copied? We copied! They’re powerful, so what? Does their power mean we can’t copy them? Let me tell you, Old Ma, the more powerful they are, the more we need to copy them!” Wu Xiang’s words carried a formidable force.

Listening to this, Ma Hua Teng felt a mix of emotions. He’d always been accused of plagiarism, even sued just last year, but now someone was telling him that plagiarism was not a crime, that imitation was justified!

Was this a kindred spirit or a trap? Ma Hua Teng genuinely couldn’t tell.

Wu Xiang then revealed a principle Ma Hua Teng had never heard before.

“Why are those companies with intellectual property so powerful? I admit, they’ve created a lot; that’s worthy of respect. But now, the laws protecting intellectual property have warped innovation and technology. What have they become? They’ve become technological oligarchs!”

A technological oligarch, simply put, is a company that survives solely on patents. It owns nothing else, doesn’t produce, doesn’t operate, doesn’t sell, but you still have to pay them, send them money. If you don’t, you’re breaking the law, thanks to intellectual property protection.

The US has a host of such companies, building a technological barrier. You labor to produce goods, but most of the money you earn goes to these companies that do nothing. Out of a hundred dollars’ worth of product, you get fifty cents. Does that sound reasonable?

The IT sector is just a small part of this, and at this moment it’s still considered an emerging industry, but new barriers are slowly forming!

Wu Xiang continued, “Take Microsoft. Do you know how many small companies it forces to shut down every year? Many of them are innovative and original, but one lawsuit and they’re crushed. Either you sell your company and technology to them, or you wait to be sued into bankruptcy. Even if you’re right, the legal fees alone will bankrupt you. That’s the reality! Old Ma, be grateful—grateful that you live in China! Grateful that we can still copy!”

My god!

Ma Hua Teng felt his worldview overturning. This argument was so powerful—it made imitation seem meaningful and even noble.

Wu Xiang wasn’t done yet. “Damn it, when these bastards were writing on paper, did they send us money? When they were trading arms, did they think about sharing profits with us? Yes, we’re behind, we admit it, and we want to learn. But now, they use these laws to keep us from learning, and even if we do, we still have to pay them. They block the road to learning; when they learned from us, did we block them? Now they control upstream technology and threaten and blockade us, sucking our blood, mocking us for not innovating. Can we tolerate this? Imitate! Boldly imitate! We’ll imitate, stripping away the dross and keeping the essence, making it fit our national conditions, forging a path of uniquely Chinese socialist imitation!”

Wu Xiang was practically spitting as he spoke, filled with passion.

When it came to innovation, countless Western nations harped on it every day, just as they had criticized Japan decades ago. Wu Xiang was deeply resentful. What is innovation, exactly? Does it mean redesigning a wheel as a triangle? The truly advanced technologies are monopolized; they won’t let us learn, won’t sell to us. If we don’t imitate, how can we develop?

The most frustrating thing was that some clueless people at home joined in the criticism.

Yes, copying ourselves or low-level imitation is wrong and pointless, but imitating foreign high-tech—that deserves applause!

If you can imitate a high technology, you can destroy a batch of bloodsucking vampires; that’s like vanquishing demons.

Ma Hua Teng was stunned. He swore no one had ever spoken to him like this. It sounded like twisted logic, but thinking about it, there was truth in it.

“Old Ma!” Wu Xiang had been speaking in broad strokes, but now he returned to the issue of the Paper Doll system. “If I were to do this Paper Doll system, I wouldn’t choose either path. If it were up to me, I’d put up some money, find the company developing this system—the Korean one—and then bribe a few key programmers to get the source code. Bring it back for analysis. I don’t know technology, but I reckon if they use BASIC, we use C; if they use C, we use C++. What do you think? Would that work?”

My god! That’s ruthless! Isn’t that illegal?

But I like it!

Ma Hua Teng now felt his blood boiling, a rush of unstoppable energy.

“Korea it is! I’ll find Zhang Zhidong, get a few people who can fool Koreans, and do it!”

Hearing this, Wu Xiang was naturally delighted, not forgetting to offer another sly suggestion: when bribing them, bring some spare ribs or beef—there’d be a bonus effect.

Wu Xiang’s words stayed with Ma Hua Teng. Whenever he achieved another success in the future, he’d always reminisce about this conversation, which seemed like twisted logic. Later, Ma Hua Teng even developed Wu Xiang’s theory.

Who says I copied? I never copied; I’ve always been innovating! …

Wu Xiang had settled things with Old Ma in Pengcheng, and naturally wouldn’t forget Old Ma in Hangzhou.

Ten million—still less than the wager, but this time not due to insolvency, but Alibaba’s internal issues. Don’t forget, Alibaba’s original equity structure had Old Ma backed by SoftBank venture capital.

SoftBank wasn’t wholly invested, but this time, Wu Xiang’s funds would dilute their shares, so they began imposing various restrictions. In the end, there was no choice but to take thirty percent of the shares for ten million.

You have conditions, so do I; we can’t lose out, so this was the result.

Settled!

Though he’d spent twenty million, Wu Xiang was overjoyed. His future would never lack money again; he’d never worry about funding, carefree and untroubled.

Since he was now carefree, he could pursue what he loved: making movies!

In fact, the plan, concept, and script for a new film had long been in Wu Xiang’s mind. The film he discussed with Director Guan Hu—Wu Xiang would only serve as producer and supervisor, not director, trusting Guan Hu to deliver a satisfying work. Of course, if he had good ideas, Wu Xiang would share them, but now what he wanted most was to make his own film.

With ammunition in hand, no more words needed—time for a grand production!

C!