T/N[1]
Heifeng skimmed the last line of Samsung's S6 Pro spec sheet and took a slow breath.
Side-mounted fingerprint reader—smart. Dual rear lenses built around a 40-megapixel primary sensor and an 8-megapixel wide-angle, aggressive. A self-developed 2 K OLED panel that no mainland maker could match until next year—painful. Samsung had trimmed battery size and fast-charge wattage to dodge last year's firestorm, but the company had thrown money at excellence everywhere else. Consumers would see a slab of black glass; he saw a benchmark his phones still had to clear.
That didn't mean the giant would automatically win. Samsung was gambling that bright screens, razor-thin bezels, and a "sincere comeback" narrative could erase memories of charred Note batteries. Chinese buyers were less forgiving than Seoul's marketing team hoped—and far more price-sensitive. He scrolled to the final slide and studied the numbers:
3 GB + 32 GB → ¥5 099
3 GB + 64 GB → ¥5 499
3 GB + 128 GB → (B)
3 GB + 256 GB → (B)
Even after a symbolic price drop, the cheapest S6 Pro still costs a month's salary for most graduates. Samsung needed volume to rebuild trust; luxury stickers would work against them.
Across Jiangcheng, design director Yang Qiang watched the same launch on a spare monitor. He pinged Heifeng a single message: "Pressure rising. Screen gap + camera gap = no room for mistakes." Heifeng answered with two words—Work faster—and closed the chat.
Far to the south, Huawei's headquarters were running an in-house party. Chairman Ren leaned forward as the S6 Pro's OLED panel lit the stage in electric blue. When the 40-MP figure flashed onscreen, he grunted approval; when the battery spec appeared, he frowned. He turned to mobile-division head Yu.
"Samsung is still Samsung," he said. "Don't underestimate."
Yu kept his gaze on the fee, but his tone stayed calm. "Their pricing will choke them. And people still remember exploding phones. Our Honor spin-off lands March 20—three models, two price tiers. We hit them below the belt where their brand can't bend."
Ren studied Yu's confident eyes and nodded. Fear had no place on the frontline; audacity did.
The next morning, Huaxing's executive war room dissected Samsung's show. Engineering tallied gaps: Huaxinown screen factory would not produce OLED until October, and the current Kunpeng cameras topped out at 32 megapixels. Marketing listed counters: keep the X-series' 35-watt charging exclusive; flood social feeds with Jay Chou's Lavender-Dream prototype; leak battery-life benchmarks that ended with "five percent left at midnight." When the meeting broke, every department had orders; no one complained about the workload. Threats sharpened focus better than any pep talk.
Seoul's euphoria lasted less than twenty-four hours. In Samsung's Greater China office, regional head Pu stared at a fresh sales report: Day-one units—32,447. Three years earlier, a flagship's first-day tally never dipped below 100k. He reread the figure, hoping a digit had been lost in transmission. It hadn't. Somewhere between the stage's perfect lighting and the checkout button, Chinese customers had hesitated—and clicked away.
Pu's hands shook as he phoned headquarters. On the wall, a poster showed the S6 Pro floating like a jewel above bold Hangul: "Reclaim Glory." The slogan now felt cruelly ironic.
News of Samsung's stumble rippled outward. Memorial of lessons came fast:
Luxury specs couldn't mask thermal paranoia; buyers saw the smaller battery as cowardice, not prudence.
A 2 K OLED meant little when mid-range phones already streamed in 1080p clarity, yet their eyes couldn't grade.
Price drops that still ended north of five thousand yuan looked less like generosity and more like confusion.
Heifeng knew none of that guaranteed victory. Huawei would Honor into an independent sub-brand; Xiaomi would answer with a fire-sale flash mob; even Oppo would paste glitter on Snapdragon 815 and call it art. He didn't need to kill every rival—just stay one clever move ahead.
That afternoon, he rewrote the S-series development schedule: Lavender Dream and Mint Frost back covers frozen by week's end, Jay Chou's teaser single mixed entirely on the S3 prototype by April 1, camera team to pair Dove's low-light algorithm with a 28-MP Sony sensor by mid-May. The gap to Samsung's 40-MP monster wouldn't close in pixels, so that it would close in skin tone and color science. Most people couldn't count megapixels, but everyone knew a flattering selfie when they saw one.
He also signed a new line item—additional ¥120 million for the screen factory. Every overtime hour shaved from the timeline mattered; October must become August. Until Huaxing owned its display supply, Samsung's OLED edge would hover like a dagger.
By dusk, the tasks were issued, the emails sent, and the budgets moved. Heifeng walked the rows of R&DD cubicles, pausing where two engineers animatedly debated sensor binning algorithms. He watched their intensity and recognized the same fire that had carried him from that first rented warehouse to this glass fortress on the Yangtze.
Screens dimmed as staff packed up, yet every face he passed looked charged rather than weary. Competition was oxygen here; Samsung had merely opened the windows wider.
Back in his corner office, he approached the floor-length window. Neon stitched the skyline: blues like the S6 Pro's launch stage, violets like Jay's forthcoming music video, golds like future profits. In those lights, buyers were refreshing online stores, wondering whether a phone could change more than their camera roll. In a few months, he intended to answer them emphatically.
He tapped the glass once, as if sealing an invisible contract, and turned away. Tomorrow would bring fresh battles—Huawei's Honor launch, Xiaomi's leak du jour—but tonight, the change favored the bold, the only language Huaxing spoke.
[1] Not proofread yet