My whole family is involved in diplomacy, so you dare to flex your muscles?

If diplomacy is a war without gunfire, then the Blue Hall is the front line where bayonets are drawn.

At today's press conference, the air was as thick as solidified glue.

Hundreds of seats were snapped up long ago, and even the aisles were filled with cameras and microphones.

Everyone knows that China just announced its counter-sanctions yesterday, and today's press conference is meant to deliver a resounding slap in the face.

When Gu Yun entered the Blue Hall, he was carrying only a thin folder in his hand.

He wasn't wearing a tie, and his shirt collar was slightly open, which is extremely rare in formal diplomatic settings, giving off a relaxed vibe of "I'm here to cause trouble."

Good afternoon, everyone.

He didn't sit down, nor did he read a long, stiff statement as usual. Instead, he rested his hands on the podium and scanned the entire room with his eyes.

The Western journalists whose gaze swept over him subconsciously straightened their backs, like elementary school students who had made a mistake and were seeing the headmaster.

Peter from Reuters sat in the second row, his fists clenched tightly, his palms sweaty.

Yesterday, Gu Yun's "thank you" left him speechless. Today, he came with a mission—headquarters had given a strict order: no matter what Gu Yun said, he had to get back at them on the issues of "human rights" and "market rules."

"I know what everyone's waiting for," Gu Yun said.

"Many people are asking whether China's retaliatory sanctions this time are too aggressive and whether they violate international trade rules?"

He smiled, casually opened the folder, and found a blank sheet of paper inside.

"Before answering that question, I'd like to talk about Europe's energy situation. After all, winter is approaching, and heating is a major concern."

The audience erupted in uproar.

That turn was too sharp.

Everyone's waiting to see the US and China clash, and you suddenly start talking about seeking warmth in Europe? What kind of diplomatic rhetoric is that?

Peter was about to raise his hand to ask a question, but Gu Yun waved his hand, indicating that he should be patient.

"To give everyone a more intuitive understanding of the current international energy situation, I've had the technical department prepare some information. Let's look at the big screen."

Gu Yun turned to the side, holding the small black remote control in his hand, and pressed a button on the huge LED screen behind him.

The screen flickered.

According to the procedure, at this point, several bar charts showing the surge in European natural gas prices, or a route map of a gas pipeline, should appear.

However, the screen went black.

To be precise, it was pitch black, with only the white loading circle in the middle spinning around.

The reporters looked at each other in bewilderment.

The Blue Hall has top-of-the-line equipment; such a basic mistake is unheard of.

Backstage, assistant Xiao Wang's fingers flew across the keyboard, but there wasn't a drop of sweat on his forehead; instead, he had a strange look of excitement on his face.

He glanced at the Director of the Information Department next to him, who was also intently watching the screen.

The director held a cigarette in his hand, but didn't light it; he simply nodded slightly.

"Looks like we need to do some 'independent research and development' on our technology and equipment," Gu Yun joked on stage, trying to ease the awkwardness. "Director, could you switch to the backup line?"

Just then, the spinning loading icon disappeared.

The screen remains black.

However, sound suddenly came from the speakers.

It wasn't the noisy static of the air, but a clear human voice, as if it were right next to your ear.

It was two men talking, with the faint clinking of cutlery and jazz music in the background, clearly in a high-end restaurant.

"...That Frenchman still won't budge?" A slightly hoarse male voice asked, speaking in perfect New York English.

The entire venue fell into a deathly silence.

In this room filled with elite journalists fluent in eight languages, no one could misunderstand the conversation.

Then another voice rang out. This voice was all too familiar to many of the Washington-based journalists present.

They were so familiar with it that it gave them goosebumps.

That was Scott's voice.

"Give in? Ha, not his choice." In the recording, Scott's tone was flippant and arrogant, accompanied by the sound of chewing food.

Federal prosecutors were already waiting at Kennedy Airport.

The moment that vice president named Frederick landed, he was immediately detained.

I've already thought of the charges: suspected of selling embargoed equipment to Iran, violating the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act.

"Where's the evidence? This is a big deal; the French will go crazy."

"Evidence?" Scott scoffed. "My old friend, this is the beacon of light."

If I wanted to, that napkin could be used as evidence.

Once someone is in jail, how they are interrogated is the FBI's business.

"Lock him up for three to five years, and I don't believe those French cowards won't sell their core technology to General Electric."

The Blue Hall was eerily quiet; even the sound of camera shutters had disappeared.

Everyone seemed frozen in place, their eyes wide open, staring intently at the dark screen.

This isn't a technical malfunction; this is clearly the scene of a nuclear bomb detonation!

The recording continues, and the content is getting more and more explosive.

"...After the deal is done, two percent of the acquisition payment from General Motors will be deposited into your account in the Cayman Islands as a 'consulting fee'."

As for the media, I've already made arrangements. Tomorrow, the Washington Post's headline will be "Corruption Scandal at French Company."

"Two percent? Scott, you're too stingy. I want three percent. After all, I'm willing to take legal risks."

"Deal. Cheers to free trade."

The crisp sound of clinking glasses marked the end of the recording.

About three seconds passed.

There was still no sound in the Blue Hall.

Everyone's brains are in a state of shutdown.

The amount of information in this recording is overwhelming: framing allies, judicial hijacking, forced buying and selling, bribery... Each point alone could cause an earthquake in the White House, yet they've all been taken down in one fell swoop?

Moreover, it was "accidentally" broadcast at a press conference held by the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs?

On stage, Gu Yun's expression was incredibly interesting.

He was first taken aback, then confused, and finally felt an extremely complicated sense of "awkwardness".

He slammed his hand on the microphone on the podium and shouted backstage, "What's going on? Didn't I tell you to show the natural gas price chart? What is this? Turn it off! Turn it off!"

His voice was full of "anxiety," and even a little "angry."

The screen finally went completely black, and the sound stopped.

Gu Yun took a deep breath, scratched his head, and looked at the hundreds of green eyes below the stage with some helplessness.

He coughed lightly and straightened his cuffs, which had become wrinkled from his "panic."

"Um... friends from the media."

Gu Yun's voice was a little dry, but it sounded extremely sincere.

"A serious technical incident just occurred."

That's... that's a teaching material we're currently studying internally about 'international anti-corruption cases.' It's possible that the staff mixed up the files when they copied them.

On behalf of the Information Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, I would like to express my sincere apologies to everyone.

apology?

Peter sat in the audience, his mouth agape, wide enough to fit a light bulb. He stared at the innocent-looking man on stage, spouting nonsense, and all he wanted to do was curse.

This is fucking teaching material! It's fucking mixed up!

Whose teaching materials contain such a top-secret recording that just happened yesterday?

Which teaching materials can directly expose the dirty deals of high-ranking U.S. State Department officials and prosecutors by name?

This isn't an apology.

Are you afraid the fire isn't burning bright enough, so you poured a bucket of gasoline on it?

"This recording..." An AFP reporter shakily raised her hand, her face pale and her voice trembling, clearly terrified by what she had just heard.

"Director Gu, where did this recording come from? How can its authenticity be verified?"

Gu Yun sighed, her face showing a helpless expression that said, "Since you've all heard it, there's nothing I can do."

"I already said, this is 'teaching material,' for internal reference only, and has no official status." Gu Yun emphasized the words "has no official status," then shrugged.

"As for the authenticity... I believe that you, as professional journalists, all have your own judgment."

After all, you're probably more familiar with some people's voices than I am, right?

As he said this, his gaze seemed to drift towards the camera lens.

Across the ocean.

Scott, who was enjoying his coffee and watching China's "death struggle," dropped his coffee cup onto the carpet.

Dark brown liquid splattered all over his bathrobe, but he was completely unaware.

He stared intently at the face of the Eastern man on the television screen, his whole body trembling violently.