Forced to marry a disabled man in the countryside? I'll repay you tenfold!

"If we could buy them all, we could build a decent international airline fleet! And we could earn foreign exchange!"

Anderson surveyed the longing in everyone's eyes with satisfaction. "However, even though we can sell ten, you might not be able to afford them. This one costs thirty million US dollars."

"What? Thirty million? How can it be so expensive! This model is so old, and the failure rate isn't low. You sold it to European airlines for just over six million back then. Why are you charging us five times that price? Isn't this blatant ripping people off?"

Smith stood by the gangway, arms crossed, his tone full of condescending arrogance:

"I said it yesterday: if they gave us those kinds of rooms, we should have been prepared to pay the price. Besides, so what if it's an old plane? Can you buy something more advanced?"

Let me tell you, it's not just about the price—we also need to send a resident technical team to be stationed there long-term, and you must bear all the team's salaries, accommodation, and other expenses.

After all, you don't even understand the basic structure of this aircraft, so you can't be relied on for maintenance. Without our engineers, this metal shell is just a pile of scrap aluminum.

This is the old rule—buying an aircraft means supporting the other party's entire on-site team, and signing high-value parts procurement contracts every year. The price of parts keeps increasing, and you can't refuse to buy them; if you disassemble and repair them yourself, it's considered a breach of contract.

China has been exploited by this model for years, but with the technology in their hands, what can we do but endure it?

The marshal took a deep breath, clenched his fist, then relaxed it. "Buy, we'll buy! But we don't have that much foreign exchange; we might not be able to afford it all..."

Yesterday, he swallowed his pride and begged the Ministry of Foreign Trade, finally managing to scrape together a foreign exchange quota. But he couldn't spend all that money on airplanes. Now is the most critical time for the country; the foreign exchange is needed to buy chemical fiber equipment, seeds, and all sorts of other things—each of which is an urgent matter. These are more vital to people's livelihoods than airplanes, and he can't afford to empty his savings.

Smith's lips curled into a premeditated smile.

"Of course we know you can't afford it. Now, there's a way—you can take out a loan, pay only the down payment for one plane, and then take all ten away. Of course, you'll have to pay interest on the loan principal every year. As for the interest, it'll be our standard rate, with a slight upward adjustment, considering your credit rating... you know what I mean."

The marshal felt a tightness in his chest and took a deep breath.

This is obviously not going to work – foreign exchange is already so tight that people are trying to stretch every penny, how can they be trapped by such high-interest loans?

Paying back the principal and interest every year is like working for someone else for an extended period of time.

His plan was to grit his teeth and buy one or two aircraft, fly international routes to maintain appearances, and disassemble another one to study it carefully, copying as many as possible, so as to at least understand the basic technology.

"No, our foreign exchange reserves are simply not enough to support this kind of loan. We can buy just one at your tenfold premium; let's buy one now."

"Buy one? Are you trying to fob us off?" Smith's face immediately darkened. "We flew all the way from America just to sell one? You're insulting our sincerity. Frankly, with your purchasing power, you shouldn't be trying to build a commercial airliner fleet. Wouldn't it be better to just stick to riding bicycles?"

Anderson's tone became even more aggressive:

"Yes, we only accept a package of ten aircraft for sale, not individual sales. If you're willing, you can buy them all at once, sign a 20-year on-site maintenance contract, and support our engineers for 20 years. Otherwise, forget it, you won't get a single one."

Although some people in China argue that these equipment should never have been sold to China, in the eyes of these businessmen, rules are rigid, but money is flexible.

China's backwardness makes it an ideal target for exploitation. Selling a batch of obsolete goods can yield several times the profit, while also supporting a group of retired engineers and cronies within one's own faction. It's an incredibly lucrative business.

As for strategic competition and technology outflow—with this group of Chinese who can't even manufacture integrated circuits, they won't catch up even if you give them another twenty years.

Anderson then threw out a chilling threat: "And you've thought this through—these are all being sold as a package. If you don't buy the planes, you won't get a single piece of the technical data for the supercomputers and aircraft engines."

Hmph, let your scientists keep calculating with abacuses and hand-cranked calculators. Our airplanes are among the best passenger planes in the world, Boeing's golden brand, even Europe has to line up to buy them.

"If you miss out on us, what kind of junk will you be able to buy? Soviet stuff? Those iron coffins that kill everyone in a plane crash?"

The marshal was panting heavily, his chest heaving violently—although Su Wanqing could get the supercomputer, the plane was something they couldn't do without right now.

Building an international fleet, breaking the monopoly of foreign airlines, and earning valuable foreign exchange all depend on acquiring a few decent passenger planes. Even buying just one to dismantle and study would be better than forever relying on others. If this opportunity is missed, who knows when the next one will come?

"These people are really going too far. Last year they only asked for a ten-year contract, but this year they're asking for twenty years and they've even increased the parts cost by 20%."

"Exactly. If we agree to all of these conditions, we'll be the biggest suckers in the world—spending the money of ten chariots to buy a bunch of old stuff, and then having to support a bunch of people for free for twenty years."

Su Wanqing watched the show for a long time and couldn't help but praise it in her heart: the marshal's acting skills in portraying anger and humiliation were simply superb, exactly like the real thing.

But the performance has gone on long enough; it's time for her to take the stage.

She then spoke slowly and deliberately, "Isn't that right? These planes are just unwanted, obsolete stuff. Nobody wants them on the international market anymore, yet they're trying to sell them to us like they're treasures—to put it bluntly, even if you dismantle them and sell them as scrap metal, the scrap yards wouldn't consider the alloy composition too outdated. They dare to offer us this pile of junk at double the price! Their hearts are black as dirt, their skin is thicker than this runway, they're rotten to the core, making this kind of ill-gotten money is utterly shameless. They're not selling planes, they're clearly trying to rip us off with a pile of scrap metal that should be in a museum. Let me tell you, we wouldn't even accept this junk for free! Tens of millions? I think they're just dreaming!"

The surrounding air seemed to freeze, and it fell silent instantly.

Everyone turned to look at Su Wanqing.

Although I didn't understand what "wanting to eat farts" meant, it certainly wasn't a nice thing to say...

The translator on the other end paused for half a second, then his expression changed, and he quickly leaned close to Anderson and Smith's ears to translate. The two foreigners' faces darkened as they listened.

The marshal was dumbfounded, his jaw nearly dropping—why was this girl always telling the truth? Although he'd been keeping these thoughts to himself for days...