One day in mid-April, Li Ye received a call from Sichuan Province.
"Director Li, thank you for coordinating this. Fenghua Apparel's payment has all been prepaid into our account. Thank you so much."
Director Song did not seem particularly eloquent over the phone and merely thanked him again and again, but Li Ye could sense his sincerity.
After the end of February, Old Saddam had begun gradually withdrawing his troops from the Middle East. On April 11, he formally accepted the Security Council's ceasefire agreement, and General Schwarzkopf, commander of the Beacon's forces in the Gulf, announced that the ceasefire had officially taken effect.
So all those around the world who were unwilling to accept it, who could not believe that this war would end so completely in such a hasty and astonishing manner, finally gave up.
There had been no tenacious tug-of-war, much less bitter street fighting. Old Saddam, who had looked so damn formidable, had directly thrown in the towel under the combined assault of money and technology.
But although the war had ended, its aftershocks had only just begun.
Leaving other countries aside, the Flower Nation had been deeply inspired. Sichuan Province had accelerated the development of new aircraft and proposed all kinds of brand-new requirements, so its need for funding was immense.
But Director Song was hardly the only defense worker who had been stirred up. Military-industrial research units across the country were all demanding new projects, so where could enough money be found to hand out to everyone?
What was more, Sichuan Province had accepted Li Ye's one-hundred-million donation during the Spring Festival. Compared with many units scraping by on bran and vegetables, they were practically rich tycoons.
If Director Song had not gone all out the moment he received the money and spent seven