“That is why... we must unite to make this project a reality,” Gawin said, his eyes burning with unwavering resolve.
Zhang Wei nodded slowly, gesturing for Gawin to take a seat. “Tell me, Mr. Gawin, is there something specific on your mind?”
“I’ve been reviewing the budget for the hydrogen power generation equipment,” Gawin began, his voice dropping an octave. “The costs are prohibitive. At these figures, the price point becomes a wall one that will prevent this technology from ever reaching the real world.”
“I’ve reached the same conclusion,” Zhang Wei replied, stepping toward a whiteboard. “Currently, green hydrogen costs between $5 and $8 per kilogram. Compared to diesel over the same distance, we’re paying two to three times more. No one scales a business on ‘saving the world’ if it costs them three times the overhead.”
“That is the crux of the problem,” Gawin interjected. “If we cannot solve the price equation, this Sandbox fails. It remains a lab experiment, never a global solution.”
Zhang Wei fell silent, his eyes flickering toward the window blinds as if checking for shadows lingering outside. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Actually... I have a contact. A group of juniors running a research startup.”
Gawin leaned in, his interest piqued. “Go on.”
“The core of water electrolysis is the catalyst. Standard practice requires platinum astronomically expensive. But my juniors have discovered a way to use Ni-P (Nickel-Phosphorus). It is hundreds of times cheaper, more resistant to corrosion, and slashes maintenance costs significantly.”
Zhang Wei crossed his arms, locking eyes with Gawin. “By coating Ni-P onto light-receiving semiconductors, we can extract hydrogen without the need for imported power converters. To put it simply: we produce energy at less than half the current market cost.”
“What is the final number?” Gawin pressed.
“$1.80,” Zhang Wei answered, the figure hanging in the air like a gunshot.
Gawin sat in stunned silence, his mind racing through the calculations. $1.80 per kilogram roughly 65 Baht.
“One kilogram of hydrogen yields the energy equivalent of three liters of diesel,” Zhang Wei explained. “If we execute this, CLS’s fuel costs drop to $0.55 per liter equivalent. Our competitors are still bleeding at $0.97 for diesel. We would be operating at a $0.42 advantage per liter. That isn't just a saving it's an industry slaughter.”
“Then why haven't you presented this to the Chairman?”
The question made Zhang Wei’s jaw tighten. A flicker of genuine trepidation crossed his face.
“I’m worried,” Zhang Wei admitted. “This startup... they are small players with no leverage. If I take this to the Board, they will find a way to seize the innovation and manufacture it themselves, leaving the creators with nothing but a handshake. They’ll be devoured.”
Gawin nodded, the weight of the corporate shark tank settling between them. “I understand. Then we must find a way... a way to ensure these innovators aren't betrayed, and our project proceeds without blood on its hands.”
Deep within the outskirts of Shanghai, an ancient Heyuan mansion stood shrouded by white walls and charcoal-grey wing-tipped tiles. Inside, a Suzhou-style garden was meticulously composed stone bridges arching over still waters, the air thick with the honeyed scent of Osmanthus and the rhythmic hollow thump of bamboo water spouts hitting stone.
Adisorn crossed the stone bridge. An attendant in a traditional Tangzhuang suit gestured him toward the Tingzi pavilion, flanked by jagged Taihu rocks that stood like silent sentinels.
Inside the pavilion, Li Ming was stoking a small ceramic stove with charcoal, a cobalt-blue kettle perched atop it. The mellow, fermented aroma of rice wine wafted through the air.
“Welcome to my Suzhou garden... a sanctuary of beauty hidden within the chaos of the metropolis,” Li Ming said, pouring a stream of golden, warmed liquor into a porcelain cup. “Sit, Mr. Martrim. Here, there is no noise from the outside world. Only the truth, and the exquisite burn of fine wine.”
Adisorn bowed respectfully before sinking into the seat opposite the titan. “Escaping the chaos to sit among the trees... it allows one to see the truths of life more clearly.” He accepted the cup with both hands, his gaze as steady as a predator’s.
Li Ming set the kettle down and took a sip of his own wine. The liquid was fierce and deep, cutting through the garden’s chill. “It seems you’ve finally found your epiphany,” he chuckled softly, swirling the cup and glancing toward a nearby bonsai, its branches forced into a dramatic, calculated arc.
“Do you know, in a garden like this, the most beautiful thing isn’t the flower that blooms as it pleases? It is the tree that submits to the shape the master has designed.”
He leveled his gaze at Adisorn, his eyes searching.
“Some see the wiring of a bonsai as torture. To me, it is the imposition of order giving a living thing the chance to be magnificent within my space.” He gestured with his cup toward the greenery. “But then again... a branch that is too rigid to be bent, too stubborn to conform... a master gardener doesn't waste time keeping it around to clutter the view. Does he?”
Li Ming’s laugh was low and cold.
Adisorn remained still, his eyes tracking a single leaf as it drifted onto the surface of the water.
“Your decision to retreat into nature is a graceful choice. At the very least, you’ve learned the truth: a beautiful tree should lean into the gardener’s will, rather than growing wild in a world where it could be felled at any moment.”
Li Ming drained his cup, a smirk playing on his lips a victory lap in the form of a smile.
Adisorn set his cup down with feather-light precision before looking up, his eyes locking onto the most powerful man in the room.
“Your metaphor is profound, Chairman... the branch that surrenders to the wire for the sake of the master’s aesthetic,” Adisorn said, his voice soft but his eyes like cold steel. “Most people looking into this garden would see me as that bonsai... a creature twisted and pruned to satisfy the ego of the powerful.”
He traced the rim of his cup, his expression unreadable.
“But tell me, Chairman... are you aware that some flora appear to be trained vines, but are, in fact, something else entirely?”
Adisorn gestured toward a climbing rose that draped across a distant fence. “It looks elegant, supple, bending as it grows. But it doesn't bend because of a master's hand. It weaves its own path, seeking the highest point of sunlight by its own nature. And beneath those sweet, delicate petals... it is armored with thorns, ready to draw blood from anyone who tries to tear it down.”
He offered a ghost of a smile. “A bonsai is beautiful in the pot you’ve provided, but it is slow-growing and fragile. A climber, however the one you think you control is different. By the time you look away, it has scaled the roof. It has claimed the entire garden before you even realize you’ve lost it.”
Adisorn’s eyes sharpened, a dark intensity flickering within. “The truth I see in nature, Chairman, is that real power doesn't come from forcing others into a shape. It comes from knowing that the branch that seems to bow so humbly... is actually coiling around someone’s throat.”