After Divorce, I Can Hear the Future

Chapter 84: Research and the “Village Gala”

After investing 7 million yuan into the market, Lu Liang decided not to make any further moves. He left the market to operate on its own, refraining from interference.

While it was true he still held base stock and that major shareholders could see the list of circulating shareholders, this wouldn’t happen until the end of the trading day.

Lu Liang’s stance of taking the role of a market maker was clear, but he wasn’t about to do all the heavy lifting for the real market makers while they sat back and profited. That wasn’t feasible. Additionally, his modest investment of under 7 million yuan wouldn’t land him on the Dragon and Tiger List, so no one could exploit his name for headlines.

At that moment, Tang Caidie knocked on the door, bringing in the proposal for a 20-million-yuan follow-up investment in Panda Interactive Entertainment.

Wang Xiaocong held an 85% stake, contributing 17 million yuan, while Lu Liang held 15%, contributing 3 million yuan.

“Mr. Lu,” Tang reminded, “Mr. Wang plans to transfer 40% of his shares to Pusi Investment in Yanjing after this round of investment.”

“Pusi Investment is also his, preparing for Series A financing,” she added.

Lu Liang had already anticipated this. Once a company begins financing, it transitions from personal ownership to a broader structure. Wang’s move was a typical strategy for securing a higher exit price later.

This wasn’t about trying to escape at the first opportunity—it was a common approach. Like the adage says, you don’t put all your eggs in one basket.

After pouring in significant resources and effort, recovering the initial investment at a good price is only prudent. Going all in with no backup plan is reckless and often leads to catastrophic losses.

“Send the money over to him this afternoon,” Lu Liang instructed as he signed the transfer authorization.

Looking out the window, he noticed that the company had grown to 19 employees, and the office space felt cramped. Even Tang Caidie’s desk was only marginally larger than a regular employee’s, offering no privacy or partitions.

“How much longer will the renovations at the New International Building take?” Lu Liang asked.

“The construction team estimated completion by August 20th. While the materials are premium, it’ll need about ten days for ventilation. Plus, we still need to procure office equipment and furniture. Realistically, we can move in early next month,” Tang explained.

She added, “Mr. Yang from the New International gave us 45 days of rent-free renovation time.”

The building, designed as a high-end office space, typically offered only 15 days of rent-free renovation. Fifteen days were enough to install partitions and set up workstations, but Yang Weifeng had granted them a month and a half.

“Next time you meet Mr. Yang, thank him for me. Tell him I’ve been too busy to visit but will personally express my gratitude after we’ve moved in.”

As Tang left, Chen Jinchun walked in with four documents. “Mr. Lu, these two are from Luo Juncheng, and the other two are from Wen Chao.”

One was a Peking University graduate, the other from Fudan University. Five or six years ago, both had been top scorers in their respective provinces’ college entrance exams.

Their pride as high achievers led them to believe their research reports couldn’t possibly be inferior to the other’s. Thus, they submitted their work together for comparison.

“Professionals are indeed a different breed,” Lu Liang remarked as he picked up a report, instantly feeling uplifted. The report’s clean and organized layout stood in stark contrast to Chen’s cluttered and ambiguous style.

Chen feigned a smile to hide her embarrassment, inwardly fuming.

Each report was over 10,000 words long, and Lu Liang spent the entire morning and afternoon reading them.

By synthesizing their insights, he gained a comprehensive understanding of the bike-sharing and video industries.

Since OFO’s inception last December, 22 bike-sharing companies had emerged nationwide in just over nine months. The top five players—Mobike, OFO, YouBike, CoolQi, and Yong’anxing—controlled more than 68% of the market, collectively deploying about 58,000 bikes.

On average, each shared bike was used 4–8 times daily, primarily during rush hours. In Magic City, it wasn’t uncommon to find bike shortages near subway stations during peak times.

The market demand was significant, but the increasing number of bikes also impacted urban aesthetics and traffic order.

Bike-sharing appeared to be a traffic flow tool rather than a standalone business. Its endgame was likely acquisition—selling out to giants like Tencent, Alibaba, or other internet powerhouses to enhance their ecosystems.

While bike-sharing was a nascent battleground, the video industry had been a warzone since the internet’s early days. Long-form videos, short videos, livestreams, and interactive content had been fiercely contested for over a decade with no clear winner.

A short-video platform called Kuaishou caught Lu Liang’s attention, followed closely by ByteDance, the company behind Toutiao.

Curious, Lu Liang downloaded Kuaishou to experience it firsthand. After watching a few clips, his expression turned incredulous.

“What is this? An online version of a ‘village gala’?”

The videos featured slang like laotie and tiezi, rugged filming styles, and bright red and green down jackets—clearly aimed at northern audiences, with little regard for southern tastes.

“Well, it’s sharing life—just northern life,” Lu Liang muttered, pulling up Kuaishou’s profile.

The company was valued at $850 million last year, with Sequoia Capital leading its Series B funding round. By June of this year, Kuaishou had surpassed 200 million registered users. Breaking into this market seemed impossible.

By 3 p.m., the A-share market closed for the day.

Teli A’s closing price was 24.08 yuan, down 0.22%. In essence, the day had been a wash.

Tomorrow’s opening would likely determine the stock’s trajectory.

Lu Liang called Chen Jinchun, instructing her to bring in Luo Juncheng and Wen Chao. After reading all four reports, he had made his decision regarding the secretary position.

The two entered nervously, awaiting their verdict.

“Wen Chao, move to the desk next to Chen’s tomorrow,” Lu Liang announced.

The desk had been reserved for his secretary. Previously, both office phones on Lu Liang’s desk had been handled by Chen; now, one would be Wen’s responsibility.

“Thank you, Mr. Lu. I’ll do my best,” Wen Chao said, suppressing his excitement as he bowed slightly.

“Alright, you can go,” Lu Liang replied.

As Wen left, Lu Liang turned his attention to Luo Juncheng, who stood his ground. “Mr. Lu, why? Where did I fall short?”

Over the past ten days, Luo had tirelessly crisscrossed Magic City, even waking up before dawn to record bike usage at subway stations.

He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days, pouring every ounce of effort into his research. He was convinced Wen Chao couldn’t have outperformed him and wanted to know why he had lost.

“Your report was detailed, but it lacked objectivity. You included too many personal opinions,” Lu Liang said bluntly.

Luo’s findings, such as Kuaishou, Toutiao, and ByteDance, had been valuable, but they revealed his subjective biases.

“Luo, you’re talented, but not suitable as my secretary,” Lu Liang concluded.

Lu Liang planned to observe Luo Juncheng for a while and potentially assign him more important responsibilities in the future. However, that no longer seemed necessary, so he didn’t mind explaining things clearly.

“Thank you, Mr. Lu,” Luo said with a bitter smile, realizing he had indeed let too much personal bias seep into his report.

His intention had been to showcase his unique insights into the industry, but it had backfired.

As Luo turned to leave, Lu Liang suddenly called him back, his tone cold. “Go to finance and collect your salary. Once you’ve entered the workforce, don’t act like a child. Your pay is a mark of respect for your labor.”

Luo stood in silence for a moment before bowing deeply, regret flickering across his face. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had missed out on something significant.

“Send Miss Su in,” Lu Liang said curtly, ending the conversation.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!