Chapter 967

Luo Yiren acted quickly; as she said, the next day she drove to Xianghu to find Sister Kui.

Sister Kui had a beautiful name: Kui Huang.

She was somewhat puzzled by Luo Yiren’s visit, poured her tea, and asked, “You’re such a busy person—what brings you here today?”

“You can’t work nonstop. Sometimes you need to escape the noise, recharge. Conversely, after resting too long, you’ve got to get out, do some work, engage socially. Otherwise, you’ll shut yourself off.”

Kui Huang set down her teacup and smiled. “I get it—you came to drag me back to work. Tell me the details.”

“Our company’s financial director position—salary twenty thousand, includes one lunch per day. Other reasonable expenses are reimbursed. As for equity, we’ll talk later—that’s beyond my authority. Interested?”

“Didn’t you tell me before that your company’s finance was handled by Qiu Dong’s prison buddy?”

“I also told you before that our company runs local internet services. Yan Ge is now fully focused on user growth, service refinement, and market expansion—finance is dragging him down. Yesterday he returned from Nanning, so I mentioned it to him. He said if you trust her and think she’s fine, then I should ask you directly—if you’re willing, you can start immediately.”

Kui Huang nodded, then asked, “How’s your company doing lately?”

“Not bad. In Nanning and Hangzhou, even without Qiu Dong and Lin Bai working, our headhunting business clears a million—profit after commissions. Add them in, and it’s around two million. The staffing business brings in about a hundred thousand monthly, all from the internet industry.”

“We also have part-time gigs—currently active in nine cities: Nanning, Hangzhou, Shanghai, Suzhou, Nanjing, Beijing, Tianjin, Guangzhou, and Shenzhen. Monthly profit is roughly three million. But this segment is about to be merged into Zhenxuan Life.”

“I downloaded your Zhenxuan Life app too. I noticed you let people review almost everything—huge data volume, right? Operating costs must be high. What’s your next move?”

“You’re asking whether we’re looking for investment, aren’t you?”

Luo Yiren laughed. “That was decided from the start—we won’t take capital as long as we can reach profitability and operate stably. If things get desperate, we’ll find investors later. As for high operating costs and massive data, Yan Ge says he can handle it. He’s tech-savvy—he built the architecture and even improved some parts. I don’t fully understand the details.”

“Actually, the data isn’t as huge as it seems. Even though everything can be reviewed, most activity concentrates on education, beauty, celebrities, and food—areas with high attention. Other categories are niche. Even with hundreds of millions of users, these niche sections won’t matter much. Overall, things are still good.”

“Who knows? Maybe we really can grow big and strong. Doesn’t have to be a unicorn—just securing a place in China’s internet scene would be fine. Right now, the future looks promising. Even if we didn’t touch the internet, our HR business is already doing great—without part-time gigs, annual revenue hits twenty million, making us a top player nationwide.”

“You’re bored sitting home all day—it’s dull. Getting out, working, gives you energy. What do you think?”

“You’re the one dragging me to work, but you make it sound like you’re doing me a favor.”

“Same thing—we’ve been friends for years. I know you better than anyone.”

Kui Huang shook her head, amused. “Fine. I’ll come take a look tomorrow. But I’m warning you—if I’m uncomfortable, I’m walking out. Don’t ruin our friendship.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve met Qiu Dong. The rest—Yan Ge, Xiong Qingchun, Lin Bai—they’re all great people. Getting along with them is effortless.”

“Tell me about Yan Ge. I never asked before, but now I need to know.”

Luo Yiren’s praise of Wang Yan was effusive. The next day, over dinner, Kui Huang smiled at Wang Yan and said, “Wang Zong, you don’t know—Yiren raved about you yesterday. She said you…”

Wang Yan laughed heartily. “Sister Kui, watch your words. Qiu Dong and I shared a bunk for over four years. Yiren’s his wife—don’t get the wrong idea.”

“Yan Ge really is a master—I swear, Yiren’s telling the truth!” Qiu Dong grinned, raising his hand.

“Enough with the flattery,” Wang Yan raised his glass. “Come on, Sister Kui—cheers. Welcome aboard.”

“Come on, everyone—cheers! Mr. Chen?”

Lin Bai called out, and everyone drank. Then lively chatter broke out.

Mostly, Kui Huang spoke, observing everyone’s character. Chen Xiufeng, by contrast, stayed quiet—smiling, eating, drinking, occasionally adjusting his glasses, sizing everyone up with a critical gaze. He carried an air of authority; just sitting there, he felt out of place.

But logically, he was entitled to act that way. Even bundled together, Wang Yan’s group couldn’t match the net worth of Kui Huang and Chen Xiufeng. And Chen Xiufeng was in finance—dealing in sums measured in hundreds of millions, mingling with the ultra-rich, his eyes always fixed on the ceiling. His showing up today was purely out of respect for his wife’s wishes—very generous of him.

Midway through dinner, Wang Yan shifted focus to Chen Xiufeng. To the stunned stares of the others, he began discussing finance with him. To converse as an equal, you must demonstrate value worthy of respect.

Wang Yan didn’t play that way. He usually chose the very place where others felt most proud—and crushed them. Naturally, he became the controller, the one who commanded respect. In other words, when someone showed off in his own domain, he’d outshine them. Unfortunately, Wang’s domains were many.

After a friendly exchange, Chen Xiufeng’s attitude shifted nearly 180 degrees—he spoke more, his tone softened, leaving everyone astonished.

Only Kui Huang wasn’t surprised. She knew exactly what kind of man Chen Xiufeng was: he respected only those stronger than himself.

At that moment, Qiu Dong and Lin Bai, in perfect sync, mentioned they had clients needing financial talent and asked Chen Xiufeng’s thoughts.

As expected, Chen Xiufeng politely but firmly declined, explaining his difficulties in detail—from practical realities to psychological state.

The matter ended there. As Wang Yan always said: if someone doesn’t want to do it, no amount of nagging will change their mind. Better to find another suitable candidate quickly—don’t waste time. Yuan Kun’s approach was truly misguided.

But given Yuan Kun’s environment and his poor character and judgment, it wasn’t hard to understand why he’d try to seduce a young woman to entrap Chen Xiufeng and record it.

He was at a critical stage in his advancement—he couldn’t afford to slip. And honestly, he hadn’t actually harmed Chen Xiufeng’s interests: first, the client company offered excellent terms; second, Chen Xiufeng got to sleep with a girl for free; third, Yuan Kun himself got promoted, raised, and granted shares—a win-win.

But Chen Xiufeng refused—and Lin Bai and Qiu Dong were blocking him.

Even without Lin Bai and Qiu Dong, if Yuan Kun had been even slightly smarter, he’d never have leaked the video, let alone destroyed Chen Xiufeng’s marriage—the consequences would’ve been unbearable. He was just trying to scare and pressure him.

After the meal, Kui Huang officially joined Yan Chunqiu, taking over Wang Yan’s finance duties and reducing his workload. But Wang Yan still had plenty of capacity—he simply preferred to lighten his load when possible.

After all, fussing is one thing, working is another. His “fussing” was mostly about watching others achieve what he himself wanted to accomplish—he loved manipulating others. Of course, working himself didn’t bother him either—he wasn’t truly lazy or just talk. He just had a preference.

Now he barely touched HR matters, focusing entirely on local services. But realistically, he’d be better off sticking with HR in this world. Still, after two years, he found it boring.

After all, you’re just finding people according to client demands. Finding one person was enjoyable—the investigation, the persuasion. But finding ten or dozens? It lost its charm.

Relatively speaking, he thought the later-stage professional headhunting business was less interesting than his early part-time gigs in Nanning. The main reason? The people were different. The part-timers had richer stories. Headhunters were more monotonous—they were just skilled professionals in one industry. Sure, they had stories too, but they felt far less compelling.

In the broader social context, they were “normal.” Those choosing part-time gigs—working one day, resting two, wandering the streets, or living in internet cafés—were “abnormal.” Too many normals meant too little excitement.

As for the high-end market where Qiu Dong and Lin Bai got excited—million-yuan salaries? Even less interesting. In some worlds where Wang Yan focused purely on business, by the end, million-yuan salaries weren’t even worth reporting to him. To him, it was just… routine.

So Wang Yan simply launched Dianping and focused on local services—started a new game.

Zhenxuan Life’s popularity surged, registered users multiplied, and Wang Yan kept expanding the part-time market. Beyond the original nine cities, he added provincial capitals and Chongqing. Thanks to a solid foundation and a capable part-time expansion team, he quietly earned money and captured market share in this overlooked niche.

Wang Yan didn’t delay—he immediately launched the part-time service. This wasn’t a casual rollout. The client companies weren’t self-registered. Each was personally negotiated with, vetted for qualifications and business integrity.

Not every company joined—some wanted to skim a cut. But on Zhenxuan Life, every transaction was transparent—cutting into their profits meant they resisted. Still, these were isolated cases—no major issue.

As for the part-timers, they cared even less. Three requirements: work must be legitimate, pay must be good, payment must be immediate. If there’s a fourth? The work should be easy. If it’s not easy, the pay must be higher.

Payment settlement wasn’t affected by Wang Yan lacking a payment license. Clients deposited full payments into the company’s account; the company guaranteed all payouts, handling any unexpected issues—like a worker canceling after accepting a job, or disappearing after two days without collecting pay. That was the job of the part-time expansion staff—they coordinated.

After work completion, both parties submitted confirmation, and payment went directly into the part-timer’s bank account. It increased finance workload, nothing else.

Of course, this applied to corporate settlements. But Wang Yan also launched other local services involving consumers. Requiring card payments for spending was off-putting, so he integrated WeChat Pay, Alipay, and other online payment platforms.

Wang Yan launched several local services: besides part-time gigs, there was errand-running—delivering items or shopping for people. Naturally, these tasks were handled by the same part-timers. They’d take orders when free, earning a little extra.

Another service was selling goods—focused on agricultural products, regional specialties, or slow-moving items. Only launched in existing cities, not nationwide.

The company guaranteed product quality, redesigned packaging, partnered with primary suppliers, and collaborated with logistics firms for fresh transport. Overall, the products weren’t vastly superior—but they were definitely expensive.

Wang Yan sold premium goods, added value. If it wasn’t expensive, how could it be premium? He wanted Zhenxuan Life to become a lifestyle—tagged with “refined living,” “beautiful living,” “high-quality living,” “peaceful living,” “healthy living,” and more. After all, everything could be rated—his agricultural products were no exception. He guaranteed authenticity.

In fact, as long as agricultural products weren’t terrible, met basic standards, offered good after-sales service, and maintained the right attitude, the high price alone made people believe: if it’s expensive, it must be good—even if it wasn’t sweet, it tasted sweet; even if it wasn’t delicious, it tasted fine.

Another service was secondhand trading. Using big data, the platform assessed prices for similar items, giving both sides reference points, while also tracking price trends—effectively creating a value leaderboard. The platform acted as a third party, freezing the buyer’s payment until the seller delivered, then releasing funds—a standard practice.

As for food delivery and ride-hailing, Wang Yan didn’t enter. He lacked funds—he couldn’t afford to burn cash. No matter how good the service, it couldn’t compete with rivals offering meals for one yuan or rides for one yuan.

He started with agricultural products, slowly covering food, clothing, housing, and transportation—focusing exclusively on domestic goods, seeking high-quality, reasonably priced items. The future looked bright.

As for rivals encircling him? He didn’t care. His business had already branded itself with quality—he’d never engage in price wars and lower his standards.

He faced some challenges, but he moved steadily, maintaining company operations. Lin Bai had long since moved to Zhenxuan Life for management, telling Wang Yan he’d grown bored with headhunting and wanted a new challenge.

The HR side became a one-man show for Qiu Dong and Luo Yiren. After all, Xiong Qingchun was with Wang Yan; seeing the business grow, she’d already transferred over.

But Qiu Dong was the true protagonist—he excelled, thriving. Emotionally, he and Luo Yiren returned to Beijing and got married. Like Wang Yan and Xiong Qingchun, they skipped the wedding ceremony—just gathered everyone for a celebration.

Thus, time reached the Spring Festival of 2016.

After dining with Qiu Dong and Luo Yiren—both as childless as he was—Wang Yan and Xiong Qingchun returned home.

Xiong Qingchun sat on the sofa and sighed. “I never thought they’d have a baby so soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m thirty-two now. You kept nagging me about getting married and having kids. If not for them, I wouldn’t have thought of it. It’s been two years—why haven’t we had any sign? Maybe…”

Xiong Qingchun trailed off, still watching Wang Yan, hesitant to speak.

Wang Yan chuckled. “Shall we go to the hospital and check?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t make sense—you’re so strong, how could there be no result? Could it be I can’t have children?”

“Don’t pressure yourself. Maybe it’s my issue. Let’s try again. Alcohol, sex, money, and desires cloud the spirit—they must be affecting us. Let’s both try harder. Check again in two months.”

“Then quit smoking, stop drinking—those definitely matter. I’ll wake up early and exercise with you.”

“Come on, let’s shower. Let’s practice today. I think it’s just our old positions and emotional timing that were wrong.”

“How else could it be timed?” Xiong Qingchun rolled her eyes—but opened her arms. “Hold me.”

Wang Yan didn’t refuse. He stepped forward, picked her up, and carried her toward the spacious bathroom.

Not just Xiong Qingchun—many women had the same worry: doubting Wang Yan, or doubting themselves. What could Wang Yan do? He couldn’t say he had an on-off switch. He could only keep pretending.

Soon, the bathroom echoed with soft, sensual sounds—life was already beginning to form…