Chapter 101: The E-commerce Horse

Late at night in Hangcheng, Ali’s headquarters remained brightly lit.

After finishing his report to the man across from him, Zhang Yong suddenly mentioned Chen Yansen and Fox Taobao.

“The team is furious— even Hu Zhilong wants an excuse to shut down Fox Taobao’s CPS interface and accounts.”

Zhang Yong shook his head, clearly disapproving of the idea.

“What does the East Hermit of Yitao think?” Ma Liyun turned, fixing his gaze on Zhang Yong.

“East Hermit” was Wu Ming’s nickname as head of Yitao; Yitao and Fox Taobao operated the same model—a guide e-commerce platform, except one was Ali’s biological son, the other an adopted son.

In profit models and marketing strategies, Juhuasuan and Yitao both copied Fox Taobao, yet these bastards copied it while denouncing it.

“About the same as Hu Zhilong’s stance,” Zhang Yong smirked, utterly exasperated by his team’s stupidity.

These people weren’t stupid—they were just malicious, just on different sides; in their view, they had to kill Fox Taobao by manipulating alliance policies.

“How much GMV did Fox Taobao contribute to Taobao last year?” Ma Liyun asked, smiling thoughtfully.

“620 million. But it secured 560 million in funding from Tencent, IDG, and Thinking Capital. Given Chen Yansen’s aggressive personality, he’ll likely double Fox Taobao’s DAU within half a year—I estimate total sales in 2011 will exceed 6 billion.”

Zhang Yong tilted his head back, closed his eyes, recalled the figures, then spoke slowly.

“In 2010, it was 0.15 percent. By your logic, in 2011 it’ll be one percent. The volume seems small, but more guide e-commerce players are entering, so GMV’s share will keep rising.”

Ma Liyun’s words made his stance on Fox Taobao and guide websites clear to Zhang Yong.

“Ali Alliance contributed 17 percent of the group’s sales last year—we mustn’t suppress guide platforms; we must actively support them.”

Zhang Yong smiled.

He knew that if Ali used its referee role to restrict guide e-commerce, capital would force them into self-operated models.

Even if Ali dominated e-commerce, it understood the old saying: too many ants can kill an elephant. Whether to have allies or enemies—this question barely needed thought.

For Ma Liyun and Ali, having guide sites like Fox Taobao as allies would give them more stories to tell investors in the Land of the Free when launching their IPO, helping them chase higher market caps.

Wu Ming of Yitao and Hu Zhilong of Ali Alliance opposed it because Fox Taobao stole their performance.

These workers cared only about their own KPIs.

“Tell Hu Zhilong—he must fully support Fox Taobao’s channel business going forward.”

After thinking it through, Ma Liyun made his decision.

In 2011, he would back guide platforms, aiming to push the group’s annual GMV past one trillion within two years.

“Got it. I understand,” Zhang Yong nodded; on this issue, he and Ma Liyun were aligned.

……

……

The next morning.

Chen Yansen drove Chen Guobin to Beishan Cemetery; the trunk was packed with spirit money and firecrackers.

Kneeling before his mother’s tombstone, Chen Yansen murmured: “If you’ve got time, give Lao Chen a dream—tell him to find me a stepmom while he’s still young. Otherwise, when he’s old, I won’t bother with him.”

“I’m earning money now. After the New Year, pick a good day to get you a bigger room—fronted by a river, backed by mountains, pines and cypresses planted on both sides…”

Chen Guobin listened to his son’s absurd eulogy, his lips twitching; he took several deep breaths before regaining composure.

“We never met, so I don’t know what kind of daughter-in-law you’d like—but don’t worry, I’ll date every type. If you like one, just send me a dream.”

Chen Yansen kept rambling.

“Get the hell away from here! Don’t disturb your mother!” Chen Guobin finally snapped, kicking Chen Yansen in the ass and shoving him aside.

He genuinely feared if Chen Yansen said two more words, his wife might crawl up from the grave.

Chen Yansen patted his ass, didn’t argue with Chen Guobin, tossed down a stack of spirit money, and told Lao Chen: “Burn plenty for Mom.”

Chen Guobin glared at him, picked up the gold paper and spirit money, and began burning them in bundles, muttering: “Hui Zhen, ignore this kid—he’s talking nonsense. In this life, I only ever loved you.”

Chen Yansen heard Lao Chen’s sentimental words, frowned, and stepped back several paces.

He knew the routine well: ten minutes later, Lao Chen would start crying; thirty minutes later, he’d be wailing; an hour later, he’d wipe his tears and urge him home.

For over a decade, it had always been this way—he was sick of it.

Seeing Lao Chen fully immersed, Chen Yansen turned, got back in the car, turned on the heater, and pulled out his phone to flirt with girls.

“Big Brother Yan Sen, when are you coming over for dinner?” A text popped up.

“In a few days,” Chen Yansen replied vaguely, then switched back to WeChat.

As soon as the app launched, he dragged Meng Jie and Song Yuncheng over to it—what else could he do? Lei Jun had poured all his money into Xiaomi phone R&D; MiChat kept crashing, ruining his flirting experience.

Though Wang Zihao’s mom cooked well, the moment he thought of Wang Ziyan, he immediately dropped the idea of crashing dinner.

An hour later, Chen Guobin had vented his emotions and silently took the front passenger seat.

Chen Yansen dropped him off at the bookstore, then turned the car toward Dongjin Du Bridge.

Far off, he saw Wang Zihao and his father, bundled in thick down jackets, sitting on small stools by the riverbank, rods in hand, eyes fixed on the floats.

“Uncle Wang! Long time no see—you’ve gotten even rounder.”

Chen Yansen walked over, teasing.

“Hah! You’ve grown taller—almost half a head taller than Zihao now. Good.” Wang Zhanjun turned, smiling in praise.

Chen Yansen and Wang Zihao were childhood friends; Chen Yansen had often come over for meals.

Usually, such visits either made a friend or an enemy—Chen Yansen was clearly the former.

In his past life, he’d almost stolen Old Wang’s precious daughter.

Wang Zhanjun had served in the military, fought on battlefields—he didn’t care about a few meals; he even gave Chen Yansen red envelopes during holidays.

“Zihao says you’ve helped him make a lot of money. I don’t understand business, so I can’t give advice—but be cautious, and when opportunity knocks, dare to strike hard.”

Wang Zhanjun patted Chen Yansen’s shoulder, whispering gently.

“I know. Don’t worry,” Chen Yansen smiled, pulled out a fishing rod from the gear box, and joined the fishing party.

The three sat by the riverbank, chatting as the cold wind blew.

Only then did Chen Yansen realize: 2.63 physical stats weren’t fake—the icy wind howled, yet he felt nothing.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ve arranged to go winter swimming with some old comrades. You two in?”

Wang Zhanjun asked suddenly.

“Dad, I’ll join the second round,” Wang Zihao chuckled.

Winter swimming in freezing weather? He couldn’t handle it. Only retired soldiers like Wang Zhanjun enjoyed torturing themselves—didn’t they know how old they were?

Wang Zihao thought this, but dared not advise—afraid of getting beaten.

The “second round” meant going to Qipan Street for beef soup, buying some braised snacks, and sipping morning liquor to warm up.

Seeing his own son wouldn’t join, Wang Zhanjun turned to his “adopted son.”

“Uncle Wang, I’ve got plans to visit classmates tomorrow,” Chen Yansen said quickly, eager to dodge the cold.

“What a coincidence?” Wang Zhanjun didn’t believe him.

“We made plans yesterday,” Chen Yansen said seriously.

“Big Brother Sen, you’re not going to Meng Jie’s, are you?” Wang Zihao’s eyes lit up, his gossip flame burning fiercely.

“Oh? Girlfriend?” Wang Zhanjun instantly understood, then added: “Bring her next time so I can see her.”

“Dad, you’ve met her—she’s that tomboy from our class,” Wang Zihao grinned.

“Huh!?” Wang Zhanjun froze. He didn’t remember most students, but that short-haired girl—he’d seen her once and remembered her for years.

So unusual!

Back then, Meng Jie had chased a boy around, swinging a table leg like a club!

“Little Sen, I told you to be manly—but I never meant find a girlfriend who’s even more manly than you!”

Wang Zhanjun frowned, thought for a moment, and cautiously advised.

“Uncle Wang, that was then. Let me show you what Meng Jie looks like now.”

Chen Yansen pulled out his phone, scrolled to Meng Jie’s photo, and handed it to Wang Zhanjun.

“Huh! That’s the tomboy? Wow—you’re right, she does look like her—but wow, girls change so much after eighteen, haha…” Wang Zhanjun laughed, staring at the phone.

“You learn from me. When I was your age, I’d already killed several Annan monkeys. You? Can’t even get a girlfriend.”

After laughing, Wang Zhanjun looked at Wang Zihao beside him, scowling in disgust.

“Uncle Wang, you don’t know—Zihao…” Chen Yansen started to spill Wang Zihao’s secret—the story about Teacher Liu.

But Wang Zihao dropped his fishing rod, lunged forward with astonishing speed—completely mismatched to his build—and clamped his hand over Chen Yansen’s mouth.

Wang Zihao stared at Chen Yansen, his eyes screaming for survival—he might as well have dropped to his knees and called him Dad.

“What’s wrong with Zihao?” Wang Zhanjun asked, smiling, sensing something odd.

“Nothing. He just met a girl he likes—she’s a bit older,” Chen Yansen said with a sly smile, deliberately vague.

“Third or fourth year? A woman three years older brings gold bricks. Your mom’s two years older than me—no problem…” Wang Zhanjun chuckled.

“Hey! Got a bite!”

Before Wang Zhanjun finished speaking, his rod jerked—he grinned and yanked it up.

The afternoon passed; the sun dipped halfway, the sky turned cold and gray. The three headed back with a few palm-sized crucian carp.

“Wanna have a drink tonight?” Wang Zhanjun asked.

“Let’s eat out—have the chef cook these fish,” Chen Yansen said quickly—he had no intention of going to Wang Zihao’s house.

“Hmm, fine,” Wang Zhanjun didn’t overthink it, stuffed the gear into his electric scooter, told Wang Zihao to ride behind him, and climbed into Chen Yansen’s BMW.

The three entered the old district, picked a familiar restaurant, ordered a few hot dishes and dumplings, and ate heartily.

Chen Yansen looked at Wang Zihao, a flicker of envy in his eyes.

Chen Zong had his regrets—he’d never felt much paternal love from Lao Chen; as a child, he only remembered Lao Chen kicking him.

Zihao might be a bit slow, but both his parents were there, patient and understanding, and the family atmosphere was wonderful.

Unlike Chen Guobin, whose life revolves around three things: running a bookstore, beating his kids, and missing his wife.

In the following days, Chen Yansen fully relaxed, even went to Meng Jie’s place for meals, and spent several rounds splashing around in the Dongfei River with Wang Zhanjun and the others.

He himself suffered no ill effects, but Wang Zhanjun and the old comrades froze stiff; unwilling to lose face in front of the younger generation, they muttered: “This winter in Chunshen is so cold—never this bad before. I never used to feel this way back when I was in the army, when I was young, and so on.”

Chen Yansen smiled and didn’t press the matter.

The twenty-ninth day of the twelfth lunar month happened to be February 1st.

Hu Li Tao’s February salary arrived on time, triggering over a hundred notification alerts in succession, completely blocking Chen Yansen’s view.

In just a few minutes, the Human Dao’s Firewood increased by 148 strands—this included salary, commissions, social insurance, housing subsidies, and transportation allowances—this was also the core reason he was so eager to enhance employee benefits.

“Add to Spirit or Constitution?” Chen Yansen hesitated for a second.

He immediately dumped all the Human Dao’s Firewood into Constitution, prioritizing maxing out his kidneys’ stats first.

This time the sensation was even more intense: in an instant, Chen Yansen felt his tendons, bones, skin, and flesh contracting and relaxing, like breathing.

But upon closer inspection, he realized it was just an illusion.

After the point-adding reaction subsided, Chen Yansen felt something entirely different—he could read the price lists on the shops across the street, and every faint sound around him became crystal clear.

"Since the interface has a Talent column, that means my current points are still insufficient—I need to keep earning money and building my career."

Chen Yansen pressed his hand against his kidneys, thinking silently.

The Constitution value on the interface rose from 2.63 to 4.11; over the next few days, he tested strength, speed, reaction, and endurance—all metrics surpassed normal human limits.

He sprinted a hundred meters in just 7.6 seconds—Bolt could only eat his dust, coming impossibly close to the fastest land creature.

Standing at the crossroads, he could read the couplets on Xihu Gate, eight hundred meters away; even the flight path of a hummingbird’s wings was perfectly visible.

He could sustain high-intensity exercise for ten hours before exhausting half his stamina.

He could deadlift over seven hundred kilograms; a roadside Chevrolet Spark, he could drag along with one hand.

“At 4.1, I’m already this strong—what if I raise it to 100, 1000, 10,000—even 100,000, a million, ten million? Wouldn’t I become an immortal?”

Chen Yansen recorded all the data in his notebook, stared at it for a while, then erased every single entry.

(End of Chapter)