Chapter 123: The Fortune Teller Said I

Chen Yansen picked up a tray, ordered four taels of rice, one serving of beef, one serving of dry-pot shrimp, and two servings of greens, spending 16.8 yuan.

“Didn’t go back to Lucheng?”

Chen Yansen carried the food and sat across from Song Yuncheng, asking softly.

“No, the number of new B2C platforms signing up has multiplied several times over—I’m swamped.”

Song Yuncheng looked up, saw it was Chen Yansen, and smiled faintly in explanation.

“There’s a decent hot spring hotel in Shidu—I’m taking you there for team building. After dinner, pack up and we leave in the afternoon.”

Chen Yansen announced it outright, giving Song Yuncheng no choice.

“Did your girlfriend go home?” Song Yuncheng asked cautiously.

Chen Yansen froze, let out a dry laugh, and feigned seriousness: “As an employee, don’t pry into your boss’s private life.”

“So as boss, you can take an employee on a private team-building trip?”

Song Yuncheng shot back—months had sharpened her tongue; she no longer just reached for a brick whenever Chen Yansen teased her.

She’d put down the brick, but now carried a concrete slab in her heart.

“Disagree?”

Chen Yansen picked up a piece of beef and popped it into his mouth, asking casually.

“Do you know how much I made last month?” Song Yuncheng shook her head, changing the subject.

“83,000—two thousand less than Zhang Yifeng, ten thousand more than third-place Li Hui. Top-tier in the investment team.”

With Chen Yansen’s current memory, he could memorize a data report with one glance.

Song Yuncheng blinked, suddenly feeling Chen Yansen’s unusual care for her—warmth spread in her chest. Ignoring reason, she blurted out yes to his team-building offer.

Perhaps subconsciously, she wanted to be near Chen Yansen.

She asked about salary to imply she could thrive without him.

She said yes not for money, not to please him—only because she wanted to.

This time, it was Chen Yansen’s turn to be surprised—he’d only mentioned it offhand, just planting a seed, never expecting her to accept.

“I’ve got an extra key to my room. I’m giving it to you.”

Chen Yansen patted his pocket and placed the key on the table before her.

“Does she have one too?” Song Yuncheng placed her hand on the key, tracing its edge, asking softly.

“No, there are only two keys total—the other’s in my pocket.” Chen Yansen lied without blinking.

“Really?” Song Yuncheng didn’t believe him, hesitated, then took the key anyway.

They exchanged a quiet smile, chatting about work as they ate.

Song Yuncheng’s plate held shredded meat, fried eggs, and a small stir-fry chicken—she’d clearly broken her old habit of eating poorly.

After all, humans are born to seek comfort—who wants to suffer forever?

Since Chen Yansen had “forced” her to spend forty to fifty thousand in Beijing last time, her frugal guard had cracked—she no longer scrimped on spending.

She understood Chen Yansen was right: treating her brother’s illness, hiring caregivers—it wasn’t worth saving a few hundred on meals.

Eating well, staying healthy—only then could she earn more.

For a moment, Chen Yansen felt like he was dining with Ye Qiuping.

No!

Song Yuncheng was more like a junior version of Ye Qiuping—her feelings for him were purer, unlike Ye Qiuping, who wanted to drain both his body and his abilities.

They’d always been in a state of negotiation.

Chen Yansen wasn’t worried she’d grow wings and leave him—eighteen-year-old girls came in waves; she wasn’t rare.

After dinner, Song Yuncheng walked toward her dormitory—each step reddened her cheeks; her mind replayed her last trip to Beijing.

Chen Yansen drove to the faculty apartment building, went upstairs to grab two sets of clean clothes, then drove to the school gate to wait for Song Yuncheng.

…

…

Far away in Hangcheng, at Ali’s headquarters, Ma Liyun, Zhang Yong, and Cai Xin sat around a coffee table, sipping tea and talking.

After its launch, Zhifubao had posted losses for years; every time Ma Liyun reported financials to Yahoo’s Yang Zhiyuan, mentioning Zhifubao, the man either shook his head or got up and left.

As Ali’s major shareholder, Yang Zhiyuan had no interest in Zhifubao.

But Ma Liyun thought differently—he’d lived in China long enough to know how vital a high-market-share payment license was for an e-commerce company.

Since Yahoo didn’t see its value, why not transfer Zhifubao’s ownership to his own company?

But the operation was fraught with difficulty—it required approval from both Yahoo and SoftBank.

“Think—any legal, legitimate way to do it?”

Ma Liyun looked at Zhang Yong and Cai Xin, looking frustrated.

Cai Xin, also one of Ali’s founders and chief financial officer, had the most experience in equity restructuring.

He opened his mouth, but Zhang Yong cut him off: “Chen Yansen from FoxTao just got a payment license—and within days, transferred it to his personal company, Senlian Capital.”

FoxTao? Chen Yansen?

Ma Liyun paused, then remembered—he’d heard the name. Zhang Yong wouldn’t mention him without reason.

“Last June, the authorities issued guidelines on non-financial institution payment license ownership—Zhifubao’s foreign ownership ratio just hit that red line. I think this is our chance.”

Zhang Yong adjusted his glasses and smiled confidently.

“You mean use the regulation as an excuse to transfer Zhifubao’s ownership—so even if Yahoo and SoftBank come after us later, we can cite the rule as defense?”

Cai Xin thought for a moment, then understood Zhang Yong’s meaning.

“Chen Yansen did the same?” Ma Liyun was stunned—he hadn’t expected Chen Yansen to not only solve his problem but actually pull it off.

Zhang Yong’s implication: copy Chen Yansen’s move directly.

“Exactly!” Zhang Yong gave a wry smile.

Since last Double Eleven, Taobao and Juhuasuan had both copied FoxTao’s group-buying model—Zhang Yong had grown increasingly attentive to the twenty-year-old Chen Yansen.

When he learned how Chen Yansen had handled the payment license, he realized their opportunity had arrived.

“We need to act fast—don’t give Yang Zhiyuan time to react.” Ma Liyun saw no ethical breach; if it was legal, it was fair game.

When Yang Zhiyuan came knocking, they could negotiate slowly—there’d always be a way out.

Though Ali’s current performance already qualified it for a Nasdaq listing, Ma Liyun held too little equity—he’d delayed the IPO, waiting to build strength to buy back Yahoo’s 40% stake.

He didn’t want Yang Zhiyuan to swallow all the profits after Ali went public.

“I’ll handle it,” Cai Xin said calmly.

The plan was set—he only needed to execute.

“For this year’s Double Eleven kickoff, I want to meet this young man.” Ma Liyun felt genuine admiration—he planned to bring FoxTao and Chen Yansen under his wing.

As for FoxTao’s 2-billion-yuan valuation, Ma Liyun didn’t care.

After all, Taobao was barely alive; without Ali’s alliance traffic and push from Xiao Er, it couldn’t even match Meilishuo.

Acquiring FoxTao would give Ali a third-party traffic entry point and boost group revenue.

“Alright, I’ll arrange it,” Zhang Yong replied with a smile.

No one could have guessed that a transaction involving hundreds of billions in equity had just been decided in this room—and the inspiration came from a first-year college student.

Meanwhile.

Chen Yansen drove Song Yuncheng at full speed, arriving at the Shidu hot spring hotel by 3:30 p.m.

He’d brought Meng Jie here before; this time, he knew the way perfectly.

After check-in, Chen Yansen took Song Yuncheng’s hand and gently guided her into the room.

Outside the three-meter-high glass wall stood a row of lush purple bamboo; behind them, a wall, then the mountainside.

Excellent privacy!

“First, soak in the bath—tonight there’s a concert and an open-air barbecue.”

Chen Yansen dropped his suitcase, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and yanked it up, revealing his toned upper body.

His muscles were defined but not exaggerated—lean, like a swimmer’s, more elegant than bodybuilder’s.

Song Yuncheng stood frozen—they hadn’t been this close in a month; suddenly alone in the room, she felt awkward.

“Why are you just standing there?”

Chen Yansen had no manners—he started unbuttoning his pants.

Song Yuncheng instinctively covered her eyes.

Chen Yansen stopped, walked barefoot over, and pulled her into his arms: “You’ve gotten shy. Last time, you saw everything.”

Before Song Yuncheng could speak, Chen Yansen leaned down and kissed her.

Her lips were pink, soft as a QQ candy eaten at dawn.

As an old lockpick, Chen Yansen knew how to undress a woman.

Water kept flowing into the hot spring pool, splashing softly.

When Song Yuncheng came to, they were no longer by the door—they were in the pool.

Water sprayed everywhere.

Only when night deepened outside, the sky thick with darkness, did they wash off, change into clean clothes, and walk toward the hotel lawn.

Above them, a sliver of moon hung high, casting cold light.

Chen Yansen enjoyed his vacation; Ma Liyun scrambled to transfer Zhifubao’s ownership.

Meanwhile.

In Chengdu, a group-buying website launched a 10-yuan deal for a TA-4K Eagle fighter jet—even though it was a retired plane, over fifty years old.

Combining the keywords “10 yuan,” “group purchase,” and “fighter jet” still attracted tens of thousands of netizens, with thousands participating.

Other websites, inspired by this, quickly launched group purchases for houses, home appliances, cars, and more, pushing the hype to its extreme.

Late at night, inside a hot spring hotel on the slopes of Shidu Mountain.

Chen Yansen lay in the pool, one hand scrolling through news on his phone, the other resting on Song Yuncheng’s shoulder, tapping rhythmically—as if massaging, or like a child, purely for fun.

Song Yuncheng lay beside him, the warm water enveloping her body; the fatigue in her heart seemed to gradually fade over these two days.

She gazed at Chen Yansen’s sharply defined profile—eyebrows like swords, eyes like stars, a faint indifferent smile on his lips.

Chen Yansen was indeed outstanding, yet he could never fully belong to her.

Song Yuncheng sighed softly, nestled in Chen Yansen’s arms, her gaze fixed on the crystal chandelier above, her mind utterly blank, not a single thought lingering.

“Chen Yansen, if only you weren’t so fickle.”

Song Yuncheng sighed inwardly, feeling herself sinking deeper, afraid that one day Meng Jie would find out, or that Chen Yansen would fall for someone else.

“What are you thinking about?”

Chen Yansen smiled lightly, watching her dazed expression.

“If one day you go bankrupt and I’m richer than you, would you be willing to follow me?”

Song Yuncheng rephrased her previous dream, testing the waters.

“You want to keep me?”

Chen Yansen paused—Song Yuncheng was the first girl ever to suggest “supporting him.”

His looks, physique, and abilities certainly made older sisters and ladies swoon; Chen Yansen smirked. He had no intention of living off a woman’s money—even if it was delicious.

“Is it not allowed?” Song Yuncheng sat up, leaning on his chest, asking defiantly.

“Sure, but by then I might still have a few girlfriends. Can you support them all?”

Chen Yansen grinned wickedly, his hands sliding downward.

“No money left, and you’re still thinking about being fickle?” Song Yuncheng pouted, furrowed her brows, eyes reddening, heart aching.

“I’m joking. You actually believed me? The fortune-teller said I’m allergic to poverty—I can only be rich.”

Chen Yansen lightly kissed her lips, smiling confidently.

“Chen Yansen, I wish time could stop right here, right now.” Thinking of returning to school tomorrow, the tears in Song Yuncheng’s eyes finally spilled—plop—into the hot spring.

Chen Yansen smiled, picked up Song Yuncheng, and walked toward the king-sized bed downstairs.

Meanwhile.

Meng Jie had just stepped off the bus, carrying takeout beef soup and fried dough sticks wrapped in tofu skin, took a taxi back to Xucheng Academy, and rushed up to the fourth floor of the faculty apartment, excited.

She unlocked the door with her key, only to find the apartment empty—Chen Yansen wasn’t there.

She’d planned to surprise him, but ended up finding nothing.

Helpless, Meng Jie pulled out her phone and called Chen Yansen.

“Hey, I’m back. Why aren’t you home?” Meng Jie sat on the sofa, her legs swinging unconsciously, voice tinged with disappointment.

Chen Yansen looked down at Song Yuncheng, exhaled slowly, and replied honestly: “Got tired of school, came to Shidu for the hot springs. Want to join?”

“Nah, too late. I brought you something tasty. Come back early tomorrow.” Meng Jie didn’t suspect a thing, giggling.

Song Yuncheng listened to their conversation, a pang of bitterness surged inside her; she wrapped her arms around Chen Yansen’s waist and bit his shoulder.

Chen Yansen’s physique of 6.47 meant his flesh density was far beyond normal; Song Yuncheng’s bite felt like gnawing on cowhide—hard and resilient.

After biting for a long time, only a faint tooth mark remained.

Seeing her restless, Chen Yansen immediately pinched her weak spot and began gently stroking it.

“Alright, see you tomorrow.” Chen Yansen hung up, lifted the flushed Song Yuncheng, and buried her under the covers.

The next morning, dawn barely breaking.

Chen Yansen woke up—energized, refreshed. Clearly, becoming stronger had both advantages and drawbacks.

Even sleeping in had become difficult; now he naturally woke after only four or five hours.

He glanced down at Song Yuncheng, who lay beside him, fast asleep.

Chen Yansen rose, sat at the desk, picked up a copy of “ARM Architecture and Programming,” and flipped through it rapidly—one page per second.

His mind functioned like a scanner; every word and image his eyes passed over was absorbed, rearranged, and gradually formed into a coherent knowledge system.

By the time Song Yuncheng woke, Chen Yansen had finished over ten books—some borrowed from the library, others purchased from Jingdong.

After reading, he’d leave the books he’d bought on the second floor of the startup park, as shared reading material for the project team—effectively recycling them.

“Why are you suddenly working so hard? Planning to take the postgraduate entrance exam?” Song Yuncheng, wearing a short T-shirt and bare legs, walked behind Chen Yansen and asked curiously.

“Just killing time. Why would I take the postgraduate exam? If it weren’t for Old Chen nagging me, I wouldn’t even want to attend university.”

Chen Yansen shook his head with a smile, outright rejecting the idea.

“If you hadn’t come to university, how would we have met?” Song Yuncheng placed her hands on his shoulders, pretending to massage his shoulder joints.

Chen Yansen thought: I’d have met Zhang Yuncheng, Li Yuncheng, or Wang Yuncheng somewhere else.

But he didn’t say it aloud—Song Yuncheng appeared strong, but cried easily; he’d have to comfort her afterward, and he didn’t want the trouble.

“You’ve never told me anything about your family. Who’s Old Chen?” Song Yuncheng knew Chen Yansen and Meng Jie were high school classmates, and Meng Jie surely knew him better—but she knew nothing.

Chen Yansen didn’t avoid discussing his family; he briefly explained Chen Guobin and his bookstore, and how Old Chen used to kick him as a child.

Song Yuncheng laughed, then, upon learning Chen Yansen had lost his mother at birth, hugged him tightly with a look of pity.

Chen Yansen turned, pulled Song Yuncheng onto his lap, and feigned sadness: “I’ve never had a single sip. Can you fulfill my wish?”

Song Yuncheng froze, confused, then followed his gaze—and blushed instantly, her body going limp as she pouted: “Chen Yansen, you’re such a bad person.”

For some reason, she recalled her previous dream—Chen Yansen destitute, her supporting him, him curled in her arms calling for “Mom.”

The atmosphere turned tender.

They left the hotel at 1:30 p.m.

“You drive. I’ll read.”

Chen Yansen tossed the car keys to Song Yuncheng without a second thought.

“I just got my license a month ago. Aren’t you afraid I’ll drive us into a ditch?”

Song Yuncheng caught the keys, joking.

“Then I’ll deduct next month’s bonus.” Chen Yansen settled into the passenger seat, unconcerned.

Song Yuncheng glared at him, furious enough to curse—right then, she considered quitting; this jerk threatened her constantly.

But in the end, she got in the car and drove toward Xucheng Academy.

On the way, Chen Yansen received a call from Zhou Hongyi, inviting him to the end-of-month Internet Open Conference.

Just showing off because the company went public.

Chen Yansen sneered inwardly, but upon learning that CEOs and executives from JD.com, Lenovo, Sina, and Shengda, along with partners from several investment firms, would attend, he readily agreed.

It’d be good to make some connections and pick up some resources.

Many financing deals were sealed at events like this.

Though their first meeting in Yanjing had been unpleasant, for businessmen, no direct competition meant a potential ally.

An hour later, Song Yuncheng parked at the entrance of Xucheng Academy, grabbed her backpack, stepped out, and returned the keys to Chen Yansen.

“Come to Room 0418 tonight. I have a design task for you.”

Chen Yansen said seriously.

“You think I’ll believe that? At school, you’re my boss, my Master.”

Song Yuncheng waved goodbye with a smile—she understood his intentions perfectly.

Even if she had the key to Room 0418, she wouldn’t go.

“I’m serious,” Chen Yansen insisted.

Song Yuncheng turned back, skeptical: “Do you even believe that yourself?”

“No show, no salary.” Chen Yansen rolled up the window and drove toward the faculty apartment.

He did have a design need—he couldn’t entrust it to Foxconn’s designers. Based on Wang Teng’s current development progress, the Aurora System’s beta version should be ready by early June.

But the phone’s brand logo, even its name, hadn’t been decided yet—it was time to address it.

(End of Chapter)