Chapter 324: The First Batch of Self-Developed Chip Engineers

On the second day of Yu’e Bao’s launch, 1.3 million new users signed up, bringing the total to 4 million users who had activated the service, with funds reaching 24.4 billion Huayuan.

On October 13, Tencent sued 360 for “unfair competition.”

The reason was simple: 360 Security Guard forcibly blocked QQ Browser’s update program, obstructing Little Ma’s mobile transition.

Chen Yansen had just arrived at the company, opened his computer, and saw Zhou Hongyi’s “friendly greeting” to Ma Wenteng on Weibo.

After learning the general situation, he couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling a surge of admiration for Zhou Hongyi.

This guy gets itchy if he doesn’t stir up trouble for two days.

Among internet entrepreneurs, finding Zhou Hongyi’s friends is like searching for a needle in a haystack, but finding his enemies? One brick knocks down a whole crowd.

Those who had insulted Zhou Hongyi and those he had insulted together formed the golden twenty years of China’s internet industry.

Chen Yansen shook his head; though he got along well with both sides, he had no interest in mediating Little Ma’s feud with Big Cannon.

Meanwhile, Taobao Mall’s Double Eleven promotional schedule was released: October 15 to November 10 for pre-sales, November 11 for official launch, and November 12 to 13 for limited-time return events.

Zhang Yong had learned 99 percent of Pinduoduo’s gimmicks.

What was originally a one-day e-commerce festival had been stretched to thirty days.

JD.com copied the model: pre-sales from October 18 to November 10, with official launch and limited-time return dates matching Alibaba’s.

And their pre-sales started three days earlier than Taobao Mall’s!

In response, Huang Zheng adjusted his strategy on short notice, moving the pre-sales date forward by one day to October 14—tomorrow.

From the user’s perspective, a one-month e-commerce cycle was just too long and annoying, ruining the shopping experience.

But from the merchant’s standpoint, extending the sales period maximized consumer purchasing demand.

For indecisive users, one day simply wasn’t enough.

The third piece of news was closely tied to Pinduoduo: although over forty days had passed since signing the Series B funding agreement, Senlian Capital only announced it to the media on October 12.

First, to build momentum for Pinduoduo’s Double Eleven promotion and attract more traffic; second, to increase brand exposure and lure top talent; third, to raise company valuation for future funding or IPO moves.

“After JD.com, the e-commerce No. 2, Pinduoduo Mall, completed its Series B financing yesterday, with a post-money valuation of $22 billion!”

“Pinduoduo raised $2.2 billion, becoming Alibaba’s greatest threat!”

“At age twenty, Chen Yansen now owns another billion-dollar company!”

Chen Yansen glanced at the headlines and thought self-media was too good at provoking drama—he could easily imagine how heartbroken Liangzi Dong would feel seeing these articles.

After years of struggle, JD.com’s valuation stood at only $8 billion—less than half of Pinduoduo’s.

Ten minutes later, Chen Yansen closed the webpage, logged into the data backend, and checked the core metrics of each project as usual.

Meanwhile,

Wu Shengyu settled his family, then bought a one-way high-speed train ticket from Jin Ling to Xu City.

Only after the train departed did he realize with a bitter smile that at forty, he’d still acted like a youth—swayed by a few words, he’d uprooted his entire family from San Diego, California, and returned home.

After years away, China had changed beyond recognition.

3G networks were widely deployed, 4G was in preparation, China’s internet users neared 600 million, mobile users exceeded 1.1 billion, and smartphone users approached 400 million.

As far as he knew, Alexa, the smart speaker dominating Europe and America, was a product of Orange Tech.

In his eyes, it was hard to imagine a voice assistant so technologically advanced could come from within China.

Amazon’s latest Echo voice interaction engine couldn’t match Alexa’s speed or accuracy.

Wu Shengyu felt perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps manipulation—but recalling his conversation with Chen Yansen, his heart still raced.

His long-dry patriotic heart seemed reawakened by the man.

Outside the window, scenery blurred past, and Wu Shengyu sank into memory.

He was a native of Jin Ling, graduated from Tsinghua University’s Electronic Information Engineering program in 1993, then pursued further studies at the University of Toronto, and after five years joined Qualcomm, starting as an ordinary chip design engineer; after fourteen years of hard work, he finally became a lead engineer.

Annual salary: $180,000!

In Europe or America, that was middle-class status!

But he knew Qualcomm didn’t favor Chinese engineers—lead engineer was nearly the ceiling for Chinese staff; only a tiny few broke through to senior lead engineer.

Above senior lead engineer came director engineer, senior director engineer, and chief scientist.

He was forty now—what room was left for promotion?

But Chen Yansen didn’t hesitate—he offered him the title and salary of director engineer: 1.8 million Huayuan annually, plus six insurances, two funds, stock options, and over a dozen other benefits.

Better to serve your own country’s chip industry than be someone else’s dog.

His years at Qualcomm weren’t wasted—he’d moved from baseband integration to IoT chips, then to RF R&D; beyond his duties, he could also handle architecture design.

With Wu Shengyu’s skills, director engineer was more than enough—but Qualcomm refused to give him the chance.

From southern Jin Ling to eastern Xu City station, the journey took only one hour.

Wu Shengyu pushed his suitcase out of the high-speed station, opened his phone, and booked a business car via Kuai Di.

The U.S. had similar ride-hailing apps—something called “Uber”—clearly, China’s internet development hadn’t fallen behind the West.

In these few days back home, he’d tried group buying, food delivery, e-commerce, and express delivery—all far beyond his expectations.

Though the U.S. had similar apps, their delivery efficiency and functional convenience couldn’t match China’s domestic competitors.

Because China’s market was larger and more capital was focused on it, a brand-new industry would spawn dozens, hundreds, even thousands of companies from the start.

After brutal competition, prices and services would be driven to extremes.

Like breeding monsters in a pot!

Western competitors were no match.

Three minutes later, Wu Shengyu verified the license plate and got into a BMW.

After confirming his phone’s last digits, the driver started the trip and sped toward Zhuxianzhuang Technology Park.

“Are you an employee of Orange Tech?” asked the driver, a man in his thirties, noticing Wu Shengyu staring out the window.

“Why do you ask?” Wu Shengyu turned and looked at him.

“The most famous companies in Zhuxianzhuang Tech Park? First is Orange Tech, second is Pinduoduo Mall, third is Orange Pay, fourth is Today Tech—all stars of Xu City. I heard a few smaller firms moved in before, but they all left; now only these four remain.”

The driver spoke proudly.

Though Chen Yansen wasn’t from Xu City, he’d studied at Xu University—locals still considered him half one of their own.

“I’m here for an interview,” Wu Shengyu smiled faintly, not telling the truth.

“Then I wish you all the best!” the driver chuckled.

They chatted casually; less than twenty minutes later, the taxi entered the tech park and stopped in front of Building Nine.

“There—Orange Tech is in this building. Opposite is Pinduoduo Mall’s headquarters. Next door are Orange Pay and Today Tech.”

The driver listed them off like a local expert, clearly very familiar.

He often drove employees from Orange Tech, Pinduoduo, and Orange Pay to the train station; casual chats gave him basic knowledge.

“Thank you,” Wu Shengyu nodded, opened the door.

“Wait, let me get your luggage,” the driver said warmly—he drove a business-class car, so service had to be top-notch.

On the other side,

Chen Yansen received Wu Shengyu’s message, walked to the window, and saw Wu Shengyu just stepping out of the car, the driver hurriedly unloading his luggage.

For chip R&D engineers like Wu Shengyu, Chen Yansen had poached over seventy people from Qualcomm, Broadcom, AMD, and NVIDIA—both Chinese and Western engineers.

His over-100 spiritual power made it easy to “persuade” these elite chip professionals.

Of course, this “persuasion” wasn’t coercive—Chen Yansen contacted over 130 chip engineers on his list, but only these seventy agreed to return.

He’d considered hiring locally, but to design top-tier chips that could rival Qualcomm, poaching was the only path.

In 2012, China’s domestic chip design industry was still in its infancy—only capable of producing industrial chips above 32nm processes; designing ultra-precise mobile processors, communication basebands, or memory chips was extremely difficult.

Chen Yansen opened his office door, stepped into the elevator, descended to the first floor, and as he walked into the lobby, he met Wu Shengyu just entering.

“Mr. Wu, welcome back to China, and welcome to Orange Tech’s Chip Design Department as Director Engineer.”

As he spoke, Chen Yansen extended his right hand.

“Mr. Chen, thank you for recognizing my abilities—I won’t let you down.”

Wu Shengyu instinctively looked up, saw Chen Yansen, felt a slight shock inside, then quickly recovered and firmly shook his hand.

Though he’d seen his new boss’s photo, he hadn’t expected Chen Yansen to be so young.

Six-foot-one, upright posture, a faint smile on his face, an overwhelming aura.

He’d met Qualcomm’s CEO Paul Jacobs—but Jacobs’ presence didn’t match Chen Yansen’s weight; he even felt a hint of pressure.

In an instant, he shed all condescension.

“You’re the first to report in. The company has arranged a two-bedroom, one-living-room apartment in the city and a fifty-thousand-Huayuan car for you. If you face any lifestyle issues, contact HR for help. Let me show you the chip design department’s workspace.”

Chen Yansen gave brief instructions, then led Wu Shengyu up to the seventh floor by elevator.

Beforehand, he’d purchased a full suite of electronic design automation software: logic synthesis tools, HDL development tools, algorithm architecture design tools, automatic placement and routing tools, and physical verification tools.

He’d also confirmed with Wu Shengyu and others the high-performance servers, storage systems, dedicated switches, and high-resolution monitors needed for chip design, ensuring smooth progress.

Chen Yansen wasn’t afraid to spend money!

He knew that if their self-developed chip succeeded, Orange Phone’s hardware profit margin could rise another notch, allowing higher salaries for frontline workers, after-sales, operations, management, and sales staff.

And only then could he gain more human spirit sparks!

As for building China’s self-reliant chips or advancing China’s chip manufacturing industry? Just a story to convince Wu Shengyu and others.

For those swayed by emotion, he spoke of grand ideals.

For those coldly rational, focused only on the future, he smashed cash—offering 1.5x or 2x salaries until they accepted the offer.

…

…

Hangcheng, headquarters of Geek Auto magazine, CEO’s office.

Hu Weiyi sat in her seat, smiling warmly as she thanked Cheng Wei repeatedly: “Thank you, Brother Cheng. Once I’m done with this busy period, I’ll treat you to a meal.”

“Senior sister, you’re too kind. The shared-bike track has great potential—I’m sure your project won’t escape the boss’s business instincts.”

Cheng Weixing replied with a smile.

Previously, he had heard Gao Linwei mention that the boss was interested in investing in the shared-bike sector, so as soon as Hu Weiyi approached him, he recommended Senlian Capital to her.

“I’ll go contact Brother Chen first,” Hu Weiyi said. She was genuinely curious about Chen Yansen.

(End of Chapter)