Chapter 328: Business Genius with a Net Worth of 50 Billion U.S. Dollars! Tiangong T100 Chip!

At dawn the next day, the sky turned pale as fish belly, and the tinkling of wind chimes drifted by his ears.

Chen Yansen slowly opened his eyes, a hint of milky fragrance entering his nostrils.

In the thirty-square-meter master bedroom, apart from a soft king-sized bed one point eight meters long, there was only a dressing table and a wardrobe rack—sparse yet orderly.

A lace nightgown with minimal fabric lay quietly on the walnut wood floor.

Last night, Master Chen had been invited to Ye Qiuping’s home for sweet soup to celebrate Pinbei’s single-day sales surpassing two billion.

Undeniably, Ye Qiuping had a gift for simmering soups and preparing small desserts; though initially clumsy, her skills had grown increasingly refined, leaving Master Chen utterly captivated.

Chen Yansen sat up on the bed, reached for his phone on the nightstand—it was 4:57 a.m., and outside the window, the sky remained gray and hazy.

Ye Qiuping lay on her side, the thin air-conditioning blanket covering only her abdomen.

The Sichuan girl had fair, clear skin, and Master Ye was no exception—her abdomen flat and lean, its texture smooth as silk under touch.

Though he’d slept less than three hours, Chen Yansen felt refreshed and utterly free of fatigue; he slipped on his slippers and headed for the living room.

The autumn breeze was cool, making the wind chimes on the balcony chime brightly.

Chen Yansen plopped onto the sofa, pulled out his phone, and opened a scanned copy of “Battery Technology: Materials and Components.”

Time slipped away second by second; when the first faint rays of dawn crept in, he had already finished reading dozens of reference books on energy storage and conversion.

Then, Chen Yansen opened the Toutiao app and swiftly browsed the hottest news from the past two days.

“‘Self-Regulation Charter for Search Engine Services’ Signed, Will Effectively Curb Fierce Corporate Competition!”

“360 Sues Baidu for Abusing robots Protocol to Monopolize Market; First Instance Ruling: Zhou Hongyi Loses!”

In Chen Yansen’s view, Zhou Hongyi hadn’t lost—after a series of maneuvers, 360 Search’s market share had successfully jumped from zero to 8.7%, overtaking Sogou to become the second-largest search engine provider.

He lost face but won substance.

Lingxi Search’s market share had reached 6.1%, ranking fourth in the industry, with only a step separating it from Sogou.

From August to October, in just two months, Baidu had lost nearly 15% of its search market share.

“Gome Integrates KuBa.com and Gome Online, Accelerating E-commerce Synergy, Officially Joins Double Eleven Promotion!”

“Mango TV Prepares ‘I Am a Singer,’ Music Variety Shows Heat Up.”

“Amazon Launches Global Store Program to Attract Cross-Border Sellers!”

“Didi Bike Accelerates Urban Sharing Initiative—A Test of National Character?”

Chen Yansen clicked into the last news item.

Didi Bike, backed by 50 million in investment from Innovation Works and a 199-yuan riding deposit per account, plus a staggered payment model for suppliers, had deployed 1,000 shared bikes in Yan Cheng.

Cheng Wei, in an interview with IT Times Weekly, claimed Didi Bike had over ten thousand registered users, operated smoothly, and planned to expand deployment to 10,000 bikes in November and 30,000 in December.

Chen Yansen smiled, not taking it seriously.

Setting off early doesn’t guarantee arriving first.

At that moment, Ye Qiuping in the bedroom slowly woke up; not seeing Chen Yansen, she hurriedly put on her nightgown and stepped out of the bedroom.

Seeing him leaning against the sofa, playing with his phone, she exhaled in relief and walked over with light steps.

“Boss, you slept at two a.m. and woke at eight—did you get enough rest?”

Ye Qiuping crouched slightly before Chen Yansen, looking up at him with a gentle voice.

Her collar was slightly open, revealing a flash of pale skin; she knew his view would take in everything, yet she deliberately did it anyway.

Chen Yansen’s lips curled slightly—he understood her subtle intent. He put down his phone, scooped up Ye Qiuping, and strode straight to the master bed, smiling as he said, “Didn’t sleep enough—need another nap.”

Only at ten a.m. did Chen Yansen walk down, refreshed and alert, stepping into the back seat of the Ghost and instructing Xiao Li to head back to the company.

Along the way, he kept spotting Yunsu Couriers in gray uniforms, KuaiPao delivery riders in orange jackets, and ride-hailing cars emblazoned with “Didi Taxi” slogans.

It was still late October 2012!

Under his influence, the mobile internet application ecosystem grew increasingly rich; China Mobile, China Unicom, and China Telecom all initiated small-scale TD-LTE 4G network trials to pave the way for commercial rollout.

He had even asked Zhao Maolin about the 4G license issuance date; Old Zhao confidently said no later than next year.

After all, anyone with eyes could see the tide of the mobile internet era was unstoppable.

Half an hour later, the car entered the tech park; Chen Yansen stepped out and walked into Building Nine.

Passing the chilled drink cabinet, he casually grabbed a bottle of fresh mango juice, then took the elevator to the top-floor office.

Since today was Sunday, most of the office area was empty, save for a few employees working overtime.

Including Pinbei, only the on-duty and customer service teams were present.

He turned on his computer, logged into his email; the first email was a product document from Mike Keller, chief scientist of the chip design department.

It included key technical specifications—computing power, power consumption, process technology, interface standards—as well as core architecture, algorithm models, cost estimates, and development timelines.

He had joined only a week ago, yet already compiled the AI chip’s product requirements and transformed them into rigorous technical specs—his capability was evident.

Mike Keller was an Ivy League graduate; fifteen years ago he joined AMD, deeply involved in the development of the Athlon K7 processor, later becoming chief architect of the K8, and nine years later joined Apple, leading teams that developed the A4 and A5 chips.

In Apple’s chip division, his rank and status ranked just below head Johnny Srouji; his skill level and industry influence equaled that of Qualcomm’s senior principal engineer.

But that was all in the past—now he was chief scientist of Orange Tech’s chip division and Wu Shengyu’s direct superior, responsible for developing the Tiangong T100 AI chip. When Old Wu learned his new boss was Mike Keller, he was stunned.

Mike Keller was a big name in North American chip circles; perhaps after another five to eight years, he might rise to chief scientist or even lead Apple’s chip division.

Was he insane? Traveling ten thousand miles to come work in China?

What did he want?

Wu Shengyu couldn’t fathom it!

Completely baffled!

Unaware that in his own family’s eyes, his behavior—quitting Qualcomm after nearly twenty years in the U.S. and returning home—was equally bizarre.

Chen Yansen dragged the mouse, quickly scrolling to the last page of the document; counting the main chip, memory and storage, Wi-Fi and Bluetooth, microphone modules, the BOM cost was around twenty U.S. dollars.

It looked higher than the current procurement cost of the TI OMAP3630, but the Tiangong T100 integrated CPU, NPU, DSP, Wi-Fi and Bluetooth communication, and audio codec onto a single chip—cutting costs by at least 50%.

At that point, material and production costs could drop to around 200 yuan, allowing the Alexa (Mos) smart speaker’s price to fall to 89 U.S. dollars (499 yuan) or even 79 U.S. dollars (399 yuan), dramatically boosting sales volume.

He knew Amazon had launched the Echo smart voice assistant and planned to develop a smart speaker based on Alexa, but he’d calculated that even with strict supply chain control, Amazon’s BOM cost wouldn’t be lower than seventy U.S. dollars per unit.

Add in production, labor, transportation, sales, and after-sales costs—the price would absolutely not be below 150 U.S. dollars!

But Chen Yansen wasn’t worried at all.

Because when Echo launched, the Tiangong T100 chip would already be on the market; if Bezos dared sell at 149 U.S. dollars, he’d sell at 89 U.S. dollars, turning the smart speaker into a mass-market commodity.

Meanwhile.

The Double Eleven promotion battle between TiaoMao, Pinbei, and Jingdong intensified; all three scrambled for traffic and customers with every trick—simple, blunt cash red packets, endless category coupons.

A Taobao user complained on Weibo that he hadn’t bought a single item, yet his account was flooded with over a hundred coupons—from store vouchers to product and category vouchers, seemingly endless.

Jingdong users had similar complaints—the coupons were as numerous as the platform’s tricks; they stayed up late every night snatching them, terrified of overpaying.

Pinbei alone was an oddity—mostly offering no-minimum-subsidy bonuses and red packets, rarely flooding users with coupons.

When it did issue one, users sensed its genuine intent, unlike Jingdong, Suning, and Taobao’s coupons, brimming with endless restrictions.

At two p.m., Suning trended on hot search.

The reason: the scope of its “Zero-Yuan Purchase” coupon redemption shrank further—most small appliances were sold out; only food, alcohol, and cosmetics remained, mostly white-label, leaving users uninterested.

Yet Suning delayed restocking!

Some users’ phones, computers, or appliances had already arrived; if they returned them, they had to pay shipping themselves—only then did they realize they’d been tricked, and erupted in rage.

Jin Ling’s market supervision association’s complaint hotline was overwhelmed!

Liu Qiangdong immediately posted on Weibo, sneering: “Some competitors can skip promotions if they can’t afford them—but why deceive users?”

Huang Zheng was even harsher—he partnered with Yunsu Courier to issue targeted 10-yuan no-minimum-subject courier vouchers to Suning users.

All they had to do was upload a Suning return screenshot on Pinbei’s promotion page.

The implication: go ahead and return your goods without fear!

“Fucking idiot! Is Huang Zheng crazy? Is this how you do business?”

Zhang Jindong, upon seeing Liu Qiangdong and Huang Zheng’s Weibo posts, turned pale then flushed red, wanting to smash them with a brick.

He instinctively reached for his phone to call Chen Yansen.

Suning and Pinbei had always gotten along well—Orange Tech had a flagship store at Suning, and Suning Electronics had opened a store in Pinbei Mall; yet Huang Zheng gave them zero respect—what did this mean?

Did he want to end cooperation?

But then he thought—if Chen Yansen hadn’t approved, would Huang Zheng and Liao Wei dare act like this?

In short, the real person trying to steal Suning’s customers was still that damn Chen Yansen; calling him would only invite humiliation.

Furious, Zhang Jindong wanted to terminate cooperation with Pinbei—but after agonizing for a long time, he couldn’t make the decision.

First, he couldn’t bear to lose Pinbei Mall’s traffic and sales output;

Second, he feared Chen Yansen’s retaliation.

Facing Chen Yansen’s “grudge-holding” nature, Zhang Jindong had to be cautious—if Pinbei focused all efforts on big appliances, could Suning even survive?

Ten minutes later, Zhang Jindong sighed deeply, then squinted and cursed: “Does Liu Qiangdong really think I’m afraid of him?”

He immediately summoned the head of Suning’s e-commerce department, restructured the Double Eleven promotion strategy, and launched a super group-buy campaign targeting Jingdong’s strong product categories.

Products included 3C digital goods, big appliances, and small appliances—with price tags boldly marked: “200 yuan cheaper than Jingdong,” “140 yuan cheaper than Jingdong,” “270 yuan cheaper than Jingdong.”

At first users didn’t believe it—but after copying the titles to compare prices on Jingdong, they found the data was true!

Netizens’ stance instantly shifted!

Remember, Liu Qiangdong had confidently claimed “Jingdong’s big appliances won’t profit for three years”—yet now, Suning’s super group-buy was dozens to hundreds cheaper than Jingdong’s.

Users instantly felt deceived and furious!

Liu Qiangdong’s Weibo comment section was instantly overrun, with users insulting his relatives and friends.

In truth, Suning’s super group-buy prices were low solely due to platform subsidies.

Liu Qiangdong had no way to explain—he’d climbed from the bottom up, knew human nature was unpredictable, but fortunately, the response was simple.

Liu Qiangdong waved his hand decisively, opting to join Suning’s super group-buy campaign: for any product with the same brand and model, he slashed the price by ten yuan below Suning’s.

The netizens’ anger flared quickly and faded even faster.

Just three minutes ago, they had called him “fallen dong” and “Big Qiangzi”—now they were back to calling him “Director Liu,” “Brother Dong,” and “Price Butcher.”

Liu Qiangdong finally saw clearly: users had no loyalty whatsoever; holding onto them was extremely difficult.

For a moment, he sat in his office lost in thought, silently pondering operational strategies to enhance user stickiness and retention.

On the other side.

A business financing headline topped Yahoo’s homepage: the music streaming giant Spotify had completed its E-round funding of $1.4 billion yesterday, post-funding valuation at $2.8 billion!

The article detailed the background of Senlian Capital and the legendary business career of its founder, Chen Yan.

Twenty years old, third-year university student, net worth tens of billions—these three keywords together were pure heat and traffic.

On Twitter, YouTube, and Facebook, a wave of bloggers emerged, dedicated solely to tracking Chen Yan’s net worth.

Pinnbei’s valuation: $22 billion!

Orange Tech’s valuation: $20 billion!

Yunsu Express’s valuation: $18 billion!

Kuai’s Ride-hailing’s valuation: $3.5 billion!

Kuai Pao ’s valuation: $2 billion!

Gaode Map’s valuation: $1.2 billion!

Most companies that could be tracked had received funding, but North American bloggers found no reliable data to support valuations for Orange Mobile Factory, Jinri Tech, and ByteTech—subsidiaries under Chen Yan’s holding company.

A simple calculation revealed Chen Yan’s net worth had surpassed $50 billion, instantly sparking heated debate in the Land of the Free!

(End of Chapter)