Chapter 39: 0418, Tonight I

Since 2008, when the authorities launched the slogan of university student entrepreneurship, numerous undergraduate institutions in Huian Province responded enthusiastically.

For example, Xucheng College built a two-story building on the vacant land between the Yinyuexue Academy and the basketball court, each floor over six hundred square meters, divided into sixteen private rooms to support student entrepreneurship.

But the department leaders never expected that very few students at Xucheng College had any interest in starting businesses.

Two years passed, and more than half of the entrepreneurial spaces upstairs remained empty, while downstairs was filled with fruit shops, bubble tea stalls, digital stores, and small gift shops—like a night market—with not a trace of an innovation park.

Although the president repeatedly tried to evict all the bubble tea and snack vendors, he knew deep down that without them, the innovation park would become a ghost town.

Over time, the innovation park became a neglected project at Xucheng College, and the assigned mentors turned into “gatekeepers,” occasionally gathering a group of “night market vendors” to read aloud from PowerPoint slides they themselves didn’t believe in.

If entrepreneurship were this easy, why would I still be a teacher?

Cao Dahua sneered inwardly, sitting in his office sipping tea, humming a tune, enjoying the air conditioning, his salary deposited on time—what a ridiculous idea to start a business!

As he hummed lazily, a sharp knocking sound suddenly rang out, followed by a sharply defined face appearing on the glass door.

The visitor flashed a bright smile and asked, “Teacher, hello, may I ask how to rent an office space in the innovation park?”

Cao Dahua quickly lowered his feet from the desk—before students, he had to maintain some semblance of a teacher’s dignity—and cleared his throat, asking, “What do you plan to do if you rent an office?”

“E-commerce.”

Chen Yan answered crisply.

“E-commerce?”

Cao Dahua froze, his face clouded with confusion, then muttered aloud, “You mean opening an online store?”

“Uh, something like that.”

Chen Yan frowned, a flicker of disdain in his eyes—he thought: Is this what the innovation park’s teachers are like? Even if you know nothing, you shouldn’t equate e-commerce with opening an online store.

Earlier, seeing the man lounging with his legs crossed, looking utterly idle, Chen Yan had already labeled Cao Dahua as a “connection kid.”

Who else but a connection kid could land such an easy job?

“Hmm, as long as you’re not selling snacks, that’s fine.”

Cao Dahua mumbled, pulled out a form from his drawer, and tossed it to Chen Yan: “Fill this out first. Once the innovation park’s supervisor approves it, you can pick your office. By the way, rent is two hundred yuan per month, payable in three-month installments.”

Two hundred yuan didn’t sound like much, but this was 2010—nine out of ten students had monthly living expenses under a thousand yuan; who had spare cash for entrepreneurship?

“Teacher, how long will the approval take?”

Chen Yan picked up a ballpoint pen and swiftly filled out the form.

It only asked for basic information and entrepreneurial vision—simple as “1+1=2” to him—and he finished in under two minutes, handing it back.

“Very fast!”

Cao Dahua took the form without even glancing at it, blew hard on the stamp, stamped it with a loud “thump,” then tilted his head up and asked, “Fast enough?”

“Teacher, what’s your surname? How should I address you?”

Chen Yan nearly laughed, but forced himself to stay serious, smiling politely as he asked.

He’d assumed the man was just a powerless bureaucrat—turns out he was the innovation park’s supervisor.

He’d need to deal with him often in the future; better to build rapport now—could he afford to not even know the man’s name next time they met?

“I’m Cao, ‘Da’ as in ‘those who excel lead,’ ‘Hua’ as in ‘flowers of autumn moon.’ Call me Director Cao.”

Cao Dahua crossed his arms, speaking coolly.

“Director Cao, here’s twelve hundred yuan. Please count it.”

Chen Yan pulled out his wallet, took out twelve bills, and placed them on the desk.

“You, student, how’s your hearing so poor? Didn’t I say? Pay for three months minimum—that’s six hundred yuan.”

Cao Dahua’s face darkened, annoyed.

“Director Cao, I’m renting two rooms.”

Chen Yan smiled faintly, holding up two fingers.

“Two rooms? Fine, no problem.”

Cao Dahua’s words died mid-sentence—he’d never seen anyone rent two rooms at once in the entire innovation park.

He took another look at Chen Yan, noticing his well-tailored clothes, obviously expensive fabric, and a high-end phone.

So he’s a rich kid!

Probably won’t last six months.

Cao Dahua sneered inwardly—entrepreneurship isn’t just about money. Xucheng College had plenty of wealthy students; after three months, their enthusiasm faded, they had no sustainable income model, and they all gave up eventually.

Paid the rent, picked the room, got the keys!

Chen Yan politely bid farewell to Cao Dahua, went downstairs, and printed a hundred job postings at the print shop by the entrance.

“Bro, is this real?”

The student helping him glanced at the content, eyes widening, mouth hanging open, then turned to ask urgently.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Chen Yan shook the two keys in his hand, smiled, and retorted.

“Awesome!”

The student gave a thumbs-up, but internally cursed: “Idiot.” He thought: Another spoiled rich kid who doesn’t care about his parents’ money.

In under three minutes, the hundred job postings were printed.

Chen Yan dropped ten yuan, turned to leave, then came back to buy two rolls of double-sided tape before slowly walking to the entrance of the innovation park and pasting a row of job postings on the notice board.

The act was brazen, but Chen Yan felt the effect would be undeniable.

“Sinhai Technology Co., Ltd. Job Recruitment Notice”

“Frontend Developer (2 positions): Responsible for page layout and user interaction implementation (HTML/CSS/JavaScript), compatible with IE and other mainstream browsers; salary: 2,000–4,000 yuan…”

“Backend Developer (2 positions): Develop core functions using PHP or Java, implement user registration/login, rebate calculations, order processing, merchant management interfaces, and database interaction; salary: 2,500–4,000 yuan…”

“Backend Developer (1 position): Design MySQL database structure, optimize query performance, manage user data, order records, merchant information; salary: 2,000–4,000 yuan…”

“UI Designer (1 position): …; salary: 2,000–4,000 yuan…”

“QA Engineer (1 position): …; salary: 2,000–4,000 yuan…”

“Project Manager (1 position): …; salary: 2,500–4,000 yuan…”

These salaries would be mocked as “slave wages” in internet giants of a decade later, but in 2010 at Xucheng College, they instantly became the entire campus’s talking point.

In fact, as soon as Chen Yan left, someone posted the job notice on the campus BBS, and it was soon reposted to Baidu Tieba.

“Sinhai Technology? Address: Innovation Park, 2nd floor, rooms 206 and 208?”

“Anyone on campus? Go check if it’s real.”

“I went up and looked—rooms 206 and 208 are still empty. Probably some no-joke idiot pulling a prank.”

“Forget it, just a farce!”

But some who had saved Chen Yan’s number recognized the digits—they pulled out their phones and gasped: “It’s Senior Chen!”

The news spread quickly; soon, the dean of the School of Literature and Communication heard of it, and then the president of Xucheng College received the report.

“Teacher Cao, big news from the innovation park—why didn’t you report it to me earlier?”

The president called, and Cao Dahua jolted upright from his chair in shock.

“What do you mean?”

Cao Dahua looked bewildered, wondering what “big news” could possibly exist—the innovation park had been quiet today, except for one wastrel renting two offices.

“Ah, Teacher Cao, it seems you don’t fully understand your duties. There’s a freshman named Chen Yan who posted a job notice at the innovation park entrance, reportedly hiring ten part-time students…”

The president spoke slowly.

“Yes, yes, I understand! I know what to do, rest assured.”

Cao Dahua patted his chest in assurance, hung up, wiped sweat from his forehead, and exhaled deeply.

Although Chen Yan’s project was still in its infancy, his reckless spending had genuinely startled many.

After a bit of research, department leaders developed a sliver of hope for this freshman who had secured the campus-wide telecom agency and pushed telecom sales to first place with second- and third-year students.

If Chen Yan’s project showed even slight promise, the president could proudly boast about it at provincial university meetings, gaining face and conversation material.

“What’s this kid’s background? Even the president knows him?”

Cao Dahua wondered. The president told him to fully support Chen Yan’s project—but he had no funds, no resources—how could he support him with a feather?

After pondering, he summoned a few students, dug out several dusty office sets from storage, and piled them outside rooms 206 and 208.

“Heh, now no one can complain.”

Cao Dahua felt satisfied, then turned and went back to his office to slack off.

Meanwhile.

After leaving the innovation park, Chen Yan called Wang Zihao to return the rented car.

“Sure! I’ll come down for the keys.”

Wang Zihao agreed immediately, came downstairs in under two minutes, drove Chen Yan, and dropped him off at the KTV entrance outside campus.

As Chen Yan was about to enter the private room, he received a familiar call.

“I’m very proficient in Photoshop, Illustrator, and CorelDRAW—do I meet the UI designer requirements?”

Her voice was soft, almost coquettish.

Chen Yan had never heard her speak like this—he muttered inwardly, “Such a money-grubber,” then replied: “At 8 p.m. tonight, Teacher’s Apartment 0418. I’ll interview you in person.”

(End of Chapter)