Chapter 85

Just as Cheng Chen set off to return to Lu Sheng for filming, he suddenly received a phone call.

"Manager Li, hello! What wind blew you, a great deity, to remember to call me?"

Cheng Chen asked, feigning ignorance.

The man who called him was Li Zhenyu, founder of China Blog.

Li Zhenyu chuckled bitterly on the other end:

"Teacher Cheng, don't tease me. I'd like to talk to you about China Blog—would you be available?"

Cheng Chen paused briefly, then said:

"You called at just the right time—another moment and I'd have been on the plane."

Hearing this, Li Zhenyu let out a long breath and added:

"Then let's meet at the same place as last time. I'll send you the address on your phone. See you soon."

"Alright."

After hanging up, Cheng Chen already had a rough idea why Li Zhenyu had called him.

Last time, when he had proactively offered to buy China Blog, Li Zhenyu had flatly refused.

Now he was reaching out again—likely because China Blog was in dire straits.

Indeed, in the midst of the internet's great winter, how many internet companies had survived?

Even giants like Zhu Chang and Xin Liang were now retreating, waiting for the winter's turning point.

China Blog had been lucky—not crushed in the first wave of annihilation, barely clinging on until now.

But from Li Zhenyu's urgent tone just now, China Blog probably couldn't last much longer.

……

Same private room as last time. Li Zhenyu wore his usual crisp suit and gold-rimmed glasses.

But now his face was heavy with worry; the former brilliance from their last internet discussion was gone, replaced by a bitter pallor.

"Teacher Cheng, you're here!"

Li Zhenyu had been staring at the door; as soon as it opened, he stood up immediately to greet him.

"We're friends—Manager Li, just call me Chengzi."

Cheng Chen smiled.

They sat down. Li Zhenyu forced a smile and said:

"After our last meeting, I brought your ideas about the internet back to the board. They all wanted to meet you."

When they learned you were the recently skyrocketing Cheng Heavenly King, they laughed at me, calling me a fanboy who made you out to be some internet guru."

Cheng Chen nodded understandingly and said:

"I get it—different fields are like different mountains. I'm from entertainment; stepping into the internet to give advice must seem like showing off swordplay before a master in your eyes."

"No no no, Cheng… Chengzi, you know we're tech people—we don't play games. They're all straightforward, say what they mean."

Li Zhenyu explained.

"I understand. Let's drop that. Manager Li, why did you call me out this time? Are you in trouble?"

Cheng Chen waved his hand and asked.

Hearing this, Li Zhenyu's face twisted with bitterness:

"As you said last time—we're about to collapse…"

In the future, Cheng Chen had once read an article about the 2002 internet winter, which roughly said:

For many who entered the internet tide, 1999 was the year of entrepreneurship, 2000 the year of expansion.

2001 was the year of reflection, 2002 the year of healing.

But in truth, for internet entrepreneurs, inwardly they preferred calling 1998 the year of novelty.

1999 was the year of excitement, 2000 the year of madness.

2001 was the year of pain, 2002 the year of confusion.

Now was precisely the moment the internet winter had reached its coldest point—two years since it began in late 2000.

Those who had lost heart had already left; those unwilling to surrender could only despair in annihilation.

In August this year, pessimism blanketed the entire industry; "internet" had become a universally despised word.

"We tried raising funds, but at this moment, no angel investors see promise in the internet industry.

We considered being acquired, but now even the big internet firms are struggling to survive—how could they spend money adding burdens?"

Today's internet isn't like the future, where monetization paths are endless, where they say even a pig can fly if you have traffic.

Now the industry is dead ash—even Penguin is actively seeking monetization paths.

"Of course, I don't want to hand over my life's work to them to run… Remember last time you said if China Blog reached its end, I could come to you.

And… you wouldn't interfere with China Blog's current operations—everything would stay exactly as it is after you take over… Is your offer still valid?"

Li Zhenyu stared at Cheng Chen, eyes filled with hope.

Cheng Chen was his last lifeline—if he withdrew now, China Blog had only one possible fate: closure.

Cheng Chen looked at the man before him, dressed in a sharp suit, every detail fitting the image of today's internet technician—even his mindset matched perfectly.

Cheng Chen looked at the man before him in a suit and leather shoes—his dress and appearance fit the image of today's internet technology worker down to every detail, and even his way of thinking fit just as well.

Cheng Chen shook his head. Li Zhenyu's face grew paler.

Then Cheng Chen spoke slowly:

"Manager Li, times change. If we had partnered months ago, with my current popularity, do you think China Blog would have ended up like this? In other words—it wouldn't be this bad, right?"

"President Li, times have changed. If we had started cooperating a few months ago, given my current popularity, do you think China Blog would have fallen to this state? In other words, it wouldn't be this bad, right?"

Although he really didn't want to admit it, Li Zhenyu still nodded.

"But right now, apart from your dwindling user numbers and a company on the brink of collapse, what do you have worth showing? My investing in you at this moment may look like sending charcoal in the snow to you, but when will the internet's winter ever end?"

Next year!

Cheng Chen, who knew how things would unfold in the future, added silently in his heart.

But he would never be foolish enough to tell the other party outright.

"My money didn't come from thin air either. Knowing full well this is a money pit with no clear direction for development, and you still want me to keep it on me, yet won't let me have a hand in the company — what am I getting out of it?"

Cheng Chen's words made Li Zhenyu lower his head in shame.

Right — his China Blog was nothing but a bottomless pit right now. For someone to throw money in and still not be allowed to run the company — no matter how you heard it, it sounded unreasonable.

"What do you want?"

This was exactly the line he'd been waiting for! Cheng Chen rejoiced inwardly.

"I want absolute control of China Blog — sixty percent of the shares."

Li Zhenyu's pupils contracted; the words of refusal were almost out of his mouth, but then something suddenly occurred to him, and he fell silent, saying hoarsely:

"How much are you planning to invest?"

Cheng Chen held up one finger.

"Ten million!"

"That's impossible!"

"Why impossible!"

Cheng Chen pressed forward step by step.

Watching Cheng Chen suddenly turn so forceful, Li Zhenyu muttered:

"But…"

"No buts!" Cheng Chen stared fixedly at Li Zhenyu and said, word by word:

"Is there anything worse off than China Blog is right now?"

Li Zhenyu's pupils went slack — right, was there anything worse off than now?

He sat in his chair, lost and forlorn, staring blankly ahead.

"If you can't make the call right now, you can go back and discuss it with your board of directors…"

"No need. I can make the call. Ten million, sixty percent of the shares — I agree to your terms."

After saying this, Li Zhenyu seemed to have had every ounce of strength drained from his body.

……