Chapter 311: Three Months, Nearly 4 Billion Valuation

Went viral!

Swept across the entire internet!

Even Yan Li himself, though he had anticipated it, never expected such an effect.

Actually, this is understandable—the original ad's spokesperson was merely a rising startup star, somewhat known but not famous, yet he suddenly exploded into stardom, becoming a business tycoon idolized by countless young people, and his company reaped massive benefits as well.

Yan Li's personal fame and aura far surpass that of the original spokesperson.

Without this ad, even if Yan Li personally tied himself to Weibo, he might still have achieved the original's effect.

Now, combining this ad with his own personal aura, the result far exceeds the original.

In just one or two days, the ad's catchphrase became a nationwide internet meme, even giving rise to what's called the "Yan Li Style," sparking countless imitations and jokes.

The Weibo-branded ad released alongside it, though not as wildly popular as Yan Li's personal ad, still brought Weibo massive new users due to interaction and bundling.

After several days of buildup, daily new user growth exceeded 500, 00—and was still rising.

If this trend continues, a single ad could attract millions of users, and later, steady growth could bring in even more.

Of course, this statistic is crude—it's not just the ad, but many other factors too, like Weibo's own platform performance; even the best ad won't work if the platform is bad.

But facts and publicity are two different things; Weibo and its official press releases ignored all those objective reasons and directly credited Weibo's success to Yan Li's ad.

In short, they exaggerated as much as possible—the more exaggerated, the more heat it generated.

To some extent, this was a case of "deifying" someone.

Yan Li actually disliked such over-the-top self-elevation—it made one prone to falling hard.

Moreover, tying a person too tightly to a platform created mutual vulnerability: if Yan Li stumbled, Weibo suffered; if Weibo stumbled, Yan Li got dragged down too.

But there was no choice—Weibo was in a phase of rapid growth, with many future competitors looming, and Yan Li needed to secure Weibo's first-mover advantage as quickly as possible; he couldn't hoard his best cards.

Even if there were downsides, they could be addressed gradually later—right now, growth came first.

So Yan Li accepted interviews from CCTV, official media, and Weibo's official account, spinning stories to promote Weibo.

His personal Weibo page was officially labeled "Chairman of Weibo," and he attended an internet business forum to formally announce his entry into the internet industry, extolling Weibo's innovation.

In short, he fully tied his personal brand to Weibo, using his commercial reputation and credibility to catalyze Weibo's growth.

Yan Li's high-profile actions, combined with Weibo's explosive popularity, quickly drew widespread attention and sparked all kinds of discussion.

Whether Weibo could replace blogs, as Yan Li claimed, became a new topic in the internet industry.

And Weibo's valuation became a major point of interest.

Some industry insiders began analyzing: since Weibo was newly established and a nascent social media platform, it carried strong uncertainty, but given its rapid growth, its prospects looked promising.

Thus, Weibo's current upper and lower valuation limits were both wide: those bullish on it could overvalue it without exaggeration; those bearish could undervalue it with justification.

Therefore, some began benchmarking against foreign comparable platforms, as well as domestic ones like Sina Blog and QQ, then combined internet and financial valuation methods for a comprehensive calculation.

The final conclusion: Weibo's valuation was approximately $100–300 million, taking a midpoint, which translated to roughly RMB 1. billion.

If calculated against Forbes' earlier ranking of Yan Li's net worth at just over RMB 2 billion, in just a few months, his fortune had nearly doubled.

Don't think this valuation is exaggerated—it's still a cautious, conservative figure; those bullish openly shouted $500 million to $1 billion.

This was the ecosystem of the internet industry at this stage—especially since the financial crisis hadn't broken out yet, money wasn't money, and the bubbles were terrifyingly large.

Moreover, Weibo did have real merits that attracted capital.

A relatively novel platform mechanism, extremely rapid growth, a founder with a legendary aura, and uniqueness.

Yes, uniqueness: Fanfou, with under a million users, and QQ's struggling "Taotao," weren't even considered successful social platforms by industry standards—at least not as immediate threats to Weibo.

Weibo was China's only large-scale microblogging social platform; in any industry, "only" and "leading" were extremely valuable terms.

For the past few days, besides interviews, Yan Li was fielding calls from investors—too many were eager to get on board.

The offers were so high that even Yan Li, who had thought he didn't need money right now, felt tempted.

In a few months, the financial crisis would hit; major investment institutions would be severely damaged or become cautious, taking one or two years to recover.

So if he missed this chance, Weibo might still be loved by capital, but it would miss out on the sweet taste of the internet bubble.

Yan Li thought it over and decided he should engage cautiously.

He instructed the relevant personnel: Weibo's valuation must be no less than $500 million, and no more than 10% equity would be offered.

If they wanted to talk, talk; if not, fine—later, when Weibo's user base grew further, the price and equity stakes would be unknown.

Yan Li personally thought this price was harsh and expected it would scare off investors—but surprisingly, some still wanted to chat.

If this funding deal went through, Weibo would receive $50 million, roughly RMB 400 million.

Not only would it save Yan Li's own money, but it would greatly accelerate Weibo's growth.

At the same time, it would greatly boost morale within Weibo—many people joined Weibo for the chance to get rich; real capital investment would give them more confidence.

Of course, a Weibo with a $500 million valuation from day one would attract many competitors eager to seize this opportunity.

Conversely, starting with a competition intensity of hundreds of millions would make some companies cautious, especially those with core businesses, who'd consider whether to divert massive resources into a battle they might not win.

If possible, Yan Li wanted to scare off some competitors without fighting.

…

Yan Li didn't hide the $500 million valuation news. Whether it succeeded or failed, it was a publicity stunt that boosted Weibo's fame.

Yan Li himself remained relatively calm about it.

Because he had even greater confidence in Weibo's future, and he understood that valuation didn't mean everything—there were highs and lows; what mattered was the platform's overall development.

But while he stayed calm, others couldn't.

Weibo launched in December last year; counting strictly, it had been only three months—$500 million translated to roughly RMB 4 billion.

In three months, building a company worth nearly RMB 4 billion—what else could this be called if not a wealth myth?

Some revered him, some were fired up, some fanned the flames—Yan Li's fame and aura grew stronger, and Weibo became hotter and hotter.

Huayi, Chairman's Office

The two Wang brothers sat facing each other, with Feng Xiaogang, Zhang Dashanzi, and several other core company figures present—many people, yet utterly silent.

Over the past two years, Yi'an had grown rapidly but never surpassed Huayi; although Yan Li's personal fortune had made the list, the Wang brothers still had their own confidence.

Once Huayi went public, their fortunes would skyrocket; even if they couldn't match Yan Li, they'd be close.

Who knew Yan Li suddenly launched Weibo, and in such a short time, it was worth more than Huayi as a whole?

We were all supposed to be entertainment tycoons—how could he cross over like this!?

Previously, the two brothers had treated Yan Li as an equal; even if he had a temper, he still showed them some respect. But if this kept up, soon they'd go from "Big Wang and Little Wang" to just "Big Wang and Little Wang."

"Brother, some of our company's artists are on Weibo—should we call them and ask them to leave?"

Wang Zhonglei clenched his teeth—he certainly didn't want Huayi's artists helping Yan Li get rich.

"Leave? Leave where? Are you going to make him your mortal enemy?"

Wang Zhongjun glanced at his brother—it wasn't that they couldn't ask them to leave; most Huayi artists had registered accounts as favors, and they could help or withdraw—it was their freedom.

But since it was a favor, Yan Li would surely ask why.

The artists wouldn't take the blame for the Wang brothers—they'd leak the inside story, and Yan Li wouldn't forget the grudge.

Besides, some artists wouldn't just leave; besides offending Yan Li, artists like Huang Xiaoming had over a million followers—his account already had tangible value and benefited his career.

As the top star, he had some standing; if the company asked him to give it up, they'd at least need to offer compensation.

Even if they forcibly suppressed it, one or two were manageable—but if Huayi had many artists opening Weibo accounts and they banded together, it'd be hard to handle.

Don't talk about artists needing company approval to partner with internet platforms.

There's no such rule yet; brushing up faces, exchanging favors, taking side gigs—it's all normal in the circle; as long as it's not excessive, companies turn a blind eye. Too strict, and resentment boils over.

Huayi's internal tensions are already high; stability comes first. That Yan Li is a master at stirring up trouble—if he finds an opening, exaggerates, and sows discord, Huayi will explode.

"So we just let it go?"

Wang Zhonglei was reluctant. Wang Zhongjun shook his head: "Don't worry—Sina has already contacted us, wanting exclusive cooperation. When we have contracts and revenue, the artists will have an explanation, and Yan Li won't have grounds to complain."

Forcing people to leave Weibo out of nowhere was rude, but if the other side paid, Yan Li couldn't just freeload.

Either let them go, or pay them and sign a contract.

In business operations, the company can legitimately take the lead; given the relationship between the two sides, even if Sina offered less, Huayi could still cooperate with Sina.

"Signing an exclusive deal with Sina won't be easy."

Feng Kuzi, legs crossed, exhaled smoke: "Will Li Bingbing sign? Xiaoming probably cares more about not offending Yan Li than money—he'll likely open two Weibo accounts. If the top star and top actress do it, will the others follow?"

Artists aren't fools; Weibo's momentum is strong, and seizing the early advantage brings them benefits—they won't just abandon it.

Unless Sina throws insane amounts of money at it—but can Sina afford to spend that much?

Zhang Dashanzi nodded: "I've used Weibo too. Though I hate that brat Yan Li, I have to admit—it's incredibly convenient. Weibo is even becoming an unofficial trend in the industry."

"People gather where others gather; fans cheer; friends chat. Once habits form, how do you give it up?"

They were all seasoned veterans; they might not fully understand Weibo's internet business model, but they understood basic logic.

Both saw clearly: no matter what happened to Weibo later, Huayi couldn't control it.

The two Wang brothers weren't blind to this—they just couldn't stomach the insult and the envy.

They'd spent over a decade building Huayi through tears, exhaustion, and hardship; Yan Li casually created a Weibo worth more than Huayi.

The gap and the shock were too great!

Wang Zhonglei even said: "Brother, I think Weibo has real benefits for the entertainment circle. Yan Li has a clear agenda—why don't we invest in the internet too?"

Wang Zhongjun stayed silent—he thought his brother's suggestion was unrealistic, yet he couldn't help feeling tempted.

There was no way around it: a $500 million valuation in three months made Wang Zhongjun's heart tremble.

"Brother, I really think it's doable. All Yan Li did was use stars—we've got stars too. First, get some people to build a site, get stars to promote it, build momentum, attract investment, grow big and strong."

Wang Zhonglei kept pushing; Feng Kuzi and Zhang Dashanzi also became interested.

Nearly RMB 4 billion—if they made that much, they could retire right away!

"Cough. Cough."

Wang Zhongjun thought for a moment and relented: "Don't rush—I'll ask a couple of experts later."

…

Huayi was not an isolated case.

Weibo rose too quickly and too easily, and now, bound by Yan Li's personal charisma, it has misled many.

The idea was simply to find a famous person, launch a website, and wait for the money to roll in.

But in reality, Yan Li was merely a catalyst; Weibo's rise depended entirely on its own advanced model and core selling points.

Also, credit must go to timing—if not for the series of events during the 2008 Spring Festival, plus the crucial events and marketing, Weibo would never have grown so fast.

In short, Yan Li copied homework—and not just from one source. He himself was a top student.

But those without sense who think they can do the same? Ninety-nine percent are headed for disaster.

But Yan Li couldn't stop this. If he tried, people would suspect him of blocking their path to wealth.

The first to act was Li Yapeng.

This guy was addicted to entrepreneurship—failed repeatedly, kept trying. He'd once lost big in the internet industry and had already given up, but Yan Li had reignited him.

Yan Li was just a rising star; Li Yapeng had been far more popular back then, not to mention he had a queen of pop as his wife.

A husband-and-wife team? That's a guaranteed slaughter!

Like the Wang brothers, they were tempted but still knew enough to consult experts and look for suitable projects.

This guy, though? One tap on the forehead and he was off—whether he'd thought it through himself or been misled, his project was highfalutin: combining his wife's queen status to build an online concert platform.

Marketed as watching concerts without stepping out, millions of fans interacting on the same screen, breaking the limits of traditional concerts, and so on.

The idea was good, the hype strong—but given the current market conditions and technological infrastructure, it was nothing but a gimmick.

To ride the wave, Li Yapeng publicly told the media he intended to personally seek Yan Li's advice and learn business management.

Yan Li had no intention of responding, but Li Yapeng mentioned that he and Wang Fei could join Weibo.

In this day and age, Wang Fei's title still carried weight; she was lively, well-connected, and attracting her alone might draw a crowd.

So Yan Li met Li Yapeng in person.

To be honest, Li Yapeng lowered his posture drastically—he genuinely acted like a student, humble in manner, respectful in tone, lavishly praising Yan Li, and speaking with restraint. In conversation, Yan Li found him quite agreeable.

Think about it: Li had managed to date so many stars and queens—he must have had some skill, at least in social graces.

But good attitude doesn't mean good learning.

Anyone who's been a teacher knows: some students are especially polite, respectful, diligent—but no matter what the teacher says, they just won't listen. They have their own logic.

Li Yapeng was exactly like that. Yan Li gave him a thorough analysis of the pros and cons of the online concert platform.

And Li Yapeng could be summed up in two words: "You're right—I won't listen."

Or rather, he listened—but only to the good parts, ignoring the bad.

Yan Li gave him eight drawbacks; he ignored or downplayed them. All he focused on were the two advantages Yan Li mentioned, and he clung to them firmly.

I told you it had potential!

His entrepreneurial mindset was completely alien to Yan Li's. After one conversation, Yan Li gave up entirely.

Later, reporters asked Yan Li to comment on Li Yapeng's business acumen.

Yan Li had considered praising him a bit, but then feared Li would claim to be his disciple—it would be too embarrassing. So he gave a loaded remark.

"Yapeng doesn't want to build a company—he wants to be a businessman."

He saw entrepreneurship as shallow, lacked the qualities of a successful entrepreneur, and pursued it so relentlessly—not for the business, but for the halo of being a "businessman."

Besides Li Yapeng, several other stars had also dabbled in internet projects to varying degrees.

But few, like Li Yapeng, took full control; most merely invested their fame and capital as so-called partners.

Among them were quite a few acquaintances: Xiao Yanzi, Huang Xiaoming, Ren Quan, and Huang Shengyi.

This kind of business wasn't for everyone—without fame and connections, you'd only invite humiliation.

Huang Shengyi was barely qualified—likely guided by some "mastermind" behind the scenes.