Chapter 358: The Entrepreneur Most Skilled at Building a Personal Brand: Maybach

Weibo, Chairman's Office

The executive who contacted Sina Weibo reported to Yan Li: "Three hundred fifty million U. S. dollars in cash, plus fifteen percent of Weibo's shares."

Yan Li didn't even look up: "What did you say?"

The executive replied: "I just walked out with my team."

"Good. Walk out."

Yan Li scoffed: "No one haggles this absurdly."

He was concerned about Tencent and Sina teaming up, but only just concerned—not to the point of bleeding himself dry for a sucker deal.

Fifteen percent of Weibo's shares are worth billions; three hundred fifty million U. S. dollars is over two billion RMB, and it's cash.

Sina, a defeated army, has gone mad for money.

Now, blogs are half-dead, Weibo is lukewarm—large in scale, but with extremely low potential.

Even with Tencent's influence pushing the price up slightly, Yan Li's internal valuation is only one to two hundred million U. S. dollars.

As for the shares Sina craves, Yan Li won't give them much—definitely not over three percent, and if possible, none at all.

"Tell Sina I want to see their sincerity, not fantasy."

Yan Li knew Sina wanted to threaten him with Tencent, but he wasn't truly worried.

Sina and Weibo's cooperation has one key advantage: Weibo doesn't need Sina's help much—it's primarily a defensive acquisition.

So Sina can hand over all this business to Weibo, do only minimal coordination, and redirect its funds and resources toward new ventures.

But if Sina partners with Tencent, Tencent demands massive resources and manpower from Sina; both sides must unite just to counter Weibo.

This forces Sina to remain stuck in this Weibo war, unable to focus on new business, even becoming Tencent's hired hand.

That's why Sina prefers selling its blog and Weibo assets to Weibo—working for Tencent is worse than continuing to fight Weibo.

Sina holds Weibo hostage by claiming Weibo must buy Weibo to guard against Tencent; Weibo holds Sina hostage by knowing selling to Weibo better fits Sina's strategic goals.

This is a psychological game—who can hold out longer?

For Yan Li, who has an intelligence system, he's naturally more composed in this regard.

Yan Li even has a contingency plan: with the mobile era arriving, Tencent has too many problems—it may not acquire Weibo at all, and even if it does, it may not fight Weibo to the death.

Precisely because of these reasons, Yan Li isn't as desperate as Sina imagined, nor is he willing to compromise at any cost—he's unusually aggressive, almost ready to say, "Sell if you want, otherwise get lost."

The executive asked: "Should we target Weibo and blogs to pressure them into negotiating?"

"Yes."

Yan Li nodded: the more pressure Sina feels, the more eager it becomes to sell; the worse Weibo and blogs perform, the lower the price.

"Remember, your first goal in negotiations isn't to buy Weibo and blogs—it's to prevent Sina from selling to Tencent. Drag it out as long as possible."

The longer you drag it, the more Sina will crack, and Tencent will also face internal problems.

If Tencent decides to abandon the Weibo battle or cut investment, you might not need to buy at all.

After finishing the Sina discussion, Yan Li turned to Weibo's performance reports.

Iron must be forged by oneself; whether Sina or Tencent, the key is Weibo's own growth—if Weibo is strong, everything else is smoke and mirrors.

Currently, Weibo's mobile development is decent, but user growth isn't particularly impressive.

This isn't Weibo's fault—it's because smartphones haven't yet exploded in adoption; hardware lags, software must wait.

In the meantime, Weibo must maximize its influence and partner with phone manufacturers to secure terminal access, ensuring new smartphone owners activate Weibo Mobile first.

Until nearly quitting time, Yan Li's phone buzzed nonstop with messages, vibrating constantly.

Most were invitations to banquets, followed by dating requests—those he wasn't close to or who lacked clout sent texts; some called directly.

"Chairman Hu, I really can't drink—uh, health reasons, next time."

"Director Wang, here's what I'll do—I can't make it, so I'll send our vice president instead. Please look after him. Thanks a lot."

"I won't be coming tonight. Go to bed early."

"..."

When Yan Li left work, replying to texts and calls alone took at least ten minutes—sometimes, he'd chat the whole way.

At the parking lot, the driver was already waiting. Yan Li said: "To the 'Double Embroidery' set."

Dong Xuan has been showing off to his parents these past few days; Yan Li needs to show his presence too.

When Yan Li arrived at the set, filming hadn't ended—"Double Embroidery" is a modern drama with many night scenes.

Today's scene: the second female lead, Tong Yaya, faces career setbacks and drinks to drown her sorrows; her official pairing, Zhou Yi, comforts her and discovers a different side to this cheerful girl.

He planned to take her home, but her sister Dong Xuan called, came to pick her up, and misunderstood Zhou Yi.

Hmm, clichéd.

Yan Li arrived on set without drawing a crowd, just glanced at the barbecue stall set. The producer assumed he had opinions and explained proactively.

"Chairman Yan, this barbecue stall was chosen by Su Ling—Yaya's pick. She just graduated college, doesn't care about details. Choosing this spot adds contrast to Zhou Yi's CEO character."

Got it. Crush the tyrant.

Yan Li knew this trope: the ugly duckling falls for the tycoon, pulls the lofty tycoon down from his cloud, turning wine and steak into skewers and beer.

It makes the tycoon feel the ugly duckling is uniquely refreshing, stirring something strange in his heart; viewers enjoy the "humiliated" tycoon and find it amusing.

Yan Li wanted to mock this plot—it's clearly copied from foreign "aristocrat" dramas.

How many years since reform and opening? For tycoons like Yan Li, who rose from nothing—who hasn't eaten skewers? Even earlier, life was worse; steamed buns with pickled vegetables were common.

Even so-called "golden-spoon" second-generation heirs mostly suffered hardship as children.

Shaking his head, Yan Li didn't argue—audiences love it, so let it be fake. He just asked: "Are the skewers props or real?"

"Real. The boss is making a cameo."

"Then get me some."

The producer: "..."

He thought Yan Li was picking faults, but it turned out he was just hungry.

But then he had a sudden insight: "Director Yan, can you eat on camera? Just act as extra crew."

You're really good at making the most of everyone!

Yan Li glanced at himself—he was in ordinary clothes, nothing that would steal the lead actor's spotlight—and nodded.

"Fine."

Yan Li, the driver, and the producer set up a table, and the owner began grilling skewers.

By the time filming started, Yan Li and the others had already eaten half their food; they watched Tong Yaya crying while Zhou Yi stood helplessly awkward, and Yan Li spontaneously added a line.

"Buddy, don't just stand there—go do something!"

As he added the line, he made a gesture of pulling someone close, signaling Zhou Yi to step in.

Zhou Yi reacted quickly: "We're just friends."

Yan Li nodded, then kept pressing: "So go ahead."

Zhou Yi: "..."

Tong Yaya couldn't hold back and burst out laughing, then apologized; Yan Li was speechless: "You laughed perfectly—don't stop, keep acting."

This girl really lacks filming experience; laughing off-script isn't a problem—her character is carefree, so going along with the role, teasing Zhou Yi or bantering with Yan Li as a passerby, all fit the character.

But it's understandable: some actors like to improvise, others stick strictly to the script.

In a way, Yan Li's behavior as an extra—ignoring his background role and adding scenes—is what's disrupting the crew.

Normally, the director would've already started yelling; now he's just shouting through a megaphone.

"Director Yan's addition to this scene was fantastic! Zhou Yi, Yaya, be more flexible—everyone, coordinate well."

Tong Yaya was still nervous, so Yan Li taught her: whether laughing or retorting, as long as it fits the character, it's fine.

They rolled again; the beginning stayed the same, and Tong Yaya looked up at Yan Li, who was egging her on.

"Why don't you demonstrate for him?"

"Girl, you've got quite a temper."

Yan Li didn't mind; he raised his cup: "My bad for butting in. Miss, I'll drink to you—nothing's insurmountable, just lighten up."

"Thank you, big brother."

Tong Yaya raised her cup in return, and Yan Li focused on eating, becoming a background figure again.

Zhou Yi smoothly continued the scene: "This guy's actually pretty decent."

Tong Yaya remained sharp: "He just talks too much."

Then Tong Yaya and Zhou Yi continued filming; Dong Xuan stepped in for her scene, since the script required them to have been drinking for a long time—Tong Yaya was now thoroughly drunk.

So Yan Li and the others had to finish eating and leave the set, grabbing their skewers to eat outside the frame.

After Dong Xuan finished, there was still Zhou Yi's solo scene; Dong Xuan came over and snatched a few skewers from Yan Li's hand: "You've been eating nonstop—I'm starving just watching you."

Tong Yaya instinctively followed Dong Xuan, inseparable; Yan Li gave her a few skewers too and advised:

"Next time, loosen up during filming, and react faster."

Tong Yaya nodded seriously; Dong Xuan defended her best friend: "Come on, you're teaching her acting? How many dramas have you even done?"

"Not counting cameos, I've done thirteen or fourteen—so what? Have you done more than me, Teacher Dong?"

Yan Li debuted in 2002; though he hasn't played many leads, he's appeared in a lot of dramas—enough to easily outpace Dong Xuan.

She debuted later than Yan Li, is a Beijing Film Academy professor, and isn't passionate about acting; among Fan, Qin, and Dong, she's appeared in the fewest dramas.

Dong Xuan was speechless; she didn't feel she'd done fewer dramas than Yan Li, but she didn't remember the numbers as clearly, making the comparison disadvantageous, so she just retorted:

"I'm a professor at Beijing Film Academy's Acting Department. If anyone's teaching, it should be me."

"Don't make me laugh—you're just misleading students. How many of your students have real acting talent? Yang Mi signed with Yi'an, and the company even hired her a separate acting coach."

Yan Li's remark hit hard; Dong Xuan was slightly shaken. Compared to actors now who treat acting as a side job, teaching is her main career—she couldn't stand being told her acting was bad, but she couldn't defend her teaching.

"Yang Mi's just too busy—she never attended many of my classes. Look at her classmates Jiao Junyan, Wang Renjun, Zhang Xiaofei, and a few from the '07 class—all have great acting skills."

Dong Xuan graduated from Beijing Film Academy in 2004 and joined immediately as a teaching assistant; later, she became the official counselor for the '05 class—Yang Mi's cohort.

In 2007, after three years as an assistant, Dong Xuan became a full professor, primarily teaching the '05 and '07 classes, focusing on physicality and performance.

Yang Mi was a practitioner; she rarely attended school, and during her freshman and sophomore years, Dong Xuan was only a counselor. After her junior year, Yang Mi got busier and indeed attended few of Dong Xuan's classes.

"Oh."

Yan Li nodded: "Alright then."

Dong Xuan: "..."

What's with "alright then"? Yang Mi's acting isn't bad—it's not my fault!

Tong Yaya watched Yan Li and Dong Xuan bicker and snickered quietly; Yan Li glanced at her oddly.

"We're about to wrap—why aren't you going to remove your makeup? What are you standing here for?"

Tong Yaya froze, instinctively looking at Dong Xuan, who cleared her throat: "You stay at your hotel tonight—I'm going home."

Normally, Dong Xuan and Tong Yaya were inseparable; outside of filming, they ate, drank, played, and lived together.

Like Guan Yue before her—after having a child, she still stayed with Dong Xuan at school, but privately, she no longer had the same freedom; Tong Yaya had filled Guan's place.

But this girl, whether because she has no boyfriend or just isn't perceptive, clearly lacks awareness.

If it were Guan Yue, seeing Yan Li approach, she wouldn't have lingered at all—just said hello and left. But she kept waiting here until Dong Xuan finally spoke up and she realized what was going on.

"This kid's a bit slow-witted."

Yan Li made the comment; Dong Xuan slapped his arm: "You're only a few years older than her—why call her 'kid'?"

Tong Yaya was born in 1983, three years younger than Yan Li, four years younger than Dong Xuan—she's in the same generation; Dong Xuan bonded with her partly for this reason.

Yang Mi, born in 1986, is seven years younger than Dong Xuan—there's a gap equivalent to elementary or middle school; their topics and views often have generational gaps.

Dong Xuan didn't remove her makeup; she told the director and producer she was leaving, then walked off with Yan Li.

But Yan Li was used to visiting the set without coming empty-handed; after eating the crew's skewers, he pulled out money and treated everyone to a late-night snack.

After that, the two didn't delay and drove straight home.

Once inside, Dong Xuan kicked off her high heels and flopped onto the sofa: "I shot over ten scenes today—I'm exhausted."

Ten scenes may not sound like much, but the workload is substantial, not to mention the back-to-back location changes, costume swaps, rehearsal takes, and scene preparations—all pushing the workday easily past ten hours.

This was just her work as an actress; additionally, she was the producer of "Double Embroidery."

Though she was somewhat a figurehead, Dong Xuan didn't leave everything unattended; even if she didn't intervene, the crew would still inform her of certain matters.

Come on, this woman has direct access to the boss—who dares to bypass her? If a misunderstanding arose, no one could bear the blame.

In comparison, Yan Li wasn't tired at all.

In fact, because he'd recently declined many social engagements, he had some free time; after reviewing the reports in the afternoon, he even had time to chat and watch one and a half episodes of a TV drama.

If he weren't so idle, he wouldn't have had the inclination to make a cameo during a set visit.

"Wife, you've worked hard."