Chapter 8: 007 The Player in the Game (4.9k)

Yu Xing did not immediately respond to Liu Wan’s suggestion.

He first cleared the dishes from the table, then calmed his mistress’s slightly uneasy mood, pulled a milk candy from his pocket for his junior sister, and only then poured two cups of tea.

“Sister Ying, have some tea,” Yu Xing politely placed the cup before Liu Wan.

“This tea isn’t free,” Liu Wan said with a smile, not mincing words. “Yu Xing, you don’t seem impulsive—but after all these years studying medicine, suddenly switching paths—isn’t that a waste?”

Seeing his mistress lead his junior sister into the room for a nap, Yu Xing shook his head slightly, sipped his tea, and sighed: “I have my reasons. Medicine can’t save… myself.”

He didn’t want to expand on the topic, set down his cup, and looked directly at Liu Wan. “Sister Ying, honestly—what do you think we need to watch out for in this project?”

“Yu Xing, I just reviewed what you’re trying to do. You mentioned avoiding insurance marketing—but this bet of yours does carry an insurance-like flavor,” Liu Wan said, uninterested in his personal struggles.

Her mind hadn’t stopped working; she spoke quickly, hypothesizing: “If we treat this like insurance, each order is 500 yuan—the premium is 500. Let’s assume a pricing expense rate of 20%, so net premium is roughly… hmm, 417.”

“The product redemption is 999 roses—treat that as the insured amount, say 3,000 yuan.”

“Pricing expense rate at 20%, pricing interest rate commonly used in the industry is 3.5%.”

Liu Wan pondered and asked: “Hmm, if this were insurance, you’d best add a termination period—three to how many years? How much do you think the probability of a couple marrying drops each year?”

“Three to ten years—any marriage within that period qualifies for redemption,” Yu Xing gave a number. “Generally, the longer the wait, the harder it is to marry. Say the probability in year four is 80% of year three, and so on.”

“If we calculate it this way, the marriage probability in year three in your product model…” Liu Wan pulled out her niece’s homework notebook, scribbled formulas, and tried to compute the year-three marriage probability under this model.

—Assume year-three marriage probability is K, year-four is K×0.8, year-five is K×0.8², year-ten is K×0.8⁷

—Net premium = insured amount × (year-three probability/(1+pricing rate)³ + year-four probability/(1+pricing rate)⁴ + … + year-ten probability/(1+pricing rate)¹⁰)

—417 = 3000 × (K/1.035³ + K×0.8/1.035⁴ + … + K×0.8⁷/1.035¹⁰)

—Hmm, use the geometric series sum formula: first term K/1.035³, common ratio 0.8, eight terms

—That gives K ≈ 3.7%

Yu Xing watched as Liu Wan scribbled furiously on the elementary school notebook, whipped out a calculator, and crunched the numbers in seconds—then delivered the answer.

He stared blankly at the calculations and asked sincerely: “Sister Ying, what do you actually do?”

“I do M&A consulting,” Liu Wan mimicked his tone, smiling. “Doing these calculations is kind of fun. If you really ran this as an insurance product, your numbers estimate the highest redemption probability at 3.7%—huh, it really feels like an actuary’s work behind it. Looks plausible.”

Yu Xing couldn’t help but respect a smart person.

Liu Wan set down her pen, dropped her smile, and said seriously: “I see you’ve considered many angles. This business amount setting feels carefully thought through. You’re smart, and you’re already watching the red lines—that’s rare.”

“But I’ve met and heard of plenty of capable people running companies—direct sales, pyramid schemes, Ponzi traps. Do you think those brilliant people didn’t understand the red-line risks? Didn’t they take measures to avoid them?”

“Do you think they used these methods without ever imagining they’d just spark momentum? Just use them temporarily?”

“There are too many smart people in this world!”

When real hardship strikes, colleagues urge, friends assure, pyramid schemers slap their chests and guarantee—these smart people end up forced to act, forced to cling to luck, trying again and again until they’re trapped.

“So the old saying holds true: cleverness backfires.”

Liu Wan shook her head, sighing: “Sometimes, success really does need a bit of luck.”

She turned to look at Yu Xing again—his face was stone, his eyes devoid of hesitation.

Yu Xing noticed her subtle gesture and slowly praised: “Sister Ying sees things clearly.”

“Just an outsider’s clarity,” Liu Wan suppressed her slight surprise and smiled again. “People inside the game think and feel differently—that’s why they accidentally walk right in.”

“Is this your first piece of advice to me?” Yu Xing took it as an extension of her earlier warning about “stepping wrong.”

“No, these are just my reflections,” Liu Wan’s voice grew colder. “My first real advice: if you’re just starting, fine—but if this actually takes off, leave Jin Ling as soon as you can.”

Yu Xing froze. He’d never considered this.

Liu Wan spoke slowly: “Jin Ling? Six dynasties’ ancient capital. The city isn’t bad—but sometimes, walk through the old districts. You’ll see too many shops buying back tobacco and alcohol.”

The remark carried deep implication.

Yu Xing instantly understood. Jin Ling had deep history—and its ways of doing things were just as old.

“I assume you don’t expect to pull every possible customer into this?” Liu Wan rephrased. “This business will only convert a small fraction of people genuinely interested. If so, why not pick a city more open to new things?”

She warned: “Otherwise, nothing’s wrong—until a competitor reports your department to authorities. Then suddenly, something’s wrong. Different places have different norms and tolerance levels.”

The world is treacherous—do you guard against it or not?

Yu Xing instantly imagined dozens of scenarios. He poured another cup of tea, stood, and raised it in respect: “Sister Ying, this advice is practical.”

Liu Wan sipped her tea with a smile, no games: “Second advice: register a new company in Xiangjiang. I’m not saying this because I work there—I’m saying it because objectively, it might help if something unexpected happens.”

Yu Xing couldn’t help but pour a second cup, this time teasing slightly: “Sister Ying, if I ever get rich, I’ll buy all your lipsticks.”

Liu Wan’s red lips curved in a knowing smile: “Then I look forward to you getting rich and sweeping into a boutique, waving your hand and declaring: ‘I’ll take the whole shelf.’”

Seeing her genuine insight, Yu Xing followed the principle of extracting every bit of wisdom—he poured a third cup: “Sister Ying, to make that day come sooner, please guide me further.”

“I have no more guidance,” Liu Wan shook her head slightly, then paused and added: “This project is fresh. Your customers aren’t people you need to convince—they’re people eager to try something new.”

“On the wedding day, 999 roses arranged on-site—just imagining it feels romantic. That’s the impulse you’re selling: ‘just imagine how romantic it would be.’”

“Like traveling—the happiest moment isn’t when you’re on the trip, but when you’re planning it.”

“Are engagement rings expensive? They depreciate the moment you get them.”

“Must you take wedding photos? Most end up shoved under the bed.”

“Is it necessary to arrange 999 roses on-site?”

Liu Wan smiled: “Hey—the point is the feeling of that moment. You’re selling that feeling for 500 yuan. Is that expensive?”

Yu Xing gave a thumbs-up. Spot on.

“This project has some imagination—but only ‘some,’” Liu Wan brushed a strand of hair aside, her voice turning flat, her gaze sharpening. “If you make this your company’s core business, I think you’ll quickly hit the bottleneck we discussed earlier—investment versus growth. But if it’s a second or third growth curve for a company already with a core business, the cost and prospects change entirely.”

Yu Xing stared at Liu Wan, hesitating.

Liu Wan winked at him.

“Sister Ying’s suggestion is… if you scale it, you could sell it to…” Yu Xing pondered, thinking of the current market, then continued: “Century Love, Baihe.com, something like that?”

Century Love and Baihe.com were dating websites, both established for years, with solid scale—their core business was matchmaking.

“Good,” Liu Wan added another name, smiling. “There’s also Zhen’ai.com. They’re the top three in this market. The dating market is far bigger than your narrow niche—but once their core growth slows, they’ll inevitably need new growth points, and naturally look upstream and downstream in dating.”

She continued: “Like I said, doing this alone is effort-heavy with little return. But if they do it, they already have core business, staff, teams—all ready. That’s effort-light with high return.”

Yu Xing suddenly recalled the dinner conversation: “Easy to copy, no barriers.” Had she considered that just now?

He slowly nodded. He didn’t reject the idea, nor did he feel his current position gave him the right to reject selling the company—but he added: “Still, we must guard against their competition. Compared to us, they clearly inspire more customer trust.”

Rose redemption takes time. Will a new company still exist in three years?

Century Love, Baihe.com, Zhen’ai.com—all have a far higher chance of surviving three more years.

Meanwhile, every strength and weakness of this project, when applied to these three, becomes amplified or diminished.

Yu Xing thought of potential rivals and buyers—and his mind drifted. If he could sell, could he expand further? Tencent has QQ Show, online couples—could its massive traffic lower prices and boost revenue?

What about Alibaba? Would it care about this tiny social niche?

Even a mosquito is meat.

NetEase once ran a dating business—no surprise. Their boss even raised pigs.

Yu Xing’s thoughts swirled, hard to avoid imagining those famed internet giants—their tendrils, visible or hidden, already reached every industry years later.

“What? Can’t let go?” Liu Wan, seeing his silence, made a natural judgment, then added sincerely: “Know when to quit. It’s better than fleeing in the end. We’re ordinary people—we don’t need to earn billions. Just making this project work is already a huge success. More than enough to live on slowly.”

Yu Xing felt her sincere advice and was deeply grateful. He said: “No, Sister Ying—I was just thinking that if we aim this way, we might need more hype. Our methods and goals need adjustment.”

“That’s for you, the founder, to decide. Anyway, if all else fails, just go back to being a doctor,” Liu Wan said. She’d already spoken much on their first meeting—partly because of her brother, partly because she found this intriguing.

Not every entrepreneur is logical and thorough. Of course, that doesn’t mean others can’t succeed—but talking with the former is always more pleasant.

Liu Wan said: “Don’t break the law, Yu student.”

Yu Xing smiled helplessly: “I never planned to run.”

“Mm, I believe you,” Liu Wan said cheerfully. “Good luck, Boss Yu.”

Hearing the two different titles, Yu Xing felt a surge inside him. He still made his reluctant request: “Sister Ying, I only mentioned this today, and you analyzed so much—you’re incredible. Would you join us? Decision-making, equity—whatever you want.”

Liu Wan wasn’t surprised by the invitation. She smiled and declined: “No. I’m not interested in this project. And even if you succeed, how much is that equity worth? More than my salary?”

She shrugged, a mischievous smile on her face.

Clearly, Liu Wan earned a lot.

Yu Xing said “Hmm,” then quickly added: “Then, Sister Ying, since you earn so much—can you lend me some money? I’m short on registration funds.”

Liu Wan: “…”

Was this the real unreasonable request?

Had the invitation just been a cover for borrowing?

Wait—

She said impatiently: “Registration funds? You haven’t even registered the company yet? How much does registration cost?”

“Still short 30,000,” Yu Xing met her gaze. “Even 25,000 would help.”

Seeing her silent, he quickly revised: “20,000? How about 18,000… 10,000…”

“This is supposed to be a scheme to get something for nothing—and you’re perfectly suited,” Liu Wan gave a faintly positive remark, then refused: “No loan.”

Yu Xing didn’t get angry, only sighed regretfully: “Sister Ying, you missed a good return. It’s not much—we can count it as your investment. Really.”

“No loan, no loan,” Liu Wan repeated firmly, smiling. “I’m not interested in investing in you—but I can be your first customer.”

Yu Xing immediately asked eagerly: “Sister Ying, investing in a wedding is absolutely worth it. Others wait three years—you can redeem after one year. 999 roses upgrade to 1001.”

“I gave you sincere advice, and you add two roses?” Liu Wan glanced at the overly dramatic young man.

“That’s why it’s a good thing—only two added,” Yu Xing said seriously. “But don’t underestimate them—great omen. One in a thousand.”

“I’m now leaning toward your success,” Liu Wan laughed in exasperation. “I won’t invest myself—but I’ll place orders for my friends. All under your conditions: redeemable after one year for 1001 roses.”

Yu Xing agreed instantly: “Got it! Sister Ying, how many orders?”

Liu Wan said lightly: “Twenty orders. Get ready—someone will redeem them in a year.”

Yu Xing pulled out a pen, ready to write the contract—then realized the total price of these twenty orders was exactly the amount he’d just asked to borrow: ten thousand yuan.

“Afraid you can’t deliver?” Liu Wan’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m a little curious too—can someone who studied medicine for years suddenly decide to start a business and actually deliver?”

Yu Xing nodded slightly, no longer polite, and swiftly wrote out two identical contracts on his junior sister’s elementary homework notebook, specifying twenty-one orders.

Liu Wan took the white paper with black ink and glanced at the numbers.

Yu Xing said seriously, “Sister Ying, for the grand opening promotion, consider this one order a gift from me.”

Liu Wan signed both contracts, then smiled and slipped her copy back into her niece’s homework notebook.

“Sister Ying, I have another request,” Yu Xing said—he didn’t plan to give it away for free.

Liu Wan couldn’t help rolling her eyes.

Yu Xing acted as if he hadn’t seen it, pleading, “Sister Ying, you work in Xiangjiang—do you know anyone who can help register a company? I’ll deduct the fee from your order payment, and send the rest to my account.”

Liu Wan: “...”

She stared at the man in front of her for ten seconds, then raised her thumb. “Fine. You’re something else.”

Before Yu Xing could respond, the study door opened and slammed shut again. Out stormed his teacher, Liu Jingrong, furious, heading straight for the front door.

Liu Jingrong shot his senior disciple a glare, said nothing, and walked out.

Yu Xing was baffled—was his younger brother successful or not? Then he saw Zhong Zhiling slowly shuffling out of the study, eyes brimming with tears.

“Big Brother Xing, Teacher’s going to call my mom...” Zhong Zhiling’s tears had been uncontrollable these past two days—facing off with the teacher, now facing parental involvement, he was terrified and panicked.

Liu Wan watched this scene, then turned and asked, “Can I cancel that order now?”

Yu Xing replied firmly: “White paper, black ink—once written, no regrets!”

But his younger brother can’t keep acting like this...

The thirty-day countdown has already begun—they still need to work hard...

Yu Xing’s mind turned, and he thought of an idea that might be perfectly suited.