Chapter 82: 080 Stirring the Pot

Yu Xing left Zhen'ai.com.

No one saw him off.

In fact, except for a few people, most didn’t even know he was gone that afternoon; when they passed his empty desk, they merely felt a faint oddness—why wasn’t the Head of Internal Audit slacking off today?

Only at five o’clock, his usual quitting time, did Tong Xingjian confirm and spread the news.

Head Yu is half-resigned.

Why “half”?

Because he still gets paid, but that’s the gist of it.

The news left people feeling uneasy.

Head Yu had been at the company for only a month, but he left an extremely deep impression.

That month was both slacking and fighting, both giving up and unyielding—he was willing to be a sharp knife, unafraid to voice public sentiment, bold enough to speak plainly, his proud bones coldly facing management, neither humble nor arrogant, yet still taking home 45,000.

This was merely the company’s tolerance limit, far from his own.

Always respect the uncrowned Head of Internal Audit.

When Tong Xingjian sent the colleagues’ respect in a text message during a break, Yu Xing was still staring blankly at screens—he felt no emotional shift after leaving the company, just kept doing his work.

“Tell them this,” Yu Xing replied, “this is nothing.”

Tong Xingjian passed it on truthfully during dinner at the cafeteria, hearing colleagues laugh and offer affirmation—Head Yu is truly a character!

But as a subordinate who had been cultivated, he already sensed Baixiaosheng’s intent, and all he felt was: he didn’t know how wonderful Head Yu was, but he’d soon know just how ruthless he could be!

From part-time screen-counting to full-time screen-counting, Yu Xing’s efficiency improved, completing the entire Pengcheng survey within a week.

But he encountered one problem: he was no longer allowed to stay in the employee dormitory!

Yu Xing was deeply dissatisfied, but had to temporarily book a hotel, pushing forward the final survey progress while searching for a short-term rental.

Liu Wanying only learned the latest situation two days later; though surprised, she found it understandable: “At least the salary’s still coming.”

“Saying that’s one thing, but who knows if I’ll actually get it? Anyway, I’ve been kicked out.” Yu Xing had low expectations for the remaining 30,000 yuan, “Full-time work moves fast—I’ll finish counting Pengcheng’s screens tomorrow—but, Sister Ying, no need to wait till tomorrow, right now I can already say: the water content is still huge.”

Liu Wanying naturally understood what he meant, and said calmly: “My handover has already begun.”

Yu Xing feigned surprise: “Huh? You got laid off too?”

Liu Wanying burst out laughing: “Head Yu, chatting with you is truly enjoyable—I didn’t get laid off, I resigned voluntarily, better than you.”

Yu Xing asked curiously: “Oh, really? So you can still get two more months’ salary?”

Liu Wanying: “...”

“Just kidding. So, see you tomorrow night? Let’s discuss what’s next—could this survey really be just the two of us?” Yu Xing seized the moment to set a time.

“I really think your survey this time is solid,” Liu Wanying mused. “No rush.”

Yu Xing smiled: “Pengcheng’s screens are counted one by one by me—how could it not be solid? Yingzi, see you tomorrow.”

After putting down her phone, Liu Wanying realized human limits keep shifting—she no longer bothered correcting his nickname.

She even felt a sense of: “It’s fine for partners to call each other like this.”

She gathered her thoughts, planning to treat her colleagues to a farewell dinner that evening—whether for past years of camaraderie or future business needs, it was worth maintaining.

But perhaps Victoria Harbour’s evening breeze was too cold—when Liu Wanying arrived in Pengcheng the next evening, she felt listless.

“Maybe I caught a cold,” Liu Wanying thought; her temperature wasn’t high, just a stuffy nose.

“Took medicine?” Yu Xing, still on his electric scooter, picked up his partner and headed to a Starbucks. “Let’s chat at the café.”

After sipping her coffee, Liu Wanying felt a bit more alert: “I remember my brother once said a cold can’t be cured—it’s self-limiting.”

Yu Xing nodded seriously: “Come here, let me feel your pulse.”

Liu Wanying was slightly startled: “You know how to feel pulses?”

Yu Xing replied without hesitation: “Obviously.”

Liu Wanying thought about it—right, he was medical school trained.

Yu Xing placed his right hand on Liu Wanying’s wrist, squinting slightly.

Liu Wanying waited for results, then, after a moment, had to say flatly: “Your hand’s almost in my palm.”

“Ahem, slipped.” Yu Xing withdrew his hand and suggested, “Just drink the coffee.”

Liu Wanying laughed in exasperation: “Not a single useful suggestion?”

Yu Xing looked slightly embarrassed: “You know I’m a dropout, and back then I only dabbled in TCM out of politeness—what could I possibly diagnose?”

Liu Wanying was half-angry, half-amused: “You’re only suited for entrepreneurship—if you stayed in the workplace, what could you possibly amount to?”

“Totally different. I didn’t even want this job,” Yu Xing laughed. “Besides, I didn’t come away empty-handed—I’m already planning to expose the internet dating industry’s seven sins.”

Liu Wanying, recalling the workplace tales she’d heard this past month, found it all surreal. “Show me how you’ll expose them.”

“Didn’t bring it today. Next time—I wrote several pages.” Yu Xing shook his head. “Today’s just the final Pengcheng stats.”

He pulled items from his pocket and placed them on the table.

Liu Wanying didn’t immediately notice the folded paper—after a few seconds of inspection, she asked: “That’s a voice recorder, right? You carry it with you?”

“This is what I need to protect myself,” Yu Xing reached into his right pocket and pulled out a pen. “See? This one was given to me by Song Yufeng—his old reporter’s tool.”

He pointed to his phone: “Plus this, that’s three.”

Liu Wanying stared at the two recorders and the phone—suddenly, she felt fully alert.

She laughed wryly: “You’re seriously professional!”

“Not bad. First, it’s for my own protection, second, to warn others,” Yu Xing said seriously. “An individual is always weaker than a company or team. Even Wei Zong told me to report myself—his attitude was so arrogant. These aren’t just legal safeguards—they’re my defenders of innocence, helping me claim moral high ground.”

Liu Wanying reminded him: “You should consider effectiveness...”

“Effective or not—if something actually happens, I’ll just upload the recording online and let the public judge right from wrong,” Yu Xing scoffed. “I’m an entrepreneur—I lose here, gain there. Maybe someday my product will get real financial backing.”

Liu Wanying had nothing to say, gave him a thumbs-up. Moments later, looking at Pengcheng’s complete data, she sincerely remarked: “You really know how to stir things up.”

Yu Xing dismissed it: “This is just minor stirring. What we’re about to do is bigger.”

Liu Wanying studied the data closely—it was already glaringly obvious.

According to prior information, Focus Media claimed about 9,200 screens in Pengcheng, but the actual count was 5,925—roughly 65%.

Meanwhile, Focus Media’s claim that most screens were placed in bustling commercial buildings was also inflated; the actual figure was around 40%, with the remaining 60% in residential areas.

And it wasn’t just Pengcheng—data from other cities not fully counted showed that in first-tier cities, commercial buildings barely reached 40%, while in second-tier cities, the figure had dropped to 30%.

Yet Focus Media claimed 60–70%.

Even when Yu Xing called Focus Media’s city manager, the man insisted it was over 70%.

The Pengcheng survey took over a month, yet the final report was just a few lines and numbers—yet these might influence the company’s market value by hundreds of millions, even billions.

“It’s all just two words: water content,” Liu Wanying said, putting down the data.

“I’ve been researching lately—I saw someone claim first-tier cities’ ad effectiveness is 141.9% higher than second-tier,” Yu Xing said slowly. “I don’t know how that data was compiled or whether the industry accepts it, so I didn’t include it—but when you combine the base data with all these coefficients, Focus Media’s situation is easy to uncover.”

Pengcheng’s screen count is a representative example.

If this base data is so inflated, then all data built upon it is even more inflated.

Liu Wanying nodded slightly, mentioning her own research direction: “Focus Media has made many acquisitions over the past few years. I noticed their acquisition of ‘Zongheng PinYu’ was odd—its main business was installing large screens on commercial boats along the Huangpu River.”

“Before Focus Media’s acquisition, it had agreed to a $3.3 million offer for 90% equity, but Focus Media offered over $5 million.”

Yu Xing interrupted: “That’s not bad—this kind of business along the Huangpu should be scarce, so competition would naturally drive up prices.”

“Yes, that’s one acquisition. Focus Media consistently overpays,” Liu Wanying continued. “This year, it claimed it would return six acquired companies to their original shareholders.”

Yu Xing didn’t understand: “What does that mean?”

“I think it’s preparing for the annual audit,” Liu Wanying explained. “In our practice, if you acquire a company but later lose control over it, and legally and accounting-wise confirm that, you can exclude it from consolidated financial statements.”

Yu Xing still didn’t get it: “What does that imply?”

“For example, last year I announced acquiring a company—its size grew, so stock price rose easily. That’s the direct effect,” Liu Wanying patiently explained. “If it were one company, fine—but Focus Media did this with six companies? That’s strange.”

She continued reasoning: “Strictly speaking, whether these acquisitions actually happened, and whether there were serious disclosure issues, are worth digging into.”

Liu Wanying saw Yu Xing was about to speak and gestured for him to listen: “One more thing—last year, Focus Media acquired ‘Hao Ye’ for $70 million in cash and $155 million in company stock, and Hao Ye’s shareholder, Shen Nanpeng, is also a Focus Media board member.”

“Focus Media planned to let Hao Ye go public again in September, but that’s definitely off the table now.”

“This acquisition... given this year’s financial environment changes, it’s still worth watching.”

“After reviewing everything these past days, Focus Media’s capital maneuvers are extremely frequent.”

Yu Xing thought and digested for a moment, then tried to summarize: “So if we draft a survey report, we have three directions: one, asset falsification and inflated business data; two, acquisition valuation issues; three, possible interest transfers.”

Liu Wanying nodded: “Close enough—but we need to check Nasdaq’s sensitive clauses. My first instinct is their domestic disclosure is inadequate.”

Yu Xing noted it down, planning to study this area further.

Liu Wanying reviewed the data twice more, thought a moment, then asked: “You called Focus Media’s city manager about business cooperation—why did he give you vague data?”

The data showed Focus Media itself claimed about 9,200 screens.

“Yingzi, you’re being too idealistic,” Yu Xing laughed. “I called him, but to close any deal, you need to meet face-to-face—he won’t give precise numbers unless we meet. That’s the whole ‘sit down and talk’ routine.”

“If we actually met, he’d show me case studies of other clients, talk about newly added screens, remind me he’s a listed company—if I kept quiet, he might even mention anniversary promotions.”

“Promotions come with deadlines, and he’d pressure me to pay quickly.”

“Ah, just basic sales tricks.”

Liu Wanying was surprised: “You know all this?”

“Everyone has different strengths. You go do field surveys—you’d probably do better than me, right? But if you ask me to analyze financial reports or acquisitions, I’m clueless.”

Liu Wanying nodded and asked: “So when you lured me onto your boat, did you use any of these tricks?”

Yu Xing replied firmly: “No!”

Liu Wanying looked at the voice recorder on the table, then at his face, and felt a faint doubt.

“I’ve been calculating lately—I still don’t have enough money,” Yu Xing moved to the next topic. “Yingzi, I plan to get Baixiaosheng funded for bigger moves. Any advice?”

Liu Wanying coughed twice, thinking about it.

Yu Xing immediately voiced his idea: “You think, if I expose the problems with online dating, could I get investment from Xu Xin?”

Liu Wan looked at the man before her, bewildered, wondering if she’d hallucinated: “Who? Who are you talking about?”

“My boss’s daughter-in-law—the investor,” Yu Xing said.

Liu Wan found it unbelievable: “How could you even think of her? You’re stirring up trouble in her husband’s company—why would she invest in you?”

“That’s exactly my thinking,” Yu Xing mused. “Last time you told me she won’t even invest in her own husband’s company—that shows she’s strictly impartial. If she can pull off something like that, she’s got vision. So… no conflict, no connection—oh, no husband-conflict, no acquaintance.”

He added: “You say I’m stirring things up, but being able to stir things up is itself a skill. If Baixiaosheng can disrupt an entire industry, doesn’t that prove the company’s value and potential?”

Liu Wan stared at Yu Xing’s bizarre logic and murmured: “I must be sick.”

No, this wasn’t unusual thinking—this was abnormal thinking!

“She’s still an investor in Jingdong, right? I’ve got Liu Qiangdong’s number—I’ll text him tonight, wish him success in fundraising, say I’m confident he’ll overcome the hardship.” Yu Xing grinned. “See? There’s always a way to connect. I figure, why not try? It doesn’t cost anything.”

Liu Wan rubbed her face and sighed: “You’re stirring up his company, stirring up his industry—now you want to stir up his marriage too? Don’t you dare break them up—Zhenai.com really wants to go public…”

Yu Xing turned serious: “What’s that got to do with me? One thing at a time!”

Liu Wan opened her mouth but held back—you’re going to escalate the conflict with that logic…

(End of Chapter)