Chapter 98: 096 I Want to Be a Mole! (8k)

“That Mr. Xu didn’t respond at all, Xiao Ying—what do you think this means? What’s it signaling?”

When Yu Xing waited a full day and night without a reply, he called Liu Wanying for advice.

He obtained Xu Xin’s number from Liu Qiangdong, but his tentative message vanished into thin air.

Liu Wanying couldn’t help laughing: “Not replying you is wrong, honestly—I think she should’ve scolded you outright.”

Yu Xing pondered: “Even scolding me would be fine—just give me a chance to talk.”

Getting yelled at won’t make you lose two liang of flesh—what’s there to fear?

Liu Wanying asked: “You just sent a message? Didn’t call?”

“Yeah, I was afraid calling would get me blocked outright,” Yu Xing said, laying out his thinking. “I wanted to use a message as a scout first—maybe I don’t even need to talk to her directly; talking to her company’s subordinates would be fine too.”

Yesterday he’d hesitated between message and call—he’d never dealt with investors before, had no experience, and the little info he’d gotten from Liu Qiangdong suggested Xu Xin was a very dominant investor.

In the end, he politely drafted a message, hoping for a chance to introduce his project.

Liu Wanying thought a moment, then said: “You still lack a middleman. Whether it’s message or call doesn’t matter—if someone could introduce you, at least you’d get a chance to speak.”

She added: “That’s normal—but you’re not normal.”

You’re busy screwing her husband, then turn right around asking her for funding—ignoring you is the least she could do.

Liu Wanying chuckled to herself at the thought.

Yu Xing liked hearing her laugh, but seeing her laugh nonstop, he interrupted: “Hey, hey, stop laughing—help me think of a plan. Don’t forget, you’re a shareholder now.”

“The most effective plan I can think of is shorting successfully—having your own money beats everything else,” Liu Wanying said, regaining composure with a smile. “If all else fails, just beg Liu Qiangdong to introduce you again. After all, you got the number from him.”

Yu Xing sighed: “You think my face isn’t thick enough?”

Liu Wanying: “...”

So he’d already tried!

She thought left and right: “If all else fails, I’ll ask my friends—but my friends are all minor players; even with all the connections, it’s hard to reach investors, especially this year—conditions are terrible.”

The financial crisis has everyone retrenching. Even though global central banks are acting, no one knows when the economy will recover—venture capitalists will be extremely cautious.

Liu Wanying mused: “Your project and your own performance must both be outstanding. Before the crisis, 70 points was enough—now you need 90. Have you figured out how to convince investors?”

“Introduce the project, introduce our user numbers—what else is needed?” Yu Xing asked earnestly, this being his first time dealing with investors.

“Those are definitely necessary,” Liu Wanying offered. “But what is an investor? Behind them are institutions, capital’s money—they represent capital, and capital is always profit-driven.”

“Since it’s profit-driven, the highest-priority question is: how will your company help their money make money?”

Liu Wanying concluded: “You need to give them—or fabricate—a plausible profit plan. If things don’t go well before year-end, maybe the site could start running ads first—at least generate some revenue.”

Yu Xing fell into thought, silent for a long time.

How did his former bosses handle this?

Liu Wanying waited a moment, then asked: “Boss Yu, still there? Didn’t get dragged out of your office?”

“Still here, still here—I’m just thinking about what you said: how to help their money make money,” Yu Xing mused. “The company making money and the venture capital making money—aren’t they different things?”

Liu Wanying frowned, waiting for more.

Yu Xing spoke slowly: “Even if the company doesn’t make money, if it can go public, the VCs get an exit and profit channel—doesn’t that let them make money?”

Liu Wanying hesitated: “This...”

Yu Xing’s pace quickened slightly: “Social networking is a good story. Workplace social is weaker, more niche—but if it works in China, it’s still a decent story.”

“Besides...”

His thoughts surged—he added another condition: “Besides, times are changing.”

Times are changing—the pace of mobile internet is accelerating.

Unlike later companies like MaiMai that struggled to go public, Baixiaosheng now and in the future has more possibilities—by going mobile, it can capture greater market space and grow larger.

It’s imaginative.

And it’s easily sellable.

Liu Wanying asked: “What kind of change benefits the site?”

Yu Xing briefly discussed the iPhone, which had been on the market for two years, sharing his views—views that weren’t even particularly novel at the time: mobile phone numbers had already surpassed computer numbers.

A faster-paced era had just begun.

Liu Wanying listened a while, then couldn’t help commenting: “You sound convincing—did you practice in front of a mirror before talking to investors?”

“No, I truly believe this, Xiao Ying—go buy an iPhone,” Yu Xing said seriously. “If phones keep taking on more user needs, there’s no reason they won’t grow faster—and every company rooted in PC will inevitably fall behind due to their attitude toward mobile.”

This will challenge many companies—and create many opportunities.

Liu Wanying reviewed it all, smiling: “Sounds fine. Hmm—I don’t know if investors will be as easygoing as me. If Xu Xin won’t respond, forget it—I’ll join you in shorting.”

Yu Xing heard the comfort in her tone, sighed, and said: “Xiao Ying, we can’t keep living apart like this.”

“Who’s living apart from you...” Liu Wanying sighed.

“You are,” Yu Xing said earnestly. “Working apart like this is too inconvenient.”

Liu Wanying fell silent for two seconds: “Right. When facing investors, you need to show exactly this attitude.”

Yu Xing asked: “What kind of attitude? The ‘persistent suitor wins the girl’ kind?”

Liu Wanying: “...”

She sighed: “If you go provoke Xu Xin like that, you’ll get charged with hooliganism.”

“I’m serious! Really,” Yu Xing said. “Come to Shanghai, start your own company—say, a small consulting firm advising companies like ours. Just like the rehearsal we just had. I think it’d help broaden your perspective.”

He genuinely believed it was useful—it pulled him out of the daily grind of company minutiae.

Viewing investor contact from the perspective of “suffocating for a dream” made things less complicated.

Liu Wanying snorted: “If you do that, your company will only ever list in the U.S. I’ll prepare some info and conditions for you by year-end.”

The U.S. allows unprofitable companies to list—much looser than Xiangjiang or mainland China.

“Alright, thanks, Xiao Ying,” Yu Xing said. This call had been worthwhile.

Liu Wanying paused two seconds, then said: “Boss Yu, since Baixiaosheng is finally picking up and you’re reaching out to investors now, don’t pay attention to other opinions.”

Yu Xing was confused: “What opinions?”

“The ones about Guiai.com—the internal employee reviews about Zhen’ai.com. Those posts clearly came after you,” Liu Wanying said, referring to the recent backlash.

Under Baixiaosheng’s posts, people attacked Guiai.com, claiming Yu Xing’s startup was fraud, and others, posing as Zhen’ai employees, accused him of dumping work onto others during his tenure.

Similar remarks appeared not just on Baixiaosheng, but also on school networks, forums, and online media.

Liu Wanying noticed these and worried about Yu Xing’s mental state.

She knew his past—she’d seen someone comment “dogs biting dogs, both lose fur,” and felt a pang of sympathy for him.

But Yu Xing just laughed: “Why should I care? If I cared, I’d have done more work at Zhen’ai. Want to talk about public opinion? Let’s see who gets crushed harder—first, solve the users’ complaints.”

Liu Wanying relaxed—ten thousand fingers pointing? He points back at ten thousand!

Still, Yu Xing wasn’t completely passive—he posted a thread outlining three points.

One: Guiai.com’s business is legal—if you call Guiai.com fraud, what does Zhen’ai.com, which acquired it, intend to do?

Two: At the moment Guiai.com was sold, Yu Xing personally guaranteed the final layer of protection for users who signed dating contracts—if Zhen’ai.com failed to pay out, he would personally deliver the promised blessings to couples who married.

Three: According to his prior agreement with Zhen’ai.com, he was only a temporary addition and performed no substantive work.

This response still failed to quell targeted criticism.

The fraud accusation faded, but the latter two points sparked many voices.

“Personal guarantee? Sounds nice—who’s that naive? Who are you fooling?”

“What agreement? Show us the contract!”

Yu Xing patiently replied: “Technically, I don’t need to take responsibility or do this—but it’s no burden to me. In fact, every couple’s marriage is a personal promotion for me. No need to worry about funds—if you find any case where I didn’t deliver, I’ll immediately sell my Baixiaosheng shares and quit management. This statement will never be deleted.”

“As for my agreement with Zhen’ai.com—it wasn’t written into a contract, but I have audio recordings of meetings with Zhen’ai’s boss. I don’t think I need to release them, because they know the truth—if they publicly deny it, then everyone’s welcome to witness it.”

From then on, Yu Xing stopped replying to comments—only placed the link to this post in his profile bio.

Website pages need maintenance—posts can’t stay pinned too long—but it will never be deleted. If anyone wants to see it, they can click the link in his bio.

Still, Yu Xing’s actions remained controversial.

Jiao Shiqian, vice president of Ctrip who only browsed and never commented, looked down on Yu Xing’s so-called “audio-recorded meetings.”

Sounds noble—just secret recording, right?

Jiao Shiqian didn’t believe a grassroots entrepreneur like Yu Xing could record serious meetings with the big boss of an acquiring firm.

So this move was just the act of a petty coward!

For a guy who looks so handsome, he’s full of underhanded tricks!

Jiao Shiqian felt nauseous every time he thought of employees secretly recording their conversations with him.

At lunch in the cafeteria, he overheard colleagues discussing this and joined in criticizing Yu Xing.

Who talks while recording?

Isn’t it terrifying to have someone like that around?

Jiao Shiqian was utterly disdainful.

Yet, just two days before the end of 2008, Jiao Shiqian was summoned by the HR director.

“Director Jiao, I want to thank you for your years of work and contributions to the company. Your performance has always been a vital part—we’ve all seen your efforts and dedication.”

At the first sentence, Jiao Shiqian’s head went “buzz”—a wave of dizziness hit him.

Time seemed to stretch long—but when he snapped back, only an instant had passed.

“The company’s overall Q4 performance was poor. Stock price has been heavily impacted by the financial crisis. Global economic conditions remain uncertain—so the board has decided to make necessary organizational adjustments.”

“After careful evaluation and cautious consideration, the company must make a difficult decision...”

“Director Jiao, certain positions—including yours—require adjustment. This is for the company’s overall development, not a reflection on your past performance.”

Jiao Shiqian’s mouth went dry—he stammered: “T-this sudden? I—I’m a long-time employee! You—you can’t—”

The HR Director said patiently: “Director Jiao, the company will provide you with a reasonable compensation package to lessen the impact on your life, and we will pay an additional month’s salary on top of the statutory compensation as support.”

“I know this is a difficult time, but Director Jiao, we must look forward—here are the details of the company’s compensation plan.”

As Jiao Shiqian listened to the detailed, fluent explanation, he felt a profound sense of emptiness inside.

He sat stunned for a long while, not absorbing a single detail, but suddenly remembered something and blurted out: “My stock options will vest in just one year—what about those?”

The HR Director fell silent for a moment, then reluctantly reminded him: “Director Jiao, you may not have read your contract carefully—it contains specific clauses addressing this exact situation. I suggest you review it again. Though it’s in English, the terms aren’t complicated.”

A bad premonition surged in Jiao Shiqian’s chest; he nearly shouted: “Speak plainly!”

The HR Director spoke plainly—but it wasn’t human words: “According to your signed contract, these options will be forfeited without compensation.”

Jiao Shiqian froze completely.

The company’s Employee Handbook, Article 5, Subsection 6, states that stock options will be awarded to managers of a certain level, annual outstanding employees, and frontline staff with over eight years of service.

The options in my hands could be worth at least 150,000 yuan in stock!!

He gasped twice, then yelled: “How is this possible?! Why revoke them for free?! This is an abusive clause!!”

“The English contract is very clear—and entirely legal,” the HR Director shook his head. “Director Jiao, we’ve already given you a 30-day notice ahead of termination. Legally, we only owe you the statutory amount. We’ve added an extra month’s salary. The company has gone beyond what’s required.”

www?ttkan?￠o

Jiao Shiqian, stunned and furious, cried: “Impossible! I won’t accept this! If you do this, don’t blame me for taking it to arbitration!”

The HR Director spread his hands: “Both the contract and the process are legal, Director Jiao. Do you think arbitration is a magic solution? Arbitration protects both parties’ rights. Calm down. You’ve been with the company for years—I understand this is hard to accept, but under current conditions, it’s a necessary decision for the company.”

He set down the documents and walked toward the door, adding: “Director Jiao, the company will do its utmost to support you. Thank you again for your years of contribution. We wish you all the best in the future.”

Jiao Shiqian wanted to grab his arm but realized this was the company’s decision. Then, suddenly, a thought struck him: “Was I fired because I’m only one year away from vesting my stock?!”

The HR Director turned back, sighed: “Director Jiao, don’t put me in this position—I’m just following orders. The options were your own signed contract. Frankly, I think the company’s handling of this is wrong. Sigh.”

Jiao Shiqian’s throat bobbed. He frantically reached for his phone, trying to record the conversation, stammering: “You, you, you—could you sit down and repeat the compensation details? I—I didn’t hear clearly.”

The HR Director noticed the obvious phone motion, frowned, and his expression turned cold: “Calm down first. The compensation plan is on the desk—read it yourself.”

He opened the door and walked out.

Jiao Shiqian called weakly after him: “You’ve lost your conscience!”

The office door closed politely.

Jiao Shiqian sat in his chair, slowly and numbly accepting the sudden turn of events.

But he couldn’t accept it!

Just one year away from the stock! It was all rightfully his!

This was clearly just an excuse by the company!

Jiao Shiqian stared at the recording interface on his phone screen—and suddenly realized the truth had been inverted.

Fuck, who needs to record?

Only someone protecting themselves needs to record!

I’m not the boss—I’m the one who needs to fight to protect my own rights…

Jiao Shiqian felt intense pain at missing the HR Director’s crucial words, and a chill ran through him at the memory of his final, wary expression.

His hands and feet turned icy, then his blood surged. He quickly clicked open Baixiaosheng’s website, navigated to his personal center, and searched for the anonymous feature invited yesterday.

Internal message, internal message—I can be an insider, I’m damn well going to be an insider!

Oh shit, where’s my internal message??

Jiao Shiqian clicked randomly for a long while before remembering—he’d deleted the internal message himself.

He searched again, and in despair realized there was no button to join the anonymous program—the internal message was the only channel for beta access.

Jiao Shiqian was truly desperate.

He finished his work in a daze, stumbled home, and had no answer when his wife asked him questions.

What could he say?

That he knew about the financial crisis, thought it was far away, and had nothing to do with him?

That he didn’t know about protective recording, didn’t know how to defend his rights, and his mind was blank?

Jiao Shiqian couldn’t say it.

That night, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

On the last day of 2008, Jiao Shiqian mechanically washed up, left home early, took the subway to work—but lingered below the company building, unwilling to go up.

He paced around and around, then remembered Yu Xing’s number in his phone contacts.

Without much thought, and with trepidation, he called Yu Xing, hoping to gain access to the insider beta.

The call connected quickly.

Jiao Shiqian stammered out his story.

“Hmm, I was planning to recruit your management team for account registration—you’ve gone and ruined it for me,” Yu Xing’s voice came through the phone.

Jiao Shiqian’s heart sank. Yu Xing had his own interests to protect—he wouldn’t let him speak.

Then he heard the second sentence.

“Forget it. Post it tomorrow,” Yu Xing said lightly.

Jiao Shiqian felt as if struck by a bullet. He asked, stunned: “Why?”

Yu Xing replied: “For good luck. Tomorrow’s the 1st—the first day of 2009. A lucky start.”

Jiao Shiqian took a deep breath: “Yu Zong, I’m asking… I’m asking why you’re willing to let me post…”

Yu Xing laughed: “Because it’s unfair. Your company handled this dishonorably. If I don’t let you post, where else will you go? Go to the media? They’ll bury it.”

He continued: “Baixiaosheng exists for this. We don’t serve big corporations. Do you know what an independent third party is?”

Jiao Shiqian’s eyes welled up.

Yu Xing, hearing silence on the other end, reversed roles and comforted: “Just do your thing. Baixiaosheng won’t compromise. I’m just a college dropout—who am I compromising with?”

Jiao Shiqian’s voice cracked: “Yu Zong… you dropped out, didn’t you?”

Yu Xing laughed: “Exactly. I dropped out. Don’t talk to me about compromise!”

Jiao Shiqian’s tears fell.

“Alright, Director Jiao, don’t be fragile. Fight for your legitimate rights,” Yu Xing said, no longer soothing. “If you’re being laid off, you’re not alone. Find out who else is affected, what other traps exist—expose them together. See if you can win back your rights.”

He paused, then added: “Director Jiao, I welcome your post—but that doesn’t mean you’ll succeed. Your company is publicly listed. You’d better start looking for your next job quickly.”

“Yes, I know, Yu Zong, thank you,” Jiao Shiqian said, taking a breath. “Also, last month the company buried another incident—I think the media would be interested. It happened on November 17th…”

Yu Xing was surprised by this unexpected bonus. He interrupted: “Director Jiao, can you take responsibility for what you say?”

Jiao Shiqian answered firmly: “I can. It’s true.”

“Good. Then don’t tell me. Post it directly to the platform tomorrow,” Yu Xing said. “I’ll read it with everyone. And I’ll give you one more day to prepare—don’t rush. Calm down.”

Jiao Shiqian hadn’t expected Yu Zong to tell him to calm down.

He wanted to say something, but felt it would sound overly sentimental.

In the end, Jiao Shiqian only said into the phone: “Yu Zong, I’m already calm. No need to wait. See you tomorrow!”

Yu Xing replied simply: “Alright. See you tomorrow.”

He put down the phone, surprised yet not entirely surprised by Jiao Shiqian’s situation.

This was the mechanism Baixiaosheng had already begun to build.

Under this mechanism, situations like this would arise—not Jiao Shiqian, but someone else, like Meng Shiqian.

As long as workplace conflicts exist—between people, between people and departments, between people and companies—workplace topics will endure, and workplace material will flow like fish crossing a river.

Jiao Shiqian was now perfectly positioned to take over the topic of internet dating.

Insider, see you tomorrow.

Insider, see you every day.

…

The world welcomed 2009.

Yu Xing felt no deep emotion, only anticipation for the day’s unfolding drama.

Of course, entering January 2009 meant the countdown to shorting Zhongfen had begun—and he still needed to push forward his investor outreach.

But on the first day, there were only two main events.

One: Jiao Shiqian’s insider post. Two: NetEase Dating’s press conference.

Yu Xing had received a call the previous night from Zhu Shiming, Director of NetEase Dating, and fully understood his intentions.

No surprise: real-name system.

Because their interests were entangled, Zhu Shiming’s tone was straightforward, sincerely asking Yu Xing’s opinion.

“You’re going to do it anyway—my opinion won’t change anything,” Yu Xing said, then gave his judgment: “Every industry must move from chaos to order.”

This was a question of industry development.

He added a second point: “This transition from chaos to order is indeed NetEase Dating’s opportunity.”

This was a question of market structure.

In the chaotic phase, the market structure was stable. In the fully ordered phase, it remained stable. Only during the transition could newcomers challenge for greater market share.

Zhu Shiming praised: “Yu Zong, I completely agree! Why don’t you join NetEase? This market still has potential. If you deliver results, bonuses and performance pay will be high—maybe even more comfortable than your grueling startup.”

“No thanks. I like making others uncomfortable,” Yu Xing declined.

“Alright,” Zhu Shiming thought that remark was a bit offensive. He concluded: “We’re holding a press conference in Shanghai tomorrow at ten a.m. to officially announce full real-name registration. Will you come, Yu Zong?”

Yu Xing was surprised: “So fast? Your offline strength seems weak.”

Zhu Shiming smiled: “We’ve poached a lot of people this week. Headquarters gave us full support.”

"Impressive—NetEase is the winner this time," Yu Xing offered his congratulations before declining, "I won’t go. It might cause trouble. I wish NetEase’s next move can drive industry progress."

Zhuo Shiming smiled and replied, "Thank you for your good wishes, Director Yu."

On January 1, 2009, NetEase announced the establishment of its Dating Division, and its platform "NetEase Dating" held a press conference in Shen Cheng under the slogan: "Start Dating with Real Names, Love Should Be Simple and Genuine."

Could a major internet company like NetEase really enter the matchmaking business?

This was a press conference that surprised many media outlets.

Even more surprising was the revelation that NetEase had already been operating in this field—this launch was merely an effort to expand and strengthen it.

Regardless, as the first website in the internet dating industry to implement real-name registration, it carried positive significance for industry progress and quickly garnered public anticipation and praise through widespread media coverage.

In addition to announcing real-name registration at the press conference, NetEase Dating also revealed its city rollout plan: fifteen offline cities would open services simultaneously that day.

NetEase was serious.

And the industry was about to be reshuffled.

At nearly the same moment the press conference began, Li Song, CEO of Zhen Ai Wang, endured a painful moment in his conference room.

"Director Li, let’s pause," said the investor seated across the table, abruptly halting their negotiations.

Li Song was stunned: "Why?"

Over the past week, he had been tirelessly pursuing new funding—this investor was already accepting far less favorable terms than he’d hoped for.

"NetEase has just announced full real-name registration across its platform. We need to observe how this changes the industry," the investor said regretfully as he stood, "Let’s wait and see."

Li Song rose: "Wait, Director Wei, Director Wei..."

The investor merely offered a polite farewell and firmly ended the negotiation.

Li Song stood frozen in the conference room, then slammed his fist onto the table.

This wasn’t his first startup since returning to China; previous failures had made him more obsessed than most with achieving company success and an IPO—and he also hoped to match or surpass his wife’s professional accomplishments.

Now, his venture had hit a setback.

The industry was suddenly, inexplicably, about to be reshuffled!

Vice President Wei Jialan returned to the conference room after seeing off the investor and saw her boss’s grim expression.

She cautiously suggested, "Director Li, perhaps we should ask Director Xu?"

Li Song frowned and shook his head, saying nothing.

"We can still make concessions—it’s all concessions anyway. Why not offer them to Director Xu?" Wei Jialan analyzed, "This real-name system... may not pose a serious threat. NetEase’s business here is weak; Director Wei was just intimidated by NetEase’s reputation."

Zhen Ai Wang knew perfectly well how strong or weak NetEase was in the matchmaking industry.

Li Song’s brow relaxed slightly. After a moment’s thought, he said, "Xu Xin went to Shen Cheng these past few days. I’ll speak with her seriously once she returns."

Wei Jialan nodded gently. If Director Li and Director Xu had a serious talk, things would improve.

They were husband and wife—this was just a favor. How could she refuse?

A flight from Pengcheng landed in Shen Cheng.

Xu Xin stepped into the car and heard her secretary mention a fresh piece of news: NetEase Dating had held its press conference.

It had nothing to do with Xu Xin’s work, but those around her naturally knew about Li Song’s company—and couldn’t help paying extra attention to related developments.

"The internet dating industry’s move this time is significant," the secretary commented. "NetEase is the bird waiting behind."

Xu Xin smiled faintly but said nothing.

This time, there would be one big winner and one small winner. NetEase had public opinion, resources, and capital—no need to elaborate. But Yu Xing of Baixiaosheng had also benefited.

A small win, then.

Xu Xin entertained this thought, closed her eyes to rest, and turned her mind to the goal of this trip—the rising online travel company "Quna."

This was a financing negotiation led by a peer; "Quna" sought aggressive support to challenge Ctrip’s market dominance.