Chapter 99

“Qunar” is an online travel website founded in 2005.

At the time, it secured its first round of funding at $2 million, and its parent company’s market value had already reached billions of dollars.

Four years later, it aims to capture a larger share of its niche market and plans to raise its third round of funding.

This financing negotiation, led by Zhu Xiaohu from GSR Ventures—the same firm that participated in Qunar’s first round—involved Xu Xin.

Notably, or perhaps humorously, the common topic of today’s meeting was Lehman Brothers.

The financial crisis is an unavoidable subject in the industry, and Lehman Brothers, the fatal trigger, was precisely Qunar’s second-round investor.

Such convoluted connections inevitably left those at lunch deeply reflective.

What made Xu Xin feel even more haunted was a topic Zhu Xiaohu brought up.

“Manager Xu, have you noticed a new website called Baixiaosheng?” Zhu Xiaohu mentioned a name that made Xu Xin frown slightly.

Xu Xin nodded: “I’ve heard of it.”

“NetEase held a press conference this morning—they upgraded a division, and the online dating market may soon be reshuffled,” Zhu Xiaohu summarized the past half-month’s industry developments. “This spark was ignited by Baixiaosheng’s exposé.”

Xu Xin smiled but said nothing, assuming Zhu Xiaohu mentioned it because of her husband.

But Zhu Xiaohu continued: “I think NetEase is serious this time. Manager Xu, do you have any insider information? We previously invested in Baihe.com; I just got word this morning and was on the phone with them before lunch, discussing whether to follow up on this new industry move.”

GSR Ventures participated in Baihe.com’s second round of funding.

Xu Xin was startled—she remembered now; GSR had invested in Baihe.com, probably two or three years ago.

She shook her head: “I haven’t heard anything about NetEase’s moves. Last month, I even dropped by NetEase and had a chat—they’re likely just responding to market conditions.”

Before founding Capital Today, Xu Xin had invested in NetEase back in 1999, when she was Managing Director of Asia for Barings Investment Group, and thus maintained a close relationship with Ding Lei.

Zhu Xiaohu chuckled: “A tiny website really shook up the industry.”

Xu Xin murmured “hmm,” but her focus remained firmly on Qunar.

Her long-standing investment focus has been consumer goods, retail, and the internet; despite the poor economic climate this year, the concept of “online travel” still holds appeal.

After lunch and a brief break, Xu Xin and Zhu Xiaohu, among others, listened to a presentation by Qunar’s senior management on the company’s current status and future plans.

Xu Xin listened attentively, but her expression remained largely unchanged, and she asked almost no questions.

During the mid-session break, Zhu Xiaohu joked: “Manager Xu, what do you think of Qunar’s future?”

“I heard Manager Zhu lay out a lot, but the core seems to boil down to two points,” Xu Xin carefully replied. “One: Ctrip’s profits are too high. Two: They want to attack Ctrip’s weaker mid- and low-end hotel market.”

Zhu Xiaohu nodded vigorously—Manager Xu’s summary was spot-on.

Indeed, those were exactly the two points mentioned earlier.

Ctrip’s excessive profits mean there’s room for price competition, and its weak mid- and low-end hotel segment is clearly a promising entry point.

“So…” Xu Xin mused with some concern, “if a price war breaks out, it’ll be brutal.”

A price war means massive cash consumption.

Moreover, Qunar’s rival is the industry leader and a publicly traded company—Ctrip will never sit idly by while a challenger gains ground; it will inevitably launch countermeasures.

Xu Xin was reluctant to get involved in such a battle—not because victory is impossible, but because the risks are higher than anticipated.

Additionally, she still prefers to invest where the value proposition is stronger; Qunar’s third round isn’t particularly attractive.

Zhu Xiaohu shook his head, disagreeing with Manager Xu: “A price war can effectively stimulate the market. If the market remains too stable, there’s no opportunity—Qunar needs fiercer competition to carve out its position.”

Xu Xin remained noncommittal.

GSR Ventures already holds equity and thus has a different stance than Capital Today, which hasn’t yet entered.

At 2:30 p.m., before Qunar’s second half began, President Zhuang Chenchao suddenly received two phone calls, his expression brightening as he excitedly shared the latest news with investors.

“Ctrip has a scandal!”

“They’re denying old employees the chance to convert their stock options into shares—instead, they’re just firing them!”

“Also, Ctrip’s flight insurance policies have been forged!”

“Many of its employees are now publicly raising these issues online!”

Zhuang Chenchao didn’t hide his delight, concluding: “Healthy development in any industry requires robust competition—once monopolized, all sorts of consumer-unfriendly practices emerge!”

The four venture capital firms in the room—Source Code Capital, Tengyue Capital, GSR Ventures, and Capital Today—were stunned by this sudden negative news about Ctrip.

It seemed suspiciously timed, surfacing precisely during Qunar’s funding talks.

Zhu Xiaohu chuckled: “How did this suddenly come to light? Which media outlet?”

Zhuang Chenchao replied: “It was reposted by NetEase.”

He took his assistant’s laptop, opened NetEase’s article, and added: “An employee posted the exposé on a website called Baixiaosheng—interesting name, isn’t it?”

Baixiaosheng?

Baixiaosheng!

Xu Xin involuntarily frowned again—it was that site again.

She felt she’d been hearing this name far too frequently lately.

“Is it credible?” Zhu Xiaohu asked with a grin.

Zhuang Chenchao replied cautiously: “I don’t know for sure, but…”

He quickly clicked into Baixiaosheng, noticed its prominent features, and said: “It’s a real-name-verified platform—this doesn’t seem like baseless gossip.”

As Qunar’s target, Ctrip’s sudden exposure was highly relevant to investors.

Soon, several laptops were placed on the table, revealing NetEase’s report and Baixiaosheng’s exposés.

Xu Xin had heard of Baixiaosheng before, but this was her first time browsing the site.

She scrolled through it and asked curiously: “Isn’t it supposed to be real-name verified? Why is this user named ‘Erlang Shen’?”

Shortly, the question was answered.

“It seems the site just launched an anonymous feature—only a select few are in the beta. I read the description: these anonymous accounts are already verified for both real identity and employment.”

A little later, Zhu Xiaohu offered the first commentary on the small site: “This anonymous feature… is a bit sinister—it could easily go wrong.”

But before others could respond, he added: “This site previously targeted the online dating industry—if it can now shake up a giant like Ctrip, it’s definitely intriguing.”

Xu Xin didn’t hold back her assessment: she closed the webpage and said slowly: “Projects require capable teams—this project’s team is weak.”

Everyone turned to look—did Manager Xu know something?

“This project is backed by a college student team with a short-term mindset; their previous project was a few months ago—a classic ‘grab and run’ scheme,” Xu Xin evaluated. “Young people who’ve tasted quick success find it hard to settle down.”

Zhu Xiaohu recalled their earlier conversation and smiled: “Manager Xu, your instincts are sharp—you even know about this tiny site and its team. Indeed, no matter the project, without a strong team, it’s doomed.”

Everyone agreed with the two of them.

Everyone in the room had once been young and worked with capital long enough to understand the mindset of those chasing quick money—they’d never invest in such projects.

Zhu Xiaohu shifted gears: “So Qunar’s team inspires real confidence—President Zhuang’s track record over the past few years has been impressive. If Ctrip stumbles, this is a golden opportunity to catch up.”

The small website was just a side topic—the main focus remained Qunar’s funding.

The room continued discussing the latest industry developments.

At 5 p.m., the meeting ended.

Xu Xin politely declined Zhu Xiaohu’s dinner invitation; she still leaned toward not participating in this round, but wasn’t ready to decide yet.

This trip from Shenzhen back to Shanghai was her final business trip before the New Year—she could wait until after the holidays to give a final verdict on Qunar.

Besides, she could observe whether any new industry shifts emerged.

Oh, that ripple from Baixiaosheng.

That very afternoon, Baixiaosheng saw a flood of posts from Ctrip employees exposing the company.

Although posted under pseudonyms, each user carried a “Ctrip employee” tag, verified by the site, lending credibility to the allegations.

The first poster, “Erlang Shen,” was Deputy Director Jiao Shiqian; after reflecting on his own experience, he reached out to colleagues with similar stories and discovered it wasn’t just about stock options—it was also about coercive resignations.

That is, if employees refused to resign, the company would transfer them to distant locations or demote them.

As a large company, Ctrip has offices nationwide, but individual employees often have families—being relocated to another city would cause severe personal disruption.

Thus, Jiao Shiqian anonymously exposed three issues:

—Stock options slated for conversion were unilaterally revoked, despite the original contracts being in English with no Chinese version provided!

—Employees were forced to resign through malicious transfers and demotions!

—On November 14, a customer received a forged flight insurance policy from Ctrip!

While the first two issues were internal, the third directly involved customers—and carried a different, more serious weight.

Hence, NetEase’s repost, having already covered online dating scandals, quickly verified and published the story.

Of course, unlike its previous favorable coverage when interests aligned, NetEase now placed the story less prominently.

Still, Baixiaosheng’s users, who had just finished digesting online dating drama, now turned to Ctrip’s layoffs and forged policies!

A fresh scandal—on the first day of 2009!

Though the site was still new, many users were already expertly sharing posts with friends and colleagues.

Online dating drama was boring—wouldn’t you want to see some layoffs?

Definitely!

The global financial crisis still raged—who knew where it might strike next?

Let’s hear the victims’ reflections and lessons.

—“I’m such a fool. I knew other companies did dirty things during layoffs—I never thought it would happen to me.”

—“I clearly heard HR say something that would’ve helped my arbitration case—but I didn’t record it. I’m so regretful!”

—“I’m such a fool. I’ll regret this for the rest of my life!”

These lines, clearly modeled after Xianglin’s Wife, fit perfectly into Erlang Shen’s experience.

Fellow professionals felt deep resonance—and even helped refine the narrative.

“It’s not just like Xianglin’s Wife—it’s the workplace Xianglin’s Wife!”

"Hey, hey, can you choose the nickname for this anonymous feature? Who’s gonna pick Xiang Linshao?!"

The spectators’ request received an answer: nicknames were randomized and couldn’t be chosen.

Yet, small websites always paid attention to user experience, and soon a staff member manually triggered one—Xiang Linshao from Xiecheng appeared.

Unlike “Erlang Shen,” “Xiang Linshao” shared her argument with HR.

This post prompted others to warn: “Don’t say that—you’ll make HR know exactly who you are.”

Xiang Linshao wasn’t Xiang enough: “Who cares? I’m already Xiang Linshao—what do I have to fear? Come on, wolf, come get Amao—I’ve got him right here!”

Amid the fury of Xiecheng employees, the actual user behind the fake policy also appeared in the thread—no anonymity, just a direct account accusing Xiecheng of passing the buck.

For a time, Baixiaosheng buzzed with activity, drawing even more traffic and new registrations.

Yu Xing hadn’t anticipated fake policies, sensing there might be more developments, but he could foresee sustained user registration.

Baixiaosheng was a new site; its last round of publicity had worked well—but no matter how well it worked, user numbers were still only in the tens of thousands, while the entire internet’s workforce numbered in the hundreds of millions—a vast, untapped market.

Dig up one scandal, get tens of thousands; dig up another, get tens of thousands more…

Baixiaosheng couldn’t rely solely on word-of-mouth—it needed more money to bring in more people to feast on the gossip.

On January 2, 2009, Yu Xing personally led Lu Haiying, his second-in-command, on ground promotion to Jinri Capital’s office in Shencheng.

Xu Xin won’t reply to texts? Fine—I’ll go straight to her employees.

Yu Xing planned to keep pestering venture capital firms until the end of the year.

But that morning, he never expected to run straight into Jinri Capital’s boss.

At ten a.m., Xu Xin arrived at the office with her secretary, and stepped out of the elevator to see two furtive young men.

She frowned, baffled.

Yu Xing was about to press the bell when he turned and saw Xu Xin herself.

He was startled, then delighted, and rushed forward to introduce himself: “Ms. Xu, Ms. Xu, hello, I’m Yu Xing from Baixiaosheng. I’d like to introduce our project.”

Xu Xin’s face was blank as she walked into the company: “Throw them out. Throw them out.”

Yu Xing was stunned: “Hey, hey, Ms. Xu…”

Seeing staff actually approaching to eject him, he gritted his teeth and shouted toward Xu Xin’s retreating figure: “Ms. Xu, Liu Qiangdong referred me!”

Xu Xin stopped, turned back to Yu Xing, and asked curiously: “How dare you come to me? Do you know Zhen’ai.com?”

Yu Xing smiled at the two employees who had halted, straightened his clothes, and said calmly: “Why not? I’m here to see Xu Xin of Jinri Capital—not the wife of Zhen’ai.com’s boss.”