Chapter 21: Feichi Auto Investment (Part 3)

Chapter 21: Feichi Auto Investment Case (III)

After watching for a bit, Zhou Chang slipped in through the back entrance and, once again, slouched somewhat lazily against the wood-paneled wall at the very back of the room, watching Jing Hong up on the distant stage.

As the speech was winding down, Jing Hong's assistant Tan Qian walked over to Zhou Chang, holding his phone, and gave a polite greeting: "President Zhou."

Zhou Chang shifted his gaze from Jing Hong on stage to Tan Qian beside him, and let out a casual "Mm?"

Tan Qian lit up his phone: "President Jing told me earlier to transfer you the money for the tie, President Zhou." Tan Qian clearly had no idea what had happened between them, but didn't show an ounce of curiosity—his face calm, his voice even calmer.

So this was about collecting the money. Zhou Chang gave a faint scoff: "Forget it. I don't need his cash."

He never even looked at price tags when he shopped.

Tan Qian said: "President Jing said—"

"Enough," Zhou Chang cut him off, his eyes drifting back to the stage, "Your President Jing isn't as long-winded as you are."

Tan Qian hesitated, then nodded: "Then I'll check with President Jing later. I won't disturb you any further, President Zhou."

Zhou Chang tilted his chin slightly: "Go ahead."

Tan Qian paused, studied Zhou Chang for a couple seconds, then turned and walked off.

When Jing Hong finished and came off stage, Tan Qian immediately stepped up and handed him a bottle of water.

Jing Hong unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and asked: "Did you give Zhou Chang the tie money?"

"He wouldn't take it. President Zhou said," Tan Qian mimicked Zhou Chang's tone, deliberately dropping his voice, "'Forget it, do I need his cash?' 'Your President Jing isn't as long-winded as you are.'"

Jing Hong was amused by Tan Qian's imitation and said: "Watch it. We're out in public."

Tan Qian smiled too: "Yes."

"Let's just leave it," Jing Hong added. "No need to pay him."

Tan Qian nodded: "Alright."

They ran into a few people they knew on the way, so it took them a while to get back to the lounge. Tan Qian packed things up, while Jing Hong, wearing his overcoat, left the room first and headed toward the main entrance.

Beijing had gotten cold lately—really cold.

He'd barely taken two steps when his phone buzzed a few times. He only just remembered that this morning he had agreed to chat with the founder of a startup company about an audio interview, scheduled for 11:15. He'd figured the Fanhai Group press conference would be over by then, so he could do it in the car. But he'd gotten held up, and now the call was coming in.

Tan Qian didn't even seem to know about it.

Jing Hong answered, and noticing the crowd getting thicker as he got closer to the lobby, he stopped and stepped to the side to take the call—it was still fairly quiet there.

The guy was in the second-hand business, mainly second-hand housing—both sales and rentals.

Unsurprisingly, the guy once again turned down Fanhai Group's investment.

They talked for a bit, but the guy held his ground: "We... we discussed it. We don't want to be tied to a giant, and we don't have grand ambitions. We just want to be 'small and beautiful'... curating some high-end listings, like in scenic little spots..."

Just then, a kid came charging out of nowhere. Jing Hong dodged, and his overcoat slipped off his shoulders onto the ground.

Jing Hong had his phone in one hand and couldn't easily bend down to get it. And since they were at a critical point in the call, he didn't want to pick it up just then. So he just stood there and let it go.

A few seconds later, Jing Hong felt a weight on his shoulders—someone had picked up the coat and put it back on him.

Jing Hong naturally assumed it was his assistant Tan Qian—Tan Qian was right behind him and would be heading the same way.

Without turning around, he kept the phone to his ear and reached his other hand across his shoulder to grab the collar and pull the coat tighter, helping Tan Qian get it settled.

Jing Hong wasn't paying attention at all. As he reached over his shoulder for the collar, his hand brushed against the back of the other person's hand. He felt the hand pause, but since he was on the phone, he didn't think much of it. He moved his hand, grabbed the collar, and gave it a tug.

On the phone, the guy kept saying "we just want to be 'small and beautiful,'" and Jing Hong smiled, saying: "I hate to say it, but there's absolutely no room in this market for 'small and beautiful.' If that's your attitude, then within a year, capital and traffic will crush you completely."

The dagger finally came out—dead silence on the other end of the line. Up until now, Jing Hong had been all gentleness and courtesy.

Jing Hong continued: "The ones who crush you might be Fanhai, might be Qinghui, or might be somebody else. You sure you want to go up against the giants?"

Still dead silence. After a long pause, the guy finally found his voice: "Wh-why are you doing this? The second-hand housing market is huge—you can't possibly swallow it all... Don't try to scare us. We've all agreed on this..."

Jing Hong smiled faintly: "You know what? 'The market's huge, you can't swallow it all'—that's the biggest lie there is. No matter how big a market is, in the end only one or two players are left standing. Either one dominates, or they split it down the middle. In the end, there won't be more than three players. Once you step onto the battlefield, it's a fight to the death."

"..."

Jing Hong's tone softened a bit: "Your team is taking a laid-back approach to business, but other companies will gobble up everything they can. The truth is, for an entrepreneur, it's win or die."

"..." The guy had completely lost his initial resolve by now. He said: "I... we... let us think it over, talk it through again, okay?"

"Fine." Jing Hong remained indifferent. "Once you've made up your mind, contact President Zhao."

After hanging up, Jing Hong was about to call out "Tan Qian" when he heard a familiar, unexpected voice behind him: "President Jing is so scary. You scared the poor kid half to death."

"..." Jing Hong turned around and found Zhou Chang standing right behind him.

Jing Hong paused, then said: "Just stating the facts. It's for their own good."

"True enough." Zhou Chang agreed. "But honestly—using my tie one minute, then dragging Qinghui in as the bad guy the next. President Jing, your heart's black enough."

Jing Hong said: "That's also just stating the facts. Can President Zhou not handle the truth?"

"Fine." Zhou Chang glanced at Jing Hong's phone, then asked: "But investing in this one? Is this guy up to it? Can he handle Fanhai's traffic?"

Jing Hong understood what Zhou Chang meant. "Traffic" was a double-edged sword—more wasn't always better. Once the interface was given, the torrential flood of traffic from Fanhai and Qinghui wasn't something just anyone could handle. It was an enormous test of a team's management and technical capabilities. Qinghui Group had already invested in another second-hand housing app. If Fanhai Group chose this company, it would be a knife's-edge battle from the very start, with no gradual ramp-up period. Zhou Chang's underlying implication was: with this kind of personality—laid-back and indecisive—could this founder possibly hold his own against Qinghui?

"That's not for President Zhou to worry about." Jing Hong's tone had a hint of teasing. "We at Fanhai will handle it ourselves."

"Fine." Zhou Chang gave a faint scoff. "So I was worrying for nothing. I'll be waiting then."

After a few more exchanges, Jing Hong glanced at Zhou Chang's hand, wanting to confirm who had just helped him, so he asked: "Just now..."

Zhou Chang knew what Jing Hong wanted to ask and said directly: "It was me. Tan is still in the lounge—I saw him there."

Jing Hong nodded and said: "Sorry. I thought it was Tan Qian."

Zhou Chang looked at the back of his own hand, spreading his fingers: "No harm done. It's not like we're in ancient times, where a maiden gets touched and her family comes demanding you marry her."

Jing Hong was at a loss for words.

There was a water cooler nearby. Zhou Chang suddenly walked over, grabbed a paper cup, filled it with warm water, and handed it to Jing Hong: "Here, take it. Tan will be here soon."

Jing Hong took it, then looked up, his expression clearly questioning.

Zhou Chang smiled: "President Jing's hands are freezing."

With that, he gave Jing Hong one last look, then walked past him toward the entrance.

Jing Hong watched Zhou Chang's retreating figure, holding the warm cup of water in his hand, until Tan Qian hurried over.

Jing Hong was somewhat displeased and asked Tan Qian, "Where were you just now?"

Tan Qian felt confused, not knowing why Jing Hong was taking his anger out on him, and replied, "President Liu was looking for you. Your line was busy, so he called me."

"Fine." Jing Hong turned around, dialing a number as he walked out of the convention center building.

In the car, after finishing business with President Liu, Jing Hong thought of Zhou Chang's tie again. He instructed Tan Qian and the driver, "Tan Qian, in a moment the two of you go over to the elder Jing's place, grab a bottle of good wine, and deliver it to Zhou Chang at Qinghui."

Jing Haiping loved red wine and had plenty of good bottles; Jing Hong himself was indifferent to it.

Tan Qian nodded. "Alright. Should I just leave it at Qinghui's front desk? Have the receptionist tell President Zhou that President Jing sent a bottle of fine wine regarding the tie—that should do, right? Or do I need to hand it to him personally?"

"No need," Jing Hong said. "Just leave it at the front desk." Jing Hong didn't want to seem too invested in the matter.

...

Zhou Chang had over a dozen meetings that afternoon, some long, some short. Once, when he returned to his office, his assistant followed behind, reporting, "The front desk just called. Tan Qian, the assistant from Fanhai Group, left a plain box to pass along to you, President Zhou."

"Mm," Zhou Chang didn't ask what it was, simply instructing his assistant, "Put it in the car. I'll take it tonight."

"Alright." The assistant hesitated, then asked, "The front desk said... it seems to be a bottle of wine. Our product's registered users officially surpassed 50 million last week, overtaking Fanhai's numbers. You asked us this morning to prepare a good bottle to send over to celebrate. Why not use Fanhai's bottle? The team will be thrilled."

Zhou Chang didn't think much of it and said, "Then take it."

The assistant agreed, "Okay."

But just as the assistant turned around, Zhou Chang, unusually, called him back: "Wait."

The assistant looked puzzled. "President Zhou?"

Zhou Chang, changing his mind which was even more unlike him, said, "Never mind. Prepare another bottle. I'll take President Jing's home."

The assistant was taken aback for a moment, then said, "Alright."

Zhou Chang worked until around 11 PM that night before driving back to his nearby villa.

He walked to the wooden table in front of the wine cellar, lifted the box lid, took out the red wine, and looked at it with his eyes downcast.

It turned out to be a 1947 Château d'Yquem.

A top-tier noble rot sweet white. Botrytis needs mist—not too much, not too little. Too little, and the noble rot won't develop; too much, and it turns into mold. Château d'Yquem's location is the best in the world, and 1947 was historically the finest climate—the vintage of the century for Sauternes. Only about ten bottles of that vintage are opened each year now.

But what stunned Zhou Chang—what made him think, "It's actually a 1947 d'Yquem"—wasn't that Jing Hong had sent an expensive wine; that was only to be expected. It was that Jing Hong had sent a sweet wine.

The name itself, noble rot sweet white, meant it was sweet.

Zhou Chang preferred drier wines, ideally with no sweetness at all. He liked that dry, restrained feel.

He didn't think he seemed like the type to like sweets.

In fact, because Jing Hong had instructed Tan Qian not to mention Zhou Chang's name, Tan Qian had only told the elder Jing, "President Jing wants to send it to a friend." So Jing Haiping naturally assumed Jing Hong would drink it with his friend, and knowing his son had a sweet tooth, he picked out a noble rot sweet white.

"..." Zhou Chang went ahead and pulled the cork, took out a small decanter, and set it on the table to breathe.

Then Zhou Chang had a meeting with the UK branch, took off his suit, had a shower, and came out with wet hair, his robe half-open, belt loosely tied, showing off a broad, smooth chest.

Seeing that the wine was about ready, Zhou Chang added some ice to the ice bucket of the decanter, mixed it evenly, and then didn't leave—idling away his valuable time, just watching and waiting.

Fifteen minutes later, knowing it was ready, Zhou Chang poured himself half a glass.

The wine wasn't golden but a near-orange red—the amber of an aged noble rot wine, clear and dazzling.

Zhou Chang tipped his head back and took a sip.

In an instant, fruit and floral aromas surged forward. Orange notes, honey notes—things Zhou Chang normally disliked—along with other rugged, complex flavors. The acidity was perfectly balanced, with no sign of tiredness.

Not his usual taste, but unexpectedly quite good.

Zhou Chang held the glass, recalling the scenes from that morning—the bright red lower lip, the cool fingertips, the demeanor while explaining the Fanhai Moon Exploration Plan, autonomous driving, and the open platform, and the tone when saying, "Once you enter a battlefield, it's a fight to the death." The alcohol warmed his body slightly. Though it wasn't his usual preference, Zhou Chang felt parched, too impatient to savor it sip by sip. He suddenly tipped his head back, and all the flavors poured out in a rush, cascading down—he drank it all in one go.