In the dorm of Zhaoge Royal Academy, Zhou Xi and Su Wei lay on the bed, facing a large projection screen opposite them. Zhou Xi had bought the projector just for movie nights. Midway through watching, she suddenly remembered something.
"Oh, right—we still haven't named our company."
"The name, huh…"
Su Wei pondered for a moment. An idea flickered, but she still wanted Zhou Xi's input. "What do you think?"
"Hmm…"
Zhou Xi tapped her temple lightly in frustration. Strangely, it worked—her eyes lit up. "How about 'Future Tech Co., Ltd.'?"
"Future Tech…"
A faint twitch tugged at Su Wei's lips. "Are you Wang Laoju?!"
"Huh? Wang what-ju?"
"That name's already taken."
"Then what's your idea?"
"How about 'Jiucang'?"
"Jiucang?"
Zhou Xi blinked. "Like… 'heaven'? That's kinda grand for a startup."
"I first tried finding a link between our names," Su Wei said, "but after thinking it over, bigger feels right. After all—our goal is the stars and the sea!"
"Alright."
Zhou Xi nodded. True, "Jiucang" sounded ambitious, but it fit. The characters were simple, memorable. "I'll get the registration handled. Oh—how much registered capital should we put in?"
Su Wei glanced at her. "Doesn't matter. I'm not taking this company public. No outside funding."
To be clear: Su Wei preferred full control. She hated others meddling. Better to grow slowly than deal with a swarm of shareholders—endless meetings, blocked decisions. Not her style.
"No IPO? No funding…?" Zhou Xi chuckled. "You're confident. Fine. We'll each contribute based on shares—25 million total for development. I'll cover your half for now."
"No! I used your money before 'cause I was broke. Not anymore. You've already covered all promo costs—just deduct my share."
"Then our setup's messy," Zhou Xi said after a pause. "I can't be legal rep. You take that role; I'll be supervisor. Any transaction over 500,000 needs your review, signature, and stamp. For emergencies, you act freely. No more 'whoever wants cash, takes cash.' Rules must be set from day one—or trouble follows."
They abandoned the movie, scribbled policies in notebooks, and handed them to Zhou Xi for the law firm. Every company needs lawyers; big corps pay hundreds of thousands monthly. Luckily, Zhou Xi had connections—top-tier attorneys from Grand Zhou—at shockingly low rates.
The firm moved fast. By next morning, the contract arrived. Skimming it, they frowned: too many clauses. Drafted for a multinational IPO candidate—something they'd never pursue. No board, no shareholders? No need for that complexity.
Big companies often grow sluggish—a.k.a. "big company disease." New ideas take months to move. Opportunities go cold. They know it. But fixing it? Only by cutting shareholders or directors—and that slow pace, while frustrating, avoids major errors and keeps most people content.
With paperwork done, downtime finally came. Zhou Xi gently brought up her earlier "unauthorized move."
"Weiwei… ever thought about becoming a star?"
"A star?"
Su Wei frowned, imagining herself primping on screen. She shuddered. "Not interested."
"I've been working on this," Zhou Xi said, nodding earnestly. "Building you as a celebrity entrepreneur. Most founders seem distant. But someone visible—relatable, even just *present*—gets attention. Especially someone young and striking like you. Benefits? Future products, like your short-video app, ride instant hype. I can't be the face. So… are you willing to try?"
"I…"
Su Wei understood. In her past life, figures like "National Daddy" and "National Husband" proved it: a crafted image brought buzz *and* trust—a strange, almost mystical credibility. People believed in the person, then the product.
But she pictured frenzied paparazzi. A chill ran down her spine. "If I go public… can I still eat at tiny local noodle shops?"
"Not at all," Zhou Xi smiled, shaking her head. "I promise—within the Grand Zhou Federal Empire, nothing like TV drama chaos will happen."
"Then… I'll try. But I've zero experience."
"Don't worry. We're all set—just waiting for the wind."
Zhou Xi pulled out her phone, tapped open Twitter. "See? Your account. Over eight million followers already."
"Eight million?!"
Su Wei stared at the number beneath her name, dizzy. "Why so many?"
"Every poem you shared—I posted. Look: yesterday's 'Xing Lu Nan.' Sparked massive discussion. Thirty thousand comments! Top celebrities envy that."
"Uh…"
Shame prickled Su Wei's chest. This was plagiarism—blatant. She didn't *have* that poetic talent.
"Now," Zhou Xi continued, "we just add 'Founder of Jiucang Tech' to your verified 'poet' badge… and reveal the 'Tianyancha bug' was Jiucang's work. Your followers? They'll surge by millions."
