“Charity foundation?”

Zhou Xi blinked in surprise, then shook her head with a smile. “No need to go that big. What I mean is, ten million Zhou Yuan a year is plenty.”

“No. If we do it, we go big.”

Su Wei spoke slowly. “And I plan to set up a private foundation.”

“Private?”

Zhou Xi was momentarily confused. A charity foundation alone cost tens of millions of Zhou Yuan yearly. A *private* one? That meant hundreds of millions—maybe even two or three hundred million.

“Mm. I’ll arrange someone to handle it later. Honestly, I feel short on capable hands. Li Keqin’s already swamped—running nonstop. I hate to burden her more. I’ll hire extra staff in a few days.”

“Company matters are yours to run. I’ll just wait for dividends.”

Su Wei had zero objections to Zhou Xi’s hands-off style. Zhou Xi had already done more than enough. Still, it meant more work for her. Truth was, she’d never planned to be a businesswoman. Without Zhou Xi’s help, her app would’ve likely been bought out for a few million Zhou Yuan at best—not raking in over a hundred million monthly.

Zhou Xi had always aimed to nurture Su Wei: from making her negotiate solo at the start to stepping back now. All part of the training. *Jade must be carved to shine.*

The next afternoon, Mu Xun drove Su Wei to the office in her new Zhizun. License plates? Zhou Xi sorted it with a quick Chuan Yin. Quiet by nature, Mu Xun exchanged only a few words during the ride—mostly answering Su Wei’s questions. After parking, she fell silently into step behind Su Wei.

Li Keqin set aside her work and followed Su Wei into the chairman’s office.

“Chairman, Qin Ge’s been live 45 days. Total users hit 270 million; active users reached 130 million.”

Li Keqin paused. She almost added that 70% followed Su Wei’s account—drawn by *that* video—but bit it back. Sounded like she hadn’t earned it.

“We’ve set up service stations across 27 nations of the Grand Zhou Federal Empire. Profitability’s expected within two months. I believe user count can surpass 1.6 billion.”

“1.6 billion?” Su Wei smiled. “Twitter only has two billion.”

“I’m confident.”

“Good. Bonus this month: one full salary for all staff. We’ll review performance later—I won’t overlook your efforts.”

Su Wei wasn’t bluffing. The branch existed to reward veterans and secure funding. If Li Keqin proved herself, shares were on the table.

“Thank you, Chairman.” Li Keqin’s face lit up. Her month of hard work was validated—and that thrill was everything.

“Oh, about that women-focused app you mentioned. I’m greenlighting it. Want to lead the project?”

Li Keqin froze. Even if successful, it’d never rival Qin Ge—just a mid-tier, maybe small project. But it was *her* idea. She couldn’t watch it fail under someone else.

Seeing her conflict, Su Wei eased off. “Think it over. Reply by Monday. Also—please send in my next appointments.”

“Yes.”

Minutes later, headhunters entered. Su Wei listed over a dozen roles in one breath. The recruiters blinked. *Does Jiucang Group really lack these people?* Still, they scribbled diligently.

She was hiring for Finance, Operations, and more. Great Britain branch finance was handled by HQ—a team that’d complained repeatedly about being stretched thin. Ops and Dev were merged too, risking burnout on both fronts.

Su Wei hesitated but didn’t mention her real goal: an investment firm. Better to build a new branch or let HQ manage it. No rush—her funds were limited, and top-tier deals rarely needed her capital.

HQ pulled steady 100 million Zhou Yuan monthly, spiking past 200 million post-graduation season. Qin Ge was already profitable. Competitors flooded the market—even big corps—but Qin Ge had sprinted “hundreds of meters” ahead. Still, Su Wei stayed wary. *That* app wouldn’t turn profit soon.

*Need another path to revenue.*

She sank into thought, utterly unaware of her status as an 18-year-old billionaire. Humans always crave more: a thousand leads to ten thousand, ten thousand to a hundred thousand. That “greed” drove progress.

Her real gap? A think tank. She couldn’t brainstorm everything alone. Zhou Xi was brilliant—but business wasn’t her passion. Honestly, Zhou Xi’s stake felt like quiet support. Without her, Su Wei’s rise would’ve been impossible.

“Gotta take it slow,” she murmured.

Leaving the office, she noticed Mu Xun glancing back repeatedly in the rearview mirror, lips parted like she wanted to speak.

“Something up?” Su Wei asked.

“Nothing…”

“Hmm.”

Fifteen minutes later, Mu Xun finally spoke. “Are you… considering new investments?”

“In a way,” Su Wei nodded, wondering if she’d been too obvious.

“Why not real industry? Internet’s just a bubble—so unstable.”

“Real industry…” Su Wei nodded slowly. The “internet = bubble” myth ran deep here, explaining why many merchants dismissed it. She disagreed—but she *was* curious about tangible sectors.

“If we go that route, which fields would you suggest?”

“That stumps me. But… the Royal Academy’s full of brilliant minds. Why not ask them?”