All the way back to school, Su Wei stayed silent. Since the area beneath Zhaoge Royal Academy was a military-administered zone, ordinary people couldn’t enter—not even Mu Xun. After dropping her off, he left. Back in the dorm, Zhou Xi was nowhere to be found. Lately, she’d been busy preparing for a task her grandfather had assigned.
Gazing at the empty dorm room, Su Wei felt a sudden wave of tranquility. Sitting on the balcony chair, watching the flow of people below, her heart settled into quiet peace.
It had been over half a year since she was reborn into this world. From day one, Su Wei studied hard and worked diligently—not just chasing a simple dream of wealth, but because she still felt no true belonging here. Yet humans adapt. Day by day, she’d gradually “accepted her new reality.” The past life was gone. Living in the present mattered most.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Su Xiu.
“Hey, Su Wei? Free time to call me now?”
“Just checking how the company’s doing.”
“Inspecting me? Hahaha…”
Su Xiu had been riding high. With Qinge Software’s explosive success, he’d gained fame across China’s internet scene. Thanks to his devilishly handsome looks, he’d amassed a massive Weibo following—some fans even dubbed him “National Husband.”
“Qinge’s thriving. 154 million registered users, 90 million active. Oh, the China Internet Conference is in two days—I’m invited. Want to come? All the big names will be there.”
“Nah, you go. Two things: First, set up a private foundation—call it ‘Jiucang Foundation.’ Then find an extremely impoverished mountain region and build a Hope Primary School there.”
“Uh… sure.”
Though puzzled why she wanted a non-public-donation foundation, Su Xiu didn’t refuse. “And the second?”
“Register an investment firm. Target promising Chinese industrial enterprises—acquire if possible, invest otherwise. Equity stakes only, no dividend-only shares.”
“Got it. What about internet? It’s printing money. Why focus on industry?”
“You can dip into internet too, but anything over 20 million needs my approval. And no real estate.”
“Huh…”
Real estate and internet were the golden sectors—yet she skipped both. But who was he to argue? Su Wei held the purse strings.
After hanging up, Su Wei headed to the library. This time, management books. Many theories felt vague, but *open a book, gain something* still held true. Her current style? Carrot and stick. Too crude.
True business legends often rose on charisma—that elusive, almost mystical magnetism. You knew it existed, but couldn’t copy it. Like the “National Dad” from her past life.
Deep in reading, footsteps approached. Su Wei didn’t look up. After months of constant approaches, she’d grown immune. But this guy wasn’t flirting—he clutched a stack of A4 proposal pages, face tight with nerves.
He set them on her table. “Ms. Su… could I steal a few minutes? I’ve got a proposal. I think it has real potential.”
Su Wei arched a brow. Zhaoge Royal Academy bred brilliance—and delusions. Many students believed they outsmarted 99% of humanity, destined to be billionaires or geniuses. As a campus figure, she’d heard wild pitches before.
One guy swore his seawater purifier, placed in America’s west, would turn the *entire Pacific* fresh via currents. She’d rolled her eyes and walked off.
This time felt different. At least he brought a written plan—not swaggering over, hands in pockets, acting like *you’d regret not funding me*.
Flipping the pages, Su Wei blinked. A website proposal? Too basic for Royal Academy standards. Poorly structured too—only her experience let her parse it. Others would’ve tossed it after page two.
It outlined an anime-focused site, much like Bilibili from her past life. Since arriving here, Zhou Xi had dragged her shopping or to movies; she hadn’t browsed online much.
She set the proposal down and gestured for him to sit.
“Your name?”
“Xu Yi.”
“Hmm.” She nodded. “Skimmed it. No ads, no bidding rankings, no TV dramas—purely anime content. Correct?”
“Yes.”
Xu Yi flushed. Truth was, he’d launched the site last September. But without funds for licenses, it hosted only public-domain classics. Few videos, fewer users. Companies liked the niche—until he said *no ads*. Rejected again and again. A tiny site with thousands of users… who was he to set terms?
Nearly graduated and desperate, he’d spotted Su Wei in the library. Hesitating—she was a junior student, after all—he’d rushed back to his dorm, grabbed the proposal, and returned.
