“Then what’s the selling point of your website? Or rather, why should I invest in it?”

Xu Yi was usually pretty introverted. But when he talked about his website, a different kind of spark lit up in him.

“Director Su, here’s how I see it. First, I think the anime crowd—or otaku, if you want to call them that—is a huge demographic. You can tell from how popular anime has become. It’s a massive cake. Sure, a lot of video sites have anime now, but there still isn’t a website built specifically for otaku. What I want to make is basically a home for otaku.”

“Second, otaku usually watch anime alone. So when they get to an amazing part, there’s no one to share it with. That’s honestly the most painful part. To solve that, our site has designed something called danmu. It lets comments shoot directly across the video, so people feel like they’re watching together with a whole crowd.”

After saying all that in one breath, Xu Yi took a deep breath. His gaze didn’t dodge this time. He looked straight at Su Wei and spoke slowly.

“President Su, I believe this website will definitely blow up.”

“Mhm.”

Su Wei more or less understood now, but she didn’t rush to give her opinion.

“So how does your website make money?”

“Uh…”

Xu Yi froze for a moment. After a long pause, his face turned red from holding it in. Then he forced out a sentence through clenched teeth.

“If it really comes down to it… we could add just a tiny bit of advertising.”

Su Wei laughed, then kept asking, “And if you only add a little advertising, how much money do you think this site can actually make?”

Xu Yi thought for a moment. Then he nodded at Su Wei, picked up his proposal, turned around, and prepared to leave.

“Sorry for bothering you.”

“Wait.”

Su Wei stopped him.

“I’m investing in this website.”

“Really?”

For a moment, Xu Yi forgot they were in the library and cried out on the spot. Countless people inside glared at them, and the librarian directly asked both of them to leave.

Once they reached the school path outside, Xu Yi looked at Su Wei a little awkwardly, afraid she might get annoyed and change her mind. But Su Wei wasn’t that petty.

“I’ll give you two options. First, this website gets folded into the Jiucang Group headquarters. It gets an annual budget of 3 million, and besides your salary, you also get 10% of the site’s profit share. Second, I invest 1 million. It gets folded into Jiucang’s Great Britain branch, and you keep 10% project equity. Which one do you choose?”

Profit sharing naturally meant no real say in decisions. You could only enjoy a cut of the website’s profits. Project equity, on the other hand, only applied to this project, but at least it still came with a voice.

Honestly, Su Wei’s offer had already far exceeded his expectations. He had only wanted 500,000 Zhou yuan. Three million Zhou yuan… how many anime series would that buy? Aside from those exclusive seasonal hits, he could probably package up everything else without a problem, right?

“I choose the first one.”

After a full year of constant setbacks, Xu Yi was no longer so proud and high-strung. Right now, the only thing on his mind was growing this website. He hadn’t really made many plans for his own future. Still, if he could join Jiucang Group headquarters, there was no way Su Wei would treat him badly. But Su Wei held the headquarters’ shares very tightly. Even project equity wasn’t something she would casually let go.

“A very good choice. Come to Jiucang Group headquarters tomorrow and start work. Top floor of the Sail Tower in Zhaoge Future City. Ask for Qiao Yu.”

“Okay. Goodbye, Director Su!”

Xu Yi left in high spirits. In truth, the pressure on him over the past year had been enormous. If this hadn’t worked out, he probably would’ve ended up just finding some random company to work for.

But after Xu Yi left, Su Wei fell into thought.

In her previous life, she had seen a lot, but thought too little.

Why had Bilibili succeeded in her previous life? Why had WeChat succeeded?

Bilibili and WeChat weren’t on the same level, of course. But in her previous life, whether it was software or all kinds of projects, the path to success had leaned more and more toward one thing—

Sentiment.

Yes, sentiment.

A lot of people thought sentiment wasn’t worth money. But WeChat, a piece of software with no top-up service and no ads, had told the world one thing:

In this world, what’s free is often the most expensive of all.

A few ideas suddenly took shape in Su Wei’s mind. She needed to get back to the dorm and properly prepare some proposals. As for the company’s future development and overall direction, she suddenly had a flood of thoughts.

After returning to the dorm, Su Wei started writing at full speed. She filled more than a dozen pages in one go. She didn’t even notice when Zhou Xi came back.

“What are you writing? You’re so focused.”

“The company’s future development.”

Su Wei stretched, then turned to Zhou Xi.

“You may not care, even as a director, but I can’t just ignore it.”

“Oh, having something to do is good. But don’t wear yourself out. Worst case, I’ll support you.”

“Yeah, right.”

Su Wei curled her lips, moved her body a little, then lay down on the bed.

Rare for once, Zhou Xi didn’t squeeze in beside her. She sat on the sofa with her back half-turned, looking at Su Wei.

“How’s the Qinge software developing?”

“Oh? You actually care about one of the products under your name? That’s rare.”

After teasing her, Su Wei answered honestly.

“It’s doing pretty well inside the Zhou Federation. In just one month, it’s already hit 270 million registered users. But countries outside the Zhou Federation are still in negotiations. And in places like America and France, their own short-video apps have already appeared. The competition is pretty fierce. The company still doesn’t have enough people, and going multinational is too difficult right now.”

“What, 2.6 billion people in the Zhou Federation still isn’t enough for your appetite? Oh, right, isn’t Huaxia also your market? That’s 1.4 billion there. Add that to the Zhou Federation’s 2.6 billion, and that’s 4 billion people. That’s a huge market. Take it slow.”

“Mm… you do have a point.”

Su Wei nodded, accepting that.

“But 70% of the countries in the Zhou Federation are pretty poor.”

“So what if they’re poor? That’s exactly why there’s room to grow. Oh right, would you be interested in investing in real industry in member states of the Grand Zhou Federation in the future?”

“Real industry? Yeah, I’m interested.”

“Good. In a couple of years, I’ll take you.”

Zhou Xi patted Su Wei on the shoulder, looking excited.

“Oh right. With your perspective, how do you see the relationship between the internet and traditional industry?”

Su Wei was a little uncertain now. She only had so much money in hand. She didn’t know whether it was better to invest in the internet or in real industry. Asking Zhou Xi was better than fumbling around on her own. After all, Zhou Xi’s vision was definitely farther-reaching than hers.

“How should I put it? Right now, the most profitable sectors are probably the internet and real estate. But both of them are too easily controlled by others. It’s hard for them to influence national policy. To be blunt, no matter how popular your website gets, if the state says it’s shutting you down, then it shuts you down.”

“But if you’re a major industrial boss—say, in agriculture—and you have millions of employees under you, then if the state shuts you down, what are those millions supposed to eat? What are they supposed to wear? How are they supposed to live?”

“At that point, even if your company has problems, the state will still help cover for you. It might even give you interest-free loans. If you want to invest in real industry, I’d recommend starting with agriculture and manufacturing. Those two are the foundation of a nation. They’re what can determine a country’s attitude toward you.”