Chapter 71: A Deliberate Choice Between Two
Tang Caidie was incredibly efficient. By the next day, the company had several new faces: a receptionist, a clerk, an accountant, and—most importantly—the analyst Lu Liang had been longing for.
Chen Jinchun let out a sigh of relief. Coming from a second-tier university, she'd been tasked with conducting market research—a challenge far beyond her abilities. After days of exhausting her brain over data, she was thrilled to finally welcome a professional.
Clenching her tiny fists, she silently cheered them on, hoping they'd pass the interview and join the company.
"One from Fudan? And another from Peking University?"
Lu Liang glanced at their résumés with curiosity. "Tang Jie, what kind of magic did you pull off?"
The highest academic qualifications in the company belonged to Tang Caidie—a doctorate from Shanghai University of Finance and Economics paired with a master’s degree from East China Normal University.
But she was here only because of her age and desire for a stable job for her later years. Lu Liang had taken her on as a fortuitous find and gradually promoted her to vice general manager.
These two interviewees, however, were no more than 25 years old, both finance graduates. Either could have easily interned at prominent firms like Sequoia or Goldman Sachs.
As recently as March, he had been a real estate agent at Lujing Realty, earning a base salary of just a few thousand yuan, with occasional bonuses bringing in ten or twenty thousand.
In just four months, he had transformed into the owner of a trading seat at 88 Punan Road, with his own firm, Tianxing Capital, boasting registered capital of 50 million yuan.
It wasn’t hard to see why anyone privy to this meteoric rise would be curious about how he pulled it off.
The company had posted the job openings right in the middle of graduation season, resulting in an inbox flooded with applications.
These résumés from Peking and Fudan were the product of Tang Caidie’s relentless screening and raised hiring standards. If she’d lowered the bar even slightly, the number of applicants would have multiplied tenfold.
Realization dawned on Lu Liang as he reviewed the flawless résumés. “Bring them in.”
The Peking graduate was named Luo Juncheng, and the Fudan graduate was Wen Chao. Both were young men in their early twenties.
Immaculately dressed in suits with neatly combed hair, they exuded a confidence rare among fresh graduates, having participated in numerous academic defenses and received offers from top firms.
Lu Liang didn’t bother with pretenses. He knew that degrees were only stepping stones—the real test was competence.
He assigned them both internships with specific tasks: researching and analyzing the market prospects and advantages of bike-sharing and online video platforms.
Whoever performed better—delving deeper into their analysis—would stay and become Lu Liang’s protégé.
Chen Jinchun was only an assistant; Lu Liang still needed someone competent to serve as his deputy, someone who could eventually assist with managing operations.
Without holding back, he explained bluntly, “I need a secretary who can help me handle all affairs.”
A secretary was merely a position, while an assistant was a formal role.
A secretary held no apparent power and couldn’t directly lead others. However, as the general manager’s representative, their suggestions often carried the weight of the GM’s authority, encapsulating the saying, “A secretary outranks by a level.”
In contrast, an assistant’s formal role granted them certain managerial rights but came with the saying, “An assistant is half a step lower.”
To put it plainly, Chen Jinchun couldn’t order around Tang Caidie due to a lack of authority. A secretary, on the other hand, could, because they represented Lu Liang himself. ṟà₦ô𝐁Èś
Though secretaries held no direct power, should Lu Liang ever step back from the spotlight, the secretary could seamlessly take the helm.
Luo and Wen’s breathing quickened—they both understood the weight of this role. Salary and benefits were irrelevant now. If chosen as Lu Liang’s successor, everything else would follow.
Even so, Lu Liang didn’t let the matter slide. “Internship salary is 5,000 yuan, not including food and housing allowances.”
He had always believed that surviving in Magic City required a minimum monthly expense of 5,000 yuan. Companies offering internships at two or three thousand yuan, with no benefits, were clearly exploiting newcomers and sapping their confidence.
Saving on intern wages wouldn’t make anyone rich.
Lu Liang stopped her. “I remember you haven’t bought a car yet, right?”
He’d once promised her a 300,000-yuan company car, but she hadn’t gotten around to buying one.
“Things have been hectic lately. I’ll wait until we move to the new office.”
“That works. Once we move, we’ll also get a few business vehicles registered under the company.”