Chapter 84: Research and the “Village Gala”
After investing 7 million yuan into the market, Lu Liang decided not to make any further moves. He left the market to operate on its own, refraining from interference.
While it was true he still held base stock and that major shareholders could see the list of circulating shareholders, this wouldn’t happen until the end of the trading day.
Lu Liang’s stance of taking the role of a market maker was clear, but he wasn’t about to do all the heavy lifting for the real market makers while they sat back and profited. That wasn’t feasible. Additionally, his modest investment of under 7 million yuan wouldn’t land him on the Dragon and Tiger List, so no one could exploit his name for headlines.
At that moment, Tang Caidie knocked on the door, bringing in the proposal for a 20-million-yuan follow-up investment in Panda Interactive Entertainment.
Wang Xiaocong held an 85% stake, contributing 17 million yuan, while Lu Liang held 15%, contributing 3 million yuan.
“Mr. Lu,” Tang reminded, “Mr. Wang plans to transfer 40% of his shares to Pusi Investment in Yanjing after this round of investment.”
“Pusi Investment is also his, preparing for Series A financing,” she added.
Lu Liang had already anticipated this. Once a company begins financing, it transitions from personal ownership to a broader structure. Wang’s move was a typical strategy for securing a higher exit price later.
While bike-sharing was a nascent battleground, the video industry had been a warzone since the internet’s early days. Long-form videos, short videos, livestreams, and interactive content had been fiercely contested for over a decade with no clear winner.
A short-video platform called Kuaishou caught Lu Liang’s attention, followed closely by ByteDance, the company behind Toutiao.
Curious, Lu Liang downloaded Kuaishou to experience it firsthand. After watching a few clips, his expression turned incredulous.
“What is this? An online version of a ‘village gala’?”
The videos featured slang like laotie and tiezi, rugged filming styles, and bright red and green down jackets—clearly aimed at northern audiences, with little regard for southern tastes.
“Well, it’s sharing life—just northern life,” Lu Liang muttered, pulling up Kuaishou’s profile.
The company was valued at $850 million last year, with Sequoia Capital leading its Series B funding round. By June of this year, Kuaishou had surpassed 200 million registered users. Breaking into this market seemed impossible.
By 3 p.m., the A-share market closed for the day.
Teli A’s closing price was 24.08 yuan, down 0.22%. In essence, the day had been a wash.
Tomorrow’s opening would likely determine the stock’s trajectory.
Lu Liang called Chen Jinchun, instructing her to bring in Luo Juncheng and Wen Chao. After reading all four reports, he had made his decision regarding the secretary position.
The two entered nervously, awaiting their verdict.
“Wen Chao, move to the desk next to Chen’s tomorrow,” Lu Liang announced.
The desk had been reserved for his secretary. Previously, both office phones on Lu Liang’s desk had been handled by Chen; now, one would be Wen’s responsibility.
“Thank you, Mr. Lu. I’ll do my best,” Wen Chao said, suppressing his excitement as he bowed slightly.
“Alright, you can go,” Lu Liang replied.
As Wen left, Lu Liang turned his attention to Luo Juncheng, who stood his ground. “Mr. Lu, why? Where did I fall short?”
Over the past ten days, Luo had tirelessly crisscrossed Magic City, even waking up before dawn to record bike usage at subway stations.
He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days, pouring every ounce of effort into his research. He was convinced Wen Chao couldn’t have outperformed him and wanted to know why he had lost.
“Your report was detailed, but it lacked objectivity. You included too many personal opinions,” Lu Liang said bluntly.
Luo’s findings, such as Kuaishou, Toutiao, and ByteDance, had been valuable, but they revealed his subjective biases.
“Luo, you’re talented, but not suitable as my secretary,” Lu Liang concluded.
Lu Liang planned to observe Luo Juncheng for a while and potentially assign him more important responsibilities in the future. However, that no longer seemed necessary, so he didn’t mind explaining things clearly.