Chapter 42: Lackey Number One

Feeling rather pleased with himself, he sipped his wine and said, “With Douban’s size, no one wants to acquire it. The price would be steep, and once bought, who knows what to do with it.”

“Old Bei’s personality doesn’t seem like someone who’d sell, but listing it is difficult, given how dismal the profit figures are. Back then, all the investors were trapped, unable to exit—it was more miserable than being kicked by a dog.”

“One product might have a ceiling of three hundred million users, taking five years to reach it. Another might peak at ninety million, but only takes two years to get there. Venture capitalists love the second kind—fast growth, high returns, sell and move on, then use the money to find the next opportunity.”

He seemed to recall something, lifted his eyebrow, and said lewdly, “It’s just like playing with women—hit it and quit, no strings attached!”

Zhuang Chen curled his lip. No wonder Wang Kuan said this guy was a playboy, always chasing long-legged beauties—his reputation was well-earned.

“Brother, you may not believe it!” Old Tan saw through Zhuang Chen’s disdain, snorted, took out his phone, opened his social feed, and showed off, “Kuan and the others don’t get it, they’re always with questionable types—either dirty or promiscuous, at best just green tea girls.”

“Look at mine—high intelligence, high education, high quality. All from Tsinghua, Peking University, Fudan, Beijing Foreign Studies University, top-notch across the board!”

“For instance, this one’s a top student from BFSU, speaks six languages—imagine how nimble her tongue must be…”

“And this one, a Harvard PhD, interned on Wall Street for two years, returned home, family’s well-off, classic ice queen…”

“This one’s good too, mixed Chinese-Russian, just became a full-time employee this year, her figure is explosive, and she drinks like a fish!”

Zhuang Chen looked at the screen filled with beautiful faces, at least a hundred or two, and asked curiously, “Are these all from investment firms?”

“Absolutely, genuine full-time employees!” Old Tan patted his chest, assuring, “Not a single temp, all with proper contracts, annual salaries starting at hundreds of thousands, the best earn over a million, enough to keep a boy toy on the side.”

Seeing Zhuang Chen puzzled, he revealed, “Actually, half the domestic finance industry isn’t really about finance—it’s sales. They’re just at banquets, in bank lobbies, making cold calls to pitch supposedly low-risk, high-yield financial products.”

“The clients are beneficiaries of rigid repayment guarantees; once those guarantees are gone, their advantage disappears. After all, fewer than one percent can consistently profit from the brutal secondary market.”

“Many top graduates from elite schools, dreaming of overnight riches, join banks, insurers, brokerages, and public funds, only to start with simple tasks—counter work and phone sales are perfectly normal.”

“Outside of banks and insurers, most start at brokerages as interns, daily reports, weekly summaries, compiling industry data, writing all sorts of reports.”

“They say it’s to familiarize you with the market and hone your skills, but few stick it out—only one in ten or one in a hundred ever becomes a star analyst.”

“Grit your teeth, survive five or ten years, then as an analyst with some resources and connections, you finally get to meet company executives and board secretaries, learn a bit of industry secrets or even insider information.”

“Salaries are very low, barely over a hundred thousand a year, some are even returned overseas grads. In Beijing, the pressure is immense, and for the sake of survival, people resort to desperate measures.”

“Men might sell information to big retail investors or private funds, secretly collude with market makers to fleece the masses, write glowing reports at key moments, or conspire with board secretaries and chairmen on acquisition deals…”

“And as for the women…”

Zhuang Chen took a deep breath—clearly, the unspoken rules existed everywhere. Old Tan licked his lips, excited, “Buy-side has the most power—ten billion or even tens of billions at their disposal, directly affecting stock movements and calling the shots in the market.”

“To cozy up to big money, brokerages come up with all sorts of tricks—like Everbright, recently hired models for lingerie shows; smaller firms are even more open, straight-up wild parties.”

“It’s all consensual, that’s how society works—people make different choices. We might play around, but that doesn’t mean we’re scum!”

“I pay, you provide, it’s like Cao Cao and Huang Gai—if you’re up for it, fine; if not, forget it. What I hate most are those losers who, after the fun, whine about their souls—get lost, you idiot!”

That was a memorable line; Zhuang Chen burst out laughing. Many public fund managers had only worked as researchers for two years, never truly tempered by the market, and managed billions without ever trading stocks themselves, let alone having any business or corporate experience.

All book knowledge—and funnier still, many only studied trendy sectors for a few years, like TMT or entertainment, which soared, but know nothing about traditional industries, lost when faced with major structural shifts.

You never hear about fund managers under forty on Wall Street, but in the domestic market, thirty-somethings are everywhere—that’s the gap.

After half a bottle of wine, Old Tan spoke frankly, “Hey, those trained on Wall Street are all hungry wolves—what about ours?”

“For scale and management fees, they encourage ditching risk controls, urge managers to take big gambles, buying highly volatile small stocks. As long as the price rises and net asset value grows, everything’s OK.”

“Many giant funds deliberately hype up small stocks on the startup board, like Huitianfu and China Post Fund. Investors’ interests are thrown aside, only management fees matter!”

“Quite a few private funds are spun out by public fund managers. In public funds, they’re influential thanks to their capital and connections with company execs—quietly, they make plenty of shady deals.”

“But when they expand and go independent, suddenly they lose those resources, left groveling, reduced to nothing!”

He grew more animated, “In the end, they spend tens of millions building a fund that looks stellar, name it ‘XX No. 1,’ hype up its net value in the market, then launch No. 2, No. 3, No. 4, using later products to prop up the first.”

“No. 1 is always king; the rest are cannon fodder. Take that so-called legendary Zexi No. 1…”

“Back then, Wang Yawei was a dominant force, and that Wang Ruyuan, too—after going private, any news?”

Zhuang Chen listened quietly; since he’d be wearing the investor’s mask in the future, he needed to know these things. Old Tan was decent, at least had some principles, never treated small investors as fodder—good for a chat when bored.

“Brother, if the women in the circle knew your net worth, they’d…”

Zhuang Chen glared; Old Tan waved his hand hastily, “Relax, absolutely confidential, low-key, low-key!”

He watched Zhuang Chen drive away, eyes shining, muttered to himself, “Only a fool would spill this—hundreds of billions, a massive tycoon, a flick of the finger…”

“Kuan, sorry brother, but this golden thigh is out of your league!”