Chapter 99: Effortless Gains Are Not Victory; In the Face of Profit, There Are No Friends

If you don’t even have the ideal of providing users with the best experience, entrepreneurship is just an empty shell. Raising funds to burn money for scale and then cashing out is nothing more than industry fraud. Now, I can no longer tell whether I’m in a financial game or on a planet I’ve created. When I open the community, what I see feels like both the real world and the ordinary person’s dream—a nebulous blur between reality and illusion.

After returning from Yu Zhimei’s home to Beijing, Jian Zhaowen was immediately hit on the butt by his mother with a slipper, then forced to drink a bowl of hangover soup. After three days of indulgence at home, Jian Zhaowen came to a conclusion: For his retired mother, every soup she made had a purpose—tonifying the kidneys for her son and nourishing yin for her daughter. He wanted to tell her that his current physical condition allowed for three times a night, not seven, so there was no need to chase him with soup. But after her younger brother (his cousin) went off to college, his mother grew lonely, and this endless stream of soups was her way of expressing maternal love that couldn’t be given elsewhere. His father hadn’t retired yet but lived as leisurely as if he had. The living room had turned into a market for flowers, birds, fish, and insects. Whenever his mother nagged Jian Zhaowen, his father would command the parrot to mimic speech: “Congratulations on your wealth!”

Jian Zhaowen returned to Shanghai on an 8 a.m. flight on the sixth day of the Lunar New Year. He opened Yu Zhimei’s door and quickly cleaned up, drank an ice-cold Coke while hugging the cat, and sighed deeply. The two cats reached for the ice cubes, but Jian Zhaowen pushed their heads aside. Staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t help but reflect: A grown man only needs one day to celebrate the New Year at home. His mother’s love lasted for about an hour after he walked in, and the rest of the time was filled with suffering—getting scolded, being pressured to marry, criticized for eating too much or moving too little… Even breathing felt wrong. Yu Zhimei hadn’t returned yet, so he finally got to exercise his rights as a single man—ordering takeout, watching adult movies, and doing some solo relief. Watching adult films alone, he thought, was a manly form of romance.

On the seventh day of the Lunar New Year, Jian Zhaowen entered the office, and Lei Zheng followed him in with a shopping bag, strutting like a model. He placed it steadily on Jian Zhaowen’s desk and said, “We’ll hold a meeting about psychological aid later, and we also need to finalize the funding this month.”

Jian Zhaowen looked at Lei Zheng’s brand-new outfit and the New Year’s gift he brought back—a blue AMIRI plaid shirt—and couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy toward the decadent air emanating from him. Back home during the New Year, Jian Zhaowen endured fiery water and deep troubles, while Lei Zheng, who spent a week soaking in bourgeois America, clearly didn’t understand the hardships of the working class. Exploiting workers was second nature to him!

Providing psychological aid was a bottomless pit of expenses. Since its launch, they had been constantly cutting monthly budgets. With only four months left until the equity-doubling deadline of the gambling agreement, the investors met with Lei Zheng and Jian Zhaowen, proposing that they add new features to the app. Currently, the interface was too monotonous. In the investor’s words, there needed to be something “that moves.”

That something was short videos and live streaming.

Jian Zhaowen and Lei Zheng no longer resisted the idea of short videos and live streaming. Catering to new trends in content socialization was normal. Users were already familiar with the app’s style, so adding new features was simply a way to keep them engaged. However, short videos presented a headache: To maintain a clean interface, they would have to cut out an existing feature or place the videos in a plaza-like area. The most suitable environment for short videos was a standalone app designed to gather content and serve ads. Adding this functionality to DayNight would disrupt the interface harmony. As Jian Zhaowen stared at the whiteboard during Lei Zheng’s presentation, he couldn’t shake the feeling that introducing short videos would be awkward. After several revisions, Lei Zheng threw down the marker and called Jian Zhaowen over: “Why don’t we just skip this feature? If we really want to enter the video space, we could create a separate live-streaming app. Do you think we’re incapable of that?”

This made Jian Zhaowen laugh: “I have no objections.”

It was one of the rare moments they’d agreed recently. After the meeting ended, Jian Zhaowen, leaning against the doorframe, walked into the conference room and opened the window to let out the lingering smoke. “You don’t smoke, yet you let them give you secondhand smoke?”

“I don’t smoke because Xiaoxi hates the smell. But he’s not around lately, so I don’t care.”

“Where did he go?”

“To film a variety show. Last year’s champion invited him to participate, and now he’s in intensive training camp.”

“So young. Oh, is this the training camp you asked us to join a while back?”

“A different program.”

“He works hard.”

“The main reason is that he can’t sit still. Dancers’ physical conditions decline with age. Right now, he’s at his peak and wants to increase his recognition.” Lei Zheng took off his hat, scratched his head, and spun it on his fingertip. “As long as he doesn’t go out and date other dancers, he can do whatever he wants.”

“You two are like ships in the deep sea that never capsize. Neither the internet circle nor the street dance community seems like a stable place for relationships.”

“Let’s focus on how to boost profits. If we can’t achieve it within a few months, we’ll have to give up an additional 20% of our original shares. You rejected the olive branch before the New Year—it’s infuriating.”

Jian Zhaowen knew exactly what method Lei Zheng was referring to. After resolving the DDoS attack, DayNight hadn’t experienced a single server crash, but the excessive spending had drained their resources, leaving them in dire need of new funding. Jian Zhaowen’s former company—a major tech firm in Shanghai—had extended an olive branch, offering 50 million yuan to take over all of DayNight’s operations, integrating it into their portfolio as a social product. Their primary business was search and cloud services, and their outdated social products had struggled to attract new mobile users from first-tier cities. Acquiring DayNight would provide the breakthrough they needed. If Jian Zhaowen and Lei Zheng joined the big company, they would achieve financial freedom, and all future development of DayNight would be funded by the parent company, sparing them the hassle of resource allocation.

Lei Zheng, who usually preferred quick cash-outs, joked about selling DayNight immediately and walking away. However, Jian Zhaowen instinctively rejected the idea. Being acquired at such an early stage after securing Series A funding might seem like a success, but once DayNight was taken over, it would be flooded with lowbrow ads and fake psychological services linked to Putian hospitals. Imagining seeing ads for half-price circumcision surgeries and infertility treatments after achieving financial freedom, Jian Zhaowen solemnly rejected the offer and broke the metaphorical olive branch. He still refused now: “No, my algorithms are pure. Back when I worked on recommendation frameworks at the big company, most modeling was done by AI, which lacked humanity. Besides, my old company’s mindset is outdated—I look down on it. Once we secure Series B funding and grow further, better investors will come along. By then, even if you want to cash out, I’ll cash out myself.”

“You have too many principles. Fifty million yuan split among the entire company would leave each of us with tens of millions. What else do you need principles for?”

Jian Zhaowen sneered: “I always knew your partnership with me wasn’t pure—you’re all about cashing out.”

“You’re delaying my fortune.”

“That’s true.” Jian Zhaowen leaned back on the sofa. “Cashing out and moving to Beijing with Yu Zhimei to live a leisurely life would indeed be more comfortable than this. At least I wouldn’t get mad at employees every day.”

“What’s going on with Yu Zhimei?”

“Nothing. She’s just going to develop her career in Beijing.”

“Oh, a long-distance relationship? You’re both so busy you barely see each other anyway. It makes no difference.”

Jian Zhaowen ignored Lei Zheng’s questions and tapped the whiteboard: “How much more profit do we need? Three million?”

“Four million.”

“Four million in four months…” Jian Zhaowen sighed. “To speak frankly, we could lay off the psychology section, reduce the review shifts to nine-to-five, and accept more ads. That would save a million a month.”

“It’s convenient to betray our original intentions, but that’s not something you, Jian Zhaowen, would do.”

“I might if I’m pushed to the brink.” Jian Zhaowen smiled. “All those mocking words I said about Philip back then can now be applied to me.”

Lei Zheng erased the whiteboard and began sketching the product diagram: “No, you still have your principles. If we really want to make a profit, there are ways. Open a matchmaking section with travel photography packages, honeymoon hotel deals, or even surrogacy intermediaries. Revenue would double instantly. This market has always had huge profit margins, and a single order generates more profit than selling matching memberships.”

“Surrogacy?”

“Do you know there’s a large LGBTQ+ community in China that collaborates with the government on HIV awareness campaigns and emotional support? Surrogacy is tacitly allowed in that community. While it’s morally sensitive domestically, it’s undeniably a necessity. Many users with high purchasing power directly seek foreign surrogacy agencies. If we enter this field, we might not do poorly, though public perception would be more awkward.”

“We could test the waters in the anonymous section. Bring in some high-profit partners. Our user base is highly targeted, and I can adjust the algorithm to push ads.”

“You’d dare to do surrogacy?”

“No, I mean maternity centers. I’m not opposed to surrogacy or homophobic, but at this stage, there’s no need to provoke most of our users or challenge societal norms.” He sighed. “We must increase profits—it’s tied to our autonomy. Though this reminds me, if we enter this service area, I’ll need to hire a dedicated encryption engineer to ensure that even if user data is stolen, only we can decrypt it.”

They acted swiftly. Jian Zhaowen and Lei Zheng pulled three all-nighters to refine the product and set KPIs for the business team. Each successful ad client contact would earn extra performance bonuses, fueling the team’s motivation. Within a month, they successfully integrated all intermediaries and suppliers. Jian Zhaowen knew that a quarter of his two million users were sexual minorities. The anonymous section had volunteers addressing psychological difficulties and emotional barriers faced by LGBTQ+ individuals. To fund this initiative, Jian Zhaowen and Lei Zheng introduced travel and wedding ring ads in the daytime section and sex toys in the nighttime section. DayNight’s monthly revenue quickly soared to millions.

Moreover, through the volunteer team’s recommendations, Jian Zhaowen collaborated with the Shanghai government to launch assistance announcements. The number of volunteers kept growing. Once the user base reached a critical mass, it triggered a Matthew effect, with daily growth reaching tens of thousands. Before they had time to worry about the next round, Jian Zhaowen and Lei Zheng were greeted with Series B funding ahead of schedule—50 million yuan for 30% of the shares, which surprised Jian Zhaowen. This meant DayNight’s valuation exceeded 100 million yuan. Meanwhile, Jian Zhaowen’s former employer, the domestic tech giant, sent another acquisition offer, proposing to buy DayNight outright for 100 million yuan, bringing Jian Zhaowen and Lei Zheng into the company as business heads. Along with the offer came a plan: eliminate large portions of the social matching features and focus on live streaming driven by algorithms.

Financial freedom was within reach, but upon hearing the news, Jian Zhaowen decisively rejected it: “What kind of joke is this? If you want to do live streaming, start a new platform. Why mess with DayNight ?”

After hearing this, Lei Zheng’s expression became subtle. He glanced at Jian Zhaowen, silently left to make a phone call, and returned afterward. Jian Zhaowen was sitting on the investor’s couch biting his lip. The two rode the elevator down together in silence. Lei Zheng fiddled with his phone, listening to Xiaoxi’s shrill voice threatening him: “You bastard! I finally came home, but neither your company nor your house has seen me. Did you die somewhere? Let me at least collect your body! If you’ve fallen for someone else, tell me—I’m not without suitors!”

Jian Zhaowen felt awkward, while Lei Zheng calmly pocketed his phone and avoided looking into Jian Zhaowen’s eyes. Jian Zhaowen tried to crack a joke to lighten the mood, but Lei Zheng remained humorless: “One of us needs to be the main person in charge. We both contributed technically and financially. Have you ever thought about how we can’t keep restraining each other like this?”

“I never intended to.”

“You’re too naive.”

In the industry, it was common to secure multi-million-dollar funding rounds. Conservative financing for content UGC social platforms stemmed from concerns about future monetization models. Jian Zhaowen understood that integrating ads and paid features a year ago had been the turning point that allowed DayNight to secure funding faster than other social apps. Few apps in the market secured funding based on strict moderation and content guidance that conveyed correct values. Most social software struggled to secure funding due to vague monetization methods. DayNight’s user base was vertical, its payment strategy clear, and the overall app style tightly controlled. As the investors put it—its vibe was right. In the new round of funding, the investors asked Jian Zhaowen and Lei Zheng a thorny question: Who was DayNight’s primary person in charge? Initially developed by Jian Zhaowen, both had invested millions up to the first formal funding round, each holding 35% of the shares after accounting for investor stakes and employee allocations. Both brought technical expertise, and neither had emerged as dominant. But a company couldn’t function with two people making every decision. Future board meetings would require joint decisions, meaning one of them would have to acquire part of the other’s shares.

Hurting Lei Zheng was something Jian Zhaowen wouldn’t easily do. Back in the office, Jian Zhaowen and Lei Zheng each convened meetings with their teams. Before signing the funding agreement, they needed to prepare for content innovation, personnel restructuring, future product direction, and an upcoming press release. They held small group meetings in separate conference rooms, maintaining their habit of dividing discussions into groups of four. Beyond the glass walls, Lei Zheng was sketching on the whiteboard. Jian Zhaowen glanced at him and drifted off. Despite the triumphant moment, he felt an inexplicable emptiness.

By the time things quieted down, it was already late at night. The management team typically worked until midnight before funding rounds. Jian Zhaowen hid in the conference room, scrolling through DayNight and browsing the anonymous section’s square posts.

“My boyfriend downloaded an app to test me. I didn’t say a word. After he fell asleep, I flirted with all the sisters on the chat. He got banned, haha!”

“As a gynecologist, I deal with women every day but don’t have a girlfriend. Isn’t that ironic? #MoviesAreFake#”

“As a food delivery rider, I receive positive reviews nine out of ten times on rainy days because I don’t wear rain gear and let the wind and rain beat me. I work hard with pride, and endurance is my strength, but remember—I have dignity!”

“Now DayNight has all kinds of purchase links. Sigh, it doesn’t feel as pure as before. I guess it’s necessary to survive.”

“Homestay 6,500 + dinner 120 + fancy restaurant 600 + two hotel rooms 450 + taxi fare 200 = a basket of green tea gone to waste. Am I pathetic?”

Jian Zhaowen laughed until tears streamed down his face. Handsome selfies, exhausted commuters on the subway, and shared music links—he clicked on everything, feeling reflective. He once told Yu Zhimei, “If you don’t even have the ideal of providing users with the best experience, entrepreneurship is just an empty shell. Raising funds to burn money for scale and then cashing out is industry fraud.” Now, he couldn’t tell whether he was caught in a financial game or on a planet he’d created. When he opened the community, what he saw felt like both the real world and the ordinary person’s dream—a nebulous blur between reality and illusion.

Lei Zheng pushed the door open. The glow of the screen illuminated Jian Zhaowen’s face. He looked up and asked, “Do you think we’ve achieved our goals after enduring all this?”

“The road is still long.”

“But at least we’ve done well, right? I mean, we’re a formidable opponent in the industry, a profitable social app powered by solid algorithms. We’ve succeeded, haven’t we?”

“Yes.”

“I’m excited, Lei Zheng. Though I don’t know what lies ahead, I believe as long as you’re here, I can continue creating miracles alongside you.”

Lei Zheng smiled: “Jian Zhaowen, there are no permanent friends or enemies, only permanent interests. Why do you always try to express friendship to me? We have no friendship.”

“So cold-blooded in the middle of the night.”

“Partnering with you until now, I’ve done everything I needed to. You’ve grown. Perhaps you’ll do fine without me. Would you consider buying out my shares?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m transferring my shares and cashing out. I’m sorry, but I’m leaving DayNight. “