Chapter 60: A Battle Without Gunpowder Dai Wei detailed their financial plans: they intended to invest 1 million yuan in building a factory. With that, they could reduce the production cost of each bike to below 300 yuan. Their goal was to expand beyond campus within a month and reach a market size of 10,000 bikes within two months. To meet the demand of 80,000 daily rides, they needed a minimum inventory of 10,000 bikes, ideally 15,000, to ensure reliability. By building a factory, they could stretch their 2 million yuan in funds to act like 6 million or more. Payments to suppliers could be deferred, and deposits could be temporarily utilized. The overarching strategy was clear: expand aggressively. “I look forward to your performance,” Lu Liang said with a smile, feeling as if the sound of a battle horn echoed in his ears. Yet whether these yellow bikes could become the main characters of this war remained uncertain. By noon, the contract was signed. At the elevator, Lu Liang saw Dai Wei and his group off, just as Meng Changkun happened to be coming downstairs. Many who survived the group-buying wars had yet to recover and lacked the courage to venture into something so similar. This, Meng explained, was why OFO had to come to Magic City to seek investors—Beijing’s VC firms wouldn’t touch it. Meng didn’t want Lu Liang to think he had struck gold, only to discover he had fallen into a pit. If the industry failed to take off, the losses would be limited to the initial investment. The real danger lay in false hope—when you see a glimmer of success, no amount of money seems enough. It was just like the group-buying wars years ago. “What if they make it to the end?” Lu Liang asked, lighting a cigarette to steady his nerves. The memories of that golden age stirred a yearning in him—he had lacked the qualifications to participate back then. Meng smiled wryly, knowing further persuasion was futile. Investors were stubborn, unwilling to turn back until they hit a wall. Even then, they would attempt to break through until bloodied and defeated. “It’s getting late. Let’s grab lunch,” Meng suggested. Over lunch, Lu Liang mentioned his interest in visiting the MCN (Multi-Channel Network) agency Meng had invested in. Meng generously agreed and personally took Lu Liang to the 15th-floor office afterward. The agency operated more like a guild, divided into three main categories: gaming, beauty, and shock content. The shock content creators left Lu Liang stunned. For tips, they would slap themselves, pour hot wax on their arms, or even bite live chickens. There seemed no limit to their antics, earning the label “extreme entertainment.” “Besides audience tips and platform contracts, there aren’t many monetization options yet,” Meng remarked. “The investment isn’t huge, so I’m letting them develop freely. Who knows? They might explode someday.” Lu Liang nodded thoughtfully. Returning to his office, he instructed Tang Caidie to establish a new media subsidiary, with a studio under it exclusively for Li Manli. He allocated 300,000 yuan to help her improve content quality and manage accounts across multiple platforms. Meng’s investment strategy resonated with Lu Liang. With sufficient capital, the cost of trial and error was manageable. If even one out of ten investments succeeded, it would be worthwhile. This reinforced the principle: wealth begets wealth. For ordinary people, a single failed venture could be a lifelong burden, an unbearable weight. At 1 p.m., the stock market reopened. The turnover and trading volume of TeLi A increased sharply, suggesting an imminent breakout. Lu Liang remained on the sidelines, wary of the unknown scale and intentions of Zhongxin Fuying and another institution. He preferred letting others take the lead. At least until the state policy was formally announced, he planned no new moves. At 3:30 p.m., Su Wanyu arrived half an hour early, as was her habit. Since Lu Liang hadn’t traded during the afternoon session, there was no need for analysis. Instead, he called her into his office for their English lesson. Yet Su seemed distracted, her brows furrowed with worry. Her melancholy gaze hinted at unresolved troubles, and she made several mistakes during the lesson, which Lu Liang had to correct. “Miss Su, are you alright? You seem out of it today. Is something bothering you?” he asked. “Sorry, Mr. Lu. It’s a personal matter. I’ll adjust quickly,” she replied, apologetic as she refocused on teaching. Seeing her reluctance to share, Lu Liang refrained from prying. They resumed practicing listening, speaking, reading, and writing for two more sessions, totaling 120 minutes.