Chapter 99: The Mark of a True Venture Capitalist

2022-05-20

Lin Dafa’s family was originally from Luobei City, which is at least a full day’s journey from Dongxing City. None of us knew if, after all these years, Lin Rong still lived there, but we were certain she must’ve found out her father ran away three years ago. We were tied up, so the best we could do was ask someone local to track her down and bring her to us.

Gu Chen was staying at the tobacco shop, while Xiao Liu never left Liu Yinyan’s side. That left only me and Guan Zengbin with any freedom to move about. As for Jesse and his crew, who knows what they’d been up to—ever since we went our separate ways in the parking garage, I hadn’t seen them in two days or heard a thing. Maybe they’d even found a new lead.

No one called that night, either. Just as I was about to sleep, my phone buzzed. It was Xiao Liu. He told me Liu Yinyan had finally remembered something important and wanted to see me right away. Judging by the urgency in Xiao Liu’s voice, this couldn’t wait.

Guan Zengbin was already asleep. I didn’t bother waking her and just drove out to Liu Yinyan’s villa alone. It was deep into the night, but the streets were alive as ever. Dongxing City never slept—the people here were like ants, always scurrying for something.

I took my car straight into the villa district, stopping in front of Liu Yinyan’s home.

The villa blazed with lights, almost as if they’d left them on just for me.

Stepping inside, I saw Liu Yinyan and Xiao Liu on the couch. The housekeeper and a few bodyguards stood nearby. When I entered, Liu Yinyan spoke. “You all head downstairs. I want to talk to him alone.”

No one argued. They all left quietly.

Then, Liu Yinyan began to share a story from his past.

This story dated back thirty-three years. Back then, Liu Yinyan was thirty-five. He’d only just bought into Rongding Group—the company was still dirt poor, barely scraping by in its early years. Nobody wanted to invest in a scrappy little startup, even though Liu Yinyan held a carefully crafted strategy document. But nobody believed him.

After all, in this industry, there’s no right or wrong—only sharp or dull judgment. Before you invest, nobody dares promise you’ll make a killing. It’s a game of reputation and ability. If you don’t have the credentials, nobody trusts you with their money.

That day, the founders all sat together.

Someone spoke up: “If we can’t land fresh capital this year, there’s no way we can keep running—just us isn’t enough. In six months, we’re finished. At this point, let’s call it, chalk it up to two years’ experience, and go find regular jobs. We’ve still got our youth.”

The rest nodded along.

But these founders were just twenty-five or twenty-six, while Liu Yinyan was already thirty-five—ten years older than the rest. And that extra decade? It meant much more than just age; it was about time he could never win back. If he failed, he knew this industry would never welcome someone his age again.

The young guys could afford to stumble. Two years lost was nothing to them, just a blip in their lives. But for Liu Yinyan, two years was something he couldn’t afford to waste. He was thirty-five, still didn’t have his own family, not even a girlfriend.

None of those twenty-somethings ever really stood a chance in this industry. Nobody thought they’d succeed.

“Alright, let’s pack it up and apply for bankruptcy,” a few of the founders said one after another.

If the company went under, Liu Yinyan would be left with nothing. He had no savings—not even a kidney left to sell. He’d have zero chance to claw his way back.

“There’s no need to rush,” Liu Yinyan said, stepping forward.

Among the founders, he was the oldest, but also—truth be told—the most capable. Everyone knew that if he just had enough capital, Liu Yinyan could rise to the top of the venture capital world. Their two years working together had proved that much.

But talent means nothing without money, and still, nobody trusted Liu Yinyan enough to stake him.

Everyone argued back and forth, but through it all, Liu Yinyan stayed silent. Finally, he spoke.

Everyone turned to listen.

Liu Yinyan glanced around, his voice firm. “We’ve got six months left, right? There’s time. Let’s wait half a year before calling it quits. Give everything over to me in that time. If I pull it off, we’ll split by shares. If I lose, I’ll take the fall alone.”

He met their eyes, and the look in his said, trust me.

So the young ones decided to give him that chance.

And for the next three months, none of them saw Liu Yinyan at all.

So what did he do? Hunt for funding, of course.

With the right backer, Liu Yinyan could multiply those funds several times over in just a few years. For the first month, he combed all of Dongxing City and knocked on every rich man’s door. But nobody wanted to sink money into a dying venture capital company.

“If it was you, what would you have done?”

Only the two of us sat in the vast hall. He kept his voice low on purpose, with a faint, almost bitter smile tugging at his lips. Both hands folded on his cane, he leaned forward as if putting his whole weight into the question.

I thought for a second, then shook my head. “If it were me, I’d have nothing. Maybe I’d borrow a little from friends, but I wouldn’t risk someone else’s money on a gamble like that.”

Liu Yinyan sighed but didn’t respond. Instead, he asked, “So you’re not cut out to be a venture capitalist. I’m always telling people, what’s the most important trait you need in this business? Everyone has their own answer—some say capital, others sharp business sense, some swear by analytical ability.”

I was curious. “So what’s your answer?”

Liu Yinyan didn’t answer, just kept telling his story.

No one was willing to trust him with their savings. Yet deep down, Liu Yinyan knew that with enough funds—even a slim slice—he’d double it for sure. Missing this opening meant his carefully prepared plan would turn to scrap paper, wasted forever.

That’s when Liu Yinyan thought of a way to get his hands on a big sum.

It had been thirty-five years since, so long even Liu Yinyan himself had nearly forgotten this turning point in his life—forgotten how he got his very first fortune. People say all capital is built on blood; opinions differ on that, but in Liu Yinyan’s case, there’s truth to it.

He was a genius and came up with a brilliant plan.

One of the company’s shareholders had a relative who owned a gold shop. For a month, Liu Yinyan hung around that shop before finally leaving. No one knew what business he’d done or what he’d said. After that day, he never set foot in that gold shop again.

Six months later, Liu Yinyan got his hands on a serious chunk of cash. He threw all of it into a fledgling internet company—only three years old—and took thirty-five percent of their shares.

Not long after, Rongding Group did collapse, but all its shareholders now held shares in that internet startup.

Three years later, Rongding Group was reborn.

That same internet company, in just three years, shot up to become one of the biggest names in the industry. Its value soared, and those who held its stock could now live in luxury for a lifetime. When the company started buying back its shares, everyone who sold out instantly became multimillionaires.

In their twenties and worth millions—something most young people wouldn’t dare to dream.

Rongding Group opened its doors again, and this time nobody hesitated—they all came right back. By then, Liu Yinyan had become the company’s majority shareholder, and money began pouring in from everywhere.

Liu Yinyan never needed to worry about funding again.

“But how did you really get that first pot of gold?” I eyed Liu Yinyan, puzzled. “What did you even do at that gold shop? Did the owner really give you tens of millions? It sounds incredible—someone with nothing to his name, scoring so much cash just by talking?”

Liu Yinyan stood up, staring at the empty hall. A smile flickered on his lips. “Wu Meng, do you see this place? Do you have any idea what a villa like this costs in Dongxing City?”

I shook my head and guessed, “No idea, maybe ten or twenty million?”

“Ten or twenty million?” Liu Yinyan burst out laughing. “You don’t plan on buying a place here, do you? The housing prices in Dongxing are wild—a place far from downtown averages sixty thousand a square meter, while a spot dead in the center can go for two hundred thousand per square. Ten or twenty million won’t even get you an apartment.”

I really had never given it much thought—it all seemed so far-off. I hadn’t ever planned on marrying or buying a place. Suddenly, I started to see why Xiao Liu bought lottery tickets every day. The odds of winning first prize were about as high as being struck by lightning.

Yet every day, crowds of people keep playing, hoping for that miracle payday. It’s not that they don’t understand how impossible it is—they just know that, on their own salary, they’d never make millions on their own.

The odds are nearly zero, but at least they’re not actually zero.

When I stayed quiet, Liu Yinyan laughed again. “Three hundred million! Do you even realize what that means?”

I’d never dared to imagine earning three hundred million in my whole life—honestly, even ten million felt impossible.

“A single hundred-yuan bill weighs about 1.15 grams. So three hundred million is three million bills. That’s 3,450 kilograms—or 3.45 tons!” Liu Yinyan stood up.

“What makes a real venture capitalist,” Liu Yinyan said, pausing for each word, “is knowing when to seize an opportunity. Nothing in life matters more. Grab that one chance and you can have it all…”