After Divorce, I Can Hear the Future

Chapter 54: Are You Talking to Me About Fairness?

 “Mr. Lu, do you happen to have a better plan?”  

Dai Wei’s tone was sincere, and his growing respect for Lu Liang was evident in the way he kept adjusting his address.  

“You need funds. A lot of funds,” Lu Liang said with a smile, as if stating the obvious.  

“Mr. Lu, could you give us ten minutes? We need to discuss this internally,” Dai Wei said, realizing that their initial offer of 10% equity wasn’t enough to sway Lu Liang. They needed to up the ante.  

Lu Liang nodded lightly. After whispering a few words to his teammates, Dai Wei and his co-founders moved to the door to deliberate.  

Meanwhile, Liang Juntao, all smiles, handed Lu Liang a cigarette. “Mr. Lu, where are you working these days?”  

Liang had looked into Tianxing Investments—a newly registered firm with a pledged capital of 6 million yuan. Recently, it had even invested 5 million in a film. Still, he had never heard of Lu Liang, let alone how he obtained a gold-trimmed invitation.  

“I’m partnering with Mr. Meng from Kunqian Trading on some small ventures,” Lu Liang said, invoking Meng Changkun’s name. Without a notable reputation of his own, associating with Meng gave him credibility.  

“Ah, you’re a friend of Mr. Meng! We go way back, so that makes us friends too,” Liang said, suddenly understanding. Everything made sense now, especially with Tianxing’s address being in the same building as Kunqian Trading.  

“Professor Liang, did someone ask you to look after Mr. Dai?” Lu Liang asked, noting Liang’s unusual cordiality toward a student from another university.  

Liang gave a noncommittal smile. “Mr. Lu, don’t worry about that. Business is business.”  

Lu Liang nodded. The two chatted idly while waiting for Dai Wei’s team to return.  

When they did, Dai Wei spoke decisively. “Mr. Lu, we’re willing to offer 20% equity for financing.”  

“A hundred thousand yuan still won’t quench your thirst,” Lu Liang remarked with a faint smile, no longer beating around the bush.  

He laid out his proposal: he could provide 100,000 yuan in funding, along with an additional 200,000 yuan as a two-year interest-free loan—but with conditions attached.  

“What are the conditions, Mr. Lu?” Dai Wei asked calmly, having anticipated a catch. They had speculated that unless the entire company was sold, raising sufficient funds was unlikely.  

“Your average daily active users (DAU) are currently 8,000. In two months, I expect that to reach 80,000. By the third month, it should be 150,000. Those are my terms for the 200,000 loan.”  

The conditions were clear—a performance-based agreement. If they succeeded, they would earn the funding as a reward. Dai Wei naturally wondered about the consequences of failure.  

“What happens if we don’t meet the targets?” he asked.  

“If your DAU doesn’t reach 80,000 in two months, the 100,000 is yours, but I’ll acquire another 20% equity,” Lu Liang said.  

“And if you don’t hit 150,000 in three months, the 200,000 will still be yours, but I’ll hold 40% equity in total.”  

The tiered performance-based agreement would leave Lu Liang with 60% equity if the targets were missed, making him the majority shareholder.  

For Dai Wei’s team, this meant potentially losing control of their company, but for Lu Liang, the risk was minimal—200,000 yuan was a small price to pay for majority ownership.  

“That’s not fair!” one of Dai Wei’s teammates, Yu Xin, burst out indignantly. “We can develop at our own pace. There’s no need to sign such an outrageous agreement.”  

“Yu Xin, isn’t it?” Lu Liang asked, smiling. “You need money. I have money. And you’re talking to me about fairness?”  

Fairness was never part of the equation between investors and entrepreneurs. Those who needed funding had to be prepared to pay the price. Lu Liang considered himself kind for only asking for equity, not interest or additional penalties, as many investors would.  

Yu Xin’s expression darkened, unable to refute Lu Liang’s logic.  

Despite their right to refuse, Yu Xin was shocked to see Dai Wei remaining composed.  

“Dai Wei, you can’t seriously be considering this!”  

Dai Wei’s resolve showed in his eyes. “Mr. Lu, please give me more time. I’ll convince them.”  

Lu Liang nodded, a trace of surprise flickering in his eyes.  

Liang Juntao, always eager to mediate, chimed in. “Mr. Lu, Dai Wei seems impressive, doesn’t he?”  

“He has guts,” Lu Liang acknowledged.  

If anyone opposed the deal, Dai Wei could simply call for a vote and push it through. With 70% equity and the general manager title, he held all the power—a key reason Lu Liang saw potential in this team. Their unity and decisive leadership set them apart from others he’d seen, where shared equity and indecision doomed them to failure.  

Fifteen minutes later, Dai Wei returned with his team’s decision. They agreed to the supplementary contract and asked when the formal agreements could be signed and funds disbursed.  

Dai Wei had no choice. With Mobike backed by heavyweights like Li Bing from BitAuto, OFO lacked a similar pedigree and had to gamble for survival.  

“Come by my office Monday to sign the contract. Once it’s signed, the funds will be transferred immediately,” Lu Liang said.  

“Mr. Lu, how about signing a letter of intent first?” Liang suggested. As the expo organizer, he felt responsible for safeguarding the agreement between the parties.  

“Sure,” Lu Liang agreed, and Dai Wei quickly nodded as well.  

Liang left to prepare the documents, returning soon with three copies of a clearly written letter of intent that even non-professionals could understand. It included both the financing and supplementary agreements, along with a 30% penalty for breaches, with Shanghai Finance University holding a third copy to ensure accountability.  

“Mr. Lu, I have one last question,” Dai Wei said as they signed the agreement. “Could you explain how you view OFO as a financial product?”  

“Leverage,” Lu Liang said with a smile. “Borrowing is leverage. Delaying payments to suppliers is leverage.”  

Since they were now partners, Lu Liang didn’t mind sharing his insights. OFO’s biggest challenge was its underutilized assets.  

“For companies like yours, once you start growing, you must never stop. Pursue funding relentlessly. Expand as fast as you can. Keep running forward—Rome awaits those who don’t pause.”  

Dai Wei was stunned. Hearing these words felt like a decade’s worth of learning condensed into a moment. Yet, he couldn’t resist asking, “What happens if we stop?”  

Lu Liang chuckled but didn’t answer directly. Instead, he turned to Liang. “Professor Liang, where’s the Shanghai International Studies University team? I think I saw someone I know.”  

“B Section, I believe. Let me show you,” Liang offered.  

“Thank you, Professor Liang.”  

As the two departed, Yu Xin muttered bitterly, “Dai Wei, you’re walking into a trap! How can we go from 8,000 DAU to 80,000 in two months?”  

To Yu Xin, Lu Liang embodied the textbook image of a ruthless capitalist.  

“It was impossible before. Now, it’s not,” Dai Wei replied, a glint of determination in his eyes. Lu Liang’s lesson on financial leverage had given him a new perspective.  

If applied properly, achieving 80,000 DAU in two months—or even 150,000 in three—was entirely feasible.  

After all, a strong start could snowball into exponential growth.  

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