After finishing the conversation, Qiao Yinyin rolled the camera again.
She beamed at the lens: "Hey, everyone! Today I'm at a newly opened milk-tea chain called Simple Tea."
"Ta-da~ Take a look around—this minimalist interior feels chic and classy."
"You might assume a place this sleek means sky-high prices, but the opposite's true."
"It's an original brand, endorsed by my favorite Su Wan, and claims to be additive-free—safe for kids and grandparents alike."
"Grand opening was yesterday, so let's test whether the drinks live up to the hype."
"I mentioned the prices earlier—let's head to the counter first."
The camera locked onto the menu. Qiao Yinyin gasped, visibly shocked.
She waved the lens toward the counter staff. "Is this really made with real milk?"
Manager Chen glanced at Jiang Cheng, saw him nod, and stepped forward. "Yes, our base is fresh milk—no cheap creamer powder—and our open bar lets customers watch every step."
Manager Chen pointed overhead. "See the milk brand up there? You've spotted it in supermarkets. Using that makes you feel secure. Could we brew one for you now?"
"Absolutely," Manager Chen replied.
After filming the freshly made brown-sugar pearl milk tea, Qiao Yinyin returned to her seat.
She pulled out a second cup she'd prepared earlier.
Now she held two drinks: one from A Certain Tea Brand, one from Simple Tea.
"My brown-sugar pearl milk tea is ready. You saw it being made. Time for a taste test."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "The ingredients look almost identical to A Certain Tea's, and everything's opened fresh on camera—super reassuring."
"I grabbed one from A Certain Tea for comparison. Please blur this cup later. This brown-sugar pearl was ¥19; Simple Tea's is ¥10. Enough talking—cheers!"
She took measured sips of both and exclaimed, 'Wow—no difference! Skeptics, run your own blind taste.'
'I swear I'm not biased. At this moment I feel ripped off—A Certain Tea, refund my nine yuan. Simple Tea's version tastes just as good, and I prefer it because the brown sugar isn't cloying—perfect for us Young Ladies watching our waistlines.'
Customers in the shop were now doubly eager to receive their orders.
Jiang Cheng watched the shoot and nodded in satisfaction.
The approach was a bit ruthless toward A Certain Tea, but Jiang Cheng was a businessman.
Profit has no ceiling or floor.
Such price wars would accelerate milk-tea involution.
Still, the industry's prices were so high that even Jiang Cheng was disgusted.
Paying ¥18—or even ¥23—for a cup of pearl milk tea felt toxic to him.
He could afford it, but the cost still looked absurd.
He knew exactly how cheap the raw materials were.
Brands that charge a fortune while using bottom-shelf ingredients were an instant turn-off.
Simple Tea's prices were set extremely low.
Plain milk tea: ¥7. Add brown-sugar pearls: ¥10.
Fruit teas topped out around ¥12–13.
The priciest cheese-milk tea: ¥15.
In Magic City those prices were unheard-of, given rent and labor costs.
He had already run the numbers.
At ¥7 a cup the net profit was still over ¥5—even using real milk.
Switching to the powdered mix would push profits even higher.
With powder, packaging aside, the margin neared 100 percent.
Fruit teas were slightly more expensive, but not by much.
As long as volume kept up, profit was guaranteed.
Price-slashing like this was common in business.
The classic example was Mi's phones and TVs.
Mention Lei Jun and plenty of industry bigwigs grind their teeth.
After the Redmi launch, a wave of phone makers folded.
The reason? Prices so low they crushed rivals.
Mi sells direct—no distributors.
Want a phone? Buy it on their site.
Or JD's flagship store. Or a Mi store.
Nowhere else stocks them.
That's why you won't find Mi phones in small-town shops.
No middlemen meant savings passed straight to the customer.
Their other appliances followed the same bargain model.
Their TVs might not be the toughest, but spec-for-spec
They're ¥3,000 while rivals charge ¥5,000.
Though Lei Jun's price wars bled competitors dry, consumers benefited.
With Mi setting the bar, rivals had to cut prices to survive.