Jiang Cheng gave a soft grunt, his fingers drumming the table again, voice still flat yet piercing.
"But right now the market is flooded with risk-control shops. Banks have their own teams, and micro-lenders would rather hire dirt-cheap outsourcers. Does that technical edge you scraped together a few years ago still count as an edge in the winter of '18?"
Huang Zonglei's Adam's apple bobbed hard; he opened his mouth, but no words came.
Huang Yiyi, sitting beside him, tightened her grip on her water glass.
So the "tough times" her father frowned about every day weren't just a cash crunch— even the "technical advantage" he took pride in was worthless in Jiang Cheng's eyes.
She sneaked a glance at him; he was looking down, adjusting a cuff, the side of his face as hard and cold as ice.
This was a completely different man from the Jiang Cheng who occasionally smiled at her on campus.
The macro climate was exactly that grim.
Retail investors no longer dared to put money in.
Banks wouldn't lend to platforms.
Their micro-lending model, kept alive only by robbing Peter to pay Paul,
had zero risk resistance under the regulator's heavy fist.
Once P2P platforms folded, risk-control firms like theirs were next.
So-called "advantages" were nothing more than self-deception in an industry ice age.
Her hands, resting on her knees, clenched until the knuckles whitened.
After half a minute of silence, Huang Zonglei's voice sank until it almost merged with the background music in the private room.
"It's true… the sector is brutal now. But we still have more than two hundred staff, most of them veterans who've followed me five, six years. Some have kids to raise, some have mortgages. If the company folds, they lose their livelihoods, and that system and team we've honed for five years will scatter to the winds…"
"I'm not unwilling to help." Jiang Cheng leaned back, fingertips brushing the watch on his wrist, his tone softer now.
"It's just that the risk I shoulder is far bigger than you think. You have employees to support; so does Xingchen Investment. Business is an exchange of equal value—I can't play the sucker for nothing, right?"
The remark felt like both a lifeline and a slammed door.
A desperate gleam flashed in Huang Zonglei's eyes, and his voice shook.
"Mr. Jiang, as long as the company survives and my people keep their jobs, I'll give up anything. I'll yield my equity, and if you want my chairman seat, it's yours."
Huang Yiyi's lips trembled. "Dad…"
That chairmanship was the fruit of twelve years he'd spent since renting a tiny office.
Now, to stay alive, he was willing to hand it over.
She wanted to beg Jiang Cheng for mercy, but the words stuck in her throat.
The look in his eyes when he'd asked "Where's your advantage?" had been too calm, too sharp.
The Jiang Cheng she used to know had many faces:
handsome, domineering, sometimes considerate, even a bit of a scumbag.
There had even been teasing laced with flirtation.
But every one of those images was scattered by the pressure radiating from him now.
Everything she'd seen before had been only what he chose to show.
The real Jiang Cheng was the man in front of her—
the one hidden behind the title "Young Master of Xingchen," cool, forceful, even ruthlessly controlling.
A tangle of emotions sprouted inside her:
fear, unfamiliarity, and—though she didn't realize it—awe of a true power.
Seeing the plea in Huang Zonglei's eyes,
Jiang Cheng's tone stayed unruffled: "Uncle Huang is refreshingly straightforward."
He leaned forward slightly, gaze fixed on Huang Zonglei's taut face.
"So tell me—if Xingchen invests, how much equity are you prepared to give us?"
The moment Jiang Cheng asked for a share number, Huang Zonglei's taut shoulders sagged in relief.
His white-knuckled grip on the teacup loosened, colour slowly returning to his fingers.
He drew a deep breath, voice earnest.
"Young Master Jiang, I've run the numbers. To weather this storm, Xindun needs 38 million. Twelve million to pay overdue service fees and keep partner trust.
Another fifteen million to upgrade our risk-control system, focusing on hidden-debt screening for small businesses and real-time public-sentiment alerts.
The remaining eleven million covers six months of payroll and office costs. With that money I can scrap the lending mess, get back on track in three months, and reach cash-flow break-even in six."
He paused, desperation flashing in his eyes. "To show sincerity, I'm willing to give Xingchen thirty percent of the company."
The instant the words left his mouth, Huang Yiyi's face drained of colour.
She might not grasp the financial details,
But he also knew exactly what those thirty percent of shares meant.
With those thirty percent, Jiang Cheng could walk straight into the company's boardroom.
The fruit of his father's twelve years of grinding would hand nearly a third of its voice to someone else.
Huang Zonglei had no choice—the whole industry had plunged into winter.
For the past three months he had knocked on the doors of six local city commercial banks and four private-equity houses.
He'd even courted folk capital.
At the first mention of a "P2P-linked risk-control firm" they either slammed the door or demanded fifty-five percent of the equity and total operational control.
So offering thirty percent himself right now was, in truth, modest.
Jiang Cheng slowly shook his head, clearly unimpressed.
His fingertips drummed the table's edge, each tap landing on Huang Zonglei's heart.
"Uncle Huang, two questions. First, thirty-eight million only keeps you alive; it won't let you transform. The system upgrade you mentioned just polishes existing modules, but I don't want survival—if Xingchen is going to do this, we do it to be the best."
"If I take over, I'll also require Xindun to plug into Xingchen Investment's enterprise vault, and I'll earmark extra funds for you to open data ports. When you add that up, thirty percent can't cover the risk Xingchen would shoulder."
"After Xingchen's capital injection we'll still have to line up new banking partners and overhaul the system; the hidden follow-up costs will run far beyond thirty-eight million."
When he finished, Jiang Cheng lifted the teapot and refilled his own cup.
His tone was calm yet carried a cutting edge.
"And as far as I know, in the second half of '18 the regulators will roll out even tougher compliance rules for outsourced risk control. Xindun's current license only covers regional business; to qualify for nationwide bank partnerships you'll need several million more just for compliance certification. All in, it'll take a hundred million to move Xindun from 'staying alive' to 'living well.'"
Huang Zonglei's Adam's apple bobbed hard.
Jiang Cheng's reckoning was sharper than his own CFO's.
He had only thought of "survival," forgetting that Jiang Cheng wasn't after a simple return on investment.
He wanted absolute control of Xindun.
Yet he couldn't swallow giving that away.
Thirty percent was already his bottom line; any more and he'd be nothing but a hired hand.
After a long hesitation Huang Zonglei finally clenched his teeth and threw out a number, voice trembling with last-ditch struggle.
"Young Master Jiang, thirty-five percent… will that work? I promise every future decision will be synchronized with Xingchen—absolutely no drag on the transformation."
"Forty-five percent." Jiang Cheng answered without a second's pause.
"Xingchen will inject two hundred million: forty-two million for operations and transformation, eight million as Xingchen's strategic investment guarantee, the rest for industrial-chain upgrades, locked for three years."
Seeing Huang Zonglei hesitate, Jiang Cheng pressed on.
"Those forty-five percent aren't just money—they come with Xingchen's resources. We'll introduce you to three national joint-stock banks, supply a compliance team, and plug Xindun's risk-control service into more than two hundred portfolio companies under Xingchen Investment."
The words swayed Huang Zonglei.
Though he would practically forfeit decision-making power,
if Xingchen could pull the company into a new resource network,
his smaller slice would still yield profits each year no less than now—likely more.
This was the best option left.
Huang Zonglei nodded, voice filled with the relief of a survivor.
"Deal! Forty-five it is! As long as Xindun can stay afloat, I'll agree to anything!"
"Good, but I have two add-ons—first, Xindun's risk-control system must open a dedicated port to Xingchen with top-level privileges; second, during the transformation, financial and HR decisions will be co-supervised by Xingchen's appointees."
"No problem! As long as the money comes in, I'll accept any condition!"
A reborn man, Jiang Cheng knew better than anyone.
After 2018, pure risk-control services would become a hard necessity in finance.
Firms able to screen hidden micro-enterprise liabilities and monitor real-time public sentiment would be courted by banks and consumer-finance platforms alike.
If Xindun could survive the next six months, its valuation would at least triple next year.
Snagging forty-odd percent for a few tens of millions now was actually pocketing a future gold nugget.
And with those forty percent shares he could legitimately embed Xingchen's risk-control standards straight into Xindun.