She Flees, He Pursues, She Has No Way to Escape

Three days after the livestream ended, a truly surreal scene unfolded in the corridor on the twentieth floor of the Huayi Center.

Dai Damai stood inside the glass door of the office area, staring at the overwhelming crowd of people in suits lining the corridor.

"Boss Chen, they're here again."

"How many groups so far?"

"I counted—seventeen," Dai Damai said, swallowing hard. "Sequoia, Hillhouse, SoftBank… and three Wall Street investment banks. The managing partner from Morgan Stanley has been waiting since yesterday and refuses to leave. He says he can wait forever."

"Where did he sleep?"

"The security guard says he made a bed in the fire escape stairwell."

Chen Zhi finally looked up.

"A guy managing hundreds of billions of dollars made a bed in our fire escape?"

"That's not all," Dai Damai said, pulling out his phone. "Hillhouse sent their Greater China head flying over. Before he even landed, his assistant delivered a blank check."

Dai Damai placed the check in front of Chen Zhi.

The amount field on the check was empty, but the signature was already there.

Attached was a sticky note:

"Boss Chen, you fill in the number."

Chen Zhi stared at the blank check for two seconds, then smirked.

"Alright. Two o'clock this afternoon, the big meeting room. Pick a few from the crowd outside and let them in for a chat."

"Who do I pick?"

"Sequoia and Hillhouse are mandatory. For Wall Street, Morgan Stanley, Goldman Sachs, plus SoftBank. The rest can keep waiting."

Dai Damai hesitated. "What about the others?"

Chen Zhi tilted his head.

"Have the front desk pour them some tea. Tell them DeepSpace Tech doesn't lack money—what it lacks is vision. Anyone who doesn't understand that can leave."

...

At two o'clock, in the big meeting room.

Representatives from five top-tier capital firms sat on both sides, each with due diligence reports and term sheets in hand. But no one rushed to open them.

All eyes were fixed on the white phone at the center of the conference table.

Chen Zhi walked in with a cane, Dai Damai following behind.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'll skip the pleasantries," Chen Zhi said, taking the main seat and leaning his cane against the table. "You've all flown over a dozen hours, not to hear me make small talk."

The managing director of Morgan Stanley Asia Pacific spoke first.

"Boss Chen, on behalf of Morgan Stanley, we are very optimistic about DeepSpace Tech's development prospects. We'd like to lead the Series B round. In terms of valuation—"

"I'll set the valuation."

Chen Zhi cut him off.

He paused briefly, then made a "please" gesture.

"Series B, valuation at 75 billion USD."

The Sequoia representative's tea cup froze mid-air.

The Greater China head from Hillhouse instinctively glanced at his colleague beside him. Both of them gasped audibly.

"75 billion?" The Morgan Stanley managing director's smile stiffened. "Boss Chen, pre-Series A valuation was 15 billion. Series B is a fivefold increase?"

"If it's too expensive, you don't have to invest."

"There are still over a dozen groups waiting outside."

Chen Zhi swept his gaze across the room. No one made a move to stand up.

"I know what you're thinking—from 15 billion to 75 billion, that's a 60 billion difference. Why?"

He picked up the prototype phone on the table and shook it.

"Because of this. Because Moss's latest large model has no rivals left in the world."

"Also—"

Chen Zhi set the phone down, his tone shifting.

"The Series B round does not accept pure financial investments."

The capital representatives exchanged glances.

"What does that mean?" asked the Hillhouse representative.

"It means money alone isn't enough. You need to tell me what resources you can bring," Chen Zhi said, ticking off his fingers. "The ability to lock in top-tier global supply chains, overseas market channel development, and—underwriting qualifications for a U.S. IPO."

"Among you all, whoever can meet at least two of these three conditions is qualified to stay and talk. If you can't, consider today a cup of tea to catch up."

The atmosphere in the room grew nuanced.

None of the five capital representatives stood up to leave.

The Morgan Stanley representative spoke first. "Morgan Stanley's strength in U.S. IPO underwriting goes without saying. On the supply chain side, our industrial investment division can also facilitate connections."

Sequoia followed. "Our channel network in Southeast Asia and India is ready to go. We were deeply involved in the overseas expansions of ByteDance and SHEIN."

Chen Zhi listened, then nodded vaguely.

"Leave that for Lao Dai to coordinate with your teams later."

He looked at Dai Damai.

"Show the rest out. For the matters ahead, the five of you here are enough."

Dai Damai understood and left to clear the room.

Once the door closed, Chen Zhi leaned forward, folding his hands on the table.

"What I'm about to say, if a single word leaks out before it's time, I'll make sure none of you ever close another deal on Wall Street."

All five sat up straighter.

"DeepSpace Tech's core strategy going forward—a deep cross-shareholding arrangement with NVIDIA."

"Cross-shareholding? You mean…"

"Yes," Chen Zhi said, standing with his cane and limping to the whiteboard. He picked up a marker, drew two circles—one labeled "DeepSpace," the other "NVIDIA."

"Moss's evolution requires massive computing power. Right now, the only company in the world that can deliver top-tier AI computing power is NVIDIA."

He drew a line between the two circles.

"I'm going to sign a multi-billion-dollar computing procurement deal, locking in NVIDIA's output for the next three years. In exchange, DeepSpace and NVIDIA will hold each other's shares."

"What does this mean?"

Chen Zhi turned around.

"It means every time NVIDIA's stock rises one point, DeepSpace's assets rise too. Conversely, every time DeepSpace launches a new product, NVIDIA's stock benefits."

"The valuations of both companies drive each other up—stepping on the gas with both feet, all the way to the sky."

The Morgan Stanley representative opened his mouth, hesitated for a long moment, and finally squeezed out two words.

"You're insane."

"Insane?" Chen Zhi put down the marker. "NVIDIA's market cap is nearly two trillion dollars now. Once DeepSpace Tech is tied to them, do you still think a 75 billion Series B valuation is expensive?"

Nobody thought it was expensive anymore.

In fact, if this actually came to pass, 75 billion might even be cheap.

...

After the meeting, the five capital representatives filed out, their footsteps a little unsteady.

Dai Damai closed the door and walked back.

"Boss Chen, are you really planning to do a cross-shareholding with NVIDIA? This isn't something you can pull off by just drawing two circles."

Chen Zhi did the math in his head.

From the day he made the bet with Pei Ningxue to now—barely over a month.

Once the Series B valuation of 75 billion was confirmed, combined with the NVIDIA shareholding and the prospect of a U.S. IPO…

A hundred billion dollars? Easily within reach.

He locked the screen, wearing a smug grin.

"Lao Dai."

"Yeah?"

"If I take this valuation report right now, find someone at Peking University, and smack it in her face, what do you think her expression would be?"

Dai Damai looked at his boss’s smug face and silently sighed.

"Boss Chen, your leg hasn’t healed yet."

...

Chen Zhixian went back to Peking University. Not for any grand reason—the clothes in his Wanliu Academy apartment were all business-casual styles bought by Pei Ningxue, too flashy to wear on campus. He needed to return to Dorm 404 to pick up something decent.

Chen Zhi pushed open the door of room 404.

His three roommates all looked up at the same time.

Then they all froze at the same time.

Guo Yang’s potato chip fell onto his keyboard.

Li Zicong was in the middle of applying a face mask; half of it hung down his cheek like a little flag.

Zhang Tianyang shoved his laptop back as if terrified the game interface would offend this great presence.

"What’s up with you guys?" Chen Zhi was baffled by their reactions. "What are you staring at? It’s not like you’ve never seen me before."

"Bro—" Guo Yang was the first to react, springing out of his chair and brushing the chip crumbs off his keyboard into the trash can. "Why are you back?"

"Just coming back to change clothes. What’s the big deal?"

"No, I mean—" Guo Yang rubbed his hands together, looking awkward. "Are you now... worth over seventy billion US dollars?"

Chen Zhi paused. "Word travels that fast?"

"Not just fast." Li Zicong ripped the mask off his face. "Your live stream is all over the internet! My mom asked if you really are my roommate and told me to get on your good side."

"My dad too," Zhang Tianyang said half-jokingly. "He told me to go work at your company after graduation."

Chen Zhi grinned, plopped down onto his own stool, and leaned his crutches against the bed frame.

"Alright, all three of you can come to my company later. Pick any desk you want."

"For real?"

"Nope." Chen Zhi rolled his eyes. "My company needs talent, not air-conditioning moochers."

Guo Yang wasn’t bothered. He eagerly scurried over to pour Chen Zhi a glass of water.

When Chen Zhi took the cup, he noticed distinct mop marks on the dorm floor and a spotless table.

"Did you three... clean up?"

The three of them were silent for a second.

Guo Zong cracked first.

"Li Zicong said it. He said now that you’re worth tens of billions, if you ever felt like crashing here and saw how filthy the dorm was, you might have us expelled."

Li Zicong’s face turned red. "I said we should keep up appearances! I never said expelled!"

Chen Zhi was dying of laughter at these clowns.

After changing clothes, Chen Zhi grabbed his crutches and headed out.

"Where are you going?" Guo Yang chased him to the door.

"Got things to do."

"Is it to find that... Pei Ningxue? The one from Guanghua School?" Guo Yang lowered his voice, grinning slyly.

Chen Zhi glanced back. "Mind your own business."

"Heh, I knew it." Guo Yang winked at Li Zicong and Zhang Tianyang. "Don’t you see? Every time our Boss Chen comes back to change clothes, nine times out of ten, it’s for a girl."

Chen Zhi couldn’t be bothered to respond. With a tap of his crutch, he walked off without looking back.

...

Guanghua School of Management.

Chen Zhi searched up and down a corridor, but there was no sign of Pei Ningxue in the classrooms.

He asked two passing students—no one had seen her recently.

Without hesitation, Chen Zhi headed straight for the academic affairs office.

The moment he pushed the door open, Mr. Zhang, sitting behind a desk, was sorting through files. At the sound of the door, he looked up out of habit—

And jumped as if electrocuted.

"You!"

Mr. Zhang pointed at Chen Zhi.

"You, you, you... why are you here again!"

Chen Zhi was dumbfounded by the reaction. "Mr. Zhang, I just want to ask something—"

"Don’t come closer!" Mr. Zhang backed up until he hit a file cabinet. "Stay right there! Say whatever you need to say from there!"

Chen Zhi looked down at himself, then at his crutches, and finally understood.

Mr. Zhang probably had some not-so-pleasant memories left over.

"Mr. Zhang, relax." Chen Zhi raised both hands to show he was harmless. "I’m not jumping out of a window today. Just asking a question."

Mr. Zhang gripped the edge of the file cabinet tightly, refusing to let go.

"What do you want to ask?"

"Has Pei Ningxue come to class recently?"

Mr. Zhang eyed Chen Zhi warily. After confirming that Chen Zhi had no intention of going near the window, he slowly shuffled back to his computer, trembling fingers tapping on the keyboard.

A record popped up on the screen.

Mr. Zhang glanced at it and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Student Pei Ningxue has taken an extended leave of absence. The reason is going home to rest and recover. The leave slip has the advisor’s signature; all procedures are in order."

The smile froze on Chen Zhi’s face.

"Extended leave?"

"That’s right." Mr. Zhang cautiously added, "She’s no longer on campus."

Chen Zhi stood there, not saying a word.

She had promised not to run.

The bet was still on.

"Damn it." Chen Zhi turned to leave, gritting his teeth. "She said we’d settle things, and now she wants to back out?"

Behind him, at the sound of that last sentence, Mr. Zhang shivered again and quickly stuck his head out to make sure this guy was leaving through the door and not the window.

...

Twenty minutes later, on the Twentieth floor of the Central Tower.

Chen Zhi plopped into his boss chair and picked up the intercom.

"Lao Dai, come here."

When Dai Damai pushed the door open, one look at Chen Zhi’s face told him something was wrong.

"What happened? Trouble at PKU?"

"Pei Ningxue has run off."

"Run off?" Dai Damai was taken aback. "Where to?"

"No idea. She took an extended leave, said she was going home to rest." Chen Zhi leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "Check the internal network access logs for me. See if she’s logged in recently."

Dai Damai didn’t ask any more questions. He went back to his desk and pulled up the logs.

Five minutes later, he returned with a printed record, a strange expression on his face.

"I found it. She did transfer her CFO management authority. You already know that."

"But—"

Dai Damai placed the printout on the desk in front of Chen Zhi.

"She also had a hidden read-only account. No operational privileges. Only view access."

Chen Zhi glanced down.

Access time: 1:17 AM.

Access time: 2:03 AM.

Access time: 0:48 AM.

Access time: 1:55 AM.

Seven consecutive days. Every late night, the same account logged in. The content accessed was always the same category—

Deep Space Technology’s financial statements and Series B funding progress.

Chen Zhi stared at the column of midnight timestamps, leaned back in his chair, and laughed out loud.

"She says she doesn’t want it, but her body’s being honest." Chen Zhi folded the record and stuffed it into his coat pocket. "What’s her IP address?"

Dai Damai flipped to the last page.

"Sanya."

...

Sanya, Haitang Bay.

Pei Ningxue stood barefoot on the villa’s floor, wearing a mint-green silk slip dress. Her hair was casually draped over her shoulders.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows lay the sea.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the blinds, casting slender streaks of light across her collarbone.

She lounged sideways on the sofa, phone in hand, scrolling until a notification popped up:

"BREAKING: DeepSpace Technology closes Series B at $75 billion valuation. Top Wall Street investment firms scramble for a stake."

Pei Ningxue stared at the headline for a moment.

Seventy-five billion.

How long had it been since she handed over her CFO authority? A month?

Bastard.

She swiped out of the news page and opened her browser, typing in the internal network address.

The Series B proposal was already in the system.

She scrolled through it, line by line.

Halfway through, her brow furrowed.

"The valuation protection clause is way too loose..."

Mid-sentence, she abruptly flipped the phone facedown on the couch.

None of my business.

I'm not his CFO anymore.

Pei Ningxue buried her face in the throw pillow, letting out a muffled grunt.

Good thing I got out fast.

If I'd stayed any longer, that jerk would have me under his thumb for life.

She rolled over, her wrist brushing against the armrest.

It felt empty.

The pair of red-string peace knot bracelets—she'd left them behind in Jiangcheng, in the guest room of the Chen family home.

Pei Ningxue stared at her bare wrist for a few seconds.

Then she yanked the blanket over herself and curled up completely.