Reaching the age of thirty, my income randomly doubled-Chapter 736 - 544: Zhang Tao’s Problem

Chapter 736 -544: Zhang Tao’s Problem

The ones who frequent The Bund in Magic City aren’t just out-of-town tourists—company employees from nearby are regulars too.

Young people make up the majority, and places like this decently renovated late-night bar never lack patrons in the evenings.

Er Piya went around asking people questions, and she asked quite a lot.

Some people earn seven to eight thousand a month and feel it’s pretty good, while others, earning twenty to thirty thousand, think it’s too little.

There are all kinds of people, but whether it’s the seven to eight thousand earners or the twenty to thirty thousand ones, none can match her daily expenses.

After she withdrew all her earnings from TikTok, Chen Pingsheng didn’t bother to manage how she spent it.

It’s just over a hundred million, which, while substantial for Er Ya, isn’t particularly mind-blowing.

Her colossal company is actually a business void of ideals; the only difference is that she pays really high salaries.

Adding all the bonuses together, a million annually is the bare minimum.

Er Piya doesn’t shortchange her employees, especially those who abide by her wishes.

Though she’s a little troublemaker herself, as a boss, she’s genuinely liked by her staff.

The worst kind of boss is the one who outwardly treats employees well but secretly shirks from giving them raises.

Back home, it was already ten at night, and Song Yanxi was asleep with Little Third, Chen Lu.

The little one always goes to bed before nine—very punctual.

By the time Chen Pingsheng finished his shower, it was almost eleven, and Song Yanxi asked him how the bar business was going.

Chen Pingsheng said it was going alright—at least it was beneficial to the two little ones, which made it quite worth it.

“In another four months, Little Third will be two years old, and Er Ya will turn five next month. Time really flies, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it flies. If we don’t savor it now, we’ll be old before we even realize it.”

“With the way we live, how else could we enjoy it?”

Chen Pingsheng couldn’t argue—his forty-billion-investment Jinshan Super Villa was already under construction, slated for completion in 2019.

Once the villa’s done, the whole family plans to relocate to Golden Mountain.

Leaving the Magic City town center to become a regional king over there has its appeal.

The couple didn’t chat for long, and Little Third was sound asleep.

The next day unfolded as usual: first, Chen Pingsheng dropped the two little ones off at school, then headed to the corporate headquarters for work.

Zhang Tao came over to brief him on Tengsheng Fruit’s situation. The fruit industry was becoming increasingly difficult to navigate.

The main issue stems from the industry’s low entry barriers—anyone can jump in.

Every locality has its own homegrown fruit brands, and competing across regions offers limited advantages, hardly significant.

At best, Tengsheng Fruit’s costs were just slightly lower than others.

Zhang Tao proposed taking Tengsheng Fruit public for a big cash-out upfront.

His plan was to reinvest the proceeds into other industries.

To be honest, this move would be far more challenging than Teng You Media’s 80-billion IPO.

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Primarily because fruits as an industry have too clear a cap in the eyes of capital markets.

Forget valuations in the billions; even fifty million would be tough to achieve.

Zhang Tao’s idea was dead in the water, and Chen Pingsheng couldn’t understand why he suddenly entertained thoughts of taking Tengsheng Fruit public.

It seemed suspiciously tied to the presence of the girl he referred to as his Little Third.

Even without going public, Tengsheng Fruit still nets a stable profit of four to five billion annually.

With all those stores, failing to launch could also shake the confidence of its original shareholders.

It would certainly be a shortsighted decision.

Zhang Tao returned to Capital City disappointed, and Chen Pingsheng’s suspicions were, unsurprisingly, spot on.

The guy’s motivation to cash out Tengsheng Fruit had everything to do with the girl he referred to as Little Third.

She majored in finance, came from a moderately decent family, but wasn’t overly privileged.

Since getting together with Zhang Tao, she’s started seeing herself as the wife of a major corporation’s CEO.

She’s been fixated on pushing Zhang Tao to grow bigger, stronger, and reach new heights.

The fruit industry is far too unimpressive, lacking any intrinsic financial attributes.

From the perspective of these finance majors, fruit business might make a little money, but it doesn’t have the genes to generate massive wealth.

Even Chen Pingsheng started out in the fruit industry; he switched tracks and only then achieved rapid success.

The Little Third constantly whispered advice to Zhang Tao, and over time, began subtly shifting some of his ideas.

This trip to Magic City was mainly to persuade Chen Pingsheng into taking Tengsheng Fruit public, so Zhang Tao could cash out big and venture into other pursuits.

It has to be said: many men rise to prominence only to fall again, largely due to negative influences from those closest to them.

On April 6th, unbeknownst to Chen Pingsheng, Zhang Tao privately used his shares in Tengsheng to secure a loan in the Capital City.

Not through formal bank channels, but rather via a private institution, he obtained a loan worth three billion.

Despite his years as CEO with steadily increasing shares—from the initial 7.5% to the current 15%—Tengsheng Fruit, whatever the case, is still worth twenty to thirty billion.

Zhang Tao took the loan and invested it wholly in virtual currency.

The one rolling out this currency happened to be a senior brother of his Little Third from her university days.

Strong financial backing ensured they could absorb hundreds of billions in funding within no time.

Allegedly, the annual ROI for investing in this network currency was 15%–20%.

Essentially, three billion invested would generate four to six hundred million in steady income per year, without lifting a finger.

For Zhang Tao, this represented a highly attractive source of revenue.

He weighed his options for a long time before committing to the investment.

As for the private loan terms, it demanded an annual interest rate of 8%, with a repayment period of three years.

If he failed to repay within those three years, the pledged shares would no longer belong to him personally.

This scenario highlights the relative eminence of Tengsheng Fruit in its industry; otherwise, obtaining a three-billion private loan would’ve been impossible.

On April 8th, Chen Pingsheng finally caught wind of the situation—thanks to calls from two other senior executives at Tengsheng Fruit.

According to them, Zhang Tao didn’t just invest personally; he tried to drag them into it too.

The issue of equity collateral also originated with Zhang Tao.

“Damn it…” Chen Pingsheng was fuming.

A company’s CEO risking its equity to secure funds for investing in online virtual currencies? For wealth management?

By any measure, something was seriously off.

Had this occurred at a publicly-traded company, he was certain that even the smallest leak would send stock prices crashing overnight—without brakes.

This was unequivocal betrayal for shareholders everywhere.

Any CEO who dared pull such a stunt was openly signaling their own lack of confidence in running the company properly.

Tengsheng Fruit has been running relatively smoothly since its entry into Magic City, barring a significant financial dip over the last six months.

Because of his extensive portfolio, Chen Pingsheng hadn’t really had the bandwidth to inquire deeply.

Little did he know that Zhang Tao was the root of the trouble, despite claiming he wouldn’t tread the same path as Gao Hu.

Looking at the current mess, it didn’t seem like Zhang Tao was faring much better.