After Divorce, I Can Hear the Future

Chapter 65: Full of Potential

“Everyone back home knows now,” Liu Mingxuan said with a sigh. “My parents even came over a few days ago to give me the full ‘stern mother’s lecture’ routine. I just sent them back this afternoon.”  

As he poured out his frustrations, Liu admitted he knew better than to mess with someone so close to home. But the girl looked so much like his first love.  

“You don’t get it, do you? A beauty doesn’t have to be stunning—what matters is that she touches your heart.” Liu spoke passionately, as though defending his actions in court.  

Lu Liang’s expression darkened. “You’re no hero. Don’t dress this up as some grand romantic gesture. You just let your hormones take over.”  

Liu waved him off. “You wouldn’t understand. I don’t blame you,” he said, raising his beer to the moonlight. “Ah, my youth... finally coming to an end.”  

“Is there anything I can help with?” Lu asked, taking a sip of beer to steady himself against the urge to slap Liu.  

“Yeah, stay up drinking with me tonight,” Liu replied, clearly resigned.  

Liu didn’t own a car but had a decent apartment, and his father was prepared to buy him a 200,000-yuan car as a wedding gift. The dowry, as per their local customs, was symbolic rather than substantial—just a few thousand yuan. He even had some savings of his own.  

His only regret seemed to be Lu Liang. Just as his best friend was hitting it big, they couldn’t ride life’s waves together anymore.  

“Lu, I’m most worried about leaving you behind,” Liu muttered, already tipsy after a few beers.  

Lu chuckled. “What a considerate friend.”  

“Of course! Brothers are everything.” Liu pounded his chest dramatically. Then, overcome by emotion, he jumped onto the stage, grabbed the microphone from the performer, and belted out Alan Tam’s Friend.  

From their table below, Lu raised his glass in response, smiling. “Wishing you happiness, my friend.”  

Lu’s own marriage had been a disaster. Seeing Liu preparing to marry gave him hope that happiness in marriage might still be possible for some.  

That night, they drank two cases of beer. As the night wore on, Lu, swept up in the celebratory atmosphere, even treated the entire bar to drinks in honor of his friend’s upcoming marriage.  

Monday, July 21  

A new week, and the first trading day.  

Despite the past three days’ net outflow of 1.28 billion yuan, TeLi A opened with a strong limit-up, surging to 37.75 yuan.  

Li Jianlin and Wu Junle were in full control, using wash trades to create the illusion of high volume and strong market interest. But they watched the market like hawks, dreading the possibility of Lu Liang suddenly unloading his shares.  

Meanwhile, a luxury yacht departed from Magic City’s Jinsha Wharf, heading south toward Mingzhou.  

Not wanting to get entangled with Li and Wu, Lu decided to distance himself from the market for a few days.  

Upon hearing this, Meng Changkun joined him, bringing along Wu Tianzheng and a team of six models from his company. Three men and six women set sail, ready for a relaxing voyage.  

“Can you resist the temptation to sell?” Meng asked, lying on the deck and basking in the sun.  

His tablet displayed TeLi A’s price—locked at 37.75 yuan. Knowing Lu still held 20,000 lots and had been approached by Li Jianlin with an offer to prop up the price, Meng was curious about his friend’s decision.  

Lu, wearing sunglasses and lying back, replied, “Some money is worth earning, and some isn’t.”  

Two tall, gorgeous women in bikinis were applying sunscreen to his back. As their hands moved, Lu couldn’t help reacting physically, much to their amusement.  

Though Meng had been helpful, their relationship was more professional than personal. Lu wasn’t about to let Meng’s comments sway his principles.  

Having access to information about the future, Lu saw no need to risk legal repercussions for a bit of extra profit.  

Meng hesitated for a moment, then let the matter drop. “Fine. Let’s hit the water,” he said, scooping up one of the models and sliding down the yacht’s inflatable slide into the sea.  

Lu watched, smiling.  

Over the following days, TeLi A repeatedly topped the Dragon and Tiger List. Each day brought dramatic swings, with the stock hitting both its lower and upper limits, showcasing extreme volatility.  

With every surge, the stock broke new records, attracting hordes of retail investors eager to join the rally.  

The frenzy prompted the China Securities Regulatory Commission (CSRC) to issue its customary warnings about the risks of speculation. But retail investors, already frustrated by the broader market’s decline below 3,700 points, dismissed the warnings.  

“Where were you when the market was falling?”  

“You only show up when stocks rise!”  

“Forget it—I’m all in!”  

These defiant voices echoed across forums and chat rooms.  

For retail traders, blue-chip stocks had become a slow death—rising by just 1-2% only to drop 4-5%, their slow grind down draining all enthusiasm. In contrast, “monster stocks” like TeLi A offered the chance for explosive gains, even if they came with a high risk of ruin.  

By Friday, the stock hit its highest price yet: 48.25 yuan.  

Li and Wu, having spent months planning, were now executing their final phase, unloading their positions in massive quantities. After this, a cascade of limit-down days was inevitable as the stock plummeted and they rebuilt their positions.  

Returning to his office after several days at sea, Lu monitored the stock closely. 48.25 yuan was undoubtedly the peak of this wave.  

Soon after, his assistant, Chen Jinchun, entered with a report. “Mr. Lu, here’s the biweekly data for Mengmengda Media.”  

Mengmengda Media was Li Manli’s studio, an investment Lu initially considered trivial. But the studio’s rapid growth changed his perspective.  

With over 2 million followers across platforms and multiple offers for multimillion-yuan contracts, the studio had caught the attention of even prominent players. Last month, PandaTV—founded by the son of the country’s richest man—offered 6 million yuan for an exclusive three-year streaming contract.  

Though signing bonuses were relatively small, the industry’s potential had piqued Lu’s interest. The success of platforms like YouTube came to mind.  

Valued at $80 billion with an annual profit of $240 million, YouTube catered to a global audience of 780 million users. Yet China, with its 1.4 billion population, had no equivalent platform.  

Recent advancements in 4G networks and affordable smartphones had driven exponential growth in internet users. By June of this year, China’s online population had surpassed 600 million.  

As e-commerce was replacing physical shopping, Lu wondered if online entertainment could one day replace traditional forms of leisure.  

Li Manli’s popularity offered a glimpse into this possibility. Her appeal went beyond her beauty, cosplay outfits, or cooking skills—it was the lifestyle of wealth and privilege she subtly flaunted that captivated audiences.  

For centuries, ordinary people had only vague notions of the lives of the rich. But Li’s videos offered a tantalizing peek behind the curtain, fueling both fascination and aspiration.  

“Video platforms,” Lu concluded, “are full of potential.”  

His mind raced with possibilities, and an ambitious vision began to take shape.  

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