After Divorce, I Can Hear the Future

Chapter 79: The Joy of Spending Money

As one of the most popular influencers on the internet, Wang Xiaocong frequently livestreamed on his platform, with room number 10000.

As he mentioned in an interview, he was both PandaTV’s chief product manager and its first streamer. Previously, his streams mainly consisted of playing League of Legends, with team members helping him rank up or casually visiting other streamers’ rooms with viewers.

Earlier that evening, he had spent millions on gifts for a new streamer on the platform. Immediately afterward, he opened his own livestream.

Fans spread the news, and viewers flooded into Wang’s livestream, only to find him playing an old-school game while chatting with an unfamiliar voice.

“Brother Liang, what should we do?”

“You can start by combining some monsters. I’m checking out the gear in my inventory.”

“Just buy finished equipment; why bother going through all that trouble?”

“Pets you raise yourself feel more meaningful.”

The two bantered casually, with no deliberate attempt to promote anything. As Wang put it, just chatting normally would suffice—viewers were natural detectives who could piece together the truth from clues.

Sure enough, when the name “Brother Liang” came up, a viewer asked in the chat if it was Lu Liang. Wang, feigning impatience, replied with a casual “Yeah.”

The chatroom exploded.

“Who’s Lu Liang? Is he famous?” some curious viewers asked.

The regulars enthusiastically filled in the gaps:

“He shorted the yen—a hero against Japan.”

“Made tens of millions of dollars in one night.”

“The Eastern Soros.”

“The God of Chinese Speculation.”

“If you don’t get it, check the trending topics on Weibo.”

At around 8 p.m., prime internet time, Lu Liang’s appearance in Wang Xiaocong’s stream garnered immense attention. The viewer count skyrocketed, attracting not just casual viewers but also financial media outlets and analysts.

Up until then, Lu Liang had been shrouded in mystery, as though he had appeared out of nowhere. He had never given an interview, and many didn’t even know his gender. The intrigue only fueled the buzz.

Meanwhile, the channel moderator reported in a low voice that the real-time viewer count had exceeded 500,000.

Wang was thrilled but still grumbled, “Stop spamming the chat, or I’ll kick you all out.”

He was well aware of how inflated viewership numbers for top-tier streamers often were. In reality, the actual audience size was often the reported number divided by 1,000 or even 2,000. For example, the real audiences for the most popular female streamers on platforms like Douyu were usually just tens of thousands. Even PandaTV’s second-most popular streamer, PDD, had fewer than 100,000 genuine viewers.

With 500,000 real viewers, Wang could confidently say his stream was setting records for non-official events or top-tier tournaments.

Inviting Lu Liang to the stream had been a stroke of genius. At the very least, it brought over 100,000 new users to PandaTV. Even if only 10% stuck around, it was a massive win.

Additionally, it sent a clear message that he and Lu Liang were on good terms, prompting investigations into Lu Liang’s stake in PandaTV.

For Wang, this was his career. For Lu Liang, it was all about enjoying the thrill of spending big.

He thought back to a decade ago when he had first played Fantasy Westward Journey. At the time, he was still a student with little money. The game, with its hourly card charges of 0.4 yuan, forced him to scrape by on his allowance.

After graduation, he played intermittently, often grinding in-game to earn a bit of pocket money.

Now, with 1 million yuan poured into the game, he could buy anything he fancied without hesitation. It was only now that he truly understood the joy this game could bring.

As a turn-based game, Fantasy Westward Journey had remained popular for over a decade, largely thanks to its robust in-game economy, which was more stable than some Latin American currencies. The game’s charm lay in how every player existed to serve the top-tier spenders.

This inherent structure appealed to human nature, granting players the sense of authority that comes with being at the top. Having millions in real life might not mean much, but spending millions in the game could crown you as a king in your server.

At around 10 p.m., Wang wrapped up his stream and mentioned he had booked a lively spot for the night. Reluctantly, Lu Liang logged off.

“Tonight, peak online viewers hit 750,000, with over 180,000 new registered users,” Wang said as they left, discussing plans for the future. He intended to invest an additional 20 million yuan before the Series A financing round.

PandaTV’s current valuation was only $11 million, but Wang wasn’t willing to settle for such a low figure. His goal was to raise it to at least $80 million before the funding round.

“Just send me the project proposal when you’re ready to invest. I’ll have finance wire the funds,” Lu Liang replied casually. Holding a 15% stake, he would only need to contribute 1.5 million yuan even if Wang invested 100 million yuan.

His primary goal wasn’t to gain more shares but to use PandaTV as a learning experience for the industry.

The two headed to the underground parking lot, where Wang had a section reserved for his cars: two sports cars, two luxury sedans, and a nanny van.

Lu Liang couldn’t help but marvel, “Having a great dad really makes a difference.”

While he could afford such extravagance, his mindset was still focused on buying only what was necessary. His assets consisted of little more than a few bank digits, two cars, and a house he had bought for his parents in their hometown.

A red Ferrari F12 sped out of the parking lot, followed closely by a yellow Lamborghini Urus.

The duo arrived at TAX Bar, the top nightclub in Magic City. It was a hub for influencers, celebrities, and industry giants from finance and tech.

Last year, NetEase’s CEO Ding Sanshi had debuted as a DJ here to promote NetEase Cloud Music, creating a buzz with the story of “raising pigs by day, spinning tracks by night.”

As a regular, Wang’s signature car had barely pulled up before a sultry female manager ran over with a bright smile. “Young Master Wang, we’ve reserved a private room for you on the second floor.”

Her gaze shifted to Lu Liang, her eyes briefly flashing with curiosity. “Sir, how should I address you?”

Club managers were experts at reading people. From positioning to demeanor, they could instantly discern who held the power.

With 260 billion yuan in assets, Wang’s father was the richest Chinese globally, and as his sole heir, Wang carried himself with a natural pride. It was rare to see him treat someone with such respect, sparking the manager’s desire to forge a connection.

“Lu Liang,” he replied indifferently.

"Mr. Lu, this way, please," the female manager said, her brow lifting slightly. The name sounded familiar, though she couldn’t recall where she’d heard it. Still, she dared not show the slightest neglect.

The group passed through a visually stunning, vividly lit corridor and entered the bar.

The layout was typical of high-end bars: two levels, with the ground floor featuring booths and a dance floor, while more private VIP rooms occupied the second floor. From the second floor, one could oversee the entire dance hall—perfect for wealthy heirs scouting for company.

As the son of China’s wealthiest man, Wang Xiaocong possessed an unparalleled allure for internet influencers. A single phone call summoned four women, two for each of them.

After a few rounds of icebreaker games, the two men and four women grew increasingly familiar, their behavior becoming more intimate. Wang Xiaocong, ready to head downstairs to dance with his companions, suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Outside the window, a glamorous woman in her thirties approached with a smile, carrying an elegantly packaged bottle of brandy.

Returning to his seat, Wang leaned toward Lu Liang and whispered, “That’s Zhuang Xiaoting, the bar owner. She’s the mistress of a certain big shot from Beijing.”

“What’s she doing here?” Lu Liang asked, while comfortably seated between two women—one feeding him fruit, the other pouring drinks and lighting his cigarette.

“Well, you are the God of Speculation. Anyone with money would want to meet you.”

After hours of hanging out, Wang Xiaocong’s tone had become more casual, knowing Lu Liang wasn’t someone who couldn’t take a joke.

Lu Liang nodded in understanding.

Zhuang Xiaoting knocked and entered with a radiant smile. “This morning, the magpies on the eaves were chirping non-stop. I wondered what was going on, and now I know—it was because they already knew Mr. Lu would grace us with his presence tonight.”

A shrewd woman indeed. There wasn’t the slightest awkwardness in her demeanor, and her opening line immediately bridged the gap between strangers.

Wang Xiaocong laughed. “Ting Jie, did the magpies sing when I came?”

“They sure did! I remember it well—an entire row of magpies perched right on the windowsill.”

Extending her delicate hand, Zhuang Xiaoting introduced herself, “Mr. Lu, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Zhuang Xiaoting, the person in charge of TAX.”

“Ms. Zhuang, it’s a pleasure. The bar’s ambiance is excellent,” Lu Liang replied with a polite smile, raising his glass in a toast.

He intended to establish a private equity fund in the future, and expanding his network to include people from all walks of life wasn’t a bad idea.

“Your satisfaction is the greatest encouragement to us,” Zhuang said, her smile unwavering as she opened the bottle of brandy she’d brought. She refrained from mentioning the price or whether it was a gift.

After all, both Lu Liang and Wang Xiaocong weren’t short on money. To show favor, she might suggest a subtle discount to the staff at the front desk—a small gesture to avoid making them feel uncomfortable. These nuances were the result of years of navigating the business world.

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