Watching the frantic bidding play out, An Feng found himself bewildered by the sheer enthusiasm for what looked like overpriced trinkets.
Sensing his companion’s cultural confusion, Roger leaned in to explain the mechanics of the event.
“Charity auctions and fundraising dinners are all part of the same game,” Roger murmured, swirling his champagne.
“Some organization or political group hosts a lavish dinner, and everyone shows up to eat, drink, and mingle.
Quite a few political backroom deals get ironed out during these exact events.
As for the auctions?
If you don’t see anything you actually want, the standard play is simply to buy back the very items you donated in the first place.” An Feng raised an eyebrow.
“Wait, you buy back your own stuff?
Isn’t that just a tedious way of passing money from your left hand to your right?” Roger smiled knowingly.
“Not at all.
Even if the item itself is completely mediocre, it will still fetch an astronomical price.” An Feng watched the next lot go under the hammer and realized the genius of the system.
These wealthy socialites were incredibly smooth operators.
They would donate some relatively worthless heirloom or piece of art, only to bid on it themselves and buy it back at five or ten times its actual market value.
The charity got a massive check, the donor walked away with an upgraded public reputation and a fat tax write-off, and the host of the event owed them a very personal favor.
“So,” An Feng noted, gesturing to the crowd, “the organizer of tonight’s auction is a relatively obscure jeweler.
Why are there so many high-profile politicians and celebrities here?” “Ah, because of her connections,” Roger explained.
“Her personal brand might not be a household name, but if you look at the VIP list, you’ll spot a local councilor who shares her surname, and at least one real estate tycoon who is heavily invested in her family’s ventures.” ‘Ah, so she’s basically using a charity front to sell influence,’ An Feng thought, instantly grasping the subtext.
“I see.
The real product being sold tonight is relationships.” “Precisely,” Roger agreed.
“It’s an open secret that the official salaries of our politicians are quite modest—they certainly can’t fund a high-society lifestyle on public pay alone.
The system actually encourages them to have stable private businesses or investments.
Look at our representatives, senators, or even the president; every single one of them has a massive capital chain behind them, whether it’s their own family enterprise or the backing of a powerful corporate consortium.
A poor man simply cannot play politics in this country.
To get elected, you need votes.
To get votes, you need publicity.
And publicity is a black hole for cash.
Politics is the ultimate money-burning machine.” An Feng nodded in silent agreement.
Back home, this level of financial lobbying was kept strictly behind closed doors, wrapped in layers of deniability.
Here, they simply dressed it up in a tuxedo, handed it a glass of champagne, and called it philanthropy.
“The bidding is winding down,” Roger said, scanning the room.
“Before everyone starts heading out, let me introduce you to a few key players.” Under Roger’s guidance, An Feng led Jenny through a gauntlet of local politicians.
The interactions were brief and polite—a series of handshakes and light pleasantries that felt a bit like a corporate receiving line.
To An Feng’s surprise, the politicians didn’t carry themselves with rigid, bureaucratic gravity; they were highly charismatic, quick to crack self-deprecating jokes, and exceptionally attentive to anyone holding a VIP badge.
‘It’s a grueling job, honestly,’ An Feng reflected as they moved along.
To survive in this arena, a politician needed more than just a wealthy pedigree; they had to possess tireless social stamina and the kind of silver-tongued charm that could flatter any demographic at a moment’s notice.
Moving on from the political circle, An Feng spent some time chatting with a group of younger wealthy heirs.
The conversation was pleasantly superficial, bouncing between high-end sports cars, yachts, custom aircraft, rare cigars, and vintage wines.
Meanwhile, the women nearby were fully engrossed in comparing diamonds, designer cosmetics, and exclusive spa retreats.
Listening to them casually debate the merits of various shipyards, An Feng ran some quick mental math.
With his current liquid net worth, he could comfortably buy a decent mid-sized yacht.
But a private jet?
That was still firmly in the realm of science fiction.
True high-society living required an absolute mountain of cash.
As the saying went: your consumption rises to meet your status.
No matter how much money you had, it always felt like you needed just a little bit more.
‘I seriously need to scale up my revenue streams,’ An Feng sighed to himself.
At this point, he was merely an entry-level millionaire.
He was still a long way from reaching the tier of local tycoons who viewed wealth as a mere sequence of meaningless numbers on a screen, or who could casually buy a luxury brand just because they liked the aesthetic.
As the gala drew to a close, Miranda, Roger’s striking companion, walked over with a warm smile.
“If your schedule is open, you two should absolutely come to a private villa party I’m hosting the day after tomorrow.
It’s going to be a much smaller, more intimate crowd—mostly directors, producers, and a few close friends from the fashion industry.
It’s significantly more relaxed than this formal affair.” Jenny looked up at An Feng, her eyes practically sparkling with hope.
This was exactly the kind of industry gateway she had been dreaming of.
He smiled and squeezed her hand.
“As long as you want to go, I’d be delighted to take you.” “You are absolutely wonderful,” Jenny beamed, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Roger clapped An Feng on the shoulder.
“I’m relatively free for the next few days.
Let’s make sure we grab a proper drink before you head back north.” “Definitely,” An Feng replied.
After exchanging goodbyes, An Feng led Jenny back to the waiting Bentley.
Given the late hour, driving three hundred kilometers back to the estate was out of the question, so they checked into a luxury suite in the heart of Los Angeles.
They spent the next two days exploring the city’s high-end shopping districts, culminating in Miranda’s private gathering.
While Jenny was floating on cloud nine, An Feng found himself thoroughly entertained.
He ended up clinking glasses and sharing a few laughs with several Hollywood household names whose faces he had only ever seen on movie posters, even snapping a few casual photos on his phone to memorialize the occasion.
Amidst the leisure, his newly hired personal assistant, John, proved to be an absolute dynamo.
An Feng scheduled a meeting with him at a quiet cafe in West Hollywood.
When John arrived, he looked every bit the sharp corporate professional in a tailored black suit and a crisp white shirt, though he had sensibly ditched the tie to match the relaxed Southern California vibe.
“Good afternoon, Mr.
Ann,” John said, opening a sleek leather portfolio and sliding a thick set of documents across the table.
“I’ve compiled the final drafts of the acquisition and partnership agreements I negotiated with the executive board at Teraland.” An Feng opened the folder.
The pages were packed with dense legal jargon, financial spreadsheets, and complex intellectual property clauses.
Just looking at the wall of text made his head throb.
It brought back vivid, unpleasant memories of his days as a low-level corporate drone back in China, where reading through tedious company manuals was a form of psychological torture.
He promptly closed the folder, leaned back in his chair, and looked at his eager assistant.
“Let’s skip the fine print, John.
Give me the high-level summary.” John didn’t miss a beat.
“To put it simply, Teraland’s executive board is fiercely protective of their controlling interest.
They desperately want to avoid a hostile takeover or yielding majority voting rights to an outside entity.
However, I ran a deep audit on their financial health over the last fiscal year.
As a private, mid-sized agricultural firm, they are currently being squeezed dry by massive multinational competitors.
Without a revolutionary, proprietary technology to disrupt the market, their long-term survival is practically zero.” An Feng smiled, raising a hand.
“Sorry, John.
Let’s keep it even simpler.
I prefer colloquial terms over corporate slide-deck speak.” John grinned, instantly shifting gears.
“Understood.
Their sales are tanking, and they are desperate for your technology to save their skin.
Your patents are their only lifeline.
After playing hardball for a few days, I got them to agree to a restructured equity deal.” “Wait,” An Feng interrupted, catching a detail.
“I thought we were dealing with five patents?” “We were,” John explained.
“But transferring all five patents would have pushed the intellectual property valuation past the legal threshold for a standard tax-free corporate restructuring, which would have triggered a massive tax liability for you.
To circumvent this, I restructured the deal into two options.
Option A: we deposit four patents into the company and inject four million dollars in cash.
In exchange, you receive a seventy percent absolute controlling stake in Teraland, making you the undisputed boss.
Option B: we deposit only three patents with zero cash injection, but your equity is capped at a non-controlling forty-five percent.” “Go with the first option,” An Feng said without hesitation.
“If I don’t hold the absolute controlling stake, how am I supposed to steer the company’s direction and commercialize my tech?
Besides, I want to make sure the real money flows back to us.” John nodded, making a quick note, but then he paused, looking at An Feng with a mixture of awe and lingering disbelief.
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking a somewhat personal question…” “Go ahead.” “Did you actually develop all of these chemical and agricultural patents yourself?” John asked.
Looking at An Feng’s relaxed, youthful style and his penchant for luxury cars, he looked far more like a wealthy playboy than a brilliant, reclusive scientist.
John had initially assumed An Feng was simply a savvy broker who had bought the patents from a desperate inventor to flip them for a profit.
“Of course I did,” An Feng replied, his face perfectly serene while his inner ego swelled with immense pride.
“And honestly, these four are just a small fraction of what I have locked away in my private portfolio.” “That is…
truly incredible,” John murmured, his respect for his new employer instantly skyrocketing.
He looked at An Feng’s casual attire and relaxed demeanor, suddenly seeing him in a completely different light—not just as a rich heir, but as a visionary tech disruptor on par with the legendary founders of Silicon Valley.
They spent another half-hour ironed out the operational details before An Feng finalized the takeover plan.
“How soon can we execute the Teraland acquisition?” “Whenever you are ready, sir.
Their board is practically waiting by the phone to sign.” “Let’s get it done as soon as possible, then.” As it turned out, Teraland’s executives were far more anxious to close the deal than An Feng was.
Over the last two quarters, their product sales had plummeted to historic lows.
Their in-house R&D department had burned through millions of dollars with absolutely zero market-ready results.
If they didn’t secure a massive technological breakthrough immediately, they were staring down a massive deficit and inevitable bankruptcy.
To them, An Feng’s miraculous biological patents were a literal godsend.
The following morning, An Feng dressed in a sharp, tailored suit.
Accompanied by his legal counsel, a team of forensic accountants, and John, he arrived at Teraland’s corporate headquarters.
The facility was an unassuming, three-story professional building located on the outskirts of the city.
The parking lot was noticeably sparse, a sobering reminder of the company’s recent round of layoffs.
For the executive team waiting inside, An Feng’s arrival was the ultimate silver lining.
It represented a complete reinvention of their future—though, for a few, it also carried the terrifying prospect of being replaced.
Bray Hawke, the CEO of Teraland, was waiting at the entrance.
He didn’t look like the typical, rigid, spectacle-wearing academic An Feng had anticipated, nor did he resemble a bloated, arrogant corporate suit.
Instead, Hawke was a sharply dressed, highly charismatic man of mixed heritage, sporting a thick, neatly trimmed mustache and a commanding presence.
“Welcome to Teraland, Mr.
Ann!
I’m Bray Hawke,” the CEO said, extending his hand with a warm, firm grip.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr.
Hawke,” Alex replied smoothly.
“Please, right this way to the boardroom,” Hawke said, gesturing toward the elevator.
Inside the executive boardroom, the legal teams from both sides immediately fell to work, meticulously reviewing the dense stacks of acquisition contracts.
Having no interest in the tedious legal wrangling, An Feng sat back and listened as Hawke passionately shared the history of Teraland—how it had risen from a small startup, enjoyed a brief golden era of market dominance, and eventually fell into its current operational crisis.
An Feng observed the CEO closely.
Hawke spoke with a slight, rolling Spanish lisp, betraying his cultural roots, but his eyes burned with genuine passion for the industry.
He was the original founder of the company and had personally formulated their first successful line of agricultural fertilizers.
When John had first submitted An Feng’s technical data and chemical samples, Hawke’s initial reaction had been absolute skepticism.
The claims seemed far too good to be true.
But after running the samples through rigorous laboratory testing himself, he realized they were looking at a revolutionary leap in agricultural science.
He had personally lobbied the skeptical board of directors, convincing them that surrendering control to An Feng was their only path to glory.
During their conversation, Hawke tried to probe An Feng on the underlying molecular mechanics of the formulas.
Drawing from the boundless database of his bio-computational brain, An Feng effortlessly explained highly advanced, theoretical biochemical concepts that Hawke had never even conceived of.
By the end of the conversation, the veteran CEO was looking at him with absolute, scientific reverence.
The six lawyers representing both sides spent the entire morning debating minor clauses and adjustments.
After a brief lunch break, the legal tug-of-war continued well into the afternoon.
Finally, just before the end of the business day, the final acquisition documents were signed and executed.
The deal was officially sealed with a round of handshakes and a commemorative photograph.
An Feng had no intention of restructuring the day-to-day operations of the company just yet.
He left Bray Hawke securely in his role as CEO.
After all, the man possessed genuine talent and a deep understanding of the market; taking an obscure startup to a thirty-million-dollar valuation was no small feat.
An Feng’s decision to delegate operational power and keep the existing staff intact sent a massive wave of relief through the ranks.
In corporate takeovers, a new majority shareholder often meant mass terminations and aggressive structural shakeups.
An Feng’s hands-off, trust-based approach instantly won him the fierce loyalty of the veteran staff.
The employees were thrilled, and An Feng was equally ecstatic.
‘A thirty-million-dollar enterprise,’ he mused, a highly satisfied grin playing on his lips.
Back in a second-tier city in China, a company with a market value of nearly two hundred million RMB would make him an absolute kingpin—the kind of massive taxpayer who could walk into any local government office and be treated like royalty.