Chapter 13: Asking for the Moon

Gu Cheng and Cherry chatted idly, quickly finishing their meal before getting ready to return to class.

Cherry bit her lip, mustering the courage to ask, "Can I have your phone number?"

Gu Cheng shrugged awkwardly. "I don't have a phone yet. Why don't you leave me yours? I'll call you once I get one."

Cherry blushed, slipping a business card into the pocket of Gu Cheng’s shirt.

Damn! Taking advantage while slipping her card in!

Well, he figured, as a man he wasn’t at much of a disadvantage. He could put up with it for now.

The next few days were regular workdays. Cherry had to work during the day and only managed to attend evening classes, so she didn’t run into Gu Cheng again.

A week slipped by in the blink of an eye.

On Saturday morning, Cherry went to her C++ course full of anticipation, but once again, Gu Cheng was nowhere to be seen—according to her experience last week, he usually attended the morning sessions.

Unwilling to give up, she discreetly asked other students and learned that the "legendary junior" was progressing at an incredible pace and had already moved far ahead, attending a different class.

Cherry was a little disappointed.

It wasn’t until class ended at noon that her Samsung phone suddenly rang. The caller was an unknown number.

"Another call—how annoying..." Cherry tugged at her ponytail, her expression impatient.

As a product manager and planner at a software company, she’d developed a professional aversion to her phone ringing—just hearing it made her irritable.

She was sorely tempted to pretend she hadn’t heard it.

"Well, I should have all my colleagues’ and my boss’s numbers saved. Hopefully it’s not an external supplier..."

Thinking back on the chance encounter last weekend, and considering it was an unfamiliar number, Cherry hesitated, then pressed the answer button.

"Cherry, it’s Xiao Gu. Just bought a phone; this is my number."

"Ah... it really is little Gu!" The magnetic voice on the other end brought her a moment of unexpected happiness. She mumbled a few words in a daze.

Gu Cheng invited her, "Are you busy? Let’s get something to eat—my treat."

Cherry was surprised. "Your treat? Isn’t that too much..."

"It’s fine. I just registered a company these past few days. You can consider it a celebration with me."

"Wait, is it for the online game agency? That’s wonderful—then I won’t be shy."

"Fifteen minutes. Meet you at the subway station."

"Alright."

Cherry packed her bag, ducked into the office building’s restroom to touch up her makeup, then hurried to the Jiulao District subway station. Sure enough, she spotted Gu Cheng at the escalator entrance.

Gu Cheng offered to carry her bag like a gentleman. "This area’s too remote, nothing good to eat. Let’s take Line 1 for three stops to Yeouido and eat there."

Cherry demurred. "No need, really. A workday lunch is fine, I still have class this afternoon."

"It’s no trouble. I’ve been in Seoul almost two years and haven’t had anything decent yet. I even looked up recommendations online—don’t tell me I did that for nothing?"

Since Gu Cheng put it that way, Cherry found it hard to refuse.

They took the subway to Yeouido Station and found a restaurant specializing in ginseng stewed chicken and salt-baked pig’s trotters. Gu Cheng ordered the classic ginseng chicken, the oil-baked trotters, and a spread of side dishes.

The trotters here went through a secret double process: salt-baking and oil-baking, so all the fat was rendered out, leaving only lean meat and crispy roasted skin—a perfect, guilt-free collagen fix for girls.

Gu Cheng's thoughtful order warmed her heart.

Once most of the food had arrived, Gu Cheng ordered two bottles of soju, and they poured each other a glass—following the intricate etiquette of the East, where one never pours their own drink at a meal.

Cherry accompanied him for two shots, sipped some chicken soup, and started on the pig’s trotters.

Gu Cheng produced a crisp, freshly printed business card and slid it across the table to her.

Cherry examined it, still finding it a bit unreal. "How did you manage to set up a company? The registered capital must be at least a hundred million, and you need two shareholders."

"I have an aunt and a cousin back home. I borrowed a bit from my cousin and had her listed as a shareholder in name only. As for the office, I just rented the cheapest place I could find—five hundred thousand a month. Nothing worth mentioning." Gu Cheng didn’t want to dwell on the trivialities and brushed off the topic with a few words.

Cherry could tell he’d run around a lot that week and probably endured quite a bit.

But he was unwilling to complain.

What makes a man mature? This is it.

No matter what he’d been through, he’d never utter a word of hardship in front of a woman.

This kind of maturity seemed completely at odds with his age.

"Cherry, a toast to you—drink as you please."

While Cherry’s thoughts drifted, Gu Cheng raised his glass for another round and got straight to the point. "The company I just registered is set up to handle software copyrights and agencies. I hope we can collaborate on ‘Legend’ in the future. So, could you help introduce me to someone and get me a shot at negotiations?"

Cherry hesitated. "But a hundred million isn’t nearly enough—double that wouldn’t cut it."

Gu Cheng was skeptical; he had preconceived notions.

According to history books, Chen Tianqiao supposedly started with just half a million RMB. Of course, Chen’s deal involved a small upfront payment but a larger share for the Koreans later. Once Legend became a hit, disputes broke out.

Even though the current internet boom hadn’t faded yet and companies tended to overvalue virtual assets, the price shouldn’t be that much higher.

Gu Cheng kept his composure. "I’m not expecting to buy the rights outright. I just want a chance to talk, see what the real numbers are, and get a sense of where I stand."

Cherry thought it over, realizing he had a point. Even if nothing came of it, her company wouldn’t lose anything—and after all, he’d just bought her lunch. How could she refuse to help?

"I’ll put in a word for you and find someone with decision-making power to talk. But that’s as far as I can go."

...

First thing Monday morning, Cherry reported Gu Cheng’s business opportunity, talking up his credentials as much as she could.

Her boss was intrigued and arranged a meeting for the next day.

Early the following morning, Gu Cheng skipped class, put on his new LEE-brand casual wear, and headed straight for WEMADE.

He was received by WEMADE’s marketing director, a man in his thirties with a sharp, somewhat ferret-like face.

As he took Gu Cheng’s business card, his expression remained blank. Another unknown shell company, he thought.

"Mr. Gu, you’re certainly accomplished for your age. My name is Park Young-kwan. It’s a pleasure to see your interest in the overseas rights to Legend."

"Director Park, you flatter me. I have some resources back in China and want to test the waters with an online game. The current market isn’t great—traffic’s no longer the way to go. It’s better to focus on profits."

They exchanged a few words, and Gu Cheng’s bearing and insight betrayed not the slightest flaw.

Park Young-kwan thought, at least this one isn’t just another headless chicken chasing the start-up craze.

But Park hadn’t had time to thoroughly vet Gu Cheng’s background, so he wasn’t about to offer him a fair price right away.

Their conversation was full of subtle tests, both sides giving nothing away.

Gu Cheng realized that stalling would get him nowhere. He’d appeared out of nowhere—of course they’d take him for an empty-handed opportunist. Without something concrete, the other party would only continue to string him along.

So Gu Cheng decided to take a risk.

He lowered his voice mysteriously and laid his cards on the table. "Director Park, you can make inquiries. The son of Chief Quan from the Ministry of Culture and I have collaborated several times. This isn’t my first time handling a foreign online game."

Is this kid the child of a high official? Park wondered.

He wasn’t easily intimidated; Gu Cheng could drop any name he liked, but only a fool would take it at face value.

As Park hesitated, Gu Cheng saw fit to add, "You know how the Chinese market works. Without introductions from the authorities, I’ve never seen a foreign online game pass Ministry of Culture approval."

"Better not to offend a petty official than a gentleman," Park thought. What if this kid really is the son of a Chinese official...

Anyway, all the guy wanted was a price quote—not an unreasonable request.

At worst, he’d humor him, quote a price padded by several times, and investigate further later.

If Gu Cheng was bluffing with the chief’s son’s name, WEMADE could always check. If there wasn’t a strong connection, the chief’s son certainly wouldn’t cover for him.

Having considered all this, Park forced a smile and gave Gu Cheng the "fair" price he wanted.

"Mr. Gu, since you clearly have resources, I’ll be frank: to buy out the permanent rights to Legend for China, it’s a one-time payment of 400 million won, plus a 30% share of annual net profits from future operations."

Four hundred million won? That’s two and a half million RMB. Plus 30% of future net profits?

Highway robbery!

Gu Cheng vaguely recalled that the price was several times higher than what history recorded.

However, the profit share demanded by the Koreans was 15 percentage points lower than the historical 45%.

Clearly, Gu Cheng, with his shell company compared to the original "Shanda," inspired less confidence. The Koreans preferred a quick, hefty upfront gain—they feared Gu Cheng might lack the means to operate the game well, making a high future share meaningless.

They obviously didn’t think much of him.

Suppressing his anger, Gu Cheng replied in a low voice, "Isn’t that a bit steep? The game isn’t even finished yet—who knows what it’ll become. I might be the only one willing to take the risk at this stage. Isn’t that worth some consideration?"

"Mr. Gu, the price already reflects your status as an early entrant," Park replied, his tone utterly sincere.

"Did the history books get it wrong? But for such a big game, fifty thousand does seem a bit low," Gu Cheng thought, wavering inside.

No matter. He decided to focus on today’s goal.

"Alright, let’s leave that aside. Let’s be practical—give me some alternative proposals. For example, if the revenue share dropped to 20% or 10%, what would the upfront payment be?"

Gu Cheng’s bargaining showed no sign of financial constraint. He came off as a rich kid supremely confident in his own decisions.

To outsiders, Gu Cheng looked like the sort who believed that as long as he secured the project, profit was guaranteed—a cocky risk-taker eager to buy out all future dividends from the start.

Park was rather startled by this: Huh? This kid’s really that confident?

He had his team quickly run the numbers.

"If you want to lower our future share, that’s negotiable. For 20%, the upfront payment is 600 million; for 10%, it’s 800 million."

"Alright, I’ll go back and review the figures and get back to you," Gu Cheng said, collecting his coat and taking his leave.

There was no doubt the price could be bargained down in the future.

But no matter how he looked at it, it was much higher than he’d expected.