Chapter 27: Trouble Cannot Be Avoided

Every day, Gu Cheng managed his business, checked prices and studied, went swimming and worked out; time passed swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, mid-June had arrived.

There were only half a month left before Huang Yi’s IPO on Nasdaq.

Boss Ding had transferred money several times, totaling over six million yuan, and Gu Cheng’s net profit had already reached about two million.

With ample funds, Gu Cheng felt more confident. Whenever he had free time, he and Pan Jieying would work together on a hardware cost table for online game operations, as if the game agency rights were already firmly in his grasp.

Pan Jieying was a layperson, but since she had been admitted to an MBA program, it was the perfect opportunity for her to get hands-on practice.

It was June 15th, a Friday, and the weather was warm and pleasant. Gu Cheng’s aunt had gone to work early in the morning, leaving him at home with his cousin and grandmother.

Pan Jieying presented her freshly completed business plan to Gu Cheng, asking for his critique:

“To run an online game like ‘Legend,’ you need to ensure smooth network speed, reserving at least 20KB of downstream bandwidth per online player. According to current telecom prices, a player online all year would cost the company 70 yuan in bandwidth fees. As for servers, to be safe, we should lease and host them in the early stages. The averaged annual hardware cost per concurrent user is about 65 yuan.

These calculations are based on supporting 100,000 concurrent users. If we sell a monthly pass for 30 yuan, each user would generate 360 yuan in annual revenue. Roughly 135 yuan would go toward hardware costs—that’s 35 to 40 percent.”

She highlighted the key points for her cousin, who listened while sipping tea, but quickly found the math off: why was the gross margin so low? If hardware costs ate up forty percent, what profit was left?

He glanced over it, then couldn’t help but laugh, pointing out her rookie mistake. “That’s way too high—most monthly subscribers aren’t online 24/7. Playing eight hours a day already makes them hardcore players. By that calculation, the fixed hardware cost is only a little over ten percent. And we don’t have to sell monthly passes at just thirty yuan, either.”

Pan Jieying blushed. “Really? People only play that little with a monthly pass? I thought gamers were all glued to their screens, day and night.”

Gu Cheng chuckled. “Sis, let me put it this way—if you want to help me, just relying on your MBA classes won’t cut it. What you really need is to play through all the online games on the market yourself. Nothing beats hands-on experience.”

Pan Jieying sighed, realizing that women in the online gaming industry had a natural disadvantage.

Before she could reflect too much, Gu Cheng continued pointing out more issues: “And even my earlier statement about ‘fixed hardware cost being just over ten percent’ isn’t entirely accurate. Player activity throughout the day means servers and bandwidth will never be fully loaded—there will be peak times at night and lulls during the day. To get precise data, you’ll need to investigate internet cafés; only then can you accurately calculate the future average hardware cost per player for an online game. It’s not as simple as it looks on paper.”

Pan Jieying was a little downcast: “Internet cafés always smell so strongly of cigarettes...”

Clearly, her debut as an MBA was full of obstacles.

As they chatted, lunchtime soon arrived. Grandmother Quan Yinglian had finished cooking and called the siblings to wash up for lunch.

Lunch was simple—each had a bowl of noodle soup and a side of steamed duck in soy sauce.

The family sat around the table. Grandmother naturally turned on the television, switching to the international channel for the noon news.

Both Gu Cheng and his cousin were internet users and paid little attention to TV news, choosing instead to chat as they ate.

Halfway through the meal, Gu Cheng’s phone suddenly rang. He checked the caller ID: Wen Huiying’s number, an international call.

His heart tightened—a month and a half had passed, and he and Wen Huiying had communicated almost exclusively by email, rarely by phone.

Pan Jieying noticed her cousin’s unsettled expression and asked with concern, “What’s wrong?”

Grandmother, too, turned her attention from the news to Gu Cheng.

“It’s nothing. I can handle it,” Gu Cheng reassured his cousin before picking up the call.

A string of Yi language came from the other end.

Pan Jieying, having grown up with her grandmother, could understand a little. Grandmother, a native Yi speaker, had no trouble, though her hearing wasn’t what it once was.

“Mr. Gu, I’m only helping you because you’re Xiaoche’s friend, but you don’t seem very honest.”

Gu Cheng didn’t want to step away from his family to take the call—he knew that would only worry them more. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “Wen, if you have something to say, just say it.”

“You kept telling me you hired me to launch a DDOS attack against Huang Yi. But isn’t Huang Yi about to go public? There’s even an article in today’s Wall Street Journal that specifically ‘praises’ his recent internationalization strategy and the obvious growth in traffic. You should know better than anyone how that ‘growth’ came about!”

Gu Cheng took a deep breath—so he’d been found out, and it was time to come clean.

He’d never imagined this business could remain secret for long. All he could do was keep things steady, delay as much as possible, and earn what he could.

He replied calmly, “My motives for hiring you hardly matter, do they? The four million you’re owed has been paid in full, not a cent less.”

“I only received seven hundred thousand. The rest went to other hackers. I’m just the middleman finding resources for you. I’m practically famous now—hackers in the Yi and Fusang circles all know I’m buying! In less than half a month, they’ll start talking, and soon they’ll realize they’re all selling to the same client!”

Gu Cheng cut her off decisively. “Hackers have professional ethics. Once they take a job, they finish it, and they don’t leak client information. Isn’t that right?”

Even if the hackers knew who they were working for, so what? When they took those DDOS jobs, they knew who their employer was, and none had ever exposed their client.

If a hacker did that, the consequences would be severe—just like a hitman betraying an employer.

So Gu Cheng wasn’t worried about Boss Ding being exposed. His only concern was how long this business could last and what profit margin he could maintain.

Wen Huiying understood this as well, so she extended an invitation: “Come to Seoul. I want to talk face to face. If you’re still offering the original price, I can’t keep those people in line.”

Gu Cheng took a breath and agreed calmly, “Alright. I’ll buy a ticket for tomorrow.”

After Gu Cheng hung up, both his cousin and grandmother looked nervous.

“You’re going to Seoul again? Is it dangerous?” Pan Jieying asked, voicing her own and her grandmother’s concerns.

Gu Cheng replied as calmly as possible, “Don’t worry, it’s just business. We’re all civilized people—what could go wrong?”

“Why is the other party a woman?” she asked.

“Why can’t hackers be women? That’s perfectly normal. Sis, you should watch the annual Yi hacking competitions—there are plenty of women participants.”

Still uneasy, Pan Jieying bit her lip. “Just be careful. I’ll pack your things for you.”

The interruption at the lunch table left everyone unsettled. Pan Jieying quickly finished her noodles and went to pack for her brother.

Grandmother, not understanding the business side of things, could only ask, “Chengcheng, didn’t you say you’d settled everything abroad? Why are people still looking for you?”

Gu Cheng comforted her gently, “Don’t worry, Grandma, it’s just a business partner.”

Grandmother thought for a moment. “So you got along pretty well in Yi, made a lot of friends?”

Gu Cheng nodded reassuringly. Satisfied, Grandmother said nothing more, cleared the table, and settled onto the sofa to continue watching the news. Gu Cheng, not wanting her to worry, sat with her for a while.

The international news was on, and midway through, a breaking story interrupted:

“According to the latest midday reports, Northern Yi leader Kim Jaechao and Eastern Yi President Kim Xiaozhong have just reached a final agreement during the last round of diplomatic talks held from June 13th to 15th, issuing a joint North-South Declaration.

According to the statement, the first meeting for families separated by the war will be held on August 15th this year, and in September, North and South athletes will enter under a unified delegation at the Sydney Olympics. Further discussions will be held on cooperative projects such as the Kaesong Industrial Park, Kaesong Tourism Exchange Zone, and Kumgang Mountain Tourism Exchange Zone. The outside world generally views this as an important step toward normalizing relations on the peninsula...”

Gu Cheng, seeing this news, was a little surprised but didn’t think much of it.

But Grandmother Quan Yinglian became visibly agitated, her whole body trembling slightly.

“What’s wrong, Grandma?” Gu Cheng, noticing her unstable mood, gently massaged her back and shoulders to comfort her. “Don’t scare me. It’s just a diplomatic story. Normalizing North-South relations is a good thing.”

Grandmother took several deep breaths, her flushed complexion slowly returning to normal. “It’s nothing, I was just surprised. I never thought, after fifty years, Kaesong would finally no longer be a military zone.”

Pan Jieying, still packing, heard the commotion and came into the living room, catching her grandmother’s emotional sigh, thoroughly confused.

Grandmother sat with the two siblings for a long time, as if making a decision. “Chengcheng, Xiaoying, there’s something I’ve never told you. I mentioned it once to your grandfather, but not even your father knows—I was afraid of trouble, and I planned to take it to my grave. But after seeing today’s news, maybe it’s fate.”

The siblings were puzzled but spoke together, “Grandma, we’re adults now. If there’s something you want to say, just tell us. We can handle it.”

Gu Cheng had seen enough in his life—even time travel—so he doubted his grandmother could reveal anything more astonishing.

Grandmother took a moment to gather her words, tears welling in her eyes, and finally began, “All these years, we’ve always told people I’m from Northern Yi, right? But do you know how the Americans and Soviets drew the border on the peninsula back then?”

Gu Cheng and Pan Jieying exchanged glances, thinking the question too simple, but not understanding why her thoughts had jumped there.

“The 38th parallel, of course—everyone knows that.”

“Then take a look at a map. Is the current armistice line between North and South Yi really the 38th parallel?”

Pan Jieying fetched a map of the peninsula and saw that the actual armistice line wasn’t the standard 38th parallel: on the eastern coast in the Kumgang Mountains, the border curved northward; on the western coast at the mouth of the Han River, it dipped south.

But Gu Cheng didn’t see the issue. “The 38th parallel was just a line drawn at the Yalta Conference. The real border was renegotiated at Panmunjom in ’53 after years of war—of course it changed.”

Grandmother nodded, pointing to the west coast bulge on the map where the armistice line dipped south.

“That area, which the North took after the war, is Kaesong. In 1950, it was still Eastern Yi territory. I was just a twelve-year-old girl then. That year, my father went to Kaesong on business and took me with him from our home in Seoul...”

Gu Cheng and Pan Jieying listened quietly to their grandmother’s story, their eyes growing wider and wider as the tale unfolded.