Chapter 46: It’s Not the Economy That’s Failing, It’s Your Family’s Finances

October 22nd, a Sunday.

East City, fourth floor of Peace Plaza, Qiantang Talent Market.

At the elevator entrance, the large electronic screen displayed the headline, “Internet and Marketing Talent Recruitment Fair,” beneath which scrolled the list of companies with booths. Each page could show forty employers, while the market had 120 booths in total. In peak season, the screen needed to scroll through three pages to cover all companies.

Unfortunately, recent “Internet Talent” fairs had been especially bleak. Only a sparse twenty-odd companies were listed, not even enough to merit flipping the page—and among them, seven or eight weren’t true internet firms at all.

In stark contrast to the few employers, the number of job seekers carrying résumés was considerable. Former C++ programmers now willing to humble themselves for VPF. Former product managers content to settle for operations assistant roles.

Without doubt, all of them were casualties of the long winter.

The winter was about to complete its second month. In industry circles, internet companies were almost universally laying off rather than hiring.

A thirty-something “sales dog,” his hair cropped short, résumé in hand, wandered the floor and felt the chill in his bones.

His name was Gan Jiawei. He hadn’t originally worked in internet, but was a seasoned market man with twelve years of sales experience at Huaxia Petroleum. His greatest achievement? Perhaps selling fuel cards—which, truth be told, he could boast with pride: in twelve years at the Wu-Yue Provincial Branch of Huaxia Petroleum, he’d never met anyone with a better record than his.

If not for the damned state enterprise’s reliance on currying favor with leaders for promotions, he would’ve climbed the ladder long ago. After finally deciding to escape that stifling, seniority-obsessed world, he had the misfortune to land right as the internet bubble burst. Truly, wrong place, wrong time.

Making another round, Gan Jiawei realized that the so-called “sales personnel” sought by these internet companies weren’t actual salespeople at all, but those who made PowerPoints to impress venture capitalists—smooth talkers selling dreams, not products.

That’s not his area of expertise, nor did he want it to be.

“No wonder the internet bubble burst! A bunch of PPT artists conning investors, none of them planning to make money off real customers—what kind of business is that?”

His complaint was a bit loud, catching the attention of a man at a nearby booth.

The booth was supposed to be staffed by a woman in her thirties, but as it was lunchtime, she’d gone to eat. In her place sat an unusually unattractive man with striking features—though “inspecting” might be a better word than “staffing,” since he wasn’t actively recruiting, just sitting and observing with his tea.

It wasn’t until Gan Jiawei’s outburst that the ugly man responded.

Gan Jiawei glanced over and saw the man pointing to the last line on their recruiting poster: “Hiring Door-to-Door Sales, Responsibilities…”

Adjusting his glasses, Gan Jiawei approached, bowed slightly, and sat to ask, “What exactly does your door-to-door sales role entail?”

“Building sweeps. We’re an e-commerce company and need salespeople who aren’t afraid of rejection—thick-skinned types who can charge into office buildings and startup incubators, go from top to bottom, persuading each business to join AlibaBa.”

“What does AlibaBa do?”

“E-commerce data. Most small and medium-sized businesses don’t think it’s worth paying to build a website—or simply can’t afford it. So when others try to look up their address or contact details online, they find nothing. For a small fee, AlibaBa helps them manage their basic info online, which is much cheaper than building their own website. The specific uses are too many to list, but in essence, this sales role is about bringing offline customers online. Interested in the challenge?”

Gan Jiawei asked, “How’s the pay structured?”

The ugly man replied, “A base salary of 600 with no performance requirement, plus thirty yuan commission for every business you bring in.”

Gan Jiawei calculated silently. At Huaxia Petroleum, he’d earned a base of 2,000 with negligible commission, but the benefits were good. Six hundred base here felt meager; the real question was how hard it would be to make those deals.

“Could I have your contact info? I’ll think it over.”

“Of course.” The ugly man confidently handed over his business card.

Glancing at it, Gan Jiawei realized he was speaking to the company’s CEO.

“AlibaBa CEO, Ma Feng.”

After meeting Ma Feng, Gan Jiawei regained a little faith in internet sales recruiting, and also learned how to read the recruiting posters for potential opportunities.

At last, as he finished his second round, he noticed a grassroots role he’d missed before.

“Legendary Entertainment, hiring internet café door-to-door sales. Responsibilities: Recommend internet café owners to join the company’s online recharge system. Excellent performers may be promoted within three months.”

At the recruiting desk sat two remarkably attractive young women, both seemingly fresh out of university. Behind them stood a boy even younger, his looks hardly befitting a businessman, though he had his head down reading résumés, radiating a sense of calm.

Huh? Could this company be a vanity project for some rich kid?

But the position intrigued him enough to ask.

Gan Jiawei approached and asked, “Excuse me, who’s in charge here?”

One of the young women, who had been chatting idly, turned around and answered without arrogance or servility, “I’m HR, and this is our General Manager. What would you like to know?”

It was, of course, Pan Jieying who replied.

Gan Jiawei pointed to the responsibilities listed on the poster, puzzled. “What does your internet café sales role actually do? You’re not selling games to café owners, are you?”

“Of course not,” came the immediate reply from Guo Cheng, who hadn’t even looked up. “It’s about recommending our company’s online payment system to café owners.”

He raised his head, took Gan Jiawei’s résumé, and scanned it.

“Gan Jiawei?” The name rang a bell. Suddenly, it clicked. “Holy—! Isn’t this guy the one who, over a decade later, commands AlibaBa’s 7,000-strong ‘Iron Army’ of ground sales?”

A legend of the O2O era—master of offline expansion. If not for Ma’s later suggestion to have him join Meituan as COO for Wang Xing, Meituan would never have managed to acquire Dazhong Dianping and nearly unite the O2O market.

So now, he was just a sales veteran freshly jumped from Huaxia Petroleum, with nowhere to go.

Understanding his background, Guo Cheng now read his résumé with a sharper focus.

“Your record at Huaxia Petroleum is impressive: diligent, effective, strong execution. But why no promotion? Probably due to the usual state-owned bureaucracy.”

Guo Cheng was absorbed in the résumé. Pan Jieying, left to her own devices, chatted at length with Gan Jiawei.

Gan Jiawei wasn’t well-versed in internet matters, but Pan Jieying’s explanations made the business clear.

“So… is there commission?” he asked.

“That’s not something we can discuss right now; we need to confirm your intent first…” Pan Jieying hedged, suspecting he lacked interview experience—asking about details before even expressing interest.

She hadn’t even gotten to use the HR psychological tactics she’d learned as an undergraduate!

Unfortunately, her cousin soon ruined her attempt at playing it cool.

Guo Cheng replied straightforwardly, “There’s commission. If you start next month, it’s 150 yuan for every café owner you sign up. Next year, it’ll drop to 100, and may go lower in future.”

Pan Jieying turned and glared, furious—how was she supposed to maintain the “Director of Human Resources” mystique? She still had so many psychological tricks on cooldown!

Gan Jiawei paid no mind; he cared only about commission. “Why does it decrease over time?”

“Because our online game will only get more popular. When the company grows, we won’t need to offer as much—once we’re the hottest in the country, internet café owners will come to us for the recharge system, and there’ll be no need for high commissions.”

A bold statement—yet it made sense.

And if he could really earn 150 yuan per café owner, that was far better than Huaxia Petroleum.

Gan Jiawei gritted his teeth and asked, “How often is the commission paid?”

“At first, it’s weekly; after the first month, it’ll be monthly,” Guo Cheng answered, having considered the company’s lack of reputation and not wanting to scare off talent by requiring too much patience.

“So, I can try it out as soon as tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Guo Cheng smiled proudly, as if everything was in his grasp.

Gan Jiawei completed the paperwork and left. His employee badge from Aliba Group, number 67, faded forever into the river of history, replaced by Legendary Entertainment number 26.

Pan Jieying raised her elegant eyebrows and pinched her cousin’s ear. “Why did you have to undermine me just now?”

“Ow, sis, not so hard—how embarrassing,” Guo Cheng gasped, begging for mercy. “I just think the guy’s a real talent; give him a shot… You want to show off your HR authority, save it for when the company’s big and famous!”

“Nonsense! I’m just doing my job, saving the company money—who cares about showing off?”