Chapter 154 Whether It Adapts or Not
In a later era, the gaming industry was one of the most underestimated markets. But in fact, it was games—or more precisely, online games—that pulled the entire Internet out of the so-called "winter."
In 2001, while major websites and portals were wailing in distress, online games rose sharply—although it seemed like the Internet winter was due to a "tulip bubble" effect, the essence was that Internet companies had failed to meet profit expectations.
Games, however, were different. From the outset, they were consumer products designed to tap into players' wallets.
Of course, as consumer products, they inevitably carried controversy: terms like "electronic heroin" or accusations of "ruining youth" constantly surfaced, often overshadowing the cultural influence and communication value games actually had. (In fact, I'm quite familiar with the online gaming industry, having written novels about it and mixed with some big names in game operations, receiving a lot of help from them.)
Since the butterfly effect of his actions had already reached this stage, Su Yuanshan saw no problem in pushing the domestic gaming industry forward a little more. After all, in later years, it would become a trillion-dollar market, about one-third the size of the semiconductor industry.
At this point, Japan's gaming market was not yet as closed-off as it would later become. Jumping aboard the PlayStation bandwagon now was perhaps the only opportunity for domestic gaming companies to gain a foothold.
If they didn't act now, they would never get the chance.
Similarly, the West was just entering the PC gaming boom. If they didn't seize the opportunity now, they'd end up eating leftovers in the future.
Thus... Su Yuanshan didn't care whether domestic games could adapt perfectly to foreign markets or not.
How would you know if you didn't try?
Kutaragi Ken stood in thought.
He had a habit: whether facing rivals or partners, he would carefully analyze them after contact. Regarding Yuanxin, it wasn't just Sony investigating; in fact, all semiconductor and software-related companies were studying Yuanxin.
Because Yuanxin's rise was too smooth.
Or, to put it bluntly: Su Yuanshan's vision was simply too accurate.
His ten-thousand-dollar purchase of the cordless phone patent in a Silicon Valley café had already become a legend in investment circles.
Therefore, Kutaragi Ken took Su Yuanshan's suggestions very seriously. Although in his view, apart from Yuanxin, the mainland didn't seem to have any notable gaming companies—or even software companies—he remained attentive.
"Mr. Kutaragi, please don't be offended, but I feel that while many gaming companies in your country and the West boast of long histories and deep experience, these very traditions might also become obstacles to innovation," Su Yuanshan said frankly.
"Oh? Why?" Kutaragi Ken asked curiously.
Su Yuanshan smiled. "The PlayStation is a groundbreaking console. It's like offering a brand-new set of paintbrushes to developers. Those used to old eight-bit consoles might not know what new pictures to paint. On the other hand, newcomers, without old mindsets, might surprise us."
"Old mindsets..." Kutaragi Ken savored the words, then nodded. "Yes, we do need surprises for players."
Su Yuanshan smiled. "So I personally suggest paying more attention to domestic gaming companies."
"Are there really gaming companies here already?" Kutaragi Ken laughed.
"There are, of course. Give it a few months—you'll see."
After sending Kutaragi Ken off, Su Yuanshan pondered for a long time and decided to bypass the Software Industry Association.
The domestic Software Industry Association had been established eight years ago, but after its creation, it had done practically nothing—it didn't promote the software industry in any meaningful way and didn't even organize regular meetings. It existed merely for the sake of existing, even less useful than a company's labor union—which at least handed out apples during holidays.
Take this software exhibition for example: it should have been a golden opportunity for the association to shine. Yet up until now, they hadn't even made a peep.
Comparing the exhibition list, Su Yuanshan directly sent invitation emails to more than thirty purely private companies.
Immediately after, he also wrote a report to the Technology Bureau, offering suggestions from an industry insider's perspective regarding the provincial government's policies for attracting software companies.
After reviewing the draft several times, Su Yuanshan deliberately deleted the sections about planning a high-tech industrial park.
These reports would be passed along with the help of President Zhou Zhanzhong, who always read them carefully and often added his own ideas. There was no need for Su Yuanshan to write too detailed a plan—he needed to leave room for the leaders to exercise their own creativity.
The hottest month finally passed.
EDA had finally been successfully "sold."
Thanks to its monopolistic market position and the growing semiconductor industry, along with the strong launch of the general CAD software complementing EDA's PCB design capabilities, the EDA project was valued at 8 billion dollars.
Honestly, Su Yuanshan wasn't entirely satisfied—because even second-tier players like Cadence had valuations of hundreds of billions later on. Not to mention that Yuanxin's EDA already controlled over 60% of the market and had partnered with CAD software.
However, since it was necessary to attract investors, he had to make some concessions to ensure that the buyers had room for appreciation.
Thus, Yuanxin sold off nearly 80% of its EDA division, transitioning from majority to minority shareholder. The newly formed board unanimously decided to entrust voting rights to the founding team.
Participating companies included AMD, UMC, Siemens, Sony, NEC, Motorola, and Texas Instruments... Unfortunately, IBM and Intel were absent.
From this point on, apart from ongoing collaborative projects, Yuanxin had no substantive control or business ties with Zhiyuan EDA.
Having sold off EDA, Su Yuanshan finally placed the long-prepared Yuanxin equity restructuring plan on the table.
After considering countless options, he decided to adopt the same approach his old employer used back in Silicon Valley—virtual shares.
This method's greatest advantage was that it allowed the company to recycle employee earnings back into itself, providing a strong fundraising channel even when external investment was unavailable. Even though Yuanxin didn't lack money now, there was no harm in preparing for the future.
The downside was obvious: with no legal framework at the time, mishandling could easily cross into illegal fundraising.
His old company had been sued by a rival precisely because of this.
At the time, they had been terrified, thinking they'd end up in prison, until a high-ranking official intervened personally to save them.
But Yuanxin wasn't afraid of lawsuits now.
Still, even so, Su Yuanshan knew he needed to file a formal report and explain the pros and cons of virtual share issuance.
"…The specific plan is to establish Yuanxin Investment as a wholly owned subsidiary, pool the initial shares, distribute stocks among founding members and executives, then open a trading pool for employees with more than one year of service to buy shares, along with annual dividends…"
At home in Dian Ke University's family housing, Su Yuanshan explained the structure carefully to his father and uncle.
Su Xinghe nodded, then glanced at Zhang Ke and laughed. "And what about the initial shares?"
Su Yuanshan blinked. "You two need to give up a portion."
Zhang Ke burst into laughter. "You brat."
Su Yuanshan shrugged. "There's no choice. Yuanxin has grown so fast. In the U.S., after five or six rounds of fundraising, founders often end up with only 10% of the company. Now Yuanxin has become a giant, yet you two still hold a huge portion of the shares—it's not logical, and it's not good for future development."
"Besides, what are employees working so hard for? To one day become financially free after going public! Look at the Zhiyuan EDA team—after just splitting off, many of them are already future millionaires. You think the rest of Yuanxin's employees aren't envious?"
Su Xinghe chuckled, a deep understanding flashing in his eyes. "My assets are yours. You decide."
Uncle Zhang Ke stared at Su Yuanshan for a long time before laughing. "Little Shan, it's been two and a half years since you convinced me to join your venture, right?"
"Yeah. I remember asking if you dared to gamble."
"You said the valuation would grow tenfold... that would be 200 million. So, what is it now?"
Su Yuanshan thought for a moment. "If we include the recently separated EDA, probably more than 20 billion. If you add Xinghai, it's at least 30–40 billion—oh, I mean in U.S. dollars."
"So that's 200 billion yuan... in two years... 20,000 times growth. And we haven't even gone public yet; if we do, it'll multiply again." Zhang Ke shook his head in disbelief. "It's just a number now."
"Exactly. Just a number." Su Yuanshan grinned mischievously. "I heard you bought a Rolls-Royce recently?"
"I got a bit tacky…" Zhang Ke laughed heartily but soon grew serious. "But no matter how tacky, I'm not stupid."
Staring at Su Yuanshan, he said slowly, "Like your father, I'll follow whatever you arrange. No way I'd get in your way."
"Good!"
Su Yuanshan finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Truthfully, Yuanxin was still less than three years old. He didn't urgently need to restructure ownership yet. But just as he said: Yuanxin was already a giant; if the founders still acted like small bosses, it would be a disaster later on.
To avoid future soap operas, he had to be clear with his uncle now.
If his uncle had stubbornly refused, he might really have been forced to start spinning off businesses.
As the true controller of Yuanxin, Su Yuanshan had countless ways to sidestep him.
But he didn't want that. Even when he later founded Xinghai, he had insisted on bringing his uncle along.
Because gratitude mattered. His uncle's initial 3 million yuan investment was Yuanxin's foundation—no matter how glorious Yuanxin became, Zhang Ke would always have a share.
"Through the Yuanxin structure, all founding shares will gradually be diluted and spread among all employees. Now we have thousands of people. In the future, it'll be tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands…"
"As for wealth, Uncle, just wait a few years, and I'll arrange several publicly listed companies for you."
Zhang Ke nodded, smiling: "Okay. I'll listen to you."
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