Xuzhou Times Square, Yu Dingxuan.
Inside a lavishly decorated private room, over a dozen exquisite local dishes were spread across a mahogany dining table. A bottle of vintage Treasure Aged Wine, cellared for many years, was still half-full.
Chen Yansen wasn't bothered by Yu Donglai's refusal.
'If he had agreed so readily, I would have been more suspicious.'
"President Yu, what are your concerns? Are you worried that Pang Donglai will lose its identity? Or are you afraid I can't afford it? Or perhaps you think that with a smaller stake, your profits will also shrink?"
Chen Yansen asked softly, his eyes on Yu Donglai.
"President Chen, Pang Donglai isn't some lucrative money-making machine. To be frank with you, our annual net profit is only 3% to 4%. If you buy it, your yearly return probably won't even reach a hundred million."
Yu Donglai said persuasively, choosing his words with care.
