Chapter 23
Shi Yu was well aware.
There were two main challenges to his project. First, the platform needed a large amount of buzz to gain visibility—only when enough people saw it could wishes begin to circulate, making more users eager to try. Would it really help them fulfill their long-cherished dreams?
If it couldn’t gain traction and there weren’t enough users posting or helping fulfill wishes, the supply and demand cycle of the platform would stall, and the entire project would inevitably fail.
The second issue was that the project’s brilliance lay in its conceptual design. The actual implementation wasn’t difficult, for a professional company team, copying the core code would only be a matter of time. So, how to launch it with impact and make it irreplicable was another key hurdle.
Moreover, even if he managed to make it popular—despite the low initial cost and potentially high return—big success draws big attention. Numerous investors and competitors would try to devour his project. As an ordinary college student with no background, how could he hold on to it? All it would take is a wave of copycats squeezing his market space to push him into a corner, and then he’d be forced into an easy acquisition.
Professor Wang shook his head gently. “The idea is great, and the execution is impressive, but unfortunately, you’re still too young. You might as well sell it to another development team—you’d still get a decent return.”
“I understand what you mean, Professor,” Shi Yu looked up at him.
“I just want to say that I’ll still go forward with starting a business. There’s no need to hold my spot for graduate school anymore—you can give it to a student who needs it more.”
“Sigh.” Although disappointed, Professor Wang could only respect his decision. He waved him off and let him go.
When Shi Yu returned to Dorm 403 carrying his laptop, it just so happened that all three of his roommates were there—rare, since the new semester had only just begun.
Lin Chuan was glued to his screen, arms crossed, staring at a wall of dense stock charts, sweating profusely. “Which one should I pick…”
When he saw Shi Yu, his eyes lit up. “God Yu is back! Bro, help me pick one to buy? My mom gave me her trading account and told me to practice.”
The other two roommates pretended to be tidying up, but were clearly eavesdropping. They’d long heard that Shi Yu had secretly started stock trading early on—and quite successfully, it seemed.
As finance majors, trading stocks and funds was something almost every student tried. But theory and practice had an unbridgeable gap. The school did offer mock trading accounts for practice in class, but most students lost badly.
Only a handful ever saw positive returns—Shi Yu was one of them.
Shi Yu casually pointed in a direction. “Buy as much as you can afford. Sell everything a month from now.”
“Alright!” Lin Chuan had been staring at the screen for a long time, but hadn’t dared to pick a stock and make a move. This wasn’t a simulated account—it was real money. If he lost badly, his mom would definitely scold him into next week.
“Hey, Shi Yu, could you teach me too?” It was rare for their roommate Xu Zhiqiang to be back in the dorm, but he gathered his courage to ask. “I’ve been looking at stocks too, but I don’t know which one is better to pick.”
Shi Yu cleared his desk, took off the old bedsheets and quilt cover for washing, and replaced them with a fresh new set. He then casually drew the bed curtain closed and ignored him.
The two other roommates were named Xu Zhiqiang and Gao Ming. Back in their first year, these two had become class officers by cozying up to the faculty—frequently hanging around the department office to make themselves familiar faces to the professors.
After learning from some documents that Shi Yu came from a poor mountain region, they had always mocked and looked down on him.
Most students who made it into Jiang University came from well-off families. Jiangcheng, being a top-tier developed metropolis, had high living costs that most ordinary families couldn’t afford—so they usually wouldn’t let their kids apply there.
Adding to that, Shi Yu consistently had the highest GPA and was easily the best-looking in the dorm, so the two of them were often hostile toward him.
So poor, yet acting all high and mighty.
Although no one ever said it out loud, the way his scholarship documents often got delayed or blocked, and the gossip that followed behind his back, made things more than clear.
These two wouldn’t even dare review exam materials in the dorm at the end of each semester, afraid Lin Chuan would overhear the key points. Now they were hoping to ride on Lin Chuan’s stock trading and get a piece of Shi Yu’s insights.
They could forget it.
His silent refusal just now was a complete slap in the face.
Lin Chuan was outgoing and thick-skinned, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t read the room. Seeing Shi Yu ignore them completely, he felt incredibly satisfied. That’s what a real main character would do. He immediately bombarded Shi Yu with reaction stickers on WeChat.
【Hahahahahaha you pulled that curtain so fast, you didn’t see Xu Zhiqiang’s face—it was awful.】
【Laughing at the sky.jpg】
Shi Yu then sent him a few stocks: 【Keep an eye on them. They’re still at relatively low positions now, good for entry. Sell after they rise a bit—don’t get greedy.】
【Got it, God Yu!】
“What are you pretending for? So what if you made some lucky money? We ask you a question and you don’t even answer—what, playing deaf now?”
Gao Ming seemed like he couldn’t stand it anymore. He kicked the trash can nearby and sneered, “Even if you can buy low and sell high, so what? Do you even know that investing relies heavily on capital? Without enough principal, how much profit can you really make? You think you’ve got that kind of money to trade stocks?”
Gao Ming had always looked down on poor people who acted aloof and self-important. He curled his lip and raised his voice: “Want me to lend you some capital? Huh? Crawled out of some poor, godforsaken place—do you even have money?”
A low, cold voice came from behind the thin, dark bed curtain: “Say that again.”
“I said, do you even have money? Don’t understand human speech?”
“Broke loser.”
“Hey now, who the hell are you talking about? That’s uncalled for!” Lin Chuan blurted out, so angry that he slipped into his local dialect. His head buzzed, and he turned to glare at Gao Ming, noticing the trash can teetering and half its contents spilled all over the floor.
He hadn’t even had the chance to show off his wealth yet—and this idiot was already pretending?
He’d never met many people richer than his own family!
“I was talking about him—Shi Yu, didn’t you know?” Gao Ming was all too happy to mock others, “You haven’t seen his file, have you? I laughed so hard. He’s from a poverty-stricken county in Haishi. Guess who’s really faking it now?”
“You—” Lin Chuan was grinding his teeth in anger. Gao Ming hadn’t dragged him into it directly, so he couldn’t lash out without reason, “So what? Who do you think you’re looking down on here? He’s crushed your GPA for three years straight, why don’t you mention that? If you’ve got the skills, beat his GPA. Why is he the top of the department and not you? Even this year’s only National Scholarship went to him—mad about it, huh?”
“Lame-lame-lame!” he taunted childishly.
“You jealous ’cause he’s good-looking and gets top grades? As if he chose where to be born. Birth is a damn lottery, assigned by the heavens—who do you think you are, royalty?”
Ironically, Lin Chuan, who really was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, cared the least about family background and rarely showed off his wealth in front of others.
Although he wasn’t close to that idiot roommate, he could tell for sure that Gao Ming’s family didn’t come anywhere close to his—so Gao Ming always tried to step on people “below” him just to make himself feel superior.
Gao Ming’s face turned gloomy: “What, you that desperate for friends? Or just starving for attention? Sucking up to some broke loser like that—can you be serious for once? Your family’s not that bad, right? He doesn’t even say a word, and you’re out here explaining for him?”
“We’re studying finance, you know. We’re all gonna work in investment banks. You think he’s gonna help you in your future career? What connections does he have? His social skills suck—he has no idea how to network or build relationships. His only real ‘connection’ is probably a few professors here at school. And I’ve never even seen him go help out at the department office.”
“How ridiculous. Coming from a completely broke background—do you seriously think you’re going to make something of yourself?”
What Gao Ming said wasn’t technically wrong. The finance industry does rely heavily on connections and background. But hearing it still made Lin Chuan even angrier: “Would you shut up already? With that stinking mouth of yours—did you even brush your teeth?”
Shi Yu let out a quiet laugh, a soft snort. Lin Chuan thought he’d finally snapped from anger.
“Are you done?” Shi Yu asked calmly.
“Nope,” Gao Ming replied, thinking Shi Yu was so embarrassed he couldn’t even argue back. “Xu Zhiqiang just asked you a couple of questions about stocks—why couldn’t you just tell him? His dad owns a company, you know. He might even help you out someday.”
“What a shame. You’re just that kind of guy—can’t even hold on to a single connection.” Gao Ming sneered. His voice had a slightly sharp, high-pitched edge to it, which only made him sound more petty and mean-spirited.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Xu Zhiqiang said, a little embarrassed now. He tried to ease the tension: “Maybe Shi Yu didn’t hear me earlier. I don’t think he meant to ignore me. We’re all roommates, no need to…”
“Give it a rest, would you?” Compared to Gao Ming’s blunt insults, Lin Chuan found this kind of fake politeness even more annoying. “Why didn’t you speak up sooner then? He already finished spewing all that crap, and now you want to play peacemaker? You’re even more irritating than him.”
Xu Zhiqiang didn’t expect Lin Chuan to suddenly turn on him, and could only shut up awkwardly.
“You’re right,” Shi Yu said, drawing open the curtain. His gaze met Gao Ming’s calmly, as if he hadn’t just been the one mocked mercilessly:
“I am from a poor county in Haishi. No family background, no connections, and I don’t bother with networking.”
“So what?” he replied blandly, “Does that mean you’ve surpassed me?”
Gao Ming froze. “You—”
“You were born with a better background than me, started at a higher point than I did, but your grades are still lower than mine in every area. Even though you hang around the department office all day, did you manage to get a guaranteed spot for postgrad at a top university?” Shi Yu smiled faintly. “You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
Gao Ming’s face turned terribly ugly. His grades really weren’t that stable—last semester, two of his classes went poorly and dragged down the GPA he’d worked so hard to maintain. At a place like Jiang University, filled with top students, he just didn’t stand out enough.
Even though Jiang University offers a lot of guaranteed grad school placements, the spots at the best schools are always rare.
He clenched his fists tightly, only to hear that calm, indifferent voice continue: “There’s nothing else to say. I didn’t respond to you because I didn’t want to. You’re the ones who couldn’t help but come and pester me.”
“Shi Yu, that’s not really fair…” Xu Zhiqiang spoke up awkwardly, “We’re all classmates—how could you say that? Classmates should help each other. We just wanted to ask how you trade stocks.”
“It really isn’t fair,” Shi Yu said as he closed his laptop. He leaned lazily against the bedframe, tilting his head slightly as he looked over at Gao Ming. “I just got back from the office. I turned down a grad school recommendation with no school restriction. If you want it, work hard and maybe you can pick it up.”
Lin Chuan was stunned. “What? Huh? You turned down a grad school spot?”
“To be exact, it was for a combined master’s and PhD program.”
When Shi Yu lifted his eyelids slightly, his clear eyes narrowed into slender lines. The pale pupils half-squinted, carrying a distant calm that almost looked like pity.
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