Just a few days after poaching Zhang Li, Qinghui and Zhou Chang caught Jing Hong’s side completely off guard with another product.

When it came to that specific product line, Fanhai and Qinghui had originally maintained a north-south divide—Qinghui dominated the north while Fanhai held sway over the south—living in peaceful coexistence for years. Recently, however, Qinghui Group achieved a breakthrough with its product technology. On the very night they rolled out the brand-new version, Zhou Chang made a stunningly abrupt move, dropping a hundred million yuan to lay siege to Shanghai.

Crossing the Yangtze River overnight, Qinghui broke the tacit understanding and launched a blitzkrieg on the south, mounting an offensive that left Fanhai Group completely unprepared.

Qinghui Group’s video ad campaign celebrating the opening of Shanghai spread across the internet in an instant.

Jing Hong was equally incredulous: Without even testing the new version’s promotional impact in the north first, Zhou Chang had directly charged across the Yangtze to ignite the flames of war?

Just how confident was Zhou Chang in his own judgment?

In the blink of an eye, October arrived. Before the three-month standstill commitment prohibiting Fanhai Group from increasing its stake in Saint Games could expire, Saint Games’ third-quarter financial report beat them to the punch.

Key metrics like revenue and net profit fell below expectations—far below, in fact.

The moment the earnings report dropped, Saint Games’ stock price plummeted accordingly, dropping 10% in a single day. Analysts across the board found this performance baffling. Nobody had anticipated that the hot streak for Expedition, this major new game, would be so fleeting.

Perhaps driven by the bleak financial numbers, Saint Games’ CEO pressed Fanhai once again to take action—demanding they resolve the regulatory issues to help Expedition enter China as quickly as possible, displaying immense urgency.

It appeared that over the past few months, Saint Games’ repeated pleas for Fanhai’s help in entering China and expanding their market had been spurred by these internal operational troubles. After all, if Expedition was underperforming, the CEO was bound to know.

To negotiate its entry into China, Saint Games’ CEO even flew to Beijing in person one day to meet Jing Hong at Fanhai, putting on a show of utter sincerity.

50th floor of the Fanhai Tower, General Manager’s Office.

Jing Hong’s assistant escorted Mark Greenberg, the CEO of Saint Games, all the way into Jing Hong’s office.

Mark Greenberg’s parents were Jewish, and he himself bore distinct Jewish features. In the past, Jing Hong had always assumed that game company founders would look like stereotypical otaku nerds, but Mark Greenberg clearly wasn’t one—his face practically screamed shrewd businessman.

In reality, though he was the founder of Saint Games, the real heroes behind the company were his two partners—the co-founders. The game ideas, world-building, and core creative concepts all stemmed from his partners. But because Mark Greenberg was better at corporate management and operations, the CEO chair belonged to him.

Over the past year or two, however, Mark Greenberg had been in over his head. Early last year, he was embroiled in a scandal involving sexual harassment allegations from several female engineers at Saint Games. His reputation plummeted, and some shareholders even demanded that the company replace its CEO. But because Mark Greenberg held a firm grip on the board of directors, with every independent director firmly in his corner, he managed to weather that crisis unscathed.

Jing Hong didn’t even bother moving over to the reception lounge. Sitting squarely behind his executive desk, he simply gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Have a seat.”

Mark Greenberg hesitated briefly, but pulled out the chair and sat down anyway.

Knowing that Jing Hong’s English was exceptional, Mark Greenberg didn’t bother slowing his speech. He smiled and got straight to the point: “I’m here today because the issue of Expedition‘s entry into China has been delayed for several months now—”

“There’s no rush,” Jing Hong interrupted him directly. “Before we discuss entering China, let’s talk about Saint Games’ Q3 financial report.”

Mark Greenberg rested his interlaced fingers on his lap. Hearing this, he paused for a moment before saying, “Fair enough.”

Jing Hong flipped through a stack of documents to his right. Finding nothing, he dialed an extension and said to his assistant, “Print another copy of Saint Games’ financial report and bring it in. I need both Q2 and Q3.”

Tan Qian replied immediately, “Understood, President Jing.”

During the brief wait, Jing Hong ignored Mark Greenberg sitting across from him entirely, immersing himself in reviewing and approving several documents.

Two or three minutes later, Tan Qian brought the financial reports inside. Jing Hong accepted them, uttered a quiet “Thank you,” and handed the freshly signed documents back to his assistant to process through the company’s online workflow. Fanhai was a massive conglomerate, and many matters required Jing Hong’s approval; he rarely operated the online system himself, preferring to sign physical papers before having his assistant scan the files, upload them to the system, and archive the originals.

Only after his assistant left did Jing Hong unhurriedly open the financial report. “In the third quarter, Expedition‘s revenue dropped by 20% compared to the previous quarter, and net profit fell by 29%. User growth slowed drastically as well, slashing by a full quarter.”

Mark Greenberg went quiet for a moment, then said, “Yes. Expedition‘s performance fell short of expectations, which is precisely why we urgently need to expand our market.”

“That’s not quite right.” Jing Hong reached out, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved another document. “Over the past two months, didn’t Expedition run several large-scale events? On August 15th, logging in rewarded players with 10,000 gold coins instantly. On September 15th, you ran the exact same 10,000 gold coin login reward again. On August 30th…” Jing Hong read through the list item by item. “Furthermore, since Expedition launched its official operations, you’ve introduced skill cosmetic effects every month across all character classes. Yet throughout August and September, Saint Games released only two cosmetics: one for the ranged class ‘Mothership’ and one for ‘Wyvern.’ On top of that, between August 15th and October 15th, all cosmetic items were sold at half price.”

“Finally, over these past two months, Expedition halted all promotional marketing in regions like Japan, South Korea, and India. You even slashed marketing in your largest market, the United States, by half—and shut down Facebook Ads entirely.”

Finishing his sentence, Jing Hong tossed the report right in front of Mark Greenberg.

“…” Mark Greenberg paused briefly, attempting to explain, “Because we were warding off Qinghui while simultaneously welcoming Fanhai and integrating resources, Saint Games couldn’t focus on Expedition‘s routine operations over the last two months. There were bound to be a few oversights.”

Jing Hong listened passively. Once Greenberg finished, Jing Hong curved the corners of his mouth and asked, “Is that so? Aren’t you doing all this on purpose?”

Mark Greenberg: “…”

In truth, Jing Hong had been guarding against this trick all along.

He had long seen through the fact that Saint Games welcomed neither Qinghui nor Fanhai. Bringing Fanhai onboard had been nothing more than a desperate move at the time.

When facing a hostile takeover, the standard defense strategies usually boiled down to a few options: a “White Knight,” a “Scorched Earth” tactic, or the ubiquitous “Poison Pill” strategy from decades past.

Saint Games’ current maneuver resembled a scorched-earth play—selling off valuable corporate assets, damaging prime features, or acquiring junk assets and taking on debt to strip the company of its appeal so the acquirer would lose interest. In layman’s terms, it was throwing a match on their own house to play dead.

Normally, such a move was a mutually destructive gamble.

However, tech companies were a different beast. For modern tech and gaming firms, the most vital core asset was traffic and user engagement. Therefore, as long as the game’s financial reports looked miserable—with revenue and net profit both tanking compared to Q2, presenting a bleak picture where existing users had lost interest and new user growth had hit a wall—Fanhai would naturally lose interest.

Saint Games’ original scheme had likely been this: use Fanhai to fend off Qinghui, then use the excuse of “due diligence” to stall Fanhai’s offer until the Q3 earnings report came out. Once both Fanhai and Qinghui lost interest, Saint Games’ crisis would automatically vanish.

Yet Fanhai had refused to let them drag their feet forever. Zhao Hanqing had even grabbed his luggage and headed to the airport in the dead of night, leaving Saint Games with no choice but to grant Fanhai due diligence and accept their tender offer, ultimately handing over a 31% stake.

It was obvious that Fanhai Group had refused to promise “no further share increases” because they aimed to gain actual control over Saint Games. Thus, the Saint Games board did everything in its power to lock Fanhai out of taking any action for at least three months—long enough for the financial report to come out—hoping Fanhai would walk away voluntarily after seeing the dismal numbers.

For a video game, as long as its core gameplay mechanics remained intact, rekindling player engagement and launching new events once the corporate crisis passed would be child’s play. After all, what players loved most wasn’t flashy cosmetic effects, but the core game loop itself; they would never abandon Expedition simply because fewer cosmetics were released for a couple of months.

But Jing Hong had anticipated this maneuver long ago.

He had instructed his subordinates to keep a close eye on Expedition‘s every move, even registering an account himself to inspect the in-game events.

Unsurprisingly, Expedition had dumped gold coins on players twice, put every cosmetic on a half-price sale, and released a paltry two items over the course of sixty-one days across August and September.

At the same time, reports confirmed that marketing drives in Japan, the UK, India, and elsewhere were completely frozen, deliberately slowing down new user acquisition.

In other words, over these past few months, Saint Games was intentionally making Expedition look like a failing product, and Saint Games like a failing company.

Jing Hong looked at Mark Greenberg again and asked, “Now that three months have passed, has Saint Games already lined up a few minor consortia, intending to buy back that 31% stake currently in Fanhai’s hands?”

Jing Hong surmised that during those three months, Saint Games had already located several smaller investment consortiums in the US or Europe. Their goal was to strike while the financial report was weak, the stock price depressed, and Fanhai Group ostensibly disillusioned and eager to cut its losses. Together, these consortiums would buy back the 31% stake held by Fanhai. That way, Saint Games’ shares would be fragmented once again, control would be firmly restored to the board, and the crisis would be resolved.

Those smaller consortiums were likely in on Saint Games’ plan all along, simply looking to grab a slice of the pie from Expedition to make a quick buck.

If Fanhai chose to adopt a wait-and-see approach rather than selling off its shares, Saint Games would simply bite the bullet and artificially depress revenue for a few more months, letting it reflect in subsequent quarterly reports.

In short, every single move aimed to fool Fanhai into believing that Expedition—Saint Games’ most crucial title in recent years—had a bleak future, causing them to abandon their ambition to control Saint Games and sell off their 31% stake the moment a buyer stepped up to take over.

Mark Greenberg said, “…Of course not. Why would you think such a thing?” Yet the smile on his face had already turned intensely awkward.

Jing Hong pressed further: “Saint Games only ever planned to let Fanhai play the major shareholder for three months. That’s why you kept nagging Fanhai to resolve regulatory hurdles for Expedition, smoothing its path to enter the Chinese market, isn’t it?”

“No!” At this point, Mark Greenberg could do nothing but repeat the same word over and over: “No!”

Jing Hong continued, “Using Fanhai to repel Qinghui, then pressing Fanhai to help Expedition clear regulatory hurdles in China to secure operational approval, all while artificially depressing Expedition‘s revenue and profit. Once the three months were up, you planned to use a hideous Q3 financial report to make Fanhai think it misjudged the market and lost money, losing interest in Saint Games and selling its shares right back to you… And since the stock price happened to be at a low point, you might even turn a profit on the transaction.” Jing Hong gave a light chuckle. “What a brilliant scheme. You exploited Fanhai through and through, with absolute clarity.”

Quite cheap of them, Jing Hong thought to himself. He was beginning to understand why Zhou Chang had shown so little courtesy to Saint Games in the first place.

Mark Greenberg continued to deny it, but his heart had turned ice-cold. He had assumed that Jing Hong and Zhou Chang, being so young and far removed from the forefront of Western capitalist markets, would be easily fooled. Clearly, he had been naively mistaken.

“I’m truly sorry it has come to this. However, since this is how you treat a former ‘White Knight’…” Across the desk, Jing Hong rested his chin on his hand and smiled slightly—an expression that looked strikingly handsome despite the tension. He said calmly, “I’m afraid you won’t be keeping this company of yours much longer.”