Chapter 98: Bidding Farewell to the Old, Welcoming the New

As soon as he returned home, Zhao Zejun closed the door and couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Half a million, four acres of industrial land, and an extra building to set up a gas station... This kind of bargain was like a dream—where else could you find such luck?!

In his previous life, he had worked in the fuel energy sector. The "small company" where he served as deputy general manager was actually made up of just two gas stations.

To make money with a gas station, location was crucial. In a good spot, you could rake in cash daily; in a bad one, you’d be left high and dry.

That plot of land was remote, and there were few taxis in Yijiang City for now. But Zhao Zejun knew that in a few years, a provincial road and a highway would be built nearby, turning it into a prime location for a gas station—almost as good as printing money.

Moreover, in the coming years, Yijiang City would undergo major construction and rapid urban development, with the number of taxis set to multiply several times over. Zhao Zejun was all too familiar with the scene of taxis queuing up for fuel.

In contrast, land would become increasingly scarce, and policies ever tighter. In a few years, all industrial land in Yijiang City would be auctioned off to the highest bidder, and plots for gas stations would be classified as special industrial land.

Once this system was in place, ordinary private companies would lose all competitive edge. The special industrial land for gas stations would be monopolized entirely by the mighty PetroChina and Sinopec.

Before he traveled back in time, the average price for industrial land designated for gas stations in Yijiang City had already exceeded five million per acre.

In his previous life, that classmate who started a company had managed to acquire two plots of industrial land thanks to his father’s connections, just before the policies tightened. He set up a fuel company with two subordinate gas stations, pulling in seven-figure annual profits with ease. And those two stations were in far less ideal locations compared to the one Zhao Zejun had just bought.

Both PetroChina and Sinopec had once tried to negotiate with that classmate to buy his gas stations. In 2012, the price offered was already eighteen million per station, and the offers kept increasing, but the classmate steadfastly refused to sell.

Zhao Zejun had no intention of using a single gas station to challenge PetroChina or Sinopec—only a madman would try to take on those two giants.

First, he’d buy the land, with no rush to build the station. For now, it could serve as the office for Zejian. There were still several years before the policy tightened. If Zejian’s finances were healthy enough in the meantime, he could build the station later. Whether he sat back and collected regular dividends or waited for the state-owned giants to come calling and negotiated a high sale price, either choice would be excellent.

However, Zhao Zejun didn’t plan to place this land under Zejian’s company name; he would keep it in his own private name.

With this land as a solid backup, the five resettlement apartments he had previously secured for his family’s fallback plan no longer held much significance. By 2005, apartment prices would barely reach three thousand per square meter—and might not even find buyers.

So, once again, he sought out Old Li.

After a major shakeup at the Demolition Office, both directors had fallen, but Old Li remained unscathed. Meeting Zhao Zejun again, Old Li sighed and lamented for a good while.

Zhao Zejun sold the last five apartments at market price, then gazed from a distance at the construction site in Gaogang Village and thought to himself, “Goodbye.”

…

Out with the old, in with the new.

With the demolition of Gaogang Village complete, Zhao Zejun began pondering how to use the money at hand.

It was time to consider the internet.

In the face of the explosive growth of the future internet economy, Zhao Zejun’s first consideration wasn’t what to do, but what not to do.

There were a few pieces of the pie that, though tempting, were simply out of reach for him at this stage.

Having some foresight and a promising project didn’t mean you could conquer the world. A single misstep could cost a fortune in time and money, only to end in disappointment or outright failure.

First, there was the search engine sector. Baidu was already a force to be reckoned with, backed by formidable power. Zhao Zejun didn’t want to end up like Google.

Tencent and Alibaba were similar stories. Tencent was already established—a direct fight for users against QQ would be too costly. Even if he poured billions into development and marketing, there might not be the slightest ripple.

Taobao hadn’t yet been established, but Alibaba’s C2C business had already built up a huge customer base. Once Taobao launched, it would easily attract the initial wave of traffic.

Compared to Tencent, competing with Alibaba would be slightly easier, provided you could counter Jack Ma’s tens of millions in angel funding and face a fairly mature team experienced in online retail planning and management.

Clearly, Zhao Zejun did not possess those advantages.

There was also the technical hurdle—he lacked a top-notch tech team. To challenge these giants, you needed not only mountains of money and powerful backing, but also a technical team among the nation’s best.

Technical prowess, capital, connections, a seasoned operations team, and deep industry knowledge—these were the real keys to victory, and foresight alone could never make up for their absence. Against the giants, Zhao Zejun was at a complete disadvantage in all these areas. To force his way in before conditions were ready would only lead to disaster.

Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t touch these areas at all. He could still purposefully develop some small projects to sell to these industry titans, or exchange them for key interests.

But that was a matter of priorities, and for now, it wouldn’t be the main business.

Having ruled out the major targets, there were still plenty of opportunities left.

All things considered, the key now was to find an entry point into the internet sector.

This entry point needed to require neither excessive investment nor high technical barriers, and couldn’t put him in direct competition with powerful rivals.

Most importantly, it had to attract and retain a steady flow of users—users with strong loyalty. Using this user base, he could gradually expand his scope, weeding out the weak and nurturing a unique online ecosystem.

In the internet economy, the most precious asset was traffic. Loyal users were like fuel; with enough fuel and the right moment, you could start the engine at any time.

Moreover, even if he didn’t plan to confront the giants head-on for now, their business models and development paths were still well worth studying.

Compared to a sudden flash of inspiration or novel technology, the business models, wealth accumulation strategies, and sector deployments of these domestic giants were their true secrets to ruling the world—proven by history and highly effective.

…

As summer break was drawing to a close, Yu Zhe called. A group of writers from Sword-Washing Book Alliance were coming to visit Yijiang City and had invited Zhao Zejun out for dinner.

These were the same people who had helped him during the last disaster relief campaign. Zhao Zejun decided this was the perfect opportunity to express his gratitude.