sbdcsierra Chapter 287 Let the Data Speak
Chapter 287 Let the Data Speak
After hanging up the phone, Ling Yun continued watching the screen. The number jumped to $90,000. Then it went up to $95,000. At 10:00 AM sharp, it broke through $100,000.
The door to the monitoring room was pushed open. David rushed in, holding a printed data report in his hand.
"One hundred thousand dollars!" His voice was hoarse with excitement. "And it's accelerating! Evenings are peak time for young people to go online; many students have just finished their homework or games and now they have time to play this!"
"What percentage of users are paying customers?" Lingyun asked.
"It's already over 4%! And it's still rising!" David placed the report on the table. "More importantly, paid users are three times more active than free users! They not only spend money, but they also use the software more frequently, resulting in more social interaction!"
"What about user retention forecasts?"
"According to internal testing data, the day-two retention rate for paid users is over 85%, and the seven-day retention rate is over 70%," David said. "In contrast, the seven-day retention rate for free users is only 45%. Paying really does increase user stickiness."
Outside the window, the night was deep. The lights of Silicon Valley shone like an ever-burning galaxy.
Ling Yun stood up and walked to the window. His face was reflected in the glass, along with the numbers flashing on the screen behind him.
"We'll hold a data release conference tomorrow morning," he said. "We won't invite the media, only investors and analysts. We'll present them with all the data from today in its entirety."
"What about the media..."
"Let them ask us themselves," Ling Yun said. "When the data is compelling enough, those who question it will find their own reasons to explain. We don't need to defend ourselves; we just need to demonstrate."
David nodded and hurriedly left to prepare.
At midnight, the data peak finally arrived.
The number of online users surged to 2.8 million—the highest concurrent online user record in Xingyu's history. The number of paid transactions exploded in the ten minutes before midnight, with the cumulative amount jumping like crazy.
At 12:01, the data was frozen.
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The final number is displayed on the screen:
Daily payment amount: US$148,763.
A moment of silence fell over the monitoring room, then a suppressed cheer erupted. Several engineers high-fived, and David leaned against the wall, letting out a long sigh. Catherine stared at the screen, her eyes slightly red.
"140,000..." she murmured to herself, "one day..."
"And this is just the beginning," Eric said. "Many users may still be watching and waiting to see their friends using it before following suit tomorrow or the day after."
Ling Yun walked into the monitoring room. Everyone looked at him.
"You've all worked hard," he said. "Go back and rest. There's more work to do tomorrow."
The crowd gradually dispersed. In the end, only Ling Yun and David remained.
"What do you think?" David asked.
"This verifies a hypothesis," Ling Yun said. "Virtual value is a real need. People are willing to pay for identity, status, and self-expression in the digital world. This is not vanity, it's human nature."
"But the media..."
"The media will change their tune." Ling Yun turned off the monitor screen. "When money talks, everyone has to listen."
The two walked out of the office building. The night sky was clear, with sparse stars. Silicon Valley nights are never truly quiet; office buildings were still lit in the distance.
"Going home?" David asked.
"I'm going back," Ling Yun said. "See you tomorrow."
He walked towards the parking lot. He started the car and drove onto the street.
Passing a 24-hour convenience store, he stopped his car, went inside, and bought a bottle of water. On the magazine rack next to the checkout, the latest issue of Wired magazine had a prominent cover headline: "The Virtual Economy Bubble?"
He picked up the magazine and turned to the article about Xingyu. The author spent three pages analyzing the "unsustainability" of the virtual payment model, citing "expert opinions" and predicting that "it will inevitably decline after the novelty wears off."
The article was accompanied by a picture: a young man staring at a computer screen with a mesmerizing expression, captioned "A young user misled by virtual value".
Lingyun put the magazine back on the shelf. He paid, got his water, and left.
The car drove back onto the street. The radio was playing a midnight talk show, with the host discussing "consumerism in the internet age." A listener called in to say that his son had spent twenty dollars on virtual skins on StarCraft that day.
"Twenty dollars!" the audience member exclaimed excitedly. "It's just a picture! You can't eat it or use it, just to look cool online! Is that reasonable?"
The host tried to reassure them: "The new generation has new consumption concepts..."
"This is a waste! It's a money-grabbing trick invented by Silicon Valley companies!"
Lingyun turned off the radio. Silence returned.
He knew this skepticism would persist for a long time. In his previous life, Tencent faced similar skepticism when it launched QQ Show, Red Diamond, and Yellow Diamond memberships. But ultimately, the data proved their value.
In this life, history repeats itself, only on a different stage and in a different company.
He returned to his apartment at 1:30 a.m. He turned on his computer and took one last look at the backend data.
The paid amount remained at 148,763. However, the new data column below showed dozens more transactions after the start of the new day—young people staying up late were still spending money.
May 22, 1998, 8:30 a.m.
In the boardroom on the top floor of Xingchen Technology, eight black leather folders were already laid out on the long walnut table. In front of each folder were a name tag, a bottle of mineral water, a fountain pen, and a simultaneous interpretation device with a wireless headset.
Ling Yun stood by the window, a glass of water in his hand. Today, he wasn't facing the media or the public, but the shareholders—those who had invested real money. They didn't care about sentiment or ideals; they only cared about returns.
The door was gently pushed open. Carly walked in, carrying a tablet and the last printed data presentation. Today she was wearing a dark gray suit skirt, her hair was perfectly styled, and her makeup was more formal than usual.
"Everything is ready." She placed the tablet on the projection control panel in the center of the conference table. "I confirmed ten minutes ago that all shareholder representatives have departed from the hotel. They are expected to arrive before nine o'clock."
"How are you feeling?" Ling Yun asked.
"Goldman Sachs' Chen Wenhao emailed me last night, saying that the New York headquarters is paying close attention to the data from the new Star Language feature. At Morgan Stanley, Winston's assistant called to ask if the specific financial forecasting model would be released today." Carly paused, "Dr. Leila from Abu Dhabi arrived half an hour ago and is in the downstairs lounge. She wants to review the research report on the Middle East market in advance."
"Did you show it to her?"
“She gave us a preliminary version,” Carly said. “She didn’t say anything after reading it, but she asked a few very detailed questions—the timeline for adapting the Arabic interface, the review process for localized content, and the legal compliance of data storage.”
"What about France?"
"Durand from the French National Investment Bank is still in Paris and is participating via video conference." Carly glanced at her watch. "His assistant said that Durand wants to hear a clear plan for entering the European market, including a solution for aligning with EU data protection regulations."
"The key today is to convince everyone that virtual consumption is not a passing fad, but a sustainable business model," he said. "The data must be clear, the logic rigorous, and the predictions conservative yet credible."
"clear."