NOVPUBThat’s definitely not the case—she’s always been the kind to slack off, work three days and rest two.
Spending her days loafing around aimlessly.
But whenever she decides to get serious, things come together in a snap.
From this, you can tell just how ridiculously easy it is for these top-tier first or second-generation heirs to start a business.
"Second Princess, are you saying that as long as the eldest sister has a decent idea, she can immediately outshine our big big big company?"
"Of course! What did you think?"
Er Piya replied, "If my sis had been doing well before college, Tengchao Commercial Management would’ve already been handed down to her."
Tengchao Commercial Management pulls in a steady annual rent income of 3.5 billion.
A company with commercial assets worth 120 billion RMB, registered offshore in Xiangjiang, an undefeatable titan in asset management.
Let’s put it this way—unless a nuclear bomb falls from the sky, this company’s annual revenue is rock-solid.
There’s practically no risk involved, and the company is highly likely to be inherited by her sister in the future.
Er Piya wants it too.
With an annual rent income of over 3 billion, she’d be carefree and set for life till she’s old and gray.
"So what should we do then?"
"Obviously, come up with greater, bigger, and bolder ideas! You don’t seriously think selling bigger snacks and bubble tea will be enough to surpass my sister, do you?"
Even though Er Piya grew up being bossed around and roughhoused by the spoiled brat.
Occasionally pinned to the floor and "polished" with a fist. But she doesn’t underestimate her sister.
No matter what, she has to win this showdown.
Big big snacks are currently a massive hit online—a super-popular niche snack brand.
Their family also owns a listed company, Snacks Dash, doing exceptionally well with a market cap exceeding 30 billion.
Her big big snacks are just a small niche project and don’t align with mainstream tastes.
Er Piya understands this well, but she’s still poured over 100 million into opening big big snack stores all over Magic City’s major streets first. Then, she’ll expand symbolically into a few other cities—it should suffice.
These super-niche viral snacks simply can’t scale massively.
If her family didn’t already own Snacks Dash, she’d dive headfirst into the snack industry without hesitation.
But with Snacks Dash dominating, she has no choice but to pick another sector.
Sell big big shoes, half-meter-long pairs?
That seems unlikely.
Sell big big skirts that could wrap four or five people at once? Nope, not that either.
After much deliberation, it’s clear their big big company needs a pivot.
If her sister weren’t in the mix, Er Piya could leisurely toy around with big big snacks.
Not hoping to make a fortune, just pursuing joy and fun.
But now that her sister’s involved, it’s a whole new ball game—competition’s on!
She absolutely needs to pick a major industry track—otherwise, how could she possibly outdo her sister?
Major track, big-track thinking.
What’s considered a major track these days?
Short videos? Her dad definitely wouldn’t let them dabble there.
For one, their family owns two massive short-video platforms—Tengyou Media with a market cap exceeding 300 billion.
And Xin Teng Live Streaming, hovering around 50 billion.
If she ventured into the short video realm, profits aside, it’d inevitably cause quite a stir.
For now, she’s stuck without an idea.
It’s not just her—Chen An’an is equally clueless despite having 500 million in startup capital from the family.
At present, it seems almost everything is tough to manage. Past giants in the restaurant business, aside from Haidilao, barely anyone can claim they’re thriving.
Hotels, tourism—clear signs of economic stagnation everywhere.
Though she doesn’t lack money or industry resources, leveraging them effectively still demands a plethora of ideas.
In truth, what she lacks most is solid ideas.
Anle Fund transitioning into Anle Investment Group kept its core personnel—those who grew up alongside her, Shen Youwei and Zhao Yingying.
Shen Youwei had been looking after her since childhood when they lived in Xiangjiang; now, she steadfastly manages Anle Fund in Magic City.
In the past, it was all about spending money well. Now, it’s about figuring out how to make it—fundamentally different objectives.
This is indeed a significant shift.
Chen An’an’s methods for income are essentially twofold: investing or creating her own enterprises.
Whether investing or setting up businesses, the family won’t offer her advice or tell her which stocks will rise or stay flat.
They only fill in her resource gaps when she genuinely needs assistance.
That’s actually quite normal. Rich heirs aren’t exactly the "learn to embrace hardship" type.
Nor would they adopt the "hardship builds character" mantra from low-income cultures.
They have their own circles, along with its unique accompanying ethos.
Efficient and astute deployment of one’s resources—that’s a skill they must master.
And it’s an immensely critical skill.
Another point—they don’t do things personally, and direct involvement isn’t part of their game.
The kind of "hands-on entrepreneur" image promoted online—that’s just a mirage meant for the general audience.
In reality, once a company gets big enough, total direct control isn’t feasible.
At a certain level, micromanaging signifies failure to prioritize; it’s the antithesis of effective leadership.
It’s entirely incongruous with the essence of being a top-tier entrepreneur.
Since young, these lessons were ingrained in Chen An’an through observation, not deliberate learning. Yet, she picked up an impressive amount.
Far beyond what ordinary folks comprehend.
She taps her fingers on the table, tilts her head, pondering deeply.
Not only thinking for herself but mobilizing Shen Youwei and the others to brainstorm alongside her.
"An’an, your dad gives you 500 million every year—does he set any goals for you to accomplish?"
"Nope, there’s no specific goal with that money. It’s just meant to put me through my paces."
Fair enough—shelling out 500 million annually to "hone" the eldest daughter is definitely not something anyone else could manage.
Only An’an’s father has such clout.
"Do you all have any good ideas? Help me brainstorm a little, would you?"
After a brief moment of thought, Shen Youwei suggested, "An’an, why don’t we work on the wine business? That industry’s highly lucrative. If not red wine, perhaps white liquor."
Alcohol pricing is notoriously opaque—no outsider truly understands production costs.
Take Maotai, for instance—it sells for over a thousand or even several thousand RMB.
You could argue its taste isn’t mind-blowing—it’s more wrapped in gift-giving culture.
"People who buy Maotai don’t drink it. Those who drink Maotai don’t pay for it." Just try to chew on that sentence.
Her dad happens to have a warehouse full of premium aged Maotai—those collectable vintages.
And he’s never spent a dime on alcohol; it’s always gifted to him.
During holidays, things like exclusive cigarettes and liquor are regularly sent to their family.
Red wine, huh—it does sound promising.
The thing about red wine: it’s favored by those with a cultured, middle-class sensibility. Compared to white liquor, the market is evidently smaller.
At least domestically, white liquor and beer dominate the market.
While An’an is conscious of the profitability, she doesn’t have experience in the sector. Plus, the family doesn’t engage in this business.
"My dad doesn’t touch alcohol ventures. If I want to pursue it, there would likely be a few hurdles."
"It shouldn’t be too difficult—look at your aunt’s cheongsam brand. She got it booming in less than a year. If you ventured into wine, your mom would probably give you major backing."
Whether her mom grants significant support is uncertain, but there’s no doubt she’d receive substantial resources from the group.
The wine business, while seemingly intricate, is quite straightforward.
Its essence lies in brand marketing and distribution channels.
Flavor profiles are secondary by comparison.
Quite a few celebrities have dipped their toes into wine—red wine enjoys considerable popularity in both Magic City and Xiangjiang.
So, Shen Youwei has a decent grasp of the subject.
In Xiangjiang, red wine is also referred to as champagne—the kind you see opened in movies for celebratory scenes. That’s red wine.
Premium bottles can fetch millions, requiring a historic brand legacy akin to luxury watches.
Affordable options span in the range of tens to hundreds of RMB; generally, red wine pricing averages between 1,000–10,000 RMB.
For the moment, An’an is still indecisive; she’d need to consult her mother.
Her mom, Song Yanxi, quite enjoys red wine and is knowledgeable about it too. 𝘯𝑜𝘷𝘱𝘶𝘣.𝘤𝘰𝑚
