Reaching the age of thirty, my income randomly doubled

September 5th.

The situation with my little sister's cheongsam shop getting trashed has mostly been resolved.

That buzz-cut tough guy emptied his family fortune and could only scrape together a little over a million, which isn't even enough to cover a fraction of the damages.

The rest? Well, he's headed to prison to repent.

Chen Pingsheng visited his parents' Red Star Restaurant twice again. When it first opened, business was great, but now it's just so-so.

The main reason isn't anything out of the ordinary—these days, people are hesitant to gather and spend at public venues.

Everyone's afraid they might catch something.

Speaking of declining consumption, what kind of industries can thrive? Pretty much the ones that provide cheap happiness.

Things like affordable snacks, mobile games, and the like.

You can spend small amounts of money and feel happy. Even those movie tickets costing dozens of bucks don't seem to attract much interest anymore.

The short drama industry is also undergoing a transformation. Calling it a transformation might be a bit of an exaggeration—it's more like a purging of those bloated, watered-down TV dramas.

Short dramas plagued by severe homogeneity are being upgraded too, with many excellent works around 10-15 minutes emerging.

Their features? Short, fast, and satisfying—perfectly meeting viewers' demands.

But changes like this only come when the market goes through major upheavals. Otherwise, where'd the energy come from to keep developing new markets?

Similarly, on September 7th, following the establishment of the Tengyou Investment Fund, within just one month, it invested in over a dozen projects.

The total investment amount hit 2.9 billion, marking it as another rising domestic venture fund focused on the short-video sector.

Then, on September 10th, Tengfei New Energy launched its new car, with orders soaring continuously.

Good news just keeps coming.

Chen Pingsheng didn't pay much attention to any of this. He carved out some time to visit his wife.

Song Yanxi had been busy expanding Tongxin Family lately.

If Water Cloud Space caters exclusively to high-end customers, then Tongxin Family is pretty much affordable for everyone.

But with the lower spending tier, employee incomes couldn't possibly compare to those at Water Cloud Space.

The disparity between the two is vast.

Tongxin Family employees earn an average monthly salary of around 10,000 to 15,000.

Meanwhile, Water Cloud Space employees earn between 40,000 to 60,000.

Even after factoring in store bonuses and various benefits, it's no match for the pure luxury of Water Cloud Space.

A shoulder-and-neck wellness session at Tongxin Family costs just one or two hundred.

At Water Cloud Space, the minimum starts at 2,000, so naturally, employee income follows the spending tier.

To avoid direct comparisons between the two, Song Yanxi simply decided to separate the operations completely.

Financial reports and employee income figures from the two sides are no longer disclosed to each other.

Honestly, these days, earning over 10,000 a month fresh out of school after studying for a year or two is already pretty decent.

It's just that with Water Cloud Space setting the benchmark so high, employees here inevitably feel a sense of disparity.

Keeping the two operations entirely split avoids that issue.

Once the employees adjust, there will still be plenty of people eager to work.

Song Yanxi didn't have much of a choice—this year's revenues at Water Cloud Space have dropped by nearly half.

The decline surpassed 30%, and next year is expected to see further decreases.

These are market-driven factors and don't have much to do with their internal management.

Her workforce was always an all-women team, which made it inconvenient for Chen Pingsheng to visit often.

Their frequent training sessions involved young women practicing bare-skinned.

If he accidentally saw something, how awkward would that be?

"Yanxi, do you think Tongxin Family will officially turn a profit within two years?"

"More or less," Song Yanxi replied. "At most two years. People's health awareness is pretty high nowadays; they don't even need much advertising—they'll search online for wellness projects themselves."

"That's quite nice," he said.

Chen Pingsheng nodded. "I don't think this project necessarily needs to aim for going public later on. If possible, it's better to keep employee salaries higher."

It wasn't out of any deliberate kindness on his part—it was mainly because this industry draws a workforce of genuinely rural girls.

Or married women—if their boss makes slightly less, they'll feel significantly happier.

Earning ten or even twenty more billion a year barely meant anything to him.

He'd rather use projects like this to gather more "luck value" for his family, ensuring peace and good health.

"That can't happen yet," Yanxi said. "Once everything really stabilizes here, I'll try to improve employee benefits. We'll just keep 8% net profit for ourselves, which should be enough."

The wellness industry typically boasts very high gross margins—a 200-yuan session has extremely low product costs.

The only real expense is manual labor, and labor costs in the wellness industry generally range between 15% and 25%.

Of course, this is for standard wellness. Non-standard practices easily surpass 50%.

Keeping just an 8% profit margin is already quite low—the rest can go toward higher incomes for employees.

After all, this is essentially a grassroots industry, with goals set to open 5,000 to 6,000 stores in three years.

With eight employees per store, that'd roughly mean employing 50,000 ordinary women.

That's undoubtedly a massive number.

He never intended to make big money in this grassroots sector—his focus leaned more on sharing profits with employees.

"By the way, shouldn't you become a teacher at a management academy too?"

"No thanks!"

Song Yanxi said, "You're already an honorary headmaster there and haven't taught a single class. If I sign up as a teacher too but still don't show up, then what's the point?"

"True."

Chen Pingsheng said wistfully, "I used to want to teach some classes there regularly. But after just one day, I realized that nearly half the attendees are Tengying Group middle managers. If I actually stood at the front, what'd they call it—boss's meeting or teacher's lecture?"

It was precisely because of this that he ended up avoiding the place altogether.

Chang Fu, on the other hand, had been having a great time over there—really enjoying himself as a teacher.

He and his wife carried too much weight in name recognition.

Just sitting in the room would have all those Tengying staff buzzing with recognition.

Turn a management academy into a boss's meeting hall—and how awkward would that be?

Song Yanxi asked if he had other plans for the afternoon. If not, she'd invite her management team for a meal together.

Chen Pingsheng had nothing scheduled for the afternoon—his only task was to pick up the spoiled brat in the evening.

The headquarters cafeteria even had a small private dining area, so there was no need to go out for food.

They could dine well right there.

Yanxi arranged for a large private room, seating over a dozen people—all part of her all-women senior management team.

Some of them Pingsheng knew—most of them he didn't.

His younger sister Chen Qi held a nominal position here, though her work habits were sporadic at best.

She was essentially just taking a salary for being on standby.

These rural girls who'd risen into executive roles now knew how to manage their finances.

Early on, their main strategy was buying and selling real estate with the boss lady; when she sold off her holdings, they followed suit.

When the housing market stopped being profitable, those who had extra money began dabbling in stock trading.

All their insider tips still came from Yanxi—helping wherever she could.

She did her best to ensure everyone could earn a bit more.