A song called "The You of the Past" has prompted the entire internet to beg me not to leav

three days later.

The Waldorf Astoria Hotel, Xinghai's most luxurious hotel, boasts a 1,000-square-meter pillarless grand ballroom.

The air here is filled with the scent of money and expensive cologne.

There were nearly two hundred people sitting in the audience. This gathering consisted of representatives from the most powerful investment institutions in China and even the whole of Asia. Any one of them could shake the financial world.

Sitting in the center of the first row was Smith, the Asia-Pacific president of Blackstone Capital, a white man in his fifties, who was staring at the empty podium with the sharp eyes of a predator eyeing its prey.

Hiding behind the curtain, Lao Liang nervously swallowed hard as he looked at the group of super tycoons below the stage who could mobilize trillions of yuan.

He turned his head and glanced at Lin Yan, who was eating a jianbing guozi (Chinese crepe) with two eggs and two sausages, and felt like he wanted to die.

"Mr. Lin, my goodness, you could at least wear a suit..."

Old Liang looked at Lin Yan's beach shorts, flip-flops, and faded T-shirt with "Hope of the Whole Village" printed on it, and his voice was trembling with tears.

"This is called focusing on a sense of relaxation, you know?" Lin Yan swallowed the last bite of the pancake and haphazardly tore off a tissue to wipe his hands.

After the host finished his passionate and animated introduction of the "creator of the Chinese entertainment industry," the spotlight suddenly shone on the stage entrance.

Amidst thunderous applause that could lift the roof off, Lin Yan, shuffling along in his flip-flops, swayed and staggered out.

The thunderous applause from the audience seemed to be paused, and an eerie silence instantly descended.

Several female executives in the front row, wearing CL red-soled shoes and carrying Hermes bags, silently lowered their hands, which were about to clap, wondering if they had wandered into the wrong venue—the annual meeting of the Beggars' Sect.

Lin Yan walked to the center of the stage, too lazy to even take the microphone off the stand, and simply bent down and fed it twice.

"Well, everyone's time is precious, so I'll get straight to the point," Lin Yan said lazily, snapping his fingers. "Show the PPT."

The huge LCD screen behind them lit up.

There was no elaborate UI design, no complex market analysis data charts, just an extremely casual white background.

The above text is in the most basic Song typeface, with a few large characters typed above:

Why you should never apply to companies that don't want you to work.

The entire room fell silent. Was this some kind of roadshow?

Which entrepreneur doesn't work their butt off to make their company look amazing? Why is this guy digging his own grave right off the bat?

Smith frowned slightly, turned his head and whispered to his assistant, "Is this the ancient Eastern technique of feigning indifference?"

"I know you see that we made over 10 billion last year and think we're easy prey," Lin Yan said, his hands gripping the podium, his voice filled with anguish.

"But I must warn you, this is all an illusion! An extremely dangerous illusion!"

He pressed the page turner.

A photo of Oscar (the dog) gnawing on a bone appeared on the screen, accompanied by the large text: [Annual R&D Expenditure: 200 million RMB].

"See this dog?" Lin Yan pointed at the screen. "I spent 200 million to order top-grade Kobe beef and New Zealand lamb chops for it, flown in from all over the world. Don't ask me why, because money can't buy my happiness. The company's financial system is worthless here; I can spend it however I want."

A collective gasp rippled through the audience. Two hundred million to feed dogs?

This is practically dancing wildly on the edge of the bottom line of capitalism!

Lin Yan continued turning the page, and his silhouette, wearing shorts and playing games, appeared on the screen.

"Let's talk about strategic planning again." Lin Yan's tone became extremely serious.

"I know you're investing money hoping I can release three albums and make two movies that gross four billion in a year. But I'm telling you all straight now..."

"I never want to touch a camera or microphone again in my life!"

"My biggest dream is to sleep until noon every day, go fishing at the reservoir in the afternoon, and cook pork ribs for my wife in the evening. As for when my next work will be released? It depends on my mood, maybe in ten years, maybe in my next life."

As Lin Yan spoke, her tone even carried a hint of heartfelt pleading.

"So, everyone, please, absolutely, positively do not buy our company's stock! You'll definitely be stuck with it. I'm begging you, please leave me alone, don't force me to work!"

After delivering this heartfelt confession, Lin Yan let out a long sigh of relief.

He thought this should scare the vampires away, right?

With such terrible financial management and a founder so blatantly irresponsible, only someone with a screw loose would invest money in such a company.

The audience was completely silent; you could hear a pin drop.

All the investors stared at Lin Yan as if he were an alien, while Lao Liang, behind the curtain, trembled as he unscrewed the cap of the nitroglycerin bottle.

What was Mr. Shen thinking? How did I end up with such a boss?

Just as Lin Yan thought he had succeeded and was about to throw down the microphone and leave.

"Slap! Slap! Slap!"

Smith, the president of Blackstone Capital, suddenly stood up in the first row.

He raised his hands high and clapped vigorously, his eagle eyes flashing with an almost pilgrimage-like fervor.

With him taking the lead, as if it were a contagious disease, all two hundred or so investment tycoons who were usually aloof and arrogant stood up in unison, bursting into thunderous applause and cheers.

Lin Yan was stunned.

This script isn't right! What happened to the promised withdrawal of investment?

Smith snatched the microphone from his assistant, looked at Lin Yan, and spoke with an expression of profound admiration.

"Mr. Lin, before this, I always thought you were just a lucky celebrity. But today, I am completely impressed by your business acumen!"

"Huh?" Lin Yan's eyes widened.

"No need to hide it anymore!" Smith exclaimed excitedly, pointing to the big screen.

"You are showing us what a true 'moat' really is! Spending 200 million to feed dogs? No, you're testing our capital's patience! You're sending us a strong signal: the core asset of the 'Don't Want to Work' Group has never been its cash reserves, but rather your absolutely free creative soul!"

Smith became increasingly excited, gesturing wildly: "Those geniuses in history, Steve Jobs, Elon Musk, weren't they all unconventional? You just said you wouldn't release anything for ten years, that's the ultimate 'hunger marketing'! Once it's released, it will definitely cause a global tsunami!"

A top domestic fund manager in the audience was also envious and grabbed the microphone to loudly echo his sentiments.

"That's right! Mr. Lin is filtering out wavering investors! Only those who truly understand art and Mr. Lin's long-term capital are worthy of holding shares in the No-Work Group! This is the real moat, the core competitiveness that no one can replicate!"

"What do you call 'slacking off'? This is the ultimate expression of individualism—spending a fortune to acquire talent! This independent will, refusing to be swayed by capital, could at least raise the company's valuation by another 50 billion!"

The audience instantly erupted into a frenzy.

Investors, their eyes bloodshot, waved their letters of intent, afraid of missing out on this once-in-a-lifetime gold mine if they were even a second late.

"We'll lead the investment with five billion US dollars! We won't interfere with Mr. Lin's fishing! We'll even cover the bait!"

"We at Sequoia Capital will invest an additional 10 billion! We'll build Mr. Lin a global chain of high-end reservoirs for free, so he can fish wherever he wants!"

Standing on the stage, listening to these top capitalists below, who were practically turning dog poop into gold, Lin Yan closed his eyes in despair. His head was spinning. These people were usually so sharp at reading reports; how could their imaginations be even wilder than his?

He just wants to live a quiet, uneventful life! Why are these capitalists so cunning?

"Destroy it..."

Lin Yan looked at Shen Qingqiu, who was laughing heartily in the audience, seemingly oblivious to his own accomplishments, and sighed with utter despair.

"What's wrong with this world?"