Don't underestimate the poor and elderly; I was thrilled to refuse the class beauty's adva

Zhang Yifan was still curious.

What could be so important that Tian Jun would personally call to ask about it?

The founder of Dami Technology is worth hundreds of billions. He has been making products for seventeen years and has seen all kinds of decisions.

Now he's asking a high school senior.

Something about this whole thing is just off.

He believed that Tian Jun must have investigated his background.

If an 18-year-old student suddenly holds 10% of the shares in his own company, anyone would investigate.

The normal reaction after checking is: either this kid was holding the share on behalf of someone else, or he just got incredibly lucky.

But Tian Jun neither questioned him nor hinted at it; instead, he called him at this crucial juncture to ask for his opinion.

Zhang Yifan thought of a possibility, and Tian Jun already had the answer in his heart, but he needed someone to confirm it for him.

And that person just happened to be him.

"Mr. Zhang, here's the situation: Da Mi is going to manufacture cars, and that's already been publicly announced."

But what kind of car to build is still undecided internally.

Most people's opinion is to build a large family SUV.

SUV sales have been rising in the past two years, with families being the largest group of car buyers.

Manufacturing SUVs carries the least risk and has the largest market.

"What do you think?"

"I don't want to build SUVs; there's no shortage of SUVs on the market."

Making SUVs from rice is just following in other people's footsteps.

I want to build a car with good handling, a car that true car enthusiasts can drive.

But if I bring it up in the meeting, I'm afraid everyone will object.

Zhang Yifan held his phone but didn't answer immediately.

He wasn't thinking about what kind of car to build; he was wondering why Tian Jun had told him all this.

He's not a car expert; he doesn't understand chassis tuning, electric drive systems, or even a driver's license.

Tian Jun asked a high school student what kind of car he was going to build. He was either crazy or he trusted him too much.

Regardless of which one it is, he can't just say things he doesn't believe.

If he makes a mistake and no one buys the cars made from rice, resulting in poor sales and a plummeting stock price, he won't take the blame.

But he wanted the mission reward.

Add ten points to your IQ.

His previous mastery of Jeet Kune Do allowed him to take on more than a dozen opponents in the billiard hall. If he were to add ten points of intelligence to his skills, wouldn't he be a man of both literary and martial talents?

He's very greedy.

But what advice could a high school senior like him possibly give?

Wait... does anyone know?

"System," he called out tentatively in his mind, "To be a responsible shareholder, I'd like to learn about the history of rice. Could you provide some information on that?"

【Ding--】

[The host has finally shown some ambition! The system is extremely pleased!]

[A 68-year-old scavenger, after acquiring shares, didn't think about cashing out and running away; instead, he proactively learned about the company's development history.]

This awareness, this sense of responsibility, this...

Get to the point.

[Data transmission of the history of rice technology development is in progress...]

In an instant, a flood of information rushed into my brain.

It's not text, not charts, but a kind of compressed memory.

He saw Tian Jun seventeen years ago in a rented house next to the university town, where he was wearing a faded T-shirt and holding the first engineering machine in his hand.

A group of college students sat in the audience, some eating sunflower seeds, some playing on their phones, and some whispering in the last row, "Another pyramid scheme."

Tian Jun held the engineering sample above his head and said, "This phone is priced at 1,999."

There was a half-second silence in the audience, then people stopped eating their sunflower seeds, put down their phones, and the discussions about pyramid schemes ceased.

One thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, that was one-third of the price of smartphones on the market back then.

Everyone thought he was crazy.

He saw that on the day the first-generation rice phone went on sale, the official website server crashed three times due to overwhelming traffic.

It wasn't a hacker attack; it was just that there were too many orders, and the server couldn't handle it.

Customer service hotlines were overwhelmed with calls, warehouses were short of stock, and production lines were running around the clock.

He saw rice go from mobile phones to smart homes, and from smart homes to an ecosystem, taking every step in areas that others didn't believe in, and every gamble paid off.

A smart socket costing 100 yuan allowed a recent graduate renting an apartment to experience what smart home technology is like for the first time.

Smart bracelets costing a few dozen yuan allow college students who can't afford a sports watch to record their running routes.

He saw the core of the rice.

It's not about cost-effectiveness, it's not about rebranding, and it's not about the benchmark scores and pixel counts that tech enthusiasts love to compare.

They are young people.

From day one, all of DaMi's products have been made for young people.

It's not just about appealing to younger generations; it's about selling real money to young people.

Rice is never a company that makes things for rich people.

Dami is a company that makes things for every young person who has just graduated, just started working, or just rented a place and wants to improve their life.

Zhang Yifan opened his eyes.

He suddenly knew what kind of car to build: the first car that young people could afford.

Those people were people who had been selling rice for seventeen years.

Those people should buy cars now.

"Mr. Tian."

"you say."

"car."

Tian Jun remained silent for a moment.

"Sedans? Everyone's producing large family SUVs now, and Miaomiao SUV is in that same market. Wouldn't it be too risky for us to produce sedans?"

"SUVs sell well, but everyone is rushing into them."

By the time Da Mi produces the car, there will already be at least five or six large family SUVs on the market engaged in a price war.

If rice gets involved, it means competing with five or six car companies for the same piece of the pie.

Mr. Tian, ​​you yourself said that there is no shortage of SUVs on the market.

What's missing?

Zhang Yifan paused.

"The first car for young people, DaMi has been targeting the youth market since its inception."

When young people buy their first car, there isn't a single car on the market specifically designed for them.

Those I can afford, I don't like; those I like, I can't afford.

Some of my classmates like cars, but the ones they can afford are all old-fashioned secondhand cars.

It's not that they don't want to drive new cars, it's that no one is building new cars for them.

Everyone is eyeing household users, the middle class, and those over 35 who own a house, a car, and savings.

But what about 25-year-olds? What about those who have just graduated two or three years ago? What about those who have saved up their first money and want to buy their first car?

If we don't produce rice now, someone else will, but by then it will be too late.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

It got so long that Zhang Yifan wondered if the signal had been cut off.

Then he heard Tian Jun take a deep breath.

"Mr. Zhang."

"Um."

"Are you really only eighteen years old?"

Zhang Yifan glanced at the unfinished English test paper on the table: "A senior high school student, with just over ten days until the college entrance exam, currently cramming for practice questions—a genuine eighteen-year-old!"

He thought for a moment, then added,

"Also, you made the decision about the car yourself. I was just making a casual comment; I'm not taking the blame!"

Tian Jun smiled.

He laughed out loud into his phone, replaying the boy's voice on the other end of the line in his mind several times.

An eighteen-year-old boy tore open the fog that had been hanging over his heart for days over the phone.

This isn't just a casual remark.

Just when he was about to waver amidst everyone's opposition, an outsider's intuition helped him solidify his position.

He hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long sigh.

Then he picked up the stack of plans on the table that he hadn't dared to bring out in the meeting, and turned to the last page.

He picked up a pen and wrote a line in the blank space.

The handwriting was messy, but every stroke was deeply pressed: the young man's first car.