Chapter 102: A Low-Key Grand Opening
Chapter 102: A Low-Key Grand Opening
Ma Yang scratched his head. “Ventilation system? What’s that?”
“Search it online.” Pei Qian didn’t bother explaining and sat down at a PC to download Ocean Fortress and play a few rounds.
Ventilation systems had been around for quite a while. Europe had set comprehensive standards for them around the year 2000, and they gradually gained popularity in homes and businesses.
In China, however, ventilation systems and air purifiers didn’t really take off until the smog crises peaked—around 2014—when most people finally realized what they were.
At the moment, most of these systems were imported and ridiculously expensive.
But to Pei Qian, expensive wasn’t a flaw—it was a feature.
Once the game was downloaded, he gave it a quick spin.
Sure enough, with a high-end PC, the experience was absolutely top-tier!
Once in-game, Pei Qian cranked all the graphics settings to maximum without a second thought. Everything had to be visually stunning—no compromises!
This computer had no weak points. Every piece of hardware was premium. It had only one fatal flaw:
You couldn’t blame it for your losses.
No more excuses like “My mouse was jittery,” “My keyboard jammed,” “The game stuttered,” “The monitor flickered,” or “The headset shocked me.”
None of those would fly here.
If you played badly, it was on you—and only you.
Honestly, for some people, that was probably a dealbreaker.
Pei Qian jumped into a couple of PvP matches—and got absolutely wrecked.
He tried out a few rounds of Biohazard Mode—still got stomped.
Defeated, he switched to the single-player campaign.
“Clearly, a genius like me isn’t suited for reflex-heavy games. Story mode is where the fun’s at,” Pei Qian muttered as he played.
Hard to believe he had made this game.
What on earth had Huang Sibo and Bao Xu gone through to produce something like this?
As Pei Qian was immersed in the game, Zhang Yuan came over with a cocktail.
The glass wasn’t large, but the drink inside was eye-catching. The bottom was a deep crimson, gradually blending into a bright apple green at the top. In the clear glass, the layered colors looked downright mesmerizing.
Pei Qian’s first reaction was: mysterious!
He took a sip. The flavor was... unique. Hard to describe, but definitely memorable.
“What’s this called?” he asked.
Zhang Yuan replied, “Boss Pei, this is a variation of the Aurora Borealis cocktail. The regular version glows under blacklight, but I tweaked the formula so the colors look more natural under normal lighting.”
“Not bad. How much is it?” Pei Qian asked.
“Fifty yuan per glass,” Zhang Yuan answered.
Worried that Pei Qian might find the price too steep, he quickly added, “There’s Glava liqueur in it. One 700ml bottle costs 400 yuan, and a single serving uses 30ml of it.”
“There’s a cheaper version too—we could swap the Glava for vodka.”
“Oh.” Pei Qian nodded. “Then, what’s the cheapest cocktail on the menu?”
Zhang Yuan thought for a moment. “Cheapest... probably 25 yuan. That’s about the standard price in most bars.”
And this was 2010. That wasn’t cheap.
A single drink like that could cost a broke student two meals.
Not to mention, the customer base at an internet café was very different from that of a bar.
“So what do you think, Boss Pei? Is the pricing okay? If you think it’s too high, we could lower it.”
Lower it?
Or… raise it?
If they lowered the price, yes, the profit per drink would go down.
But what if people flocked here just because the drinks were cheap?
Then it would turn into a high-traffic, low-margin operation—disaster!
Absolutely not! No price cuts!
Even though the drinks were already pricey, Pei Qian thought about it carefully and realized—there was still room to increase the price!
He made up his mind. “Add ten yuan to every cocktail. Our customers are premium clientele. If the prices are too low, it’s like we’re looking down on them!”
“Huh?” Zhang Yuan was stunned.
“It’s settled. Every drink goes up by ten yuan.”
Pei Qian continued sipping his cocktail contentedly and went back to gaming.
Zhang Yuan, naturally, didn’t question it further and went back to work.
. . . . . . . .
Pei Qian played for a while and was quite satisfied.
Not with the environment, per se—but with the cost of it all.
He did a quick mental calculation. Two hours of gaming plus one cocktail came out to 80 yuan.
That amount of money could get you an entire week of overnight sessions in a regular internet café!
This pricing structure completely shut out the mainstream customer base of typical internet cafés.
Of course, Pei Qian knew that this kind of upscale internet café model would gradually become the norm in about six or seven years.
But that was fine—as long as it wasn’t mainstream right now.
Besides, even in six or seven years, no internet café would dare sell cocktails at 60 yuan per glass!
He was perfectly happy to lose money on this for four or five years straight.
Beautiful.
Pei Qian stood up, ready to leave.
Ma Yang came over and asked, “Brother Qian, we’re planning to open the day after tomorrow. How do you want to handle the grand opening? I was thinking something like an opening celebration, maybe special promotions. Like, half-price PC time and drinks for the first three days. What do you think about that discount?”
Half-price PC usage?
Half-price drinks?
No. No. No. Absolutely not!
If word spread and this place got popular right away, that would be disastrous!
Pei Qian shook his head vigorously. “No, that’s too low-class! We’re a high-end internet café, got it?”
“We open like normal—none of those cheesy promos. Good wine needs no bush. With an environment this refined, you think we’ll have trouble getting customers?”
“Half-price... what are we, a farmer’s market? We can’t give off that vibe!”
“Alright... no promos then…” Ma Yang was confused, but he’d learned by now that Pei Qian was always right.
Pei Qian left the Moyu Internet Café satisfied, planning to return on opening day.
Only when he saw the café fail with his own eyes would he truly be at peace.
. . . . . . . .
March 9.
Moyu Internet Café officially opened!
There were no grand opening deals, no celebratory fireworks, no banners—absolutely nothing.
Everything proceeded as if it were a normal day.
The storefront didn’t even have any Chinese characters—just a large logo. That definitely made the place feel high-end, but also made it hard for people to realize it was an internet café.
Luckily, the building had lots of glass panels. During the day, passersby could clearly see the café area and gaming zone inside.
Even so, it was a bit too low-key.
Zhang Yuan stood behind the bar, ready to show off his flair bartending skills the moment someone walked in.
But after waiting forever, a few pedestrians passed by, glanced in, and… kept walking.
No one even looked like they wanted to step inside.
The minimalist exterior had a powerful “Do not disturb” effect.
Meanwhile, Pei Qian was chilling in the café zone, enjoying his coffee. As he looked around at the completely empty internet café, a smug smile slowly crept across his face—only to be quickly stifled.
Ma Yang, on the other hand, was not nearly as calm. He was clearly getting anxious.
“Brother Qian, at least let them hand out some flyers…”
By “them,” he meant the newly hired internet café attendants.
Though their title was “attendant,” they were also acting as servers, delivering drinks and helping customers.
All the promotions Ma Yang had originally planned for opening day had been shut down by Pei Qian.
Pei Qian’s reasoning? Stay calm and normal!
In a place this classy, doing some cheesy opening celebration would be beneath them!
As a result, the grand opening was a complete non-event… with zero attention.
Pei Qian calmly took a sip of coffee. “Flyers? Where’s the class in that? The whole point is for customers to discover us by accident—that’s what makes it feel special!”
“Discover us… by accident?”
Ma Yang had a vague feeling that something about that logic didn’t sit right with him—but he couldn’t quite figure out how to refute it…
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