Two days later.
Wade Thomas from Goldman Sachs got in touch with Lin Baicheng. He brought some news—Microsoft was willing to sell 30% of its shares at a valuation of 5 million USD.
However, there was a catch. Lin would only get 20% of the voting rights, and $500,000 of that investment wouldn't go into the company's account. Instead, it would be split evenly between Bill Gates and Paul Allen as personal cash.
If Lin refused, then Gates and Allen would only agree to a deal based on a $3 million valuation for 20% of the shares, with all funds counted as legitimate company investment.
It was obvious that both Gates and Allen valued control more than money. Even if they sold 30% of the company, they would still hold the majority, but they also understood that as more investors came in later, their shares would be diluted. They had to think ahead.
At the same time, the higher valuation tempted them—and clearly, they wanted some quick cash in hand.
Lin Baicheng, of course, accepted the higher valuation: $5 million for 30% of Microsoft. But he refused to let $500,000 go directly into the founders' pockets. He was only willing to give them $200,000 in total, with the remaining $1.3 million injected into the company's capital.
Voting rights didn't matter much to him—after all, there was no way he could ever truly control Microsoft.
If Microsoft developed along the same trajectory as in history, its importance would skyrocket. As a foreign investor, there was no chance the U.S. government would ever allow him to hold majority control. Trying to force it would only invite trouble.
If he pushed too hard, Microsoft would be quietly suppressed—never growing into the tech giant it was meant to be. Some other company would rise in its place.
So Lin didn't insist on control. But what he couldn't accept was Gates and Allen cashing out too much. Who knew if they'd still have the same drive to work hard once they had too much money in hand?
$100,000 each was a reasonable amount—enough to make life more comfortable, but not enough to dull their ambition.
In the end, Gates and Allen agreed. The deal was done: Microsoft valued at $5 million, Lin Baicheng acquiring 30% of the shares, while the two founders each pocketed a modest $100,000.
Lin returned to Microsoft headquarters to sign the agreement, officially becoming one of the major shareholders.
He kept things simple—told Gates and Allen that he had great faith in Microsoft's future, chatted briefly, and didn't interfere any further. He'd send an accountant to keep an eye on the company's finances, but as for management—he would stay hands-off.
With Microsoft and Apple shares in hand, and his gold futures investment secured, Lin's trip to America was complete.
Just yesterday, Huo Yaohua from Standard Chartered Bank had contacted him—Rediffusion Television (Lai's Voice) was willing to sell its Hong Kong TV station, though the price would need negotiation. That meant it was time to return to Hong Kong.
Before leaving, however, Lin made one more move.
The discovery of the office software market had given him an idea. He instructed Eric Davis to start recruiting talented programmers, register a new company, and set up the framework for a software division. He planned to return later to personally oversee development.
When he finally flew back to Hong Kong, Lin felt a surge of mixed emotions.
He'd flown abroad so many times now that he made himself a promise: Once I've made enough money, I'm buying my own private jet.
No more waiting at airports, no more sleepless flights—just comfort and efficiency.
Back at the Peninsula Hotel, Lin met Huo Yaohua for afternoon tea.
They chatted about the weather and current affairs for a while before getting down to business.
"Mr. Lin," Huo began, "we've been in contact with Rediffusion in the UK. Since you're looking to acquire their Hong Kong television holdings, we couldn't hide your identity. They know you're the buyer."
"That's fine," Lin said calmly. "I expected as much."
It was normal—if someone wanted to sell, they'd obviously want to know who was buying. Standard Chartered couldn't lie, not if they wanted the deal to go through.
Huo sighed. "They're willing to sell, but once they found out the buyer is a Hong Kong native, they jacked up the price considerably."
Lin raised an eyebrow. "Tell me—what's the fair valuation of Rediffusion TV, and what price are they asking for?"
He was prepared to pay a premium, but if the price was absurd, he'd have to step back. Either buy TVB instead, or wait until the Australian consortium took over Rediffusion and buy from them later.
As for CTV (Kayi Television), Lin hadn't considered it. The colonial government had forced CTV to dedicate specific time slots—2 p.m. to 6 p.m. and 9 p.m. to 11:30 p.m.—to educational programs.
And education shows never drew high ratings. People wanted dramas and variety shows. That's why CTV went bankrupt.
Even if he bought it, he'd face the same restrictions. He could produce a few engaging education shows, sure, but not enough to fill years of programming. Once the novelty wore off, ratings would collapse—and the station would follow.
That was pointless.
From the start, Lin's only real targets were Rediffusion Television and TVB.
But TVB was controlled by the Lee family, and the powerful Shao Yifu (Run Run Shaw) held a major stake too. Shaw was looking to pivot from film to television—and with his close ties to the Lee family, they'd sell to him long before they'd sell to Lin.
Unless Lin offered a price so outrageous it defied all logic. But at that point, it made far more sense to just buy Rediffusion outright. Its shares were more concentrated, and ownership would be easier to consolidate.
Huo finally replied, "According to our Standard Chartered assessment, Rediffusion TV is worth around HK$110–120 million. But Rediffusion is demanding a valuation of HK$200 million, and they want HK$120 million for their 61% stake."
Lin tapped the table rhythmically, frowning. "Roughly an 80% premium, huh?"
It was higher than he expected.
He could feel the sting—they clearly intended to slaughter him on price. But if he didn't buy, his media ambitions would stall. Without a television network, his plan to create Oriental Media Group would be delayed for years.
And media power meant more than just profit. It was about influence—the ability to protect his image, promote his products, and control the narrative when rivals tried to defame him.
Owning media meant status. It made people think twice before crossing you. It made everything else in business easier.
After a long pause, Lin exhaled softly.
"Mr. Huo, please see if you can negotiate the price down a bit," he said finally. "If not, let me know—I'll still buy."
Even if it meant being cut open like a fat sheep, the TV station had to be his.
After all, Hong Kong only had three television networks, and CTV would soon go under next year. The sooner he secured Rediffusion, the better.
"I'll do my best," Huo replied cautiously.
He didn't sound confident—Rediffusion clearly meant to take Lin for all he was worth.
Lin didn't push further. "If you can lower the price, great. If not… I'll just have to pay more."