Morning broke with good news—yesterday's tally put Star's first-day car sales past 20,000 units—and while the team was still riding that momentum, Yang (the sales lead) brought in something new: four established rental companies had phoned overnight, asking to buy in bulk. That shifted the day's plan immediately. Rather than bask in numbers, Heifeng split the group in two: he and one assistant would meet two firms, while Yang and a regional manager would see the other two. The goal wasn't to brag about hype; it was to find a model-mix, price, and service package that made long-term sense without starving ordinary buyers of cars.
China is not the U.S. in this respect. In the U.S., high car ownership and relatively cheap new and used vehicles narrow the rental industry—airport counters, business trips, and occasional vacations. China's curve is different: far more licensed drivers than buyers, higher relative car prices, and lots of life events—weddings, funerals, home visits during holidays, client receptions—where people need a presentable car for a day or a weekend. Add a loud slice of "face economy," people renting to look successful, and you get steady, year-round demand. It isn't concentrated at airports; it's scattered across neighborhoods and industrial parks. For a manufacturer trying to scale production sanely, that demand is attractive—but only if the math works for the renters and the after-sales burden doesn't crush the brand.
The first meeting cut straight to that math. Mr. Ding, who ran a mid-sized chain with locations in several provincial capitals, said he'd tested competitors' sedans and kept arriving at the same answer: the sweet spot was a mid-size executive car for rentals—what everyone instinctively calls an A6-class machine. He admitted that compact sedans were cheaper to buy but too cramped for weddings, business receptions, and airport pickups. Full-size flagships looked grand but burned cash and sat idle on weekdays. "Most of our orders are VIP pickups, wedding convoys, and short business trips," he said. "Those customers want legroom, quiet, and a clean interior more than the V8 and a bragging rights badge."
Heifeng didn't argue. He had told the product team the same thing during planning: build one car that feels just expensive enough, rides comfortably, sips fuel, and is cheap to maintain, and it will live three lives—new, rental, and used—without waste. Mr. Ding then laid out his calculation. The nominal guide price on the A6-class was ¥239,800 (≈ $33,300). Retail buyers could expect campaign discounts—say ¥10,000 (≈ $1,390)—and a rental company placing a large, clean order should receive a further, modest batch price. Even so, the real lever wasn't the up-front ticket but depreciation. "If we run a car for three years and 200–250,000 kilometers," he said, "but it still resells around ¥100,000 (≈ $13,900), the annual cost is manageable. Weddings happen every weekend. National Day and Spring Festival are crazy. Weekdays, we rotate the fleet into airport pickups and corporate contracts. It pays."
That wasn't empty talk. In cities where fuel and parking are scarce, a well-kept, mid-size black sedan holds value because demand keeps circling: families that can't swing a new car still want something reliable and dignified in the used market. That closes the loop for rental companies, essentially buying predictable depreciation. Reliability and maintenance then become king. "We don't need the absolute fastest 0–100," Mr. Ding smiled. "We need the car that starts every morning, runs cool in August, warm in January, and takes a door dent without a week in the shop."
With the use case clear, Heifeng pressed on the parts that decide whether a manufacturer should even touch fleet orders: capacity, colors, after-sales, and cash flow. First, capacity. They had promised ordinary buyers timely deliveries; he would not let fleet orders jump the queue. His compromise was simple: a production cap by quarter for rentals, scheduled transparently, with deliveries split into batches so neither side drowned in logistics. Second, colors and trims. "Ninety percent black," Mr. Ding said immediately. The remaining 10%? A mix of pearl white and a dark business gray for wedding convoys and company preference. Interiors: durable black with stitched surfaces that look upscale in photos but clean easily. Options: standardized. Every deviation multiplies parts and delays service.
On after-sales, they aligned even faster. For rentals, what matters is downtime—every hour in the shop is lost revenue. Heifeng committed to a dedicated service lane at designated city centers, a 24-hour parts pool for everyday wear items, and a hotline that rental managers could call when a car stranded a client on the ring road. He also promised a preventive-maintenance package pegged to kilometers rather than months, because rental mileage piles on fast. Consumables would be locked at a fixed price card for fleet clients to keep the total cost predictable and reviewed biannually.
Only then did they talk money. Mr. Ding floated a first bite of 1,000 units, staged across several cities. He didn't ask for exclusivity—he knew the market was too big and scattered for a single-brand monopoly—but he wanted a clean, round batch price and a delivery calendar he could sell to his investors. "Pay a 10% deposit to lock build slots," Heifeng said, "balance on pre-delivery inspection per batch. We'll publish the VIN list beforehand so insurers can bind policies before trucks roll." For optics, Mr. Ding asked if rental cars could carry a small "Co-operated with Hongmeng" tag on the trunk lip. Advertising without shouting. "Fine—so long as it's subtle," Heifeng said. Protecting the retail image mattered; nobody wanted to feel they had bought a taxi spec.
Before they parted, they sanity-checked two things that kill fleet relationships: resale and abuse. Resale first. Three years in, with disciplined maintenance, the car should still pull around ¥100,000 (≈ $13,900) wholesale. To support that, the manufacturer would open its certified used-car channel to fleet returns, guaranteeing inspection standards and reducing auction volatility. Abuse next. Rentals are hard miles. Heifeng agreed to telematics hooks (already built into the car's gateway) that could record overspeed, hard braking, and over-rev incidents—not to spy on customers but to protect warranties against blatant misuse and to help rental firms coach drivers.
By afternoon, the second meeting echoed the first: different logo, same calculus. They also wanted the A6-class as the backbone, with a handful of compact hatchbacks for rush-hour city rentals and a sprinkling of holiday SUVs. Heifeng kept the following lines: cap the fleet percentage so retail customers aren't left staring at empty showrooms; lock service terms; standardize spec; deliver in waves. The companies were pragmatic. Their risk is utilization; his risk is brand perception and service load. The agreement found the middle.
Back at the office, the team wrote it down so nobody would drift in the following call:
Cap fleet sales to a fixed share of production each quarter and publish the schedule in advance.
Standardize fleet spec (ninety percent black; limited trims) to speed builds and service.
Fleet after-sales = dedicated service lanes, 24-hour parts pool, kilometer-based PM, fixed price card for consumables.
Deposits at 10% to lock slots; VIN lists in advance; batch inspections before balance.
Support resale via the certified used-car channel to stabilize three-year values around ¥100,000 (≈ $13,900).
It wasn't glamorous work, but the boring discipline that turns a viral launch into a durable business. Star didn't need to win the loudest wedding convoy in town; it needed to become the default choice when a rental manager asked, "Which car will make money for three years and still sell clean when I'm done?" On that question, the A6-class had answered well all day.
By noon, the Audi stores were a madhouse. Liu Zihao sprinted upstairs during his lunch break, breathless, and blurted to his father that their inventory had evaporated—showroom cars included—and begged him to call Brother Feng for "a few hundred units" as a stopgap. His father glared at him: You have the nerve to ask for hundreds? He'd already tried calling, and Brother Feng wasn't picking up. "Forget it," the old man decided. "Don't bother President Heifeng—he's probably busier than us." Downstairs, the sales floor looked less like a dealership and more like a flash-sale bazaar. Customers who'd missed the last car were even eyeing the display models, and staff had to stop them—if the hall went bare, people would think the store was still under renovation.
Heifeng, who'd finally drifted off near dawn, woke to Liu Zihao's pleading calls, silenced the phone, then dragged himself to the plant around noon. Truth was, Audi now ran smoothly without him hovering; a good company should run on its systems, not on its boss. What only he could do—the long-arc decisions—was where he spent his time. He headed first for the lab. Since Audi signed with Jinling University of Technology, the lab had been packed with young talent—hundreds of graduate students in engines, transmissions, and chassis, plus a few standout undergrads hand-picked by veterans like Xu Zhilin. Audi's benefits have already become a legend in the industry. Heifeng had been elevated inside the company to something like a totem: the man who grew a parts shop into a brand a nation could be proud of. He slipped into the back of Xu Zhilin's class instead of interrupting; these days Xu taught more than he tinkered, and he was a born teacher.
After class, Heifeng pulled Tang San, Sun Er, and Li Gang aside to ask about the mass-production tuning for the A8. Powertrain, cabin electronics, and vehicle OS—each lead reported that the work was done and ready to roll. "Good," Heifeng said. "Send the data to Plant Four, adjust the line, and begin trial production tomorrow morning." Back in his office, the sales chief came in excitedly. "President Heifeng, A6 is exploding—over twenty thousand units this morning alone!" Heifeng only nodded; he already knew—Liu Zihao had called begging for cars. The report was more useful than the number of the morning's haul, A6 led by a wide margin, with the TT surging on its heels. Even more interesting, several car-rental chains had called to open bulk-purchase talks. In China, that "rental cake" is enormous—driver's license holders far outnumber car owners, so the market fills the gap. Weddings, funerals, trips, business pickups… and the large cohort with "temporary face" to project for a day or two—all of it needs wheels. Historically, foreign badges owned that space. If those buyers were knocking on Audi's door alone, the tide was really turning.
The sales chief asked how to quote fleet pricing. Heifeng's answer was simple and firm: ladder pricing by volume. Big orders would be sharpened; three to five cars would get the regular sticker. With the A6 hot and the TT surging, there was no reason to sell ourselves short. He also set a principle: keep stores honest. Emptying the showroom might feel suitable for a day, but a dealership without a display model scares walk-ins. Supply would be ramped, but the floor had to look like a store. As the phones kept ringing from 4S stores around the country, Heifeng looked past the day's frenzy and saw what mattered: a domestic luxury maker whose products and service could win on merit. The lab he'd just visited—those young engineers—would sustain that merit long after today's sales curve cooled.