Throw Away the Bestsellers: The One Rule That Actually Saves a Dying Startup

If your cash on hand can’t cover three more months, throw away that stack of startup bestsellers on your desk. Flywheel Effect. Second Curve. Organizational Capability Building. They’re all executioners in suits. They kill without drawing blood.

In the early days, the founder has to make money on his knees.

That sounds ugly. Most people start businesses because they want to stand tall and earn, to stop taking orders from clients, to chase some noble mission. But you have to admit it: at this stage, you have zero bargaining power. You take a hundred‑thousand‑yuan deal. You take an eight‑thousand‑yuan deal. You fight tooth and nail for a deal with a 5% margin. And when the client is as prickly as your grandpa‑in‑law, you still smile and nod.

When you’re not qualified to stand, kneeling isn’t shameful. Running out of air is.

Everyone says cash flow is a company’s lifeblood. That’s too elegant. For a startup, cash flow is oxygen. Cut it off for three minutes, and you’re gone.

Over the years, I’ve watched too many “star projects” die. Only one cause: they put on the shoes meant for the future, strapped them onto their present feet, and walked until their feet were raw and bloody.

To survive, throw these things away.

First, throw away the “business model.”

What’s a business model? It’s a story that survivors tell in hindsight. In the early days, there’s no map. It’s dark in front of you. The only light is the instant someone pulls out their wallet.

Shoot first, then draw the target. Someone pays, the money lands safely in your pocket, and your model grows on its own. Spend three months drawing a perfect smile‑curve in your PPT, and by the time you’re done, the market has already packed up and left.

Second, throw away KPIs.

KPIs are tranquilizers for big companies. They keep massive systems running on autopilot. A startup needs a gas pedal, not a dashboard.

You can tell whether someone can work in three days sitting next to them. No 360‑degree reviews, no HR scorecards. Using a microscope to check if someone has eaten enough: that’s medical equipment, not a startup tool.

Third, throw away the rulebook.

Rules exist to solve the agency problem: will employees slack off when the boss isn’t around? In the early days, you’re the No.1 salesperson, the chief customer service rep, and the janitor. You’re there every day. You watch every yuan being spent with your own eyes.

At this stage, making a big deal out of attendance procedures, reimbursement approvals, and employee handbooks is like taking medicine for a future illness and swallowing it now. It does nothing but shut you up and slow you down.

Alright. Strip off the vanity. Cut the fluff.

What’s left? One thing. How to split the money.

Profit‑sharing is the only management you need in the early stage. Get it right, and employees bring their own laptops to work, still tweaking sales scripts at 2 a.m. Get it wrong, and you chant “family culture” and “warrior pledges” all day, only to end up with a team of Oscar‑worthy actors.

More startups die from internal money fights than from market competition.

Founders fall into two traps: Too stingy: the talented leave, the mediocre stay. That’s adverse selection. Too loose: the money’s all handed out, leaving the company with no funds for growth or working capital. That’s eating the seed corn.

Avoid both extremes. Here are three raw, practical rules. Use them as is.

Rule One: Let the revenue‑bringers smell the meat first.

No cap on commissions. No tiered递减. No playing word games with “collection rates.”

Sell one million, take a hundred thousand. Sell ten million, take a million. When salespeople make money, the boss makes real money. When they barely scrape by, you’re on the edge of bankruptcy.

Most founders get stuck here. They know the logic, but when they actually see the salesperson taking a big cut, it hurts. It hurts, but you have to take it. This is where you practice overcoming human nature.

Rule Two: Let the money‑savers get a cut too.

This one goes against common sense, but it works.

A startup’s money doesn’t just get spent. It leaks. Printer paper, courier fees, that unnecessary cross‑province business trip. In a big company, these are a drop in the bucket. For you, they’re the last straw.

Set up a cost‑saving bonus. Take the money saved and give a direct commission to the person who proposed the solution. Don’t call it petty. Starting a business is already about pinching every penny. Saving money and making money: on the books, they count the same.

Rule Three: Cut the pie into bite‑sized pieces.

Don’t talk to early employees every day about options, IPOs, and financial freedom. Human nature instinctively responds to certain rewards in the here and now, and nods off at promises for ten years down the road.

Write down clear payoff milestones: product launch: you get X. Monthly revenue breaks one million: you get Y. Profit turns positive: you get Z. Take that far‑off, unattainable Indian flatbread and cut it into mantou pieces that can actually fit in your mouth. Every bite has meat. Every bite has oil.

But here comes a bucket of cold water that has to be poured.

The rules for splitting money must be fixed on a sunny day. When it rains, you can’t afford to be soft.

When business explodes and cash flow turns positive, that’s when you sit down and talk about one thing: the commission ratio will be adjusted dynamically.

Make it clear: this month you take 30%, because the company is sprinting for its life. Next month, when the brand matures and the product stabilizes, the ratio might drop to 15%, but base salary doubles and options are fully granted.

This isn’t burning bridges. It’s putting the logic of the survival phase and the logic of the growth phase on the table in advance. If you don’t clarify this step, making money is more dangerous than losing it. When you’re losing, everyone bands together; when you’re making, they fall apart.

A founder’s dignity never comes from the size of their office. Nor from the applause at the annual review.

Survival is the only strategy. Splitting money well is the only tactic.

Earn the money first, then talk about spending it gracefully. Keep your people first, then talk about managing them properly.

Three months ago, when you threw away that pile of books, the ashtray on your desk was empty. Today, it’s still in the same spot, with a few more cigarette butts, and beside the keyboard sits half a cup of cold tea.

You don’t have time to wonder if it’s worth it. You’re just replying to client messages, calculating this month’s revenue, and transferring every single yuan of commission that’s due.

When you can finally stand up from that desk, look back. The one who crawled on their knees through the valley of death no longer needs anyone to tell them, “You’ve made it.”

The numbers on the balance sheet have already answered for them.