For most of his career he sat on the side of the table that says yes or no to raises the size of the one you're trying to close. Barrister. City of London investment banker. EVP of a Gulf commercial bank. Turnaround CEO of a state-owned enterprise.
On 14 August he answers questions for three hours. Not from a stage. Across a dinner table, at arm's length, with a glass in his hand.
9 seats left · USD 50 covers dinner, not the seat
He has never done a stage, a podcast, or an interview. This is the closest he gets to public.
Not a marketing deadline. The restaurant needs the final headcount three days out — and the seats that are left usually go before then.
You've built something real. Revenue, assets, a team, a track record. You've been told the money is out there and that all you need is the right introduction.
So you polished the deck. Ran the model again. Sat through the coffee with the "funding consultant" who wanted a retainer. Got warm-introduced to a family office that went quiet after the second call. Maybe you even paid a broker who is still, technically, "working on it."
Here's what almost nobody will tell you to your face: at eight figures and above, deals don't die on the pitch. They die on structure.
They die because the risk sits in the wrong place. Because the security package doesn't survive a credit committee. Because the cap table makes the next round impossible. Because the number you asked for tells the man across the table you don't understand your own balance sheet.
None of that is visible from your side of the table. All of it is obvious from his.
Which is why the useful thing isn't another course on how to pitch. The useful thing is three hours with the person who used to approve or kill raises the size of yours — close enough to ask him what he'd have done with your deal.
The Guest Of Honour
He is still active. The counterparties he deals with, the mandates he sits on, and the families he advises are the reason his name is not on this page. It is not a marketing device — it is a condition of him showing up at all.
No stage. No slides. No recording. If you want to know what he thinks, you have to be in the room.
Three hours at one table, small enough that everyone gets heard — with the man who has already made the decision you're about to ask someone else for.
Describe your raise in two minutes and hear how it lands with someone who has declined hundreds of them. Where the risk actually sits. What a committee would ask that your advisor never did.
Debt, equity, mezzanine, sovereign and Gulf capital, asset-backed paper. Not the textbook version — the version he used to restructure RM 20 billion.
The reasons that never make it into the rejection email. Governance gaps, related-party mess, unbankable collateral, founders who ask for the wrong number at the wrong stage.
Everyone at this table is raising at eight figures or holds capital that goes to work. Over three hours, seated, you will actually get to know them — not collect a business card in a hotel lobby. That has its own arithmetic.
If you are picturing a cheque, put it down. Here is exactly what this dinner is not.
Nobody is funding you at dinner. No term sheet, no commitment, no introduction to his mandates. He is not there to look at deals. He is there to answer questions.
Nothing is sold at this table. No back-of-room offer, no programme, no upsell, no deck at the end of the night. If that's the business model you were expecting for USD 50, it isn't this one.
There is no recording and no replay. He speaks candidly on the condition that the evening stays in the room. That is the trade you are accepting by taking a seat.
It will not fix a business that isn't raising yet. If you're pre-revenue and hoping someone will fund an idea, this is the wrong table — and Ching Yu will tell you so rather than seat you.
If you're the kind of person who should be at this table, USD 50 already looked strange to you. Good. It should.
The number is not a valuation of the evening. It covers a plate at Chalet Swiss and nothing else. The seat itself isn't for sale at any price — it is given, by the host, to people he is willing to put in a room with this man. That is the only currency in play here.
So the USD 50 does one job: it separates the people who show up from the ten times as many who say they will.
How A Seat Gets Confirmed
Reserve. USD 50, one seat, thirty seconds.
A short WhatsApp conversation. Ching Yu's team confirms who you are and what you're raising. Two minutes, not an interrogation.
Your seat is named. Venue details, arrival time, and who else is at the table.
Once step 2 is done, the chair has your name on it and it stays yours. The table is small enough that Ching Yu knows who is sitting in every seat, and who he put next to whom. That is the whole reason an evening like this is worth three hours of your Friday.
Your Host
Business Consultant & Strategist
Ching Yu works with founders, owners and executives on how to grow — and on using technology and AI to do it faster than their competitors can react.
His real asset is access. He spends his time building relationships with people who don't take meetings, and occasionally opens one of those relationships to a small group. This dinner is one of those occasions. He approves every name on the list, and he is the reason the man at the head of the table said yes.
He also has to sit next to you all evening. That is the whole vetting policy.
Nine seats left and a three-hour conversation force a choice. Read both columns honestly before you reserve.
9 Seats Left
Friday 14 August, Chalet Swiss, Kuala Lumpur. USD 50 covers dinner. The seat is Ching Yu's to give — and there are nine left.
chat Ching Yu's team confirms your seat on WhatsApp and sends the venue details.
P.S. The reason to be there isn't the dinner. It's that for three hours you can ask the person who used to sign off on raises like yours the one question your advisors keep answering vaguely — and watch his face while he answers. There is no recording. After the 14th, the only people who know what was said are the ones who were at the table.