The richest man started taking advantage of loopholes after joining Alibaba.

Top floor of the Microlight Technology Building.

Before the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, the night view of Beijing resembles a golden net spread out.

But tonight, the brightness of this net seems to pale in comparison to the huge data screen inside the room.

Daily active users (DAU): 1.2 million.

Monthly active users (MAU): 3.5 million.

Average daily usage time per user: 78 minutes.

These three figures, like three mountains, weigh heavily on the chest of the entire Chinese internet industry.

There was no champagne being opened or cheers being heard in the meeting room.

There was only a suffocating, almost sacred silence.

The executives stared at the screen, their eyes filled not only with excitement, but also with a sense of disbelief that "we actually did it."

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Three months.

Just three months.

Starting from scratch, Weiguang Video has grown rapidly, leaving iQiyi, Youku, Weibo, and even the fledgling Toutiao behind.

Now, only two mountains stand in its way.

WeChat, QQ.

"The new internet giant."

Shen Nan broke the silence. His voice was a little hoarse, as if he had just finished running a marathon.

"Boss, the media has started using this term."

"BAT has become ATM."

"A stands for Alibaba, T stands for Tencent, and M stands for Microlight."

Lin Che sat in the main seat, twirling a fountain pen in his hand.

There wasn't much of an expression on his face.

It was as if all of this had been planned in advance.

"A new internet giant?"

Lin Che chuckled and tossed the pen onto the table.

"Reputation is the least valuable thing."

"Baidu used to be the top BAT company, but now? It's selling fake medicine."

He stood up, walked to the screen, and traced his finger across the upward-curving line.

"What you're seeing is just traffic."

"But what I see is the 'right to define'."

Lin Che turned around and looked at the dozen or so executives present.

"In the past, what was popular was determined by record companies and television stations."

"But now, we're in charge."

"We promoted the 'Seaweed Dance,' and the whole of China started dancing the Seaweed Dance."

"We promoted 'Learn to Meow,' and the whole of China started learning to meow."

"We defined what is 'trendy,' what is 'rustic,' and what is 'beautiful.'"

Lin Che's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an absolute sense of dominance.

"This is the real moat."

"It's not the code, not the algorithm, not even the 100 million daily active users."

"It is—the mind."

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data center.

Wang Jian is showing the executives a special competitor analysis report.

The screen shows a row of gray icons.

Those were dozens of competing products that tried to copy Weiguang Video in the past month.

Some are startups, while others are incubated by giants.

For example, Baidu's "Haokan Video" and Tencent's "Weishi".

However, their retention rate data is appalling.

Next-day retention: 15%.

7-day retention: 3%.

Why?

Looking at the data, Lao Zhao was puzzled. "Weishi offers very generous subsidies, such as red envelopes for watching videos. In theory, this should be able to retain a group of people who enjoy these 'wool-gathering' (coupon hunters)."

"Because of this place."

Wang Jian clicked on a comparison video.

The light on the left is faint.

In the video, a girl is dancing to the popular song "C哩C哩".

Every drumbeat of the music was perfectly timed to match the girl's dance steps.

The visual and auditory sensations are synchronized, creating a powerful sense of pleasure.

The right side is Weishi.

Same girl, same dance steps.

However, the background music was an unknown, free electronic keyboard piece.

The rhythm is off, the emotions are off.

The more energetically the girl danced, the more comical she looked, like a madwoman performing a shamanic ritual.

"Awkward."

Wang Jian summarized it with one word.

"Users have become accustomed to being 'fed' by Weiguang."

"Their ears have been tamed by the 500 hit songs we signed them to."

"When they go to other platforms, they can't hear the familiar melodies or the rhythms that stimulate dopamine."

"They will experience 'withdrawal symptoms'."

Wang Jian pointed to a popular comment in the Weishi comment section.

User ID: It's so deserted here.

Comment: "Without the dance of 'C哩C哩,' there is no soul. I've uninstalled it and am going back to Weiguang."

This is a monopoly.

Lin Che's "iron curtain" woven with copyrights not only blocked ByteDance's path but also shut out all newcomers.

In this parallel universe, you can only hear the "background music of the era" in the dim light.

Elsewhere, you can only watch pantomime.

"What is the user return rate?" Lin Che asked.

92%.

Wang Jian answered.

"In other words, out of 10 users who try out the competitor's product, 9 will re-download Weiguang within 24 hours."

They left grumbling and cursing, then slunk back.

Lin Che nodded.

now it's right.

This is the effect he wanted.

It's not just about capturing the market, but also about taming the users.

This makes users feel that, apart from Weiguang, all other short video apps are "knock-offs" or "inferior products."

Once this brand perception is formed, it will be very difficult to reverse it no matter how much money Tencent invests in the future.

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