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

One million three hundred thousand people are waiting.

The barrage of comments was so slow that each one was clearly visible to the naked eye, which is abnormal in any live stream with millions of viewers.

In a typical live stream with millions of viewers, the barrage of comments is like a waterfall, like torrential rain hitting a glass window, making it impossible to read individual messages.

But now nobody types anymore.

My finger hovers above the screen, waiting.

"Who said you need money to buy things at Weiguang?"

This sentence hangs in the air, like a bullet that has been fired but hasn't landed yet.

Lin Che did not explain immediately.

He turned and walked to the corner of the storage room, where a laptop stood against the wall, its screen facing him, not the camera.

He bent down and typed a few keys on the keyboard, then straightened up and returned to the front of the camera.

The live stream screen changed.

It's not a green screen anymore.

The green screen was removed, and the background was replaced with a pure red background with six large white characters in the center:

"Weiguang Credit Purchase"

Below the main text is a line of smaller print: "Your credit is your wallet."

The comments section twitched, as if it had been electrocuted.

"What is that?"

"Credit purchase? What does that mean?"

"Wait, wait, what is this?"

Lin Che stood in front of the red background, the fill light shining brightly on his face, his shadow cast behind him was invisible.

He spoke.

His speaking speed was much faster than before, like a machine gun changing magazines.

"In the Weiguang APP, go to the settings page, tap 'Weiguang Credit Score,' and check your score. If it's over 600, you don't need to close this live stream, leave, or open any bank app—"

He held up one finger.

"Click it."

The comments section was still filled with questions like, "What are you clicking? What's this credit score? I've never seen this before!"

"Tap 'Activate Credit Shopping'," Lin Che pulled his finger away from the camera, "The system will complete the review within three seconds. If approved, everything you buy on Weiguang tonight—"

He paused for a moment.

"You don't need to pay a single penny."

"Pay back before the 15th of next month, zero interest."

The live stream was deathly silent for two seconds.

Then the barrage of comments exploded.

"?????????"

"Free of charge???"

"Buy now, pay later??? What kind of operation is this???"

Zero interest??? Really???

"Wait, let me check my credit score!!!"

Lin Che didn't stop.

His voice drowned out the noise of the bullet comments—although the bullet comments were silent, the visual impact of a million bullet comments flooding the screen at the same time was itself a kind of "noise," and his voice was like a knife in that noise, cutting through it.

"Your cash has been spent tonight. The deposit is non-refundable, the red envelopes cannot be withdrawn, and your Alipay and Huabei credits are used up."

Every word is true, every word strikes at the sore spot of a million people.

"Leave that money to them."

He waved his hand to the left of the camera, and there was nothing in that direction, but everyone knew who he was referring to.

"Tonight at Weiguang, use your credit to buy things. Weiguang determines your credit score: 600 points or above, credit limit of 1000; 700 points or above, credit limit of 3000; 800 points or above—"

He didn't say the number.

"Go see for yourselves."

The number of viewers in the live stream jumped from 1.03 million to 1.47 million in those 30 seconds.

It didn't rise, it jumped.

Like being revived by an electric shock after cardiac arrest, the numbers pop up instantly.

Because someone started taking screenshots.

The screenshot isn't from the live stream; it's from the credit purchase activation page on my own app.

"My credit limit is two thousand!!! Two thousand yuan!!! No need to pay!!!"

"I scored 820! My credit limit is 5,000! 5,000, guys!"

"It's already activated! One click and it was activated! The approval process really only took three seconds!"

The screenshots were shared on WeChat Moments, Weibo, and WeChat groups. Each screenshot was like a seed that fell into the parched soil overnight and sprouted instantly.

"You can buy things without spending money"—these seven words were a concept that had never appeared on the Chinese Internet in December 2019.

Alipay's Huabei requires linking a bank card, JD.com's BaiTiao requires real-name authentication and approval, and credit cards need to be applied for offline.

Weiguang Credit Purchase: Open the app, tap once, three seconds, done.

No forms to fill out, no ID card photos to take, no bank card to link.

Because Abyss already has all the data of these users—the transaction records of Weiguang Payment, the consumption records of Weiguang Mall, the long-term behavioral model of Weiguang Credit Score, and even external data that has been transferred from other platforms.

Behind the three-second review is the real-time cross-validation of tens of millions of data points.

But users are unaware of this.

Users only know one thing: I clicked, and I got money.

Lin Che stood in front of the camera, watching the comments flood the screen, each one a variation of the same phrase—

"I have a credit limit now!"

"Oh my god, I have two thousand yuan!"

"Credit shopping is awesome!!!"

He picked up the burgundy sweatshirt.

"Okay, fourth batch, 100,000 pieces, 9.9 yuan. For credit purchase users—"

His eyes were fixed on the camera.

"Pay without password, pick up your goods with one click."

"Three, two, one, link above."

The backend inventory has changed.

100000.

This time there was no pause or lag.

The numbers started falling in a new way—not decreasing by hundreds, but jumping by thousands.

98700.

95200.

89000.

Xie Yu stood at the door staring at his phone screen, his palms sweating so badly he almost dropped the phone.

He saw a data phenomenon he had never seen before.

Payment success rate: From 31% in the first three batches – due to a large number of users having insufficient balances leading to payment failures –

It jumped to 97%.

Ninety-seven percent of users successfully completed the payment process after clicking to purchase.

Because they're not using the money from their bank cards anymore.

They used credit.

The inventory figures are still jumping.

67000.

43000.

21000.

In a university dormitory, a boy wearing shorts and flip-flops was sitting on the top bunk, the light from his phone screen illuminating his face.

He paid a deposit of 1,100 yuan on Taobao tonight for a laptop cooler, two hoodies, a pair of shoes, and a snack gift pack to reach the minimum order amount for the Double Twelve pre-sale.

One thousand one hundred dollars.

His monthly living expenses.

After spending all the money, my bank card balance was 17.3 yuan.

He clicked into the Weiguang live stream from a WeChat group link sent by his roommate, watched for five minutes, and then opened a credit purchase account with a limit of 1,200 yuan.

He stared at the burgundy sweatshirt on the screen that cost 9.9 yuan, his finger hovering over the "Credit Purchase Payment" button for two seconds.

Nine yuan and ninety cents.

It doesn't cost any money.

I'll pay it back on the 15th of next month.

He pressed it.

A line of text popped up on the screen:

"Payment successful. The package has been dispatched from the Ark Cloud Warehouse Shanghai node and is expected to arrive tomorrow."

He stared at the words for three seconds, then flipped his phone over and placed it face down on the bed, looking up at the half-broken fluorescent light on the dormitory ceiling.

His mouth was open, and his lips were trembling.

It's not sadness.

It was a feeling he couldn't quite describe—like he had obtained something that didn't belong to him. He felt flustered, yet excited, the fluster and excitement swirling together, making his stomach churn.

My phone screen went off and then lit up again; it was a message from my roommate: "You got it? How did you pay? Didn't you say you were out of money?"

He typed three words and sent them:

"Credit purchase."

In the live stream, the inventory reached zero.

The fourth batch, 100,000 pieces, took one minute and seven seconds.

It was slower than the first three batches, but its significance is completely different.

The first three batches were purchased with cash; 100,000 pieces were 100,000 pieces.

The fourth batch was purchased using credit.

Credit is not money.

Credit was created by Lin Che.

Five hundred billion in cash lay untouched in the account.

The only sound left in the comments was:

Is there anything else?

Is there anything else?

Is there anything else?

Facing 1.6 million people, Lin Che picked up the fifth batch of goods.

"have."