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

9:11 AM, Beijing, Alibaba Beijing headquarters, fourth floor.

The champagne bottle in the joint command center was still on the table, upside down, empty.

There were five or six wine glasses next to it, some of which were dry, with dried wine stains on the glass.

Some cups still had half a glass left, but no one drank them.

The atmosphere from last night still lingered in the air—the thud of the cork hitting the ceiling, the applause when the deposit record was broken, and the laughter of Sun Zheng raising his glass in celebration.

Now all those sounds are gone.

There were about thirty people in the command center: the operations and data team who worked the night shift, plus the executives who arrived this morning. They were scattered at their respective workstations; some were on the phone, some were looking at screens, and some were just sitting there.

The atmosphere is off.

It wasn't quiet; it was the kind of chaos where "something big has happened, but we still don't know exactly how big it is."

Sun arrived at exactly nine o'clock.

He returned to the hotel around 2 a.m. last night, took a shower, and slept for less than five hours before being woken up by a phone call from his secretary.

The secretary's voice trembled on the phone as she said, "Mr. Sun, please take a look at the data from Weiguang."

Sun Zheng sat on the hotel bed, opened his phone, and looked at it for thirty seconds.

Then he put his phone down.

He didn't fall, and he didn't curse.

It means I've let go.

It's like something has been taken away.

When he arrived at the command center, he was still wearing the same suit he had worn the night before, with a small wine stain on his collar—it had splashed when he was pouring champagne last night.

Qian Minghui was already there, sitting in a corner seat, his laptop open, the screen filled with Tencent's own backend data.

He saw Sun Zheng come in, raised his head slightly, didn't say anything, and then lowered it again.

Zhou Guoping was still connected via video call. In the footage from Baidu, he had changed into a shirt, but his eye bags were very heavy, clearly indicating that he hadn't slept well.

Sun Zheng walked to the front of the big screen.

The screen displays a combined data summary from the three companies—the core metrics of last night's Double Twelve promotion.

The numbers are impressive.

The combined GMV of the three companies exceeded 200 billion yuan, with a deposit conversion rate of 78% and user activity reaching a record high.

Logically, this should have been a resounding victory.

However, there is a separate "Competitor Monitoring" area in the lower right corner of the screen, which contains only one set of data:

Weiguang Technology's Double Twelve Nighttime Report: GMV: 147 billion; Cash Consumption: 0

Sun Zheng stared at that zero for a long time.

The data manager next to him cautiously spoke up: "Mr. Sun, Weiguang launched a feature called 'Credit Purchase' last night, which allows users to purchase without paying cash—"

"I know."

Sun Zheng's voice was flat, but not in an abnormal way; it was like something was pressing down on a pool of water.

"Their users make purchases using credit limits, similar to Alipay's 'buy now, pay later' model, but the activation process is extremely simple, with approval completed in three seconds—"

"I said I understand."

The data manager shut up.

There was a few seconds of silence.

Sun Zheng turned around and scanned the people present, his gaze finally settling on Qian Minghui.

"You mentioned credit purchase last night."

Qian Minghui looked up, expressionless: "Yes, I mentioned it."

"You said the grayscale version is running."

"right."

"Then why didn't you tell me he would be fully released?"

Qian Minghui's lips twitched slightly, not in a smile, but in a very subtle and restrained expression.

"Mr. Sun, last night you said that the grayscale version is like it hasn't been launched yet, like it hasn't even fought a battle. I have nothing to add."

This isn't a harsh statement, but it stings.

Sun Zheng's temple throbbed, but he didn't reply.

He walked to the window, turned his back to everyone, and looked out at the gray, hazy winter sky of Beijing.

14.7 billion.

Zero cash outlay.

These two numbers kept swirling in his mind.

It's not that he doesn't understand the logic of credit purchases—the concept of "use now, pay later" has been around for a long time, as have Alipay's Huabei and JD.com's Baitiao; it's nothing new.

However, the problem is that opening a Huabei account requires a series of review processes, and the same goes for Baitiao. From application to credit limit approval, it can take at least several hours.

Weiguang's credit purchase takes three seconds.

Risk control review, credit limit assessment, and account activation are completed in three seconds.

This means that Abyss—the so-called "Weiguang Brain" of Weiguang—has accumulated enough user data to determine the creditworthiness of a stranger within three seconds.

He thought of something even more terrifying.

With over 31 million users activating credit purchases, and assuming an average credit limit of 2,000 yuan—a conservative estimate—that represents a total credit exposure of over 60 billion yuan.

The credit exposure of over 60 billion is anchored by 50 billion in cash.

The leverage is not high, and the risk is controllable.

This is not an unorthodox method.

This has been precisely calculated.

"This person..." Sun Zheng's hand pressed against the window frame, his knuckles turning white, "used 50 billion to pry open a deal worth 14.7 billion, without spending a single penny, while we spent 10 billion in real money to buy a deal worth 200 billion."

He paused for a moment.

"But his users have to pay him back next month, and our users won't be coming back next month."

No one responded.

Because that's the truth.

The essence of subsidies is to spend money to buy one-time traffic; once the money is spent, the traffic is gone.

The essence of credit-based purchasing is to bind long-term relationships with credit. Users can borrow again after repaying their debts, month after month.

"Violation of regulations."

Sun Zheng suddenly turned around, squeezing out those two words through clenched teeth.

"This is definitely illegal. Without a banking license, a consumer finance license, or a credit reporting license, what right does he have to issue credit limits to users? This is essentially issuing consumer loans in disguise!"

He walked back to the table, picked up his phone, and started scrolling through his contacts.

Qian Minghui watched his movements, opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he didn't say anything.

In the video, Zhou Guoping turned off the camera, leaving only a black screen and his name.

Sun Zheng found a number.

The area code is 010, an eleven-digit number, and the storage name is only two characters: High Place.

He pressed the dial button.

The phone rang three times, then I answered it.

"Minister Zhang, this is Sun Zheng."

His voice suddenly changed, switching from a gritted-teeth tone to a respectful but urgent one.

"I apologize for bothering you during your busy schedule, but there has been an emergency. Weiguang Technology, the company of Lin Che, illegally issued unlicensed consumer loans to tens of millions of users last night during the promotional period, with a total amount exceeding 10 billion yuan. This is suspected of being a serious violation of the Consumer Finance Management Regulations of the China Banking and Insurance Regulatory Commission—"

He spoke for about two minutes, his speech becoming faster and faster, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table.

He listened to a few words exchanged on the other end of the phone, nodded, and said, "Okay, okay, Minister Zhang, I understand... Thank you very much, sorry to bother you."

It's over.

He dialed a second number.

Then comes the third one.

the fourth.

It took twelve minutes to make all four calls.

Sun Zheng placed his phone on the table, his hand pressing against the surface, his fingertips still trembling.

He turned to look at everyone present, a smile appearing on his face.

It wasn't a happy laugh; it was a distorted laugh, tinged with hatred.

"The joint verification team will arrive at Microlight's headquarters within an hour."

His voice was very low.

"The China Banking and Insurance Regulatory Commission, the People's Bank of China, the Cyberspace Administration of China, and the State Administration for Market Regulation jointly launched an operation. This so-called credit purchase platform has no compliant licenses whatsoever. Once it is determined to be illegal, the server will be seized on the spot, the account will be frozen, and the legal representative will be held accountable."

He took a deep breath.

"So what if it's 14.7 billion? Without a license, it's all for nothing."

He straightened up, adjusted the collar of his suit, and covered up the wine stain.

"Send two people to Hangzhou," he said to his secretary beside him.

"Where are you going?"

"Just kidding."

He smiled, the corners of his mouth curving wide, but his eyes were cold.

"A nobody will always be a nobody; no matter how high they climb, they'll never reach the card table. Today, let him know what the rules are."