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

The meeting room was quiet.

Manager Zhang left in a hurry, forgetting to take the air conditioner remote with him; the cold air was still blowing directly at the main seat.

Lin Che looked down at the A4 paper in his hand.

The paper was somewhat yellowed and had torn edges.

He tore this from the back of his notebook while waiting at Hangzhou Airport.

There were a few lines of writing on it in black ink, the handwriting was messy, and there were even a few ink blots for correction.

The title is: "A Plan to Destroy WeChat's Social Chain - A Message to Mr. Ma".

The content is minimal, containing only three formulas:

Traffic ≠ Monetization

Decentralized fission > Centralized distribution

Group buying + social networking = a traffic money-printing machine

This is the core algorithm of the "Pinduoduo model" that didn't exist in 2014; it's a dimensional attack that surpasses current mobile internet cognition.

Lin Che turned the paper over and glanced at the back.

Blank.

He crumpled the paper in his hands a couple of times, turning it into a loose ball.

Then, he gently rubbed the corner of the table.

The condensation stain left by the Evian water instantly seeped into the edge of the crumpled paper.

The ink had smudged a little, like a discarded case that its owner had angrily thrown away, bearing the disheveled look of a loser.

Lin Che stood up.

He didn't throw the crumpled paper into the high-end trash can with the sensor-activated lid.

He walked to the passenger seat and let go.

"Clatter".

The crumpled paper landed on the carpet.

The position is very delicate.

It's not conspicuous, nor does it seem like a deliberate attempt to scam someone; but as soon as someone pulls out a chair and sits down opposite, their gaze will inevitably be drawn to it.

The shadows cast by the blinds on the carpet resembled black fences, perfectly encircling the crumpled paper in the middle.

That's not trash.

That's a trap.

Lin Che glanced at his watch.

Ten minutes have passed.

He straightened his collar, turned, and walked towards the door.

When he left, he did not close the door completely, but left a gap about two fingers wide.

Through the crack, you could see a corner of the conference room and a silent crumpled piece of paper on the carpet.

Curiosity killed the cat.

It will also kill penguins.

Five minutes later.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

It wasn't just Manager Zhang; there was another, more steady footstep—the sound of leather shoes striking the marble floor, each step solid and resonant.

The door was pushed open.

Manager Zhang walked ahead, his expression respectful, even somewhat humble.

Following behind him was a middle-aged man wearing a Zegna dark gray suit.

His hair was neatly combed, he wore gold-rimmed glasses, and his eyes were as sharp as a scalpel.

Martin.

The VP (Vice President) of Tencent's Strategic Investment Department is a core executive who reports directly to the General Office.

He glanced around the empty conference room.

Where are they?

His voice was low, carrying the imposing authority of someone who had long held a high position.

"He might have gone to the restroom." Manager Zhang quickly pulled out the chair opposite the head of the table. "Mr. Martin, please have a seat."

Martin did not sit in the main seat.

He chose the seat opposite the one Lin Che had just sat in.

It's right in front of the air conditioner vent, so it's not a comfortable spot.

But he sat down, as if examining a ghost that had just left the room.

He habitually took out his phone and started replying to emails.

Suddenly, he stopped moving.

My gaze shifted from the phone screen to the carpet at my feet.

There lay a crumpled piece of paper.

The edges still had some water stains, as if it had been stepped on or thrown hard.

Martin frowned.

He's the kind of person who's a clean freak; he can't stand even a single hair on his desk.

He intended to call the cleaning staff to come in and clean it up, but when his gaze swept over the corner of the paper ball that was sticking out, he saw two words.

"Mr. Ma".

These are the two most sensitive words in the internet community.

In Hangzhou, it represents that oddly-looking alien; in Shenzhen, it represents that low-key and gentle product manager.

Regardless of who it refers to, it's enough to make a VP of Strategy bow down.

Martin hesitated for two seconds.

Then, he reached out and picked up the crumpled paper.

The paper unfolds.

The paper was yellowed, the handwriting was messy, and there were a few ink spots that had been blurred by Evian water.

His gaze lingered on the title for a second, then quickly moved down, locking onto the three formulas.

Traffic ≠ Monetization

Decentralized fission > Centralized distribution

Martin's pupils contracted sharply.

As the top strategic investor at Tencent, he is all too aware of Tencent's current anxieties.

WeChat boasts the largest user base in China, but its commercialization remains a mess.

WeChat sellers have ruined the reputation of selling face masks through their WeChat Moments, while the conversion rate through the official JD.com portal is pitifully low.

They were like beggars guarding a gold mine, not knowing how to dig out the gold.

And on this piece of paper, Ali's answer was clearly written.

"The Dimensional Reduction Strategy..."

Martin muttered to himself.

He subconsciously looked up at the doorway.

The door was ajar. The corridor was deserted.

A tremendous sense of dread, as if one had glimpsed the opponent's hand, surged from the spine to the top of the head.

This is not a business plan.

This was a top-secret, abandoned proposal that was rejected within Alibaba.

It was a nuclear weapon that Alibaba had to throw into the trash because of its rigid system and its desire to protect the market share of Taobao Search.

But for Tencent, this is the solution.

The cold air from the air conditioner was blowing directly on his head.

A fine layer of sweat appeared on Martin's forehead.

He quickly folded the paper.

The once graceful movements became extremely fast, like a thief committing a crime.

He stuffed the paper into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, close to his chest.

After doing all this, he took a deep breath, took off his glasses, took out a velvet cloth from his pocket, and slowly wiped the lenses.

On the table, the empty Evian bottle that Manager Zhang had drunk from made a slight cracking sound due to the change in air pressure.

"Click."

It sounded like a lock being pried open.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

A sound came from the doorway.

Lin Che walked in.

He had just washed his hands, his fingertips still cool. He didn't even glance at Martin, and went straight to his seat.

My gaze swept across the carpet.

It's empty there.

The crumpled paper is gone.

Lin Che's lips twitched slightly, so slightly as to be almost imperceptible.

He pulled out a chair, sat down, unscrewed the cheap Tencent mineral water bottle, and took a sip.

"Who is this?"

Lin Che asked the question knowing the answer already.

Just as Manager Zhang was about to make the introduction, Martin raised his hand to stop him.

"I am Martin."

Martin put on his glasses.

The cleaned lenses were shiny, concealing the greed and scheming in his eyes.

His voice was no longer as cold and hard as before, but instead carried a gentle, even somewhat friendly, smile.

"Mr. Lin, you're not just a P7 at Alibaba, are you?"

This is a test.

If Lin Che is just an ordinary P7, then that piece of paper is just his wishful thinking; if Lin Che admits to certain grievances, then that piece of paper is a true pledge of allegiance.

Lin Che put down the water bottle.

He leaned back in his chair and looked at Martin.

"The number P is not important."

Lin Che's voice was calm. "The important thing is that some things are trash in Binjiang Park, but might be treasures in Nanshan District."

Martin's heart skipped a beat.

He met his match.

"I heard Alibaba is under a lot of pressure to meet KPIs lately?" Martin leaned forward, a gesture of listening and courting. "Many good ideas haven't even had a chance to be approved because they've affected existing business operations."

Lin Che gave a cold laugh.

It was a cold laugh tinged with resentment, a laugh that came from someone who felt their talents were unappreciated.

"Taobao survives by searching for GG."

Lin Che looked into Martin's eyes and said, word by word, "Anyone who dares to mention 'decentralization' is jeopardizing Baidu's livelihood and Alibaba's livelihood. Mr. Ma won't listen."

Martin's fingers gently traced the outline of the crumpled paper under the table.

He understood.

This is an internal power struggle within Alibaba.

That draft written to "General Manager Ma" was the evidence that Lin Che was rejected.

In order to preserve its existing business model, Alibaba has personally killed any future possibilities.

And that possibility is now sitting right across from him.

The sunlight outside the window has shifted.

A huge shadow engulfed half of the conference table, and Martin sat in the shadow.

Only Lin Che's side was still shining brightly under the midday sun.

"Mr. Lin."

Martin's voice softened, as if he were coaxing a runaway child.

"Tencent is different."

"WeChat has no historical baggage. We welcome anyone who can break the rules."

Lin Che looked at him.

It's like watching a fish that has taken the bait and thinks it's enjoying a delicious meal.

"Let's talk then."

Lin Che pointed to the empty seat on the table, "Since Mr. Martin picked up my 'trash,' he should know its price."

Martin paused for a moment.

Then he smiled.

It was the smile of someone who had met their match.

He thought he had found a bargain.

But he didn't know that he was personally moving a Trojan horse, designed to dismantle giants, into Tencent's castle.