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

Noon.

The canteen at Alibaba's Binjiang campus is like a runaway mixer.

Thousands of people eat at the same time, the sounds of chewing, clattering plates, and boasting are suppressed by the low ceiling and echo in the air filled with the smell of cooking oil.

It smelled of braised pork, bleach, and sweat.

Lin Che carried his tray, avoiding the crowds, and found a corner by the window.

There was a noticeable chip or scratch on the edge of the plate, like an old scar, revealing the black iron underneath.

The plate contained the standard cafeteria fare: sweet and sour pork tenderloin coated in a glowing red sauce, stir-fried vegetables that had turned yellow from being simmered in a large pot for too long, and rice that was as hard as bullets.

I have no appetite.

He poked at the fatty meat with his chopsticks, his gaze drifting to the other side of the table.

Two P6 engineers were sitting opposite me.

He wore an orange name tag around his neck, the strap of which was soaked black with sweat.

As he shoveled rice into his mouth, the grinning Taobao mascot logo swayed violently in front of his chest, a particularly ironic sight.

"Hey Lao Zhang, did you get a reply to that 'Cloud Walk' thing?"

The man on the left, wearing black-rimmed glasses, chewed on a rib and asked indistinctly, rice stuck to the corner of his mouth.

"She replied! This girl is so aloof, I sent her ten messages and she only replied once."

The fat man on the right stuck his chopsticks into the rice, like sticking incense sticks.

He pulled out a Samsung Note 2 with a matte screen protector from his chubby hand and swiped his fingers across it quickly.

The screen backlight is set very bright.

In the reflection, a layer of oil film is clearly visible—a product of long-term mixing of fingerprints and facial oil.

"She said she's a part-time model and travels around a lot. Look, she just posted on her WeChat Moments, swimming in Bali."

Hand over the phone.

His face was flushed, and the veins in his neck bulged slightly with excitement, like an earthworm about to burst open.

"Holy crap, these legs... are they really this quality on Laiwang? WeChat is full of micro-business sellers."

Lin Che didn't look up.

He continued to slowly and methodically pick through the minced garlic in the vegetables.

No need to look.

That "swimming in Bali" photo was one that Fatty Wang had just downloaded from a Thai influencer's Instagram page last night.

Original image 300KB.

The script automatically sharpens and filters the image, adding the caption: "The sun is shining brightly, and the breeze is gentle."

Sending time is randomized by the system: 10:03 AM.

These clichéd, assembly-line-produced phrases are the ultimate form of spiritual opium for these single men who work 996 hours a day and whose lives are confined to a radius of no more than five kilometers.

The Turing test is not required.

The tester himself has abandoned logic.

What they need is not intelligence, but desire.

As long as they can provide even the slightest bit of emotional value, even if the other party is a line of cold code that runs 10,000 times per second, they will use all their brain cells to imagine a gentle and considerate goddess.

"Laiwang is still the best option, not only because of its corporate strategy, but also because of its real benefits."

The fat man sighed, then put his phone away as if it were a royal decree.

Taking a big bite of the chicken leg, tearing off the skin and meat together, as if trying to swallow this illusory feeling of happiness whole.

Lin Che put down his chopsticks.

Looking at this absurd scene.

This is the power of "cyber living people".

We've developed immunity to scams.

These employees, immersed in a false sense of prosperity, are becoming the most steadfast supporters of this round of profiteering.

The virus began to replicate itself.

2 PM, Director's Office.

The blinds were completely sealed.

The aged plastic leaves, covered in a thin layer of dust, shattered the harsh afternoon sunlight, casting it onto the yellowed carpet.

The air conditioning was chilly.

Old Wang was slumped in his executive chair, holding a double-walled glass thermos.

The goji berry tea was so strong it was almost tangible, with dark red goji berries floating on the surface like leeches saturated with blood.

Uncover.

The rising heat instantly fogged up the lenses of my glasses.

He took off his glasses and vigorously wiped them on the hem of his expensive Burberry shirt.

His eyes darted around, avoiding eye contact.

"Lin Che, I've looked at the reports, and there are some core users on 'Laiwang' with very high activity levels."

He paused for a moment, then put his glasses back on.

He was trying to regain some of his authority as director.

"For example, the female writer known as 'Lin Huiyin's Cat' posts very insightful content and has a strong sense of belonging to the platform."

Lin Che stood in front of the desk, his hands clasped together.

Expressionless.

That account was also Wang Pangzi's doing.

Her persona is that of an "intellectual female writer who is divorced, raising a child, and living in Hangzhou," and her profile picture is a side profile of her holding a ragdoll cat.

They specifically prey on greasy executives who have a little money, a little power, and a bit of a midlife crisis.

"What does Mr. Wang mean?"

"For these... well, high-net-worth individuals, shouldn't we... make deeper outreach?"

Old Wang used standard internet slang.

"Reach".

They tried to use the "public-mindedness" required for their work to cover up their burgeoning "personal desires."

"For example, how about organizing an offline salon? Or an official interview? Sending some gifts to maintain relationships?"

My fingers tapped the table unconsciously.

The frequency is very high.

It revealed his inner eagerness.

Lin Che sneered inwardly.

This is human nature.

Old Wang wasn't after the female writer; he wanted to sleep with the power and resources he could freely utilize in his position.

We must satisfy him.

If Lao Wang has any selfish motives and uses public funds to chase this virtual "cat," then this promotion fee will forever remain a bad debt.

The investigation revealed that Old Wang died first.

To protect himself, he will become the strongest shield.

"Mr. Wang's insight is brilliant."

Lin Che pulled out a freshly printed form from the folder.

The paper was crisp, and the A4 paper still retained the warmth of the printer rollers even under the air conditioning.

He handed it over with both hands.

"This is the 'Special Budget Application Form for High-End User Retention.' To enhance KOL engagement, it is recommended to establish a 'Private Domain Empowerment Fund' specifically for offline activities and high-end gifts."

"Budget of 500,000."

Old Wang took the application form.

His gaze swept over the numbers.

Five hundred thousand.

This is a drop in the ocean compared to Alibaba's massive marketing budget.

For a middle-aged man who wants to have an extramarital affair, this is the ultimate weapon.

Without the slightest hesitation.

They didn't even ask how to issue an invoice.

He simply pulled off the cap of the Montblanc pen and swiped his signature in the lower right corner.

The pen tip scratched across the paper, making a soft, rustling sound.

That's the sound of power being realized.

It is also the sound of conscience collapsing.

"Go and do it."

Submit the order.

There was a new understanding between them, a sense of camaraderie.

"Make sure to provide a great experience, especially for that female writer... give her special attention."

Lin Che took the order.

Looking at that flamboyant signature is like looking at a contract of servitude.

He bowed slightly.

"Understood, we will definitely reach them deeply."

.......

10 PM.

The Binjiang Industrial Park is brightly lit, like a nuclear reactor that never goes out.

The competitor's work area was deathly silent, except for the clattering of mechanical keyboards.

Manager Zhao sat alone in front of the computer.

His complexion was sallow, and his eye bags drooped down to his cheekbones.

On the edge of the trash can at my feet, flattened golden Red Bull cans were piled up into a rickety little tower, emitting a cloying taurine smell.

Finished the last can.

With a casual squeeze, "snap," it's tossed into the bucket.

My heart was pounding, and my temples were throbbing.

The screen displays a huge Excel pivot table.

I spent the whole night manually extracting tens of thousands of data entries from Lin Che's side.

so perfect.

The retention rate is 45%, the daily active user curve rises at a 45-degree angle, and the interaction frequency perfectly matches a normal distribution.

All data falls precisely within the golden range.

But that is precisely the biggest problem.

Real people are uncontrollable.

Real data always contains impurities, fluctuations, and ugly, inexplicable variance.

Only God or a liar could draw such a flawless curve.

Supervisor Zhao stared intently at the row highlighted in red in the table—"Distribution of User Active Time".

Tens of thousands of "beautiful women" maintained a surprisingly low level of activity between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m.

I went online promptly at 8:05 a.m.

They were so neat and orderly, like a military parade.

This is not a living person at all.

Jealousy is like a cold, venomous snake, crawling up the spine and gnawing fiercely at the heart.

On what grounds?

Why should the data we get from leading our brothers to canvass buildings under the scorching sun and getting chased away by security guards be less than what Lin Che can get by typing on a keyboard?

In big companies, fairness is a joke, but "compliance" is a red line.

Take a deep breath.

Place your right index finger, whose nails are bitten and pitted, on the mouse.

The browser tab has opened the internal network page that strikes fear into the hearts of all Alibaba employees—the Integrity and Compliance Department.

The page background is a somber dark blue.

Although there is no concrete evidence.

Although I did not receive the transfer record.

But in this huge arena of fame and fortune, suspicion is a crime.

Once an investigation is launched, funds are frozen, processes are stalled, and suppliers are brought to a standstill.

Lin Che couldn't explain himself no matter how hard he tried.

The cursor is blinking over the blue "Send" button.

a bit.

Two times.

It's like a countdown.

Manager Zhao gritted his teeth, his eyes bloodshot, and pressed down hard with his index finger.

"Click".

The crisp sound of the microswitch was particularly jarring in the quiet office.

A green pop-up window appears on the screen:

"The report has been submitted. We will intervene in the investigation as soon as possible and keep your identity strictly confidential."

Upon seeing those words, Manager Zhao slumped back in his chair.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Like a murderer who has just killed someone, he is both terrified and excited.

at the same time.

A rental house in Xiasha, a few kilometers away.

It was hot and humid.

Lin Chezheng and Fatty Wang were counting the second income.

The cold light from the phone shone on my face, illuminating my expressionless pupils.

"Achoo!"

I suddenly sneezed.

The sound echoed in the empty room.

Rub your nose.

I looked up and gazed at the pitch-black night sky outside the window.

There was no wind.

But I felt a strange, bone-chilling cold, like a knife hanging over my neck.

"What's wrong?" Fatty Wang stopped.

"fine."

Lin Che withdrew his gaze and lightly tapped the table with his fingertips.

"There might be a rabid dog that smelled it."