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

8 PM.

The top floor of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York.

Starlight Hall.

This is the closest place to the stars in all of Manhattan.

Above is a Baroque-style crystal chandelier, each crystal polished to a shine brighter than a diamond.

Underfoot was a thick Persian carpet that could sink into your ankles.

There was a smell of money in the air.

It was the aroma of expensive champagne mixed with freshly cut lilies.

Li Mo stood in front of the podium.

He is currently undergoing his final rehearsal before the roadshow.

He took off his suit jacket, leaving him in only a white shirt and a loosely hanging tie.

He looks relaxed and confident.

It even has a bit of a Steve Jobs vibe.

On the huge projection screen, Alibaba's MAU (monthly active users) growth curve showed an exaggerated 45-degree upward curve.

Those are the lines that all investors love to see.

sexy.

tempting.

"Mr. Ma often says that we want to make it so that there are no difficult businesses in the world."

Li Mo held the laser pointer in his hand, and the red dot circled around the towering curve.

His tone was impassioned, like a pastor preaching.

"Look at this data."

"Our customer acquisition grew by 120% in the last quarter alone."

"This is not just a number; it is a miracle of the Chinese internet."

Several Goldman Sachs managing directors were sitting in the audience.

They sat with their legs crossed, nodding frequently while scribbling something down in their leather notebooks.

Even Wall Street elites, who are used to big events, were stunned by this perfect growth curve.

After all, this is the "China story" they want.

The camera zooms out.

In the shadows of the corner.

Lin Che was wearing an ill-fitting black T-shirt and holding a white rag in his hand.

He was bending over, wiping the chairs in the audience seats one by one.

Action machinery.

His expression was numb.

He was like an invisible person who didn't exist.

No one would pay attention to a cleaner.

Lin Che straightened up and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

His gaze passed over the group of well-dressed elites and landed on the bright red "120%" on the big screen.

My lips twitched involuntarily.

A miracle?

It was truly a miracle.

That data included a full 500 million users, which he generated using the "micro-group buying" red envelope promotion last week.

They're all robots.

It's all zombie powder.

That's Ali's poison, watered-down pork.

But now, Li Mo is holding this piece of water-injected pork in his hands, showing it off to the world as if it were Kobe beef.

"Mr. Li."

A Goldman Sachs MD raised his hand and asked, "Could you elaborate on this retention rate data?"

Li Mo smiled confidently.

"certainly."

"Our user engagement is three times that of Amazon."

Lin Che lowered his head and vigorously wiped the dust off the back of the chair.

He added in his mind:

That's a must.

After all, the robot will never uninstall the software unless the server loses power.

.......

It's 9:30 p.m.

Business center on the first floor of the hotel.

It's as deserted as a morgue.

Only a few old Dell desktop computers had their screens emitting a faint blue light.

The HP printer in the corner was humming in standby mode.

"drop."

Lin Che swiped open the glass door.

The waiter at the door was dozing off at the table. Hearing the noise, he groggily looked up.

Lin Che waved the room key in his hand.

He looked very anxious.

"Mr. Li needs the menu for tomorrow's breakfast meeting urgently."

They said the original layout wasn't good and asked me to reprint it.

The waiter glanced at the cheap "support staff" badge on his chest and yawned.

"Hurry up, don't break the machine."

After saying that, he lay back down.

In this snobbish hotel, no one would doubt a sweaty errand boy.

Lin Che quickly walked to a computer in the far corner.

sit down.

Turn on.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, but he didn't open the Word document.

Instead, he skillfully opened a hidden folder.

Click to run.

An onion-shaped icon popped up.

Tor Browser.

This is the gateway to the dark web, and also the hackers' cloak of invisibility.

The screen was filled with garbled jump nodes.

Lin Che remained expressionless.

Click "Write a letter".

Insert the USB drive.

That unassuming black USB drive contained a nuclear bomb powerful enough to devastate the entire Wall Street.

Filename: Hangzhou Node Server Log.

This log details how those 500 million IP addresses were registered in bulk within just three days, and then disguised as active users like ghosts.

This is irrefutable evidence.

This is a stain that Li Mo can never wash away.

In the recipient field, Lin Che skillfully typed in the address he had long since memorized:

Muddy Waters Research Department.

A mad dog in the short-selling world.

Once they smell blood, they will tear their prey apart, leaving not even bone fragments.

The main text consists of only two lines.

The growth myth is a lie.

Check the user retention rate of the new node in Hangzhou; it's all bots.

No nonsense.

No need for further explanation.

For organizations like Muddy Waters, they don't need you to tell a story; they just need guns and bullets.

This email contained the loaded sniper rifle that Lin Che handed them.

Hover the mouse over the "Send" button.

Lin Che took a deep breath.

The only smell in the air was the slightly pungent odor of printer ink cartridges.

If that one finger is pressed down, Alibaba's market value will evaporate by at least several billion US dollars.

even more.

But he did not hesitate.

"Click".

The crisp click of the mouse was particularly jarring in the quiet room.

A green checkmark pops up on the screen:

Sent successfully.

Lin Che immediately unplugged the USB drive.

Clear your browser cache.

Format history.

Restart your computer.

The entire sequence of movements was fluid and took less than 45 seconds.

Just like he has done countless times.

He stood up, casually grabbed a piece of scrap paper that had already been printed from the printer next to him, and crumpled it into a ball.

He pushed open the door and left.

"All done?" The waiter at the door didn't even lift his eyelids.

"nailed it."

Lin Che's voice was very soft.

"The menu is perfect."

.......

9:45 PM.

corridor.

The carpet here is as thick as a lawn, absorbing all the sound of footsteps.

The wall lamps were dim and ambiguous, casting swaying shadows.

Lin Che had just stepped out of the business center.

A tall, white man wearing a khaki trench coat walked towards us.

The person walked very quickly, and the hem of their trench coat stirred up a gust of wind.

Holding the phone, he was roaring in a low voice.

"I want data! Not rumors!"

"We're not gambling! Give me solid evidence!"

Lin Che paused for a moment.

That sound.

This figure.

Carson Block.

The founder of Muddy Waters Research.

In his previous life, Lin Che had seen this face on the covers of countless financial magazines.

It was a greedy, cunning, and aggressive face.

Unexpectedly, he was also staying at this hotel.

It seems the hunter had already smelled the prey, but was just struggling to find a place to bite.

The two brushed past each other in the narrow corridor.

The distance was less than half a meter.

Lin Che could even smell the strong aroma of black coffee emanating from the other person.

That's the feeling of staying up all night staring at candlestick charts.

Lin Che did not stop.

He didn't look back.

He walked straight ahead like a complete passerby, without looking to the side.

just.

As I passed the stainless steel trash can at the end of the corridor.

His hand naturally loosened its grip.

The crumpled piece of paper I had been holding in the business center slipped out of my hand.

"Smack."

The paper ball didn't fall in completely.

It was deliberately not squeezed tightly enough, hanging loosely on the edge of the trash can.

Shaky.

With just a slight tilt of the head, you can see the line of code highlighted in bold on the paper:

Error 404: List of fake user IDs.

The white man who was on the phone happened to walk up to the trash can.

He caught a glimpse of the paper out of the corner of his eye.

Footsteps.

It suddenly stopped.

Lin Che did not look back.

But he heard rapid breathing behind him, like a shark smelling blood.

His lips twitched slightly.

They disappeared around the corner of the employee passageway.

Some fish do not need bait.

You just need to throw the hook in front of him, and he will bite it himself.

.......

It's 10:30 p.m.

The streets of New York in late autumn were bitterly cold.

The wind felt like a knife, blowing into my collar.

A hot dog stand on the street corner was steaming, the only warmth on the street.

Lin Che bought the cheapest hot dog.

Three dollars.

Squeeze on plenty of yellow mustard sauce.

He stood in the wind and took a big bite.

The juices of the cheap sausage, mixed with the spiciness of mustard, explode in your mouth.

Really fragrant.

It's even more fragrant than the caviar at the Waldorf Astoria.

He raised his head.

Across the street, the floor-to-ceiling windows on the second floor of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel were brightly lit.

That's another world.

Through the bright glass window, he could clearly see Li Mo's figure.

Li Mo was standing in the center of the crowd, holding a champagne glass.

Opposite him was an elderly white man with a full head of silver hair, the head of a major investment bank on Wall Street.

Li Mo smiled happily.

flushed.

That was the smile of someone about to ring the bell for their IPO and achieve financial freedom.

That was the smile of someone who thought they had everything under control.

Lin Che took out his phone.

The screen lit up in the darkness, illuminating his dusty face.

A new notification popped up.

The auto-reply from that encrypted email address:

"Email received, ticket number #89757 has been created."

By this time, the email should have already been opened by Muddy Waters' research team.

They would pounce on them like a pack of mad dogs.

An investigation was conducted overnight.

I wrote the report overnight.

They built warehouses overnight.

Lin Che stuffed the last bite of the hot dog into his mouth and patted the bread crumbs off his hands.

His eyes were calm yet playful.

It's like watching a monkey show that's about to end.

"Have some more champagne, Mr. Li."

He spoke softly to the bright and shiny window.

"After tomorrow, you'll be left with nothing but the northwest wind."

Suddenly, police sirens blared in the distance.

It pierced the quiet Manhattan night sky.

It was like some kind of ominous sign.

It's like the horn signaling the start of a hunt.