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

Thursday.

Chen Wei arrived at the headquarters of Weiguang at eight o'clock in the morning.

It was half an hour earlier than usual.

It wasn't fully light outside yet. In Hangzhou at the end of December, the sky at eight o'clock was leaden gray, covered with a thin layer of fog.

He parked his car, walked from the parking lot to the building entrance, swiped his card to enter.

There was no one at the front desk; the early shift receptionist didn't arrive until 8:30.

There was no one else in the elevator. He pressed 6, the elevator doors closed, and the number jumped from 1 to 6.

There was no one in the sixth-floor corridor yet. The lights were motion-activated, turning on in sections as he walked by.

With each step you take, a section of darkness appears behind you.

He walked to his workstation, put down his backpack, and sat down.

The chair made a soft thud in the quiet floor.

I didn't turn on the computer first.

He took the items out of his backpack one by one.

Place the water glass in the upper left corner of the table.

The key is in the drawer.

Place the phone on the right side of the table, screen facing down.

Plug in the charging cable.

Then he sat down, with both hands on the table, and did nothing.

I sat there for about two minutes.

Footsteps came from the other end of the corridor. Someone had arrived, passed by his work area but didn't come in, and walked in another direction.

The footsteps faded into the distance.

He turned on the computer.

The system starts up, you enter the password, and the desktop loads.

Blue sky and white clouds.

He did not open his email, the annual summary, or the CCPS backend.

He opened the file manager.

FA-Operations.

Expand the directory tree.

FA-R-2022 is at the very bottom.

He looked at the folder icon.

It's yellow, just like the other folders.

He double-clicked to open it.

Twenty screenshots.

The thumbnails were laid out in the window, arranged neatly in four rows and five columns.

He enlarged the window to make each thumbnail clearer.

First.

In the first quarter of 2021, there was a bond portfolio rebalancing and a central bank interest rate adjustment two weeks later.

the second.

At the end of the first quarter of 2021, a foreign exchange hedging transaction and exchange rate fluctuations three days later.

The third.

the fourth.

the fifth.

He didn't click on any of them, but just looked at the thumbnails, from left to right and from top to bottom.

sixth.

the seventh.

The seventh thumbnail has a small red mark in the upper right corner, which he added himself, meaning "this opponent appeared more than once".

The eighth.

The ninth one.

The tenth one.

His gaze moved very slowly, pausing for about three seconds at a time.

Three seconds was enough for him to recall the contents of each screenshot.

He doesn't need to open them; they're already in his mind.

The eleventh.

The twelfth.

The thirteenth.

The thirteenth one also has a red mark in the upper right corner, and it is the same opponent as the seventh one.

The fourteenth.

The fifteenth.

The sixteenth.

The seventeenth.

The eighteenth.

The nineteenth.

The nineteenth one has a 100% match rate.

The time difference between the operation date and the market event is zero.

Not a few days in advance, not a few weeks in advance, but on the same day.

The same day the operation was performed, and the corresponding market event occurred on the same day.

After taking the screenshot, he sat in his chair in a daze for a long time.

The twentieth.

the last one.

The cross-border remittance to a Southeast Asian counterparty was not large in amount, but the route was long, involving three transit points.

The fact that there are three transfer points suggests that someone deliberately lengthened the route.

Twenty.

I've watched it all.

He moved the mouse to an empty space in the window.

There are no documents in the blank space, only a gray-white window background.

My right index finger is on the left mouse button, but I'm not pressing it.

People started to enter the office. Voices could be heard in the distance; some were greeting others, and some were pouring water.

The microwave beeped; someone was heating up breakfast.

Everyday sounds, an ordinary morning.

His left hand moved to the keyboard.

The keyboard is black with a standard layout. It's been used for over two years, and the letters on some frequently used keys have worn off.

Ctrl.

My left pinky finger is holding down the Ctrl key.

The Ctrl key is located in the bottom left corner of the keyboard. When you press it with your pinky, you need to turn your wrist slightly to the left.

Then the ring finger of the left hand moved above the A key.

The A key is in the third row, the second one from the left.

It paused for a moment.

About two seconds.

Two seconds later, the microwave went off outside the office with a "ding," indicating that someone's breakfast was ready.

Then I pressed it.

Ctrl+A.

Select all.

Twenty screenshots were selected simultaneously, and blue highlight boxes appeared around the thumbnails.

Twenty blue frames, arranged in four rows and five columns, neatly and orderly.

The entire window turned blue.

He stared at the blue expanse for about a second.

Then I pressed the Delete key with my right index finger.

A confirmation dialog box popped up.

Are you sure you want to move these 20 items to the recycle bin?

He clicked "yes".

The window is empty.

There's nothing left in FA-R-2022.

Twenty screenshots disappeared, the folder icon is still there, but it's empty.

He stared at the empty folder for a few seconds.

Then I right-clicked on FA-R-2022.

Pop-up menu.

He clicked "Delete".

Are you sure you want to move 'FA-R-2022' to the recycle bin?

He clicked "yes".

The bottom of the FA-Operations directory tree is empty.

FA-R-2022 is missing.

The last folder in the directory tree is now "FA-Q4-2022", the routine operation log for the fourth quarter.

Everything returned to its original state.

He didn't stop.

He opened the recycle bin.

There were twenty screenshot files and an empty folder in the recycle bin.

He selected all.

Ctrl+A.

Then right-click.

"Permanently delete".

These items will be permanently deleted and cannot be recovered. Are you sure?

He clicked "yes".

The recycle bin is empty.

It was spotless, without a single document.

He closed the recycle bin window.

Only the desktop remains on the screen.

Blue sky and white clouds.

The entire process, from selecting all to permanently deleting, took less than thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds.

Nine months of records, twenty screenshots, wiped clean in thirty seconds.

He took his hands off the keyboard and placed them on the table.

Place both hands flat, fingers spread, palms down.

He stared at his hands for about five seconds.

My hands didn't shake.

My nails are clean, my skin is dry, and I feel the same as usual.

He pulled his hand back and placed it on his knee.

The chair was turned slightly to face the window.

It was a late December morning in Hangzhou outside the window. The sky was grayish-white, not cold, and there was no wind.

The office buildings in the distance stood in the morning light, their glass curtain walls reflecting a faint glow.

A delivery van slowly drove by downstairs without honking its horn.

He looked at it for about ten seconds.

Then I went back and opened my email.

The first email was a reminder from Lin Che regarding the annual summary.

He clicked on it and took a look.

Then I opened my annual summary document.

The fourth quarter section was finished last night, and the entire document is now complete.

He checked it from beginning to end, corrected two typos, and adjusted the format of a table.

Then I clicked "send" and sent the annual summary to Lin Che.

After sending the email, he leaned back in his chair.

The chair made a slight creaking sound.

He picked up the water glass on the table, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip of water.

The water was warm; he had filled it in a thermos before leaving home that morning.

After taking a sip, screw the cap back on and put it back in the upper left corner of the table.

Then I opened the CCPS backend and started handling today's daily tasks.

The first item is the Ark Fund's operation confirmation receipt for the fourth quarter.

He opened the receipt form, checked the amount and date, confirmed that everything was correct, and signed the electronic signature.

When signing, I swiped my finger across the touchpad, and the signature appeared on the screen.

Chen Wei.

Two characters, seven strokes plus eleven strokes.

The same name as on every document he's signed in the past four years.

Not a single stroke was added, and not a single stroke was omitted.

He closed the receipt and opened the next task.

The corridor gradually filled up with people; some were talking about the weather, while others were discussing what to eat for lunch.

Chen Wei did not join any of the conversation.

He sat at his workstation, a screen in front of him, his hands on the keyboard, his eyes on the data.

Just like every workday of the past four years.