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

Xicheng District, Beijing.

The December wind was dry and cold, blowing in from the street corner and scraping against my face like fine sandpaper.

Lin Che got out of the taxi, carrying his briefcase in his left hand.

There was a thin layer of frost on the road surface, which made a soft crunching sound when stepped on.

He checked the contents of his bag again on the plane: three folders, a compliance report, thirteen pages of printed materials, and a sealed envelope.

They're all there.

He walked into the lobby of that building.

The hall was not large, with gray-white walls and a dark gray granite floor that was polished to a high shine.

Show your ID and go through security.

The security officer glanced at his ID card, then at his face, said nothing, and returned the documents to him.

Same as the previous three times.

The conveyor belt of the security screening machine hummed behind him.

Take the elevator to the sixth floor, turn left, and walk to the end.

The lights in the corridor are warm white, one every five meters.

His leather shoes made almost no sound as he stepped on the plastic floor.

The door to room 607 was closed.

Lin Che stood at the door for two seconds.

The first three times he entered this door, his mental state was one of heaviness, fear, and resolve, respectively.

This time is different.

This time, he took the initiative to ask me out.

He pushed open the door.

The room layout remained unchanged.

The meeting room is rectangular, with an oval table and eight chairs.

The curtains were half-drawn, and outside the window was a gray-white sky; the light in Beijing winters is never bright.

There were no water glasses or ashtrays on the table; it was as clean as the previous three times.

The head of the national security agency sat in the middle of the table opposite each other.

He wore thin-rimmed metal glasses, and his shirt was buttoned up to the top, with not a single wrinkle at the collar.

There was a dark blue folder in front of me, without a label, the same one as the previous three.

The folder was thicker than last time, with a few more sheets of paper in the inner compartment.

He saw Lin Che come in and nodded slightly.

There was no standing up, no handshake, no "You must have had a long journey."

Same as the previous three times.

But the difference lies in his left and right sides.

A man was sitting on the left.

He was in his early forties, with very short hair, almost a buzz cut, and wearing a dark gray jacket over a white shirt.

A laptop was open in front of him, with the screen facing him, but Lin Che couldn't see what was displayed on it.

His hands were placed on either side of the keyboard, his ten fingers resting on the table, his nails neatly trimmed.

He didn't look up at Lin Che.

From the moment Lin Che pushed open the door until he sat down, he kept looking at his screen.

A woman was sitting on the right.

She was in her thirties, wearing a black suit jacket, with her hair tied in a low ponytail at the back of her head, and no stray hairs in front of her forehead.

There was another laptop open in front of me, the same model as the one on the left.

She looked up at Lin Che for about half a second, her gaze calm, without curiosity or scrutiny, as if confirming a piece of information.

Then he looked down and continued looking at the screen.

Neither of them brought any paper documents.

There was no water glass, no pen, only a computer in front of me.

This contrasted sharply with the dark blue folder spread out in front of the head of national security.

One uses paper, the other two use screens.

There was no self-introduction.

The national security officials did not introduce who they were, what their names were, or which unit they belonged to.

They themselves did not speak.

They just sat there, as if they had been there from the beginning.

Lin Che sat down opposite him.

The sound of the chair being pulled out was clearly audible in the quiet room.

He placed his briefcase at his feet without opening it.

There was nothing on the table in front of him, just like the previous three times.

The first three times, there was nothing in front of him; he wasn't even given a glass of water.

It's not negligence, it's the process.

He straightened his back a bit.

It wasn't nervousness; it was adjusting my posture to make myself appear as composed as the three people sitting opposite me.

The three people sat opposite each other.

The first three times it was one person.

There are two more this time.

The two extra people didn't speak, didn't introduce themselves, and didn't bring any paper documents; they only brought two identical computers.

I'm not here to sit in on this.

Those who attend the hearing will bring notebooks and pens and will sit in a corner, not on either side of the main seat.

These two people are sitting in the seats designated for official attendees.

Lin Che glanced at the two laptops.

They are the same model, both are dark gray ThinkPads, and the screen brightness is set to very low.

The two computers were placed at the same angle, approximately 45 degrees to the edge of the desk.

It looks like it was arranged, not just casually placed.

The head of national security opened the dark blue folder and turned to a certain page.

The sound of the pages turning was very soft, yet it could be heard clearly in the quiet room.

His finger paused at the edge of that page, as if confirming its position.

Then he raised his head and looked at Lin Che.

"Mr. Lin Che, thank you for suggesting this meeting."

This was the first time he had used the word "thank you" in the four meetings they had held.

The first three times he said "Please sit down" or nothing at all.

His tone remained the same: flat, steady, and devoid of emotion.

Speak each sentence with a tone of "seeking verification".

"In your last message, you mentioned 'supplementary value.'"

His finger moved from that page in the folder to the desktop.

"Before you speak, there are some things that need to be confirmed first."

He turned to the next page of the folder.

Lin Che saw a table on that page, densely packed, but it was too far away to see the contents clearly.

"We have conducted a complete comparison of your entry and exit records, financial transactions, and technical system operation logs over the past three months."

The person in charge of national security spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly.

He said the words "supplementary value" once, without repeating them.

The meaning is clear: We're listening to what you have to say, but first let you know what we have in hand.

"We're willing to listen."

Three words.

We are willing to listen.

It's not "I", it's "we".

This "we" includes the two unnamed people on the left and right sides.

They came to listen, but they didn't just listen.

Lin Che's gaze shifted from the head of national security to the man on his left, and then to the woman on his right.

The man still didn't look up; his hands were on the keyboard, but he wasn't typing.

The woman looked up from the screen, glanced at Lin Che, and then looked back at him.

The screens of both laptops lit up simultaneously.

It's not that someone pressed anything; it's the kind of flash that automatically switches back to the screen saver.

Both lights flashed simultaneously, then stabilized.

The man on the left twitched his finger, touching the touchpad, and the light on the screen changed slightly.

He still didn't look up.

The room was silent for a few seconds.

A gust of wind came from outside the window; the winter wind of Beijing squeezed through the gaps in the building, making a low, mournful sound.

Lin Che did not speak immediately.

He bent down, picked up the briefcase at his feet, and placed it on the table.

The zipper made a loud noise in the quiet.

He didn't rush to pull it open.

The three people opposite him were looking at him.

The head of national security looked into his eyes.

The man on the left is looking at his briefcase.

The woman on the right was still looking at her own screen.

There were three people sitting in front of me, not just one.

This time, 607 is different.