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

Forty seconds later, the first person to move was the head of national security.

He picked up the pen.

The pen cap is still not on; it's been on the table forty seconds now, and the cap has remained uncapped.

With the pen tip pointing downwards, he gently twirled the pen on the table.

It's not about writing anything; it's an action of thinking.

He spun around twice, then stopped.

Then he put down his pen.

The pen rolled half a circle on the table before stopping next to a piece of sealing wax.

He glanced at the man on his left.

The man's hand rested on the closed ThinkPad, his ten fingers interlaced, and he didn't move.

He gave the head of national security a brief glance, lasting about a second.

What did the two exchange in that one second?

The head of national security glanced at the woman on the right again.

The woman was looking at him too.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the closed laptop screen.

a bit.

It wasn't unconscious; it was intentional.

It's like saying, "I'm ready."

The head of national security looked away and stared at the table.

There are too many things on the desktop.

The document contains a timeline table, original documents from the SEC investigation, and three folders.

A silver-gray laptop computer, thirteen pages of printed manuscript.

A kraft paper envelope, two pieces of sealing wax, and a piece of handwritten paper.

The central area of ​​the oval tabletop was almost completely covered.

He reached out and tidied up the things on the table.

It's not about taking it away, it's about bringing it together.

The movements were very light, as if they were tidying up an exam paper.

He pushed his files to the left, with the dark blue folder on top.

Push Lin Che's files to the right, and arrange the three folders in order.

Place the handwritten paper and envelope in the center, and move the sealing wax shards to the side of the envelope.

After organizing, the desktop was divided into three areas.

On the left is Guoan's, on the right is Lin Che's, and in the middle is the handwritten paper that hit the mark.

It's clean.

This tidying-up action took about ten seconds.

For those ten seconds, no one spoke.

After tidying up, he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands crossed on the table.

He returned to that listening posture.

It's not a defensive posture in front of the chest, but a listening posture on the table.

The room was quiet for a few more seconds.

Then the woman on the right spoke.

She didn't look at the head of the National Security Bureau, nor did she look at Lin Che.

She looked at the handwritten paper in the middle of the table.

The handwritten paper reflected light slightly under the fluorescent light, and the ink from the ballpoint pen left shallow indentations on the surface.

The eye moves from the date in the first row to the target in the second row, then to the prediction in the third row, and finally rests on the confidence level in the fourth row.

78.9%.

She stared at the number for three seconds.

"This is not just a predictive model."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was very clear.

He spoke a little slower than the male members of the technical assessment team, and his pronunciation wasn't as harsh.

This was the first complete sentence she uttered in room 607.

She had only used one word before: "copper."

"If the consistency of backtesting and the hit rate of real-time predictions can both be maintained at this level."

She paused, took a deep breath, and organized her thoughts.

"Then its underlying architecture cannot be a traditional time series model or multifactor regression."

She paused for a moment.

She took a deep breath, subtly, but Lin Che noticed that her shoulders lifted slightly.

"This is……"

She didn't finish speaking.

The head of national security glanced at her.

I only glanced at it.

There was no shaking of the head, no frowning, and no explicit gesture of stopping.

I just glanced at it.

She shut up.

He closed his lips and tucked his chin slightly.

His gaze shifted from the handwritten paper to his closed laptop.

She clenched her right hand under the table, her nails digging into her palm, then released it.

He didn't utter a single word.

The two or three words, or one phrase, that follow "this is".

The object was stuck in her mouth, but was pulled back by a glance from the head of the National Security Bureau.

That look wasn't a warning, nor was it anger.

It's a reminder.

It means "Now is not the time for you to draw conclusions."

The air in the room has changed.

Those two unspoken words carried more weight than any words spoken.

Because everyone present mentally completed that sentence.

Each person's version may be different.

But the direction is the same.

The word following "this" will never be small, no matter what it is.

Lin Che did not press her for what she wanted to say.

He sat in the chair, his hands on the table, his expression unchanged.

He didn't need her to finish.

She said just two words, "this is" and that was enough.

A person with a technical background, after reviewing all the validations, said, "This is not just a predictive model."

It was stopped.

This is a judgment in itself.

Being stopped is itself a judgment.

The man on the left lowered his head after the woman was glanced at.

He took a deep breath, and his shoulders slumped slightly as he exhaled.

His fingers moved from the computer screen to the desktop, and he interlaced all ten fingers.

The same posture as the person in charge of national security.

The three people are now in the same position.

Place your hands crossed on the table.

The head of national security is in the middle, the man is on the left, and the woman is on the right.

Three pairs of crossed hands, lined up in a row.

It's like a kind of unspoken consensus.

It's like a result that doesn't require a vote.

It was completely dark outside the window.

The fluorescent light in room 607 is the only light source.

The shadows of the three people were cast on the wall behind them, long and overlapping.

The head of the National Security Bureau turned to look at Lin Che.

His thin-rimmed metal glasses reflected a little light under the fluorescent lamp.

The gaze behind the glasses was different from each of the four meetings since then.

The first three times were for "verification".

This time it's different.

He didn't ask, "Is there anything else you want to show?"

He didn't ask "What do we do next?"

He looked into Lin Che's eyes and waited for about three seconds.

His breathing was even for three seconds, and his chest did not rise or fall.

Then he spoke.

His voice wasn't loud, and he spoke more slowly than usual.

The spacing between each character was a little longer than usual.

It's as if each word goes over the tongue before being released.

But he wasn't talking about technical issues related to Abyss.

This is not a follow-up question about prediction accuracy.

It's not about questioning the source of the data.

It's not about legality.

He wanted to ask a much bigger question.

It was big enough to change the relationships between everyone in room 607.

It's bigger than "What is Abyss?"

It's more important than "whether it's accurate or not".

It's bigger than "Why didn't you say so sooner?"

Before he could even speak, Lin Che already knew what he was going to ask.

From the very first second he sat down in that chair, Lin Che had been waiting for this question.

He was thinking about the answer to this question on the flight from Hangzhou to Beijing.

I thought about it for two hours, from takeoff to landing.

All the documents, all the demonstrations, all the verifications are designed to bring the person on the other end of the line to this problem.

We've arrived.

We've finally arrived.

The official in charge of national security moved his lips.