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

He answered Shen Nan's call on the second ring.

"The passport issue is resolved."

When Shen Nan said those six words, his tone was no different from usual; he was still the same calm and collected lawyer.

But instead of saying "hello" or "is it convenient to talk?", he dropped the bombardment with his conclusion.

Shen Nan never skips the opening remarks.

I jumped today.

"What do you mean?"

"The entry and exit restrictions have been lifted, and my passport status has changed back from yellow to green. I just received confirmation."

Yellow turns green.

The passport restrictions were added after the second meeting on June 607 last year. Shen Nan's original words at the time were, "It's not a ban on leaving the country, but a requirement for reporting and approval."

In reality, the approval period for each application is twenty working days, and by the time the approval is granted, the ticket has already expired.

They can leave in name only, but in reality they can't.

The yellow paint that had been hanging for a whole year has turned green today.

Green means no reporting or approval is required; you can just walk away with your passport.

When did it take effect?

"Today, the date on the document is January 11th."

1 month 11 number.

It was signed and approved in Chengdu on the same day.

On the same day, both things were resolved simultaneously.

"There's one more thing," Shen Nan said.

He paused for a moment.

That pause wasn't hesitation; it was finding a suitable way to say what was to come.

"It's been a year."

Three words.

Then there was silence for about four or five seconds.

Shen Nan did not explain what "a year has passed" meant.

No explanation is needed.

It's been a full year since the first meeting on June 607th last January.

365 days.

From LM-001 to LM-X, the 42-page legal framework, first and second editions, the phone call from 010, "We can discuss the direction," "I need time," the first handshake with the National Security Bureau, the fourth meeting of 607, meeting room B.

Shen Nan never mentioned how many times he flew to Beijing, how many versions of documents he revised, or how many early mornings he replied to emails.

One year.

"Thanks for your hard work."

Shen Nan said, "Thank you for your hard work."

Lin Che had heard many people say these three words, but he had never heard Shen Nan say them.

Shen Nan isn't the type to say "thank you for your hard work." His vocabulary only includes "compliance," "suggestion," and "save this for later use."

"Thank you for your hard work" is an emotional phrase, a crack in his legal tone.

Lin Che did not respond.

There was silence for a few seconds on both ends of the phone.

"Alright, I'll send the specific documents to your email," Shen Nan's tone returned to normal, the rift closing. "Let me know after you've read them."

"good."

It's over.

Lin Che put down his phone.

The sunlight outside the window was brighter than before, and the sliver of light shining on the tabletop had expanded.

My passport has turned green.

The second green light.

He didn't stand up, didn't go to the window, and didn't make any celebratory gestures.

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for about ten seconds.

The ceiling is white, with a shallow crack extending from next to the light tube to the corner of the wall. The fluorescent light tube makes a faint humming sound that is constantly making, but it is usually not noticed.

The next morning, Chen Wei sent a message.

WeChat is not a phone call.

The time is 9:03 AM.

When Lin Che arrived at the office, his phone already had unread notifications, indicated by small red dots.

The message was very long; it was the longest Chen Wei had ever posted.

Chen Wei usually sends messages that are no more than ten characters long, and the most common message is just two words: "Received".

He counted today's message; it was just over forty words.

When Lin Che saw the message, he first checked whether the sender's profile picture was really Chen Wei.

"Of the seven Ark accounts, six have been unfrozen, except for those in the British Virgin Islands (BVI). The SEC designation has changed from Active to Observation, effective today."

Six accounts have been unfrozen.

The SEC has changed from "active" to "observational".

He watched it a second time.

Of the seven accounts on Ark, starting with Loop4, three were initially frozen, then four, and then Chen Wei disappeared for almost a month.

Six have now been thawed.

Only the BVI remained unchanged.

There was an unusual inflow into the BVI, four sums of money with unknown sources, and Chen Wei is still monitoring them.

This account has unresolved issues, so it's reasonable to leave it untouched.

The fact that all six other visas have been unfrozen sends a signal that is even more significant than the combined release of visa and passport restrictions in Chengdu.

The ark is money.

The lifting of the money freeze means the financial chain has returned to normal, and the Ark can resume operation.

The SEC's label changed from Active to Observation.

"Active" means "We are actively investigating you."

Observation means "we are watching, but we are not doing anything".

The difference between investigation and observation represents a level of threat.

The SEC will not downgrade a label without a reason unless someone has communicated with them.

Lin Che replied with two words.

"receive."

After sending it, he stared at the two words on the screen for a while.

"receive".

This is a poem by Chen Wei.

From the very first day he met Chen Wei, Chen Wei used these two words to respond to everything.

Good news "received", bad news "received", emergency "received", routine report "received".

Two words encapsulate everything.

Now he said the same two words to Chen Wei.

But this time, the contents were different.

Chen Wei's "received" means "I know, I will do it".

Lin Che's "received" meant "I know, you did it."

Chen Wei did not reply.

No need.

The third green light.

Three lamps within three days.

Chengdu stamp, passport unrestricted, Ark unfrozen.

Each lamp is brighter than the last.

Lin Che closed WeChat and opened his computer desktop.

The four icons are still there.

Lv4, Abyss-v4, if, screenshot_20221226.

He double-clicked Lv4.

The folder is open.

A blank white screen.

There was nothing there.

It's exactly the same as when I came back on the first day.

He stared at the blank folder for about five seconds.

The mouse is hovering in the center of the screen, and the arrow remains stationary.

Then right-click, select New, and then Text Document.

The system popped up a default filename "New Text Document.txt", which was highlighted in a blue checkbox, waiting for him to enter a new name.

He glanced at it.

The cursor blinked three or four times in the filename input box.

Deleted.

After clicking delete, a confirmation box popped up asking "Are you sure you want to move this file to the recycle bin?" After clicking OK, the file disappeared.

The folder is empty again.

The white screen was completely blank, exactly the same as it had been thirty seconds ago.

Turn off.

The four icons on the desktop have been restored to their original state.

There's still nothing in Lv4.

He leaned back in his chair.

The sunlight outside the window had moved from the desk to the floor, casting a large patch of warm light on the gray carpet in the office.

The air conditioner was blowing, and the warm air came from the left, causing my hair to move slightly.

The three green lights are on.

But Lv4 is still empty.

One piece is missing.

The last piece.

He still didn't know what that piece looked like, where it came from, or when it arrived.

But he knew it would come.