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

Lin Che returned in the afternoon.

I went out for lunch and ate a bowl of noodles at the beef noodle shop near the entrance of my neighborhood. The owner recognized me and added an extra spoonful of beef without charging me.

After eating, we walked around outside for a while. In mid-January, the afternoon sun in Hangzhou was warm but not cold; a jacket was just right.

On the street, some people were walking their dogs, some were pushing strollers, and some were queuing in front of a bubble tea shop.

An ordinary afternoon.

He didn't look at his phone on the way back to Weiguang.

I parked my car in the parking lot downstairs and went upstairs. The lights in the corridor were still on, white LEDs, reflecting off the ground.

I walked to the office door, inserted the key, turned it, and pushed it open.

The first thing you see is the desktop.

wrong.

There's something new on my desktop.

A dark blue folder sits neatly to the right of the keyboard, parallel to the edge of the desk.

This thing wasn't on the table when he left.

He stood at the door for two or three seconds.

The folder's color is different from the folder containing the printed documents Chen Wei left that day; Chen Wei's was a gray hardcover, while this one is a dark blue softcover.

It has a very good texture; it's not the kind you can buy in a regular stationery store.

The cover has no text, no labels, no logo, only a dark blue leather cover and a silver metal zipper.

He walked over.

Sit down at the table.

It wasn't opened immediately.

I first took a look at the office.

There were no signs of forced entry on the door. It was unlocked when he left, and the person in the dim light could come in at any time.

The chair was in the same spot as when he left; no one had sat in it.

The air conditioner panel temperature did not change.

Someone left the folder here and left without sitting down to wait for them.

Just like Chen Wei's time.

But Chen Wei left a note that time.

There were no sticky notes this time.

There is no additional information.

A dark blue folder sat there quietly.

He reached out and unzipped the metal zipper.

The zipper teeth are very fine, and it makes a continuous hissing sound when it is pulled open.

The folder is open.

There was only one document inside.

A4 size, about four or five pages, clipped together with a silver paperclip.

The first page of the document is the cover.

He saw the words on the cover.

Authorization Letter Regarding Preliminary Exploration of Mineral Resources in Africa

Letter of authorization.

Africa.

Mineral resources.

Preliminary survey.

He didn't move.

My eyes lingered on that line of text on the cover for several seconds.

The hum of the air conditioner in the office seemed to fade into the distance, becoming a blurred background sound.

Then he turned to the second page.

The second page contains the main text.

The scope, target, duration, and conditions of the authorization are all numbered, and the wording is very formal.

His gaze swept slowly from top to bottom, reading line by line.

Scope of authorization: Preliminary exploration and feasibility assessment of mineral resources in three East African countries (Kenya, Tanzania, and Ethiopia).

Authorized by: Weiguang Technology Co., Ltd.

Authorization period: twelve months from the date of issuance of this letter.

Conditions: To be implemented under a common regulatory framework and to be reported regularly.

The three East African countries.

It was exactly the same three countries he mentioned in his answer to the short-haired woman in Conference Room B.

Kenya, Tanzania, Ethiopia.

Even the order is the same.

He turned to the third page.

The third page contained a list of attachments and contact information, which he did not examine closely.

Turn to page four.

Page four is the signature page.

The bottom half of the page has two signature panels, one on the left and one on the right.

The signature and date are already in the signature column on the left. The date is January 14, 2023.

Below the signature is a stamp.

Red.

Round.

It is about four centimeters in diameter.

He stared at that seal for a long time.

The seal has neat edges, accurate color, and is very clear printed on white paper.

He read the chapter three times.

First, identify each character one by one.

I checked it a second time to make sure I hadn't misread it.

The third time, I wasn't looking at the words, but at the red color itself.

That kind of red.

It's not the red of printing, nor the red of a ballpoint pen.

It's red that's been applied on top.

The ink color is slightly raised on the paper surface, and you can feel the thin layer when you touch it with your fingertips.

He touched it.

As I ran my fingertip across the surface of the red seal, it felt dry; the ink had completely dried.

But that thickness remains, like a raised mark, permanently pressed onto the paper.

The signature field on the right is empty.

That was meant for him.

Below the signature column is a line of small print: "Signed by the authorized representative of Party B".

He didn't sign immediately.

I flipped back to the first page of the document and read it through from the beginning.

Page 1, Page 2, Page 3, Page 4.

Four pages of paper, an authorization letter, and a red seal.

It was sent from Beijing, 618 kilometers away, or delivered, or placed on his desk by someone.

He looked at the name of the authorizing organization three times.

He examined each character one by one, confirming that he recognized every single one.

I checked again to make sure I hadn't misread it.

On the third time, he looked away from the name, glanced out the window, and then looked back.

It's still the same few words, unchanged.

The name appeared on an authorization letter sent to him.

This matter needs time to process.

He put the document down.

No signature was found.

I didn't call anyone.

No message was sent.

What he did was turn on the computer.

The desktop lights up.

Three icons.

Lv4, Abyss-v4, Screenshot_20221226.

The empty space in the middle is still there.

"If" is no longer there.

He double-clicked Lv4.

The folder is open.

A blank white screen.

Just like before, there was nothing there.

Right-click.

New.

folder.

The system popped up a default filename "New Folder", which was highlighted in a blue checkbox.

He typed a few words.

"African Survey"

Press Enter.

The filename has been confirmed.

The first subfolder appeared in the Lv4 folder.

The folder icon is yellow, with the words "Africa Exploration" below it.

Lv4 is no longer empty.

He stared at the yellow folder icon for about ten seconds.

Since I opened Lv4 the day I returned from Beijing, this folder has been empty.

It's empty every time I open it.

Once, he created a new file and then deleted it.

Once he moved "if" off the desktop.

But Lv4 has always been empty.

That's not the case anymore.

The words "Africa Survey" are displayed quietly below the folder icon in black Song typeface, at the system default font size.

He closed the dark blue folder, zipped it up, and placed it on the left side of the desktop.

They are separated from Lv4 on the computer screen by the keyboard, one on the left and one on the right.

One is a physical dark blue folder containing an authorization letter with a red stamp.

One is a virtual folder on the screen, which contains a newly created subfolder.

One came from outside, and the other was built by him.

The two folders stared at each other across the keyboard.

Sunlight streamed in from the left side of the window, illuminating the dark blue folder cover and giving it a soft sheen.

The words "Africa Survey" were also lit up on the screen, illuminated by the white light of the monitor, one on the left and one on the right, one real and one virtual.