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

The next day, at Binjiang Industrial Park.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, shattering the shadows into fragments.

On the HR's desk, there was a pink resignation form.

One corner was slightly raised, weighed down by a half-full mug of water.

The reason for dismissal, written in a flamboyant style, was "incompatible values," like a scarlet wound.

Here, there are no eternal enemies, only eternal KPIs.

Whoever can bring growth embodies values.

.......

Director's office.

Old Wang sat on a large wooden chair, holding his stainless steel thermos in his hands.

A ring of brown tea stains had accumulated around the rim of the cup, and a few plump goji berries floated and spun in the murky tea, turning as he blew on them.

"The company's legal department has already intervened to handle the dispute with Weiguang Interactive."

Old Wang took a sip of hot tea, his voice muffled, "Although the supplier went bankrupt, 'Laiwang's' data not only didn't drop, but actually stabilized. What does that mean? It means your user stickiness is real."

He didn't care at all whether that small company really died because of Alibaba's delayed payments.

What he cares about is that if the data is preserved, his position will be secure.

"That guy... after Xiao Zhao left, there's no one to lead his team for the time being."

Old Wang put down his cup, gave Lin Che a meaningful look, and said, "You'll have to take on some extra work for now."

Lin Che nodded.

"Understood, Mr. Wang."

There was no refusal, no modesty.

This is spoils of war; it should be accepted with joy.

Stepping out of the office, into the elevator lobby.

A figure was holding a cardboard box; it was yesterday's whistleblower, the former Team Leader.

He had his back to the corridor, his shoulders slumped. The cardboard box was piled with miscellaneous items, with a withered succulent on top.

The plant's leaves were withered and blackened, swaying slightly with the man's body; it had long since lost its vibrant green.

The moment the elevator doors opened, the person turned around.

Upon seeing Lin Che, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, perhaps pleading for mercy, or perhaps uttering his final harsh words.

Lin Che did not give him a chance to speak.

He stepped forward, past the person carrying the box, and pressed the "down" button on the elevator.

The movements were elegant and polite.

If you ignore their eyes, it looks like you're seeing a colleague off.

But there was nothing in his eyes.

There was no mockery, no sympathy, only an indifference as if dealing with expired garbage.

The elevator doors slowly closed, cutting off that person's last glimpse.

........

Late at night, in the suburbs of Hangzhou.

A farmer's house that is about to be demolished is also the nominal registered address of "Weiguang Interactive".

The room was a mess. To match the "bankruptcy" drama, it was staged to look like a scene of looting.

In the corner, a stuck paper shredder was still radiating residual heat.

The paper feed tray was clogged with a thick stack of documents, only spitting out half a shredded contract strip, like some kind of industrial vomit, and the air was filled with the burnt smell of an overheated motor.

Fatty Wang sat on a pile of waste paper on the ground, with a bowl of unfinished instant noodles in front of him.

The solidified instant noodle oil formed a hard white crust on the soup noodles, and a broken plastic fork stuck on it, resembling a tombstone in this ruin.

"Brother Che, look."

Fatty Wang pushed the laptop over, his voice trembling.

The dim light from the screen shone on his oily, sweaty face.

A bank's USB security token was plugged into the side of the computer, its red LED numbers flashing wildly in the dim room, like a countdown to an impending explosion.

Account balance: 5,000,000.00.

"After deducting the 150 million yuan given to those order-brushing studios, we made a net profit of 350 million yuan."

Fatty Wang pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and it took him three tries to light it. "350 million, Brother Che! I can buy three apartments in Hangzhou outright! And with the money left over, I can buy a BMW!"

A hand reached out and took the mouse.

Lin Che skillfully operated the transfer.

"I want 200 million."

Lin Che's voice was as calm as if he were discussing the weather, "The remaining 150 million is yours."

Fatty Wang was stunned: "Leave it for me? To buy a house?"

"Buy my ass."

Lin Che opened a bottle of ice-cold beer, and foam poured out, running down the side of the bottle.

"This money isn't for you to squander; it's ammunition."

He took a sip of wine, the cold liquid flowing down his throat, suppressing the fire in his chest.

"Go register three new companies, the same old routine, find someone to take the blame as the legal representative, then buy accounts, equipment, and servers. I want you to turn all 150 million into traffic two months from now."

Fatty Wang's cigarette ash fell onto his pants, burning a hole in them.

"Brother Che, are you doing it again? You almost ended up in jail this time..."

"This is just a minor skirmish."

Lin Che put down the bottle, the bottom of the glass hitting the ground with a dull thud.

"This amount of money is just enough to make a sound."

Two in the morning, in a rented room.

The neon lights outside the window have been turned off, and the city has fallen asleep.

Lin Che sat at his desk without turning on the light.

A huge map of Hangzhou is pasted on the wall.

Seven or eight locations were circled in red on the screen, scattered throughout the city.

Those red circles were so bright and glaring that they looked like bullet holes on a battle map in the dim light.

Those are the distribution centers and core outlets of major express delivery companies in Hangzhou.

The laptop is running at full speed.

The cooling fan roared tirelessly in the quiet of the night, buzzing like a bomber engine hovering overhead.

The calendar for 2013 is displayed on the screen.

11 month 11 day.

The date was heavily circled in red.

For ordinary people, it's a shopping festival;

For Alibaba, it was a night of celebration.

But for Lin Che, that was a battlefield.

The memories of my past life are as clear as yesterday: On Singles' Day in 2013, Alibaba's transaction volume exceeded 350 billion yuan, shocking the world, but what followed was the complete paralysis of the logistics system.

Warehouse overload, delays, lost packages.

The nationwide express delivery network is like a snapped string.

Back then, whoever could deliver the goods was considered a father figure.

Whoever owns the outlets can raise prices arbitrarily.

Lin Che opened the "Project X" folder and created a new document: "Hunter List: Logistics".

Everyone else was focused on selling the goods, but he was focused on shipping them.

During the gold rush, the most profitable people were never those who dug for gold, but those who sold shovels and collected tolls.

He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

That number belongs to a courier franchisee in the west of the city who is about to go bankrupt.

That guy's funding chain has broken down, and he's probably standing on the rooftop right now, hesitating about whether to jump.

The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.

"Feed..." The voice was listless and lifeless.

"I heard you're thinking of selling your sales outlets?"

Lin Che looked at the map on the wall, his gaze fixed on the largest red circle.

"Stop jumping! I'll take all the mess you've made."