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

The New York Stock Exchange.

This doesn't look like a financial center.

It's more like an ancient Roman amphitheater in turmoil.

Thousands of people were crammed into the narrow trading floor. Traders, journalists, investors, and celebrities who had snuck in were packed together like sardines in a can, skin to skin.

The smell of sweat, perfume, and that suffocating adrenaline fermented in the air.

Only the huge brass bell overhead hung there silently.

Awaiting judgment.

Lin Che stood on the outermost layer of the inner circle.

He was sandwiched between a group of CNBC reporters who were yelling wildly at the camera.

But he was very quiet.

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the countless throngs of people, and locked onto the small balcony on the second floor.

That is the throne of power.

Mr. Ma was standing there.

But he did something that surprised the whole world.

He took a step back.

He handed the wooden mallet, which symbolized supreme glory, to the eight people in front of him.

Deliverymen, Taobao shop owners, housewives...

That's Alibaba's ecosystem.

This was a scene that Lin Che had seen countless times in his past and present lives.

"What a good actress."

Lin Che chuckled softly.

He did not applaud.

His hands were in his pockets, his fingertips tracing the envelope that had been warmed up inside.

The sharp edges of the envelope stung his fingertips.

This is the truth.

"clang--!"

The opening bell rang.

The sound was amplified countless times through the microphone, making people's eardrums ache.

Then came a deathly silence.

Everyone held their breath, staring intently at the huge electronic screens.

Waiting for that number.

That was the final judgment on hundreds of billions of dollars.

The authorized market maker responsible for Alibaba's stock was sweating profusely as he stared at the screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard, trying to find the balance between hundreds of millions of buy and sell orders.

one second.

two seconds.

three seconds.

The screen flickered.

An orange number, like a bullet just fired, struck everyone's retinas.

$92.70.

The crowd erupted.

The cheers were like a nuclear bomb detonated on the spot, instantly tearing off the century-old dome of the New York Stock Exchange.

Compared to the offering price of $68, it surged by 38%.

Its market capitalization has exceeded US$2300 billion.

Surpass Facebook, surpass Amazon.

They almost got close to Google.

Amidst the deafening roar, Lin Che seemed to have lost his hearing.

The confetti cannon overhead started up.

Orange and white confetti filled the air as it fluttered down.

It was like a sudden blizzard in early autumn.

Lin Che reached out and caught a ribbon that fell onto his shoulder.

It was a piece of shredded waste paper.

But at this moment, it weighs more than gold.

He squinted, peering through the swirling "snowflakes" at the wildly fluctuating number on the screen.

People around them were hugging, crying, and spraying champagne into the sky.

In Lin Che's eyes, those were not human.

It is a collection of walking desires.

That number isn't money.

It is a tombstone made up of the ashes of countless people like Zhao Sihai, Hunshui, and those little people crushed by the times.

Bizarre and fantastical.

Utterly absurd.

"What beautiful bubbles."

Lin Che released his grip.

The ribbon, carried by the airflow, drifted lightly down onto the floor covered in footprints, where it was instantly trampled into the dust by a leather shoe.

In his account.

Those options that bought at the bottom at $58 are now worth astronomical sums.

All the leverage was converted into real money at this moment.

The game is complete.

Lin Che turned around.

Amidst a fervent, pilgrimage-like rush towards the stage.

He was all alone.

Go against the current.

His silhouette appeared somewhat lonely amidst the colorful ribbons, yet also carried a resolute and cold hardness.

He pushed through the crowd and squeezed toward the exit marked "EXIT".

It's too noisy here.

The noise made him want to vomit.

"Lin Che!"

A familiar voice rang out at the door.

Old Xiao.

The Alibaba HR director was standing at the door, beaming with excitement.

He was holding two glasses of champagne, his tie askew with excitement.

"Where are you going?"

Old Xiao handed over a glass of wine, his voice so loud it sounded like he was shouting.

"The celebration banquet is about to begin! President Ma was just looking for you, saying you're the top contributor and he wants to have a drink with you!"

Lin Che stopped in his tracks.

He did not accept the glass of wine.

His gaze fell on Lao Xiao's face, which was contorted with excessive excitement.

That was Alibaba's golden age.

But it's not his.

Lin Che pulled his hand out of his pocket.

This time.

A white envelope appeared in my hand.

There was no small talk.

There was no build-up whatsoever.

He slapped the envelope directly onto Old Xiao's hand, which was holding a wine glass.

The movements were very gentle.

But Lao Xiao's hand suddenly trembled, and the champagne spilled out, wetting a corner of the letter.

"What is this?"

Old Xiao was stunned, his smile frozen on his face.

Lin Che did not answer.

He reached out and straightened Lao Xiao's crooked tie.

then.

sideways.

Push the door open.

I stepped into the blinding midday sun of New York.

All that was left for Lao Xiao was his back view, swallowed up by the light and shadow.

"Please pass this on to Mr. Ma."

Lin Che's last words drifted through the air.

"I won't drink this glass of wine."