jdkl345: [Do you know he was kept before?]
jdkl345: [And it was a guy]
The scenes from the Polaris Innovation Camp drifted by like smoke. Ming Rao propped his chin on his hand, leaned back, and stared at the screen, lost in thought.
This was suddenly getting interesting.
When it came to getting revenge on Yan Yuchuan, what could be more lethal, more satisfying, than using his greatest pain in life as a weapon?
Since he hated that experience so much that he’d go so far as to erase his memories, then let him recall it in the most brutal way, relive it, and make him understand that even if memories could be erased, that unbearable past would still haunt him like a ghost, clinging to him day after day, until death did them part.
But,
That past wasn’t exactly a shining memory for Ming Rao either.
It had taken him so many years just to barely move past it, and he still couldn’t shake off the shadow, still didn’t dare enter a new relationship. To tear open his own scars for the sake of revenge this kind of “wounding the enemy a thousand at the cost of eight hundred to yourself” move, he wasn’t sure he was truly willing to do it.
Still, regardless, this matter had definitely piqued Ming Rao’s interest, and he decided to keep talking to this person.
He probed back: [How do you know]
jdkl345: [It’s been going around for a while, just no proof]
Ming Rao frowned: Going around? Who spread it?
His mind raced through everyone who knew about this: Lu Feiyang, Xiang Zhan. What about the others at Polaris? Probably not, they’d kept a low profile at school.
Oh, right, he had once attended a charity gala with Yan Yuchuan, but the gala was invite-only with no media present, so no footage could have leaked. If the leaker really came from that charity gala, the scope would be way too wide half of Polaris Harbor’s upper-class circle had been in attendance.
Ming Rao’s eyes darted around as he followed up: [So who was the sugar daddy]
jdkl345: [Don’t know]
Ming Rao was skeptical: [For real?]
The other person didn’t answer, instead asking: [Where’d you get the photos]
Ming Rao: [Bought them]
To add authenticity, he dramatically added: [Paid a fortune and got this, what a rip-off]
jdkl345: [Where’d you buy them, hook me up]
Ming Rao: [That’s not really appropriate]
The other person sent a “fine” followed by a “sorry” sticker, probably assuming Ming Rao didn’t want to share his source. A moment later, they sent another message: [Are you in the group]
Ming Rao: [What group]
This time Ming Rao waited a long while for a reply.
jdkl345: [Dude, this account of yours is bought, isn’t it]
Ming Rao quickly replied: [No, I registered it myself]
jdkl345: [Three years and only one post?]
jdkl345: [You’re fishing, right]
A chill ran down Ming Rao’s spine. Just as he was thinking of how to cover it up, he’d only sent “No” when he discovered he’d already been blocked.
He stared blankly at the cold “The recipient has rejected your message” on the screen, unable to believe his first undercover mission had died so quickly. It was honestly a bit embarrassing.
He searched the forum for the keyword “group,” and quite a few related posts popped up, but everyone tacitly avoided mentioning which platform, not even revealing a group number.
Ming Rao fumbled around like a headless fly, trying every mainstream messaging app, but still came up empty.
He ran his hands through his hair in frustration: No way, he had to find this group that had made him crash and burn today!
Growing more determined with each setback, he opened his usual messaging app and tapped on a chat window. The other person’s avatar was a pink rabbit with an extremely exaggerated expression.
Ming Rao: [You there you there you there you there you there]
Your Yingbao: [Oh my god baby you’re alive]
Zuo Ying, age twenty-seven, a journalism graduate, currently working as an investigative reporter with photography as a hobby. He’d met Ming Rao at the Flux Art Center and had covered several major corporate scandals. He was the one who’d given Ming Rao the invite code for the Scooper forum.
Ming Rao sent a guilty monkey sticker. Every time he went on vacation, he loved to vanish off the face of the earth and ignore everyone. Back in the day, he’d want to invite a whole football team just to grab a meal; now he could go two or three months without contacting anyone and be perfectly content. Whether that was an inevitable part of growing up or being forced to get used to solitude, he couldn’t say.
Ming Rao: [I need your help with something]
Your Yingbao: [What’s in it for me, starry eyes.gif]
Ming Rao: [What do you want]
Your Yingbao: [You know what, lecherous smirk.gif]
Ming Rao sent a speechless sticker: [Does the Scooper forum have a habit of making group chats]
Your Yingbao: [Do you have Quanta on your phone]
Ming Rao: [No]
He searched the app store, found nothing, and sent a screenshot to Zuo Ying.
Your Yingbao: [Baby, are you dumb or what]
Ming Rao sent an angry puffed-up cat.gif.
Your Yingbao: [Hold on, let me go find it for you]
Not long after, Zuo Ying sent him an external link. Probably worried that he really was clueless, she even attached an installation tutorial.
Your Yingbao: 【What kind of mischief are you up to】
Ming Rao was actually tempted to show off and say he was going undercover, but he held back, only replying 【A friend I know needs it】, and added a thank you.
Your Yingbao: 【So, are you going to offer yourself in gratitude or what, starry eyes.gif】
Ming Rao sent back a “scramming, scramming.gif” and started studying the chat app called Quanta.
The app looked like it was independently built by users, not listed on any official app store, with a very crude UI that carried on the skeuomorphic style popular years ago, and all group chats could be displayed with one tap. He scrolled from A to Z, checking each one. Decoding was easy enough, and he spotted a group named 【Scar on the Face, Doom in the Fate】 and tapped “Request to Join.”
A verification question popped up, terse to the point of stinginess: 【Whose group】
Ming Rao typed “Yan Yuchuan,” then tapped “Send Request.”
Pingcheng, Sina Technology Headquarters.
At 2:30 in the afternoon, Chen Le had already been waiting at the building entrance for some time. As soon as the black executive car arrived, he stepped forward: “President Lin.”
The afternoon sunlight refracted off the glass curtain wall, becoming even more glaring. The moment he got out of the car, Lin Zhihao instinctively raised a hand to shield his forehead.
Right in front of him, a sleek, silver-white high-rise rose into the sky this was the most centrally located and most iconic building in the Pingcheng Brain Science Cluster Industrial Park.
Not long after Sina Technology had relocated its headquarters, he had gone to T City to serve as regional general manager, so this was his first time at the new headquarters building. He marveled as he walked.
Once in the elevator, Chen Le said, “Your flight was delayed, so the meeting started before you arrived.”
“No worries, there was no need to wait for me anyway. I’m just here for a look around,” Lin Zhihao said with a grand wave of his hand. “By the way, I haven’t had the chance to ask, how did Brother Chuan’s talk with Xinzhou go yesterday?”
“Yesterday, President Yan only attended the morning opening ceremony. In the afternoon, he ”
Chen Le nearly blurted out “flew off to propose in the afternoon,” but swallowed it hard ” had some matters to handle in the afternoon and left early. However, Director Li went with him and probed Xinzhou’s stance. They should be willing to lead our Pre-IPO round of financing.”
Yesterday morning, Yan Yuchuan and acting Chief Financial Officer Li Chenyang had attended Xinzhou Group’s investment conference together. Besides delivering the opening ceremony speech as a representative CEO of an outstanding enterprise, the more important purpose was to gauge Xinzhou’s attitude toward Sina’s listing.
Sina’s listing plan, whether within the company or in the media’s eyes, had long been a tired topic.
Sina’s growth over the years had been staggering. The company had met the qualifications for listing by its third year of existence. The reason it had delayed until now, aside from conventional considerations like long-term development, flexibility, and autonomy, came down to a key concern on the technical side.
This traces back to five years ago, to what could only be described as Xinzhou Group’s “forcible seizure” of Sina Technology’s angel round investment.
Back then, Sina had just completed incubation at the Sci-Tech Innovation Camp and had already confirmed that Galaxy Venture Capital would solely lead the angel round. But Xinzhou Group barged in out of nowhere, proactively offering Sina an unimaginably huge investment, along with an independent office space, the most advanced laboratory equipment, and the best advertising and business development channel resources while promising not to interfere with any of Sina’s decisions.
They even proactively negotiated with Galaxy Venture Capital, turning the sole lead into a co-lead, which not only didn’t count as Sina Technology breaching its contract but also added an additional 20% to the original investment. To this day, Sina still doesn’t know how Xinzhou pulled it off.
However, Xinzhou Group never engages in meaningless charity all their generosity comes with a clearly marked price tag.
The price Xinzhou had its sights on this time was the most important technology patent Sina held at the time “Machine Learning-Based Automatic Memory Reconsolidation Technology for Neural Pathways,” abbreviated as “MAP.”
To be precise, this technology wasn’t in Sina’s hands, but belonged to Yan Yuchuan personally.
He had filed for the patent on this technology as early as his sophomore year. MAP was the core underlying technology for targeted memory erasure surgery, and it was also the technical hurdle that all his predecessors had failed to overcome.
Xinzhou demanded that Sina sell the patent rights to the MAP technology, promising that after the transfer was completed, Sina could still use the technology unconditionally, free of any charges.
But there was a condition: it had to be before Sina went public. Once Sina listed, they would have to sit down and renegotiate new technology cooperation arrangements.
The Sina Technology of today was nothing like it used to be. While their targeted memory erasure surgery was sweeping through the medical rehabilitation field, their consumer products such as enhanced learning assistant robots and VR headsets were also making great strides in education and entertainment, directly threatening the dominance of their major shareholder, Xinzhou Group, in those sectors.
A well-known media outlet commented: “Sina is like Xinzhou in its infancy just hasn’t learned to steal yet.” This not only affirmed Sina’s immense potential to grow into the next tech empire but also mocked Xinzhou’s predatory practices over the years: aggressively acquiring companies while being too lazy to innovate on its own, “taking others’ paths to leave them with nowhere to go.”
Under these circumstances, whether Xinzhou actually wanted to see Sina go public, and whether it would impose technological sanctions on Sina after the IPO, were questions that had to be met with a big question mark.
Just then, they arrived at the meeting room door. Though called a meeting room, it was actually just one of the many huddle rooms in the open-plan office area.
Unlike the solemn and formal atmosphere of traditional meeting rooms, this one was as cozy as a home study: soft gray walls with a large whiteboard hanging on them, a big white round table in the center with several ergonomic chairs, and a counter in the corner holding a coffee machine and an assortment of cookies and chocolates.
This was an executive meeting. Sina practiced flat management, and even with over five thousand employees, the number of executives could still be counted on two hands.
When Lin Zhihao entered, Acting CFO Li Chenyang had just finished his presentation and was moving into the final routine report. After a few brief remarks, Lin Zhihao greeted those present, and the meeting ended in a warm and harmonious atmosphere.
After the meeting, the executives didn’t rush to leave, lingering by the coffee machine for casual chat. Lin Zhihao’s gaze naturally found Yan Yuchuan, and seeing that Li Chenyang was talking to him, he waited nearby. Their conversation drifted into his ears unintentionally.
“By the way, President Yan, do you have any plans this weekend? Wang Hui from Chuangtian Technology you remember her, right? You met her once before. She invited me to play billiards, and knowing you’re into sports, she specifically asked me to see if you’d like to join.”
That Wang Hui was Li Chenyang’s high school classmate, and Li Chenyang had already tried to play matchmaker between them once before. After just one meeting, Yan Yuchuan had started making excuses to avoid her, making his intentions clear enough. Yet, half a year had passed, and Wang Hui still wouldn’t give up.
Yan Yuchuan replied, “Sorry, I have plans this weekend.”
“I see,” Li Chenyang said, having anticipated this outcome, his face showing no reaction as he went through the motions. “No problem, I’ll pass that along to my old classmate. We can arrange another time when you’re free.”
“Mm,” Yan Yuchuan said, and after a moment’s thought, he looked up seriously and added, “Next week I’m meeting my prospective in-laws. I need some time to prepare.”
“…”
His tone was utterly calm, yet it struck like a silent thunderclap, leaving a dead silence in its wake.