The Devil's Contract
The call he made to Zhang Lei exhausted the last vestige of his unwilling pride. The brief silence on the other end of the line felt like a silent mockery of all his previous resolve. When he uttered those almost pleading words in a hoarse voice, he could clearly feel something shattering within him, but at the same time, something colder and harder was reforming.
Zhang Lei's response was surprisingly quick, as if he had anticipated the call. He showed no surprise whatsoever, his tone even carrying a hint of satisfied indifference: "Looks like you've finally figured out the chessboard. Tomorrow afternoon, same place."
It was still that secluded mountain villa teahouse. Only this time, the mountain scenery outside the window was shrouded in shadow, and the sound of the spring water seemed particularly rapid.
Zhang Lei arrived a few minutes later than the agreed time. He walked with a leisurely pace, as if attending a ceremony whose outcome was already predetermined. He sat down without touching the tea that Li Ming offered, his gaze falling directly on Li Ming's face. The probing look in his deep eyes was gone, replaced by a calm that seemed to understand everything.
“The Seventh Information Technology Research Institute,” Zhang Lei said bluntly, without any beating around the bush, “belongs to a system that I can’t name, and is mainly responsible for the preliminary research of cutting-edge information technologies and… risk assessment. Their reach is much deeper than you think.” He paused, observing Li Ming’s reaction, “The fact that you were able to find out there means that the bait you laid down did indeed bite into something you shouldn’t have.”
Li Ming's heart sank. Zhang Lei's confirmation confirmed his worst suspicions—the opponent was not simply a business force or a hacker organization; its background was unfathomable.
"Why are they keeping a close eye on me? What exactly is the 'key'?" Li Ming pressed, this was his core question.
Zhang Lei shook his head, revealing a slightly enigmatic expression for the first time: "I don't know the specific reasons, nor do I need to know. As for the 'key'... it might refer to a technological prototype or data model that they believe you possess, or that could be derived from your platform, and that has 'disruptive potential.' On some level, the potential 'uncertainty' itself is a risk that needs to be managed."
Potential "uncertainty"? Risk management? Li Ming seemed to have caught a vague clue, but the mystery remained.
"My parents' side..." Li Ming brought up his biggest worry.
"It's just a street inspection, it's compliant and legal, and it will be over tomorrow." Zhang Lei's casual remark revealed his influence. "As long as you can demonstrate sufficient 'stability' and 'willingness to cooperate,' these kinds of trivial matters will no longer bother the two elders."
"Willingness to cooperate?" Li Ming caught this key word.
“Yes, cooperation.” Zhang Lei leaned forward slightly, his tone becoming serious. “The terms of the strategic advisory agreement I proposed last time can be modified. Lei Yao doesn’t need you to report every little detail, nor will he openly interfere with your operations. I only need you to sign a ‘Strategic Collaboration Memorandum’.”
He produced a document that he had prepared beforehand, consisting of only two thin pages.
“There are only three core provisions,” Zhang Lei said, holding up three fingers. “First, before engaging in research and development involving data collection, algorithm models, or technologies that may touch upon ‘sensitive’ areas, a ‘compliance consultation’ must be sought from the Technology Security Committee designated by Lei Yao.”
"Secondly, the lead investment right for the next three rounds of financing of 'Mingyu Technology', or the priority investment right under the same conditions, belongs to Lei Yao."
“Third, and most importantly,” Zhang Lei’s gaze was sharp as a knife, “when Lei Yao believes that ‘Mingyu’s’ development direction may trigger ‘systemic risks’ or touch upon ‘uncontrollable areas,’ he has the right to make a one-time, mandatory ‘strategic revision suggestion.’ You can retain the final decision-making power, but you must ‘carefully evaluate’ the revision suggestion and provide a written response.”
Li Ming listened intently, his mind racing as he analyzed the details. This new "memorandum" seemed much more lenient than the previous "consultant agreement," with no equity requirements, no personnel controls, and even retaining the final decision-making power. But every clause was like a barbed cord with barbs.
"Compliance consultation" is a preliminary review, "financing priority" is a capital tie-in, and the "strategic revision suggestion right" that seems to retain the final decision-making power is more like a Damocles' sword hanging over the head. Once it falls, how much real autonomy can the so-called "careful evaluation" have in the face of absolute power disparity?
This is a more sophisticated and hidden cage. It does not directly seize control, but rather ensures that the ship "Mingyu" will never sail into certain designated "forbidden zones" and will never grow into an uncontrollable "monster" by defining boundaries, binding interests, and reserving backdoors for intervention.
The price is the infinite possibilities of future development, and the slow castration of an independent soul.
“Sign it,” Zhang Lei’s voice carried an irresistible magnetism. “Lei Yao will become Mingyu’s strongest shield. I will step in to coordinate the troubles at the Seventh Research Institute. I will help you resolve the pressure from the Zhou and Li families. Zhao Zhen’s capital games are nothing but child’s play in the face of Lei Yao’s resources. You and your team can gain valuable breathing room and development time, and even… realize your platform dream faster—within safe boundaries.”
Within the safe boundaries. These five words, like icicles, pierced Li Ming's last shred of hope.
He stared at the thin yet incredibly heavy document, then looked up at the gloomy sky outside the window. The safety of his parents, the survival of his team, the future of the platform… all these weights rested on his shoulders at that moment.
He didn't remain silent for long. Under the absolute disparity in strength and the all-out encirclement, any so-called perseverance, if the price is the destruction of everyone around him, is nothing more than a pointless martyrdom.
He picked up the pen, his fingers steady without a tremor, and signed his name at the end of the document.
The sound of the pen tip slicing across the paper was faint yet jarring.
Zhang Lei picked up the signed document, glanced at it carefully, a satisfied look appearing on his face, and then put the document away.
“A wise choice.” He stood up, as if he had just completed a routine transaction. “The relevant ‘protection’ will take effect immediately. Remember, Li Ming, being alive, and living well enough, is sometimes a victory in itself.”
He gave Li Ming one last deep look, then turned and left without saying "Good luck" again.
Li Ming sat alone in the tea room, motionless for a long time. He felt neither relief nor anger, only a deep-seated weariness and coldness. He knew that from this moment on, "Mingyu Technology" might survive, but it would no longer be the "Mingyu" in the full sense.
He returned to the company and simply announced to Wang Hao and Liu Qiang, "The problem is temporarily resolved; platform development will proceed as usual." He didn't explain the details. Wang Hao, looking at the unfathomable silence in his eyes, seemed to understand something, silently lowered his head, and continued typing. Although Liu Qiang was puzzled, seeing Li Ming's unwillingness to say more, he could only swallow his questions.
Zhang Lei's "protection" was indeed swift and effective. The harassment against Li Ming's parents stopped the very next day. Zhou Ruilin's "Kuaituan.com" seemed to have encountered invisible resistance, and its expansion speed slowed significantly. Although Zhao Zhen's side continued its aggressive offensive, rumors of Lei Yao Capital's intervention to mediate began to circulate, making "Zhenhua Trading" much more cautious about its cash-burning activities.
Even Wang Hao's side detected that the malicious scanning and attacks targeting the platform's servers had receded like a tide, disappearing without a trace.
The dark clouds hanging over Mingyu seem to be truly beginning to dissipate. The company has gained a precious respite, platform development is accelerating, and user data is starting to recover.
However, Li Ming became even more silent. He often stood alone by the office window, gazing into the distance with a complex and unfathomable expression.
A few days later, he received a call from Li Ziqing. Her voice carried a hint of relief, but also a subtle distance: "My dad said... the pressure over there seems to have suddenly disappeared. Are you... alright?"
"I'm fine." Li Ming's voice was calm and even. "The company is fine too. Thank you, Ziqing."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then Li Ziqing said softly, "That's good... Take care."
After hanging up the phone, Li Ming knew that some things could never be the same again.
Just when everything seemed to be on a "stable" track, Wang Hao, carrying an encrypted laptop, approached Li Ming with an extremely serious expression.
“Li Ming, there’s something I have to tell you.” Wang Hao closed the door and lowered his voice. “After we captured the hacker signal pointing to the Seventh Research Institute last time, I left a backdoor and have been continuously monitoring the access traces of that fake ‘key’ database.”
Li Ming's heart skipped a beat.
“Just this morning,” Wang Hao opened his computer and pulled up an extremely well-hidden log record, “there was a data stream with extremely high privileges, almost impossible to trace, that accessed that area again. It didn’t try to crack it, but rather… it seemed to be performing some kind of 'verification' or 'marking'.”
Wang Hao pointed to a line of code change in the log that was almost imperceptible: "Look here, it left a mark that looks like 'read' or 'archived'. Moreover, the source of this data stream... I can't trace it at all, it seems to have emerged directly from the 'bottom layer' of the network."
Li Ming stared at the cold logo on the screen, a chill running from his feet to the top of his head.
The "Seventh Research Institute"... or rather, the forces behind them, have not truly given up. They have simply changed to a more detached and unquestionable method, leaving a silent mark on the "Mingyu" system.
Zhang Lei's "protection" shielded them from open and covert attacks, but it also seemed to place them under a larger, omnipresent "watchful gaze."
The so-called safety boundary may actually be a larger prison.
Li Ming slowly raised his head, looked at Wang Hao, and said in a hoarse and low voice:
"Let's leave it at that. Erase all traces and forget about it."
“Starting today, Mingyu’s development strategy… needs some adjustments.”
Looking into the unfathomable darkness in Li Ming's eyes, Wang Hao finally nodded heavily.
The devil's pact has been signed, and the price of survival has been paid. But the real price may only be beginning to appear. That silent "archive" mark, like a thumbtack nailed to the wall of fate, foreshadows that the road to the future is filled with more unseen shackles and forbidden zones.
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