Zhu Lang sat comfortably in front of his computer, a smug smile on his face as he browsed the trending news.
The paid water army had done its job well. Even with Marching Ant Company's official response, their voice was like a small boat caught in a tidal wave—it was quickly drowned in public uproar.
Right now, online sentiment was dominated by anti-Marching Ant rhetoric.
The job was complete. Payment was on the way. Time for the reward.
He shut the laptop and leaned back in his chair, picking up the phone to report in.
Meanwhile, in his office, Chen Mo was seated calmly.
"Ink Girl, reroute his call and record it."
"Okay, Brother Mo."
Moments later, the audio interface popped up on Chen Mo's screen.
"Hey boss, the thing you asked me to do—it's done! You've seen the buzz about Marching Ant online, right?"
Zhu Lang's voice crackled with excitement.
"Well done. You didn't leave anything that could trace back to us, right? We can't afford any mistakes."
The response was low, measured, and cold.
Chen Mo narrowed his eyes.
"Ink Girl, get me the caller's identity. The one talking to Zhu Lang."
"On it."
Moments later, a file loaded onto another monitor.
Dong Wei. Joined Changhe Capital seven years ago. Focused on investments in new energy, electronics, and emerging tech. Current chairman of Donghai Ventures.
Chen Mo leaned back in his chair and continued listening as the conversation unfolded.
"Boss, I've got the media and the water army ready. As soon as the tax bureau walks into Marching Ant, our photographers will be there. We'll frame it like they're cooking their books—post it everywhere. They won't be able to explain their way out."
"Good. Keep at it. I'll make sure you're rewarded."
"Thank you, boss."
The call ended. Chen Mo exhaled quietly and turned to look out the window.
So that's the one pulling strings.
"Ink Girl, I want full financial records of Changhe Capital and Donghai Ventures."
"Okay, Brother Mo."
Seconds later, two compressed files appeared on the desktop.
"These are their financials for the past three years. Changhe Capital committed accounting fraud last year. Donghai Ventures has been evading taxes for three consecutive years."
"Send these to the market supervision bureau. Use a fake IP. Anonymous drop."
"Already sent." Ink Girl responded sweetly.
"Good. Keep monitoring the company's finances. If anything looks off, tell me immediately."
"Already on it!"
Chen Mo got up, took two books from the shelf, and returned to his seat. With the immediate issues handled, he decided to immerse himself in reading.
He could've ordered Ink Girl to wipe the internet clean of the smear articles. But deleting posts would only make it seem like they had something to hide. Silence was the better weapon—for now.
Let the fire burn. When it dies down, then we'll rebuild.
The online firestorm raged on.
Article after article attacked the Marching Ant Company. They were vague, sensational, and avoided legal liability—but the intent was clear.
"Did Marching Ant disturb someone's ancestral grave? Why is the water army so rabid? When will the internet return to sanity? Do the authorities not care?"
"Follow the money. Marching Ant refused to sell shares to several major players recently. Their AI assistant alone is worth billions. Of course, capital wants in. And if they can't buy their way in—they'll sabotage."
"Remember when Rockefeller's Standard Oil was so powerful it had to be broken up into 34 companies? Microsoft had to restructure too. When the stakes are high enough, nothing is off-limits."
"Marching Ant may not be at that level yet, but they've got the potential."
"If we keep killing off every innovator before they bloom, how can anyone dare to start a business or push new tech? Is this market only for the capital elite?"
The internet was divided, but support for Marching Ant grew by the day.
Two days passed. The company remained the epicenter of heated public discourse.
Despite the relentless attacks, Marching Ant's operations were still running smoothly. Departments stayed productive. The company's cybersecurity team, aided by Ink Girl, kept blocking daily attacks without a hitch.
Reporters hovered around the building like vultures, but employees refused all interviews.
Inside, Chen Mo sat in his office, reading quietly, occasionally glancing out the window. Zhao Min was handling the chaos—he didn't need to get involved.
He had the luxury of peace. For now.
Let them talk. The company's core is intact.
Just then, Ink Girl's voice cut through the air.
"Brother Mo, someone is trying to modify the company's financial records."
Chen Mo's expression turned cold instantly.
He set the book aside and stood up.
Today's the audit.
And someone's tampering with our accounts right when the tax bureau is here? They're trying to set us up.
He grabbed the landline and dialed Zhao Min's office.
"Chairman? What's wrong?" Zhao Min picked up quickly.
"Go to the finance department. Check the accounts—now."
"On it."
Zhao Min didn't hang up. She immediately called Zhang Yi.
"Zhang Yi, get to the finance department immediately. Something's wrong with the accounts."