Chapter 15: The Divine Eye

“Artificially boosting daily active IPs” would be no big deal a few years from now. For instance, in 2017, anyone could simply search online and find pinned bidding links like “Daily active IPs: 60 yuan per ten thousand per day.” Or check Taobao, where thousands of shops offered such services. But in April 2000, “IP boosting” was still at the stage where everyone wanted to do it, but no one knew how.

As for Gu Cheng, he was well aware that in later years, the main method for increasing “daily active IPs” was through “botnets.” Thanks to the widespread publicity by 361 Security Guard, most people would be familiar with the concept. It involved infecting vast numbers of computers with bot viruses, creating a remote-control network between the controller and the infected hosts. While the botnet operated, it appeared as though thousands of computers were acting in concert, when in reality, only a few people were pulling the strings. Most users were utterly unaware, like zombies.

If Gu Cheng could find a botnet controller, pay him to remotely command a hundred thousand computers to click on a given website daily, the site’s “daily active IP count” would be inflated by a hundred thousand overnight. In the heat of the entrepreneurial boom, a major website with tens of thousands more daily active IPs could have its IPO valuation on NASDAQ raised by millions of dollars, attracting much greater investment.

The prospect of 100% profit was enough for capital to trample any law; website owners would gladly pay handsomely for such deception.

Once Gu Cheng understood these key points, the next question was how to find the kind of botnet he needed.

His first instinct was to search online for a virus called “Grey Dove.” “Grey Dove” was a virus that had endured for decades, the vanguard of botnet infections, and anyone with basic internet knowledge would recognize it. If Gu Cheng could find “Grey Dove,” he could consider spreading the virus himself, building a botnet, then renting it to internet tycoons to boost their data and collect commissions.

Unfortunately, after spending an entire day scouring the internet for “Grey Dove,” he came up empty.

“I’ve searched every suspicious channel online, and there isn’t a single trace of ‘Grey Dove.’ It probably hasn’t even been invented yet.”

That was his final conclusion before bed last night.

His assessment was spot-on—“Grey Dove” wouldn’t be written until early 2001; it simply didn’t exist yet.

Unable to find “Grey Dove,” Gu Cheng essentially abandoned the notion of personally building a botnet. He couldn’t write “Grey Dove” himself, and other methods were too slow—the clock was ticking.

So he decided to settle for second best: seek out existing resources online.

If he couldn’t build a botnet in time, he could “rent” someone else’s. He might earn less per transaction, but as a broker, the volume would still be substantial.

Moreover, this approach kept his hands clean.

He spent all Saturday morning researching this.

The heavy CRT monitor radiated strongly, and after a week of sleepless internet searching, his eyes were bloodshot.

“NSA’s January network security bulletin mentioned at least one bot-like virus incident from late 1999, code-named ‘Glacier,’ developed using Delphi.”

“Delphi-based ‘Glacier’ virus is suspected to originate from hackers in China. But due to limited demand for distributed denial-of-service attacks in China, ‘Glacier’ did not spread widely there.”

Finally, following the clues released online by the American National Security Agency, Gu Cheng obtained crucial information:

First, there was already a primitive bot program, written in Delphi like “Grey Dove,” though its infection rate lagged far behind.

Second, this virus had been around for at least five months, and hackers had used it to infect ordinary users’ computers, building botnets.

Third, the motivation—or rather, the usage—of these hackers remained limited to “distributed denial-of-service attacks,” known as DDOS.

What was a “distributed denial-of-service attack”? Most people wouldn’t know.

To put it simply: during events like the Double Eleven shopping festival at midnight, millions of shoppers rush to clear their carts. At such times, Taobao’s site often fails to load, overwhelmed by traffic exceeding its server capacity.

If Taobao’s competitor—say, Jingdong—wanted to sabotage them, they could secretly hire hackers with large botnets. At the critical moment just after midnight, they’d command millions of infected zombie computers to hit Taobao simultaneously.

Normal users would be squeezed out, unable to log in or pay, ruining their shopping experience and slowing Taobao’s transaction records.

This was a distributed denial-of-service attack—using botnets to clog server requests and force real users offline.

Early hackers wielded botnets as hitmen, hired by internet moguls to take down rivals’ websites for a fee.

But this model had a flaw: early hackers didn’t need large botnets; they lacked motivation to expand their networks.

Especially in China in 2000, where network infrastructure was underdeveloped.

At that time, China’s largest portals and search engines could handle only a few tens of thousands of simultaneous users.

So, a DDOS hacker in China needed only 50,000 “meat chickens” (a slang term for infected computers)—more than enough.

Fifty thousand bots into any site simultaneously would cripple Sina, Sohu, or Huang Yi.

Any more bots would be wasted.

Hence, botnet masters in China easily settled for moderate wealth; after reaching a few tens of thousands of infections, they had no incentive to expand.

This was sufficient for DDOS, but for boosting daily active IPs for tech giants, it was a drop in the ocean, barely profitable.

To make big money from IP boosting required at least ten times, perhaps dozens of times, the botnet scale.

Some might think: why not find smaller botnets and scale up gradually with repeated deals?

The answer: impossible.

Gu Cheng’s venture was purely a business model innovation, with no technical barriers, operating in a legal gray area.

Like the “click farming” business that had been overdone six months prior, once the first deal was completed, the method would leak within a month. Hackers worldwide would catch on.

Then, those major hackers with their own botnets would bypass Gu Cheng’s brokerage entirely.

The law would never protect a “crime method’s” patent.

If Gu Cheng wanted to make real money, he had to earn a decisive, life-changing sum from the very first major deal after inventing the approach.

“‘Glacier’ was born in China, but never flourished there. Sigh, where can I find a botnet of sufficient scale?”

Gu Cheng’s greatest frustration was that there was nobody to discuss this with. Any discussion would inevitably leak the idea.

He could only walk this path alone.

“If botnets are only used for DDOS, they’ll never grow to later sizes. What triggered the second wave of botnet expansion in human history?”

He felt he was on the verge of grasping a thread of thought, but wasn’t confident.

His stomach growled—he’d been pondering at his desk too long, oblivious to time.

These days, he rose early with no fixed schedule; by noon he was already hungry, but hadn’t noticed.

“Forget it, I’ll eat, rest, then continue researching.”

Gu Cheng stood, stretched, grabbed a pack of instant noodles, and was about to tear it open and toss it into the rice cooker.

His cheap phone suddenly rang—he glanced at the screen: Cherry was calling.

With one hand occupied, he put the noodles down.

“Cherry?”

“The Legend… have you figured out a solution?” The voice on the other end was hesitant, as if he could picture Cherry’s anxious expression.

“Huh? Solution for what?” Gu Cheng was caught off guard by the cryptic question, then realized:

Cherry must be worried he found Park Yong-gwan’s offer too expensive and backed out.

Understanding the situation, Gu Cheng replied naturally, “No, I’ve been busy all week, but haven’t made progress. Park’s price was a bit unreasonable, but don’t worry, I’m still interested in Legend.”

“Really? Glad to hear you’re still interested.” Cherry’s voice betrayed a hint of relief. “You treated me last time; are you free these days? I’d like to treat you in return.”

Dinner? Not necessary, surely?

Gu Cheng thought he had plenty to do and was about to decline.

But in the next instant, a flash of inspiration struck him.

Thanks to Cherry’s call, he remembered the cause of the second wave of botnet outbreaks in history.

The words changed at his lips: “Sure, I’m free today. Where shall we meet?”

Cherry: “Let’s meet at 1 p.m. at the entrance of Lotte Mart, Myeong-dong Station.”

Gu Cheng hung up, tossed the noodles back onto the desk, and went into the bathroom, gazing into the mirror for the first time in a week.

Good grief! When did I become so haggard? No, I must tidy myself up.

He didn’t mind if others thought him unattractive, but he couldn’t tolerate being seen as downtrodden.