As someone who writes and has worked at internet companies, and uses DingTalk regularly, my heart skipped a beat when I saw the news on August 19, 2025: DingTalk CEO "Wuzhao" reportedly conducted a midnight inspection at the company, found no one at their desks, and the next day exploded in anger, demanding to know why departments left work early. While he hasn't responded to this, many netizens from Zhejiang confirmed on social platforms that "it's true." Honestly, I believe it. Not because the revelation is particularly compelling, but because this scenario is all too familiar.

Four months ago, Chen Hang—also known as "Wuzhao"—made a high-profile return. When he left initially, he carried an ethereal, martial arts-like mystique. His nickname "Wuzhao" (meaning "technique-less triumph") comes from "The Smiling, Proud Wanderer," suggesting someone beyond worldly concerns. I thought his return would bring something new. Instead? Checking attendance, restricting lunch breaks, banning Xiaohongshu (Little Red Book), requiring employees to add each other as friends on DingTalk, and demanding programmers learn Python or face "challenges." Internal sources have confirmed these practices are partially true. After hearing all this, I can only describe it as absurd. A team that Alibaba has placed high hopes on to carry the enterprise AI banner is being managed like it's twenty years ago.

I keep thinking: isn't AI supposed to improve efficiency? Isn't it meant to replace repetitive work? Yet reality shows that the more office software we use, the more complex processes become, the longer approvals take, and the busier people get. Feishu and DingTalk are everywhere, but the result is more meetings, more to-dos, people spinning in systems like puppets on invisible strings. Efficiency tools haven't made life easier; they've become new burdens.

And DingTalk itself is managing people in the most primitive way—a CEO conducting midnight floor patrols to see who's not at their desk.

Isn't this ironic? A company that makes attendance software has its CEO personally checking attendance. It's like a scale manufacturer weighing every transaction twice, fearing others might cheat. But the more you do this, the more it shows you don't trust your own scale. The more you emphasize "I'm on duty," the more it reveals your lack of confidence.

I've experienced companies like this: superficially disciplined but internally scattered. The more the CEO controls, the faster talent flees. Wuzhao might think he's straightening out company culture, emphasizing hard work, but in employees' eyes, this represents distrust. Appearing in the office at midnight—doesn't that seem like a death omen? When you're not there, everyone breathes easier; when you are, everyone puts on an act.

I used early versions of DingTalk too. What attracted me was its promise to "make work simpler." Back then, small business owners escaped the bombardment of WeChat group @mentions, finally having a tool for one-click notifications to all staff without begging and pleading. It represented order and liberation.

But now? Its creator is using the same tool to nail employees to their seats. That "Ding" notification sound, originally meant for efficiency, has become a symbol of oppression.

Netizens comment: "Worthy of a company that makes attendance apps." An enterprise built on digital tools ultimately manages people in the most primitive way. It invented the system but was devoured by it; the more advanced the technology, the more backward the CEO's management becomes—this itself is regression.

Wuzhao might think strict discipline breeds fighting spirit. But he's forgotten that DingTalk's original value wasn't about clocking in—it was about trust. Employees don't fear overtime; they fear meaningless overtime, and even more, having their work defined solely by desk time.

Wuzhao patrols buildings but loses hearts. DingTalk's reputation was never about that "Ding" icon, but about people's expectations for efficient, orderly, humane work. That midnight inspection shattered precisely these expectations.

As the founder, to put it simply, DingTalk is like Wuzhao's own child that he raised, but now Wuzhao has become the one pushing it into the abyss.

Most ironically, while DingTalk's internal team develops AI tools meant to replace repetitive work and boost efficiency, employees are being questioned by their boss about "leaving work early." When AI can automatically generate reports and approve processes, management still fixates on "what time to leave work."

This contrast between "advanced tools, backward management" exposes Wuzhao's short-sightedness.

They say AI will replace some inefficient workplace personnel. I believe CEOs who only know how to patrol workstations at midnight should be the first to be eliminated. Wuzhao has already been removed from DingTalk once before; perhaps it's time for him to bid farewell to DingTalk permanently.