In the last episode, we left off with XCE going dark and the start of the scramble to find the next XCE replacement. The Reta XCE PGB group buy that was underway at the same time as XCE went dark, and my first order placed with Cora for Tirz, as I’d heard it was good from HT.
At the same time, a warehouse claiming to contain XCE stock appeared which was nothing more than someone’s garage. Which brings me to the first myth, that a “USA warehouse” is some sort of proper storage facility. No, most of the time it’s someone’s garage ( if they’re lucky) and usually owned by a member of the community who gets paid to keep some stock in the USA and send it out to customers as required. The most famous example of this is Peptide Princess being the “warehouse” for SRY and then running off with their goods, although, she was not SRYs only warehouse, there were apparently 3, but im digressing now.
In this episode, I will recount my experience with my “dear friend”, Cora.
17 to 18 March: “Dear friend” and the Alibaba link
Cora’s initial tone was warm and confident. I asked about pricing and delivery. I asked the normal question: what happens if customs seizes it?
I was reassured that they will re-ship and that I can “rest assured.” When I asked for a photo of stock, I was shown a tidy stock photo and told it’s the type of photo their boss asks the freight forwarder to take every time.
Payment was arranged through Alibaba.
Cora told me she’ll send the Alibaba link the next day because it’s the weekend evening and when I responded to tell her that’s it’s fine, She responded with her trademark hearts.
Sure enough, the link arrived just after midnight (18 March). The message was simple: the Alibaba payment link has been generated, click to pay, then send a screenshot and they’ll verify and arrange delivery as soon as possible.
18 March: Follow-ups at 01:30 and 05:35
When I didn’t respond instantly, the follow-ups began.
Not aggressive. Just persistent, still framed as friendly, still decorated with hearts. The messages arrived at 01:30 am, then again at 05:35 am, then continued through the morning with variations of:
good morning, dear friend
hello, friend
do you have any questions?
do you still have any questions?
do you still need 10mg of Tirzepatide?
Eventually, wanting her to stop, I told her I’m busy and then I sent the payment about 50 minutes later.
Once payment was made, the tone went back to smooth efficiency: no more pushing, just reassurance that delivery would be arranged.
20 March: Tracking arrives
Two days later I was sent tracking. The message was again calm and confident: goods shipped, logistics number included, I’ll be “reported updates in real time,” please rest assured.
26 March: “Dear Corp” and packaging reassurance
Six days later she followed up again to say my package had arrived and called me “Dear Corp.”
Because I was still very new to all this and still paranoid about receiving the wrong product, I asked a basic confirmation question about packaging and product identification. I was told they use “invisible packaging” and only write initials and specifications on the box. Example: “T10” means 10mg.
I flagged a concern that the earlier stock photo showed different coloured caps to the ones i’d received, but I was told every batch produced is different, and the photo was from previous shipments for reference.
The tone remained consistently soothing: “You’re welcome dear friend,” more hearts, more reassurance.
At this point the first purchase had “worked,” at least logistically, and thats what encouraged the second order.
28 to 30 March: I come back for more
Feeling the first purchase went well, and anxious as XCE had just gone dark, I asked what else they stocked for future purchases, Cagrilintide, Cagrisema, Mazdutide, AOD, Mots-C, SS-31, Tesofensine.
Some items were currently out of stock. When I asked about Mots-C specifically, I was told the MOQ is three boxes.
I placed another order anyway:
3 boxes Mots-C
1 box Epitalon
1 box DSIP (5mg)
Total: $445.
The address problem
This is where the “minor admin chaos” became less charming.
The Alibaba payment link showed an address that wasn’t mine. I flagged it.
Cora’s response was essentially: don’t worry, it doesn’t affect payment, she’ll reconfirm the address after I’ve paid.
So: the address was wrong, but payment must be right now, and the address will be fixed later.
I pressed again. She reassured me again. She even sent me a random photo taken from inside a car as part of the reassurance package, as if a personal photo is evidence of seriousness.
The “dear friend” tone continued. The hearts continued. The process continued.
Early April: Shipping delays begin
After the second order, time began to stretch. When I asked when it will ship, I was told order volume is high and Tirzepatide orders were being processed intensively. I was asked to wait.
When I pointed out that others who ordered after me were receiving deliveries, I was told it was because other products shipped earlier and “common” peptides move faster.
Eventually the second delivery did arrive (19 April). Again: delayed, but at least it arrived.
At this stage the relationship still looked salvageable. The pattern was;
reassurances
mild confusion
delivery eventually happening
more reassurance
Then testing started to come back, and that’s when the script changed
Late May: Refund Requests Become Negotiation
After receiving the products I organised to have them tested through PTDS ( one of only two testing servers at that time). I was luckily chosen to be the donor for the DSIP and Epitalon but someone else was selected to send their MotsC for testing. The MotsC results came through on 22 May. Anxious, I immediately sent a message to Cora
22 to 27 May: The Batch Excuse Phase
“I’m afraid I will be wanting to speak to you about the yellow cap MotsC I bought from you which has not tested well at all.”
Her first move was soft containment:
“I’m sorry to bring you a bad experience… I will actively handle this matter for you.”
Then came the first deflection:
“Is this the colour of your bottle cap? You are not the same batch of products.”
I sent proof it is the same colour cap.
The next explanation was;
“Your product was received in April and this product is from March. They are not from the same batch. Can you try it before making a decision?”
The timeline didn’t work. I ordered 30 March.
When I pointed that out, she pivoted again.
Refund Request → Replacement Script
I requested a refund.
She replied;
“Why throw it away? Because the purity is very good.”
It wasn’t. The test showed 8.3mg and sub-99% purity.
She then claimed differences in international testing standards were responsible for the discrepancy.
I asked again for a refund.
She offered;
“We will reissue the missing doses.”
This became her fixed position.
I explained clearly:
I didn’t want more product. I didn’t trust the product. I didn’t want to pay to test it again.
She continued with policy language:
“Our policy is to reissue as many doses as are missing.”
On 25 May, things got worse: the DSIP and Epitalon results came back underdosed too. I asked for a refund on MotsC, Epitalon and DSIP. She replied;
“Dear friends, can we wait for the other test results to come out?… Please give us some time.”
I asked;
“Which other tests?”
Her Answer:
Tirzepatide and other tests.”
My response was;
“I’m not concerned with that one as I did not buy it.”
27 to 28 May: Silence, Then Discount
Two days passed. No response.
I messaged again:
“When will I get my refund? I will accept 50%.”
No reply.
The next day:
“Why are you ignoring my messages?”
She finally responded, not with a refund, but with a discount offer on a future order.
So now the solution to underdosed product was; buy more product.
The Numbers Phase
I calculated it clearly:
Paid $445
I would accept $222.50
She countered with $100.
Then introduced the emotional leverage:
“If you refund so much, you also have to consider our costs.”
Then:
“It will be deducted from my salary.”
The refund shifted from contractual obligation to personal hardship narrative.
I even lowered from $222.50 to $150.
She wanted it confidential:
“Can the refund be a secret between the two of us?”
Then she dropped it to $120.
We renegotiated to $135
Every movement was downward.
Delay as Process
Once $135 was agreed, a new barrier appeared: Alibaba procedure.
Now I had to apply for the refund myself.
Now management must review.
Now finance needed time.
Now steps must be followed.
The amount was agreed in principle. The mechanism became the obstacle.
3 June 2024: I give a deadline
I told her that I’ve given her the weekend and now time was up. I wanted the $135 that day, otherwise I would escalate.
She responded that she can refund $135, but added conditions: I must apply for the refund on Alibaba myself, they will “review” it, and I must remember our “secret agreement” and not tell anyone because the refund is “deducted from her salary.”
Then she asked for something else:
Also dear friend, can you delete your post on [online forum]?”
I pointed out that sellers usually initiate Alibaba refunds automatically. I also made it clear: I’ll delete what she wants after I receive the refund.
She continued insisting I must apply on Alibaba, even though I’d already contacted Alibaba and I was now outside the refund window. She repeated that they “cannot transfer money” themselves and it must go through Alibaba’s procedures.
At this point I tried to end the stalemate by offering a simple alternative: refund via crypto. I sent a wallet address. No meaningful action followed. Instead, she claimed they’ve never refunded before and didn’t understand how to refund “ourselves,” while simultaneously insisting they’re submitting information to Alibaba.
I spent hours dealing with Alibaba’s dispute process. It demanded extensive documentation and still didn’t solve the problem. The procedure became the delay. And for those of you who think using Alibaba as a payment method is a safe option, think again, they are typically on the vendors side rather than the buyer.
By 5 to 6 June, the script was unchanged: submit info to Alibaba, wait for review, we are cooperating, we don’t know how to refund directly.
8 June: The Chargeback (the only process that actually completes)
By 8 June, I stopped trying to negotiate a refund inside their system.
At this point I’d done all of the following:
agreed to a significantly reduced refund amount ($135)
accepted “procedures” and “review”
been asked to keep it secret
been told to apply for my own refund through Alibaba
been asked to delete my posts on the online forum
spent hours attempting Alibaba’s dispute workflow anyway
Nothing moved.
So I filed a full credit card chargeback.
Before doing so, I was still being fed basic troubleshooting suggestions around Alibaba, including trying different company names, trying again with customer service, and even “why don’t you try writing my name?”
At this stage the tone was still “dear friend,” but the substance was: figure it out yourself.
The Defence Letter (written as if none of the above exists)
During the chargeback process, they submitted a document clearly intended to reverse the case. It was framed as “defence material.” The broad points were;
I’m described as an “old customer” who was given priority in delivery.
Delivery was slower because order volume was large.
I supposedly posted “rumours” about their company because I was impatient.
I “immediately asked for a refund” because another customer’s test results weren’t good.
They imply this is all based on feelings and public opinion.
They add the line: “We’re not in the charity business.”
They claimed I did not test the product myself.
They described my behaviour as “unreasonable.”
They emphasised that I threatened to keep posting.
It’s a classic strategy: reframe the dispute as emotional, social, and unfair, while quietly ignoring the timeline, the underdosing results, and the weeks of stalling.
I responded to the chargeback with evidence, and the outcome was simple:
I received a full refund through my credit card.
Not because they voluntarily resolved anything, but, because I used the only mechanism they couldn’t slow down with hearts, procedures, or “finance department review.”
Closing
This began in March with “dear friend,” hearts, and fast replies. It ended in June with a defence letter arguing I was unreasonable and a refund that only happened once a third party forced it.
The practical takeaway is simple: when a seller’s “policy” becomes infinite procedure, and the refund requires secrecy, the relationship has stopped being customer service and become damage control.
If a refund can only be achieved through a chargeback, that’s not a resolution. It’s an extraction.
And if anyone is wondering about the HT Tirz that I was told was “so good” I didn’t test it at the time, but when I tried it, it felt extremely underdosed, so I gave it away.
Later, HT were also reported to have failed multiple sterility tests. I was by no means their only victim, there were plenty of complaints and chargebacks against them.
In the end they didn’t announce anything, explain anything, or resolve anything. They just quietly faded away, which is often how this grey market handles consequences.
Months later, I remember someone receiving an email out of the blue from a different company, different name, same tone. The same “dear friend”
So no, I don’t think she disappeared.
I suspect she’s still out there somewhere, throwing out hearts and “dear friend” messages like confetti.
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