The Window for the First Quick Profit

After the news flash popped up in the bottom right corner of the screen, Lu Chuan didn't dismiss it right away.

The situation in an oil-producing country in the Middle East had taken a sudden turn, triggering unusual movements in the international crude oil market.

Just that one sentence.

But for him, it was enough.

Lu Chuan sat at the long desk, staring at the line for half a minute before tapping his fingers lightly on the tabletop twice.

He had seen similar news at this point in his previous life. Back then, he hadn't been able to get anywhere near this kind of thing and could only watch people discuss it on forums and in finance chat groups.

Some said it was just short-term sentiment, some said something big was coming, and others had started posting screenshots all over the place that very night, boasting that they had seen it coming.

Lu Chuan couldn't remember every movement on the intraday chart.

Nor could he remember exactly which minute prices had surged and which minute they had fallen back.

But he remembered a few things.

First, this wasn't some minor fluctuation without a real cause. It was a genuine event-driven window of opportunity.

Second, the market hadn't fully reacted at first. It had tested the waters, then the news had spread and built momentum. By the time public discussion exploded, prices had already moved a fair way.

Third, this wasn't some minor market move he could only watch from the sidelines. If he caught it, he could make a serious chunk of quick money.

Lu Chuan opened the news page and read through it item by item.

The sources, the reports relayed from foreign media, the futures forums, the pace of the news flashes on finance channels-all of it was much as he remembered.

It wasn't exactly the same, but the general direction matched. That was enough.

He had never wanted to predict everything like some mystic.

What he wanted was a high degree of certainty.

At his most foolish in his previous life, he had always mistaken luck for ability and impulsiveness for decisiveness. Now that he had another chance, he wouldn't let emotion guide his financial decisions again.

Lu Chuan switched his computer to a finance page, sorted through the timeline, and wrote down a few key points before getting up to boil some water. When the kettle began to whistle, he stood by the window and glanced outside.

The car was downstairs.

The house had been settled.

The foundation was more or less in place.

But his account really was running thin.

He had a little over six hundred thousand yuan—not so little that he couldn't get by, but no longer enough for him to take his time with trial and error. If he was going to make this trade, he had to stick to the plan. He couldn't be reckless.

Early the next morning, Lu Chuan didn't go to Quiet Garden. He drove to the brokerage office first.

He needed to open a new futures account and go over the rules again.

Being reborn didn't mean he could jump straight in using vague memories from his previous life. The instruments, margin ratios, trading hours, risk-control thresholds-even if he knew the general direction, he still had to get a clear grasp of the rules in front of him.

The brokerage office was in an office building. It wasn't large, and the reception desk and counters were unremarkable.

The account manager handling his business was a man in his thirties named Liu. He first had Lu Chuan fill out the paperwork, then take a risk assessment. Once the process was complete, he glanced at Lu Chuan's age, then at the neatly prepared ID card, bank card, and proof of funds, and his tone grew noticeably more serious.

"Is this your first time trading?"

"You could say that," Lu Chuan said.

Manager Liu nodded and, as usual, explained the risks first. Leverage, margin, forced liquidation, overnight risk, fluctuations driven by news—she covered it all clearly. She had probably seen plenty of young people whose eyes lit up the moment they heard futures could amplify returns, refusing to listen to anything else, so she made a point of adding one more warning.

"This isn't stocks, and it certainly isn't a place to go looking for thrills. If you get the direction wrong, you can lose money just as fast."

"I know," Lu Chuan said.

"What are you planning to trade?"

"Crude oil."

Manager Liu looked up at him.

"Crude oil is certainly hot right now, but that's exactly why it's more volatile. If you really are going to trade it, don't take too large a position."

Lu Chuan gave a murmur of acknowledgment.

Of course he wouldn't go all in.

This was all the cash he had right now, and even less of it could be used as margin. If he really staked everything he had in one go, that wouldn't be trading. It would be courting death. Toward the end of his previous life, when he was spending money, his favorite thing to do had been to fool himself: once this one worked out, everything afterward would be easy.

That kind of thinking looked bold, but it was the stupidest of all.

Over the course of the morning, Lu Chuan finished setting up his account, linking his bank account, downloading the software, and securing trading permissions. On the way back, he made a point of going over the trading rules again, especially crude oil's margin ratio, minimum price movement, and night-session hours.

That afternoon, he sat down again in the study at Quiet Garden and began calculating his position in earnest.

He couldn't possibly throw the entire six hundred thousand-plus in his account into it.

He had to set aside living expenses, a buffer, and money for emergencies. That was the bottom line. The most he could actually put up as margin was a little over four hundred thousand. Any more than that wouldn't be bold. It would be brainless.

Lu Chuan wrote several numbers on a sheet of paper, then crossed out two.

Enter in batches.

Don't chase the first move.

Leave room to add to the position.

And room to make mistakes.

The biggest difference between him now and in his previous life wasn't that he was bolder or more ruthless.

It was that he knew when to stop and when to hold something back.

Now, when he dealt with money, he thought about structure first.

Secure the foundation first, then let the profits grow on their own.

Get the order wrong, and everything afterward would go wrong too.

On the screen, the market was still moving.

The news kept coming, too.

As Lu Chuan watched, he compared the rhythm he remembered with what was happening in reality. The situation was still developing, the market hadn't finished moving, and the window was still open.

He had nearly finished his plan, but when he actually saw the available funds and leverage calculations in the software, his old habit reared its head.

What if I made this trade a little bigger?

What if I pushed the position up another notch?

If the market really moves the way I remember, then after this round, it'll be more than just a matter of breathing easier.

Forget the rest of the work on Quiet Garden-even after university starts, there'll be plenty of things I won't have to worry about money for.

The moment the thought surfaced, Lu Chuan pushed it down.

He looked at the screen without moving the mouse.

A moment later, he raised his hand and deleted the high-position plan he had just calculated.

No.

This was exactly the familiar taste of who he had been in his previous life.

He had always wanted to reach his goal in one step, always believed he was sure to succeed this time, and liked using "taking a gamble" as an excuse to ignore risk.

But that wasn't how opportunities were meant to be used.

Lu Chuan entered the numbers again, brought the position back down to its original level, and wrote down his stop-loss and add-on levels separately.

Taking a big position wasn't skill.

Staying alive to take the money out—that was skill.

Toward evening, market sentiment began to shift noticeably.

The news began to spread, and discussion picked up. On several finance forums, people were already arguing over whether this was a short-term disturbance or a medium-term opportunity. Some were bullish, some bearish; opinions of every kind were flying. Lu Chuan didn't read much of it, keeping his eyes on a few of his own sources and the market.

By nightfall, the light in the study was on.

Quiet Garden was very quiet.

With the door closed, there was only the faint hum of the air conditioner and the computer. The cup of tea beside the long desk had been brewed that afternoon and had long since gone cold, but Lu Chuan hadn't gotten around to replacing it. He sat in front of the computer, the light from the screen reflecting on his face, making no unnecessary movements.

The account was ready.

The rules had been checked.

The funding plan had been firmly set.

All that remained now was to enter the market.

He wasn't waiting for the cheapest price or the prettiest chart pattern.

He was waiting for the turning point in the rhythm that he remembered from his previous life.

After nine, the market moved.

Not much.

But Lu Chuan knew it was time.

He felt none of a gambler's feverish impulse, nor any excitement that it had finally arrived. His hand was steady as it settled on the mouse. First, he opened an initial base position. It wasn't large, just part of his planned position. Price, quantity, confirmation—he took it one step at a time.

The order window popped up.

Lu Chuan checked the numbers, then looked at his plan.

Then he clicked confirm.

His first position was in.

The numbers on the screen jumped, then quickly appeared under his open positions.

Lu Chuan leaned back in his chair. He didn't add to the position immediately, nor did he stare endlessly at the account balance. He watched the market first, checked the news, then looked at the level he had set for his second entry. A few minutes later, the price swung back, but didn't reach his add-on level.

He didn't move.

A little while later, the market dipped, landing right in his target range.

Only then did Lu Chuan open his second position.

He stuck to the plan again, neither rushing nor changing it.

After opening the two positions, he still had room to spare. If the market offered a better entry overnight, he could add more; if it went the wrong way, he also had room to absorb a drawdown and exit.

This was the rhythm he wanted.

Not gambling on a perfect winning hand.

But using certainty to profit from volatility.

Time ticked by.

The study was silent, and the night outside had deepened. Unlike in his previous life, Lu Chuan didn't get hotheaded the moment he touched something leveraged, itching to stand up and pace around the room. He simply sat there, watching the market, checking the news, and looking at the two orders he had placed.

The tea at his side had long since gone cold.

He picked it up and took a sip. It was bitter and slightly astringent, but it was just the thing to clear his head.

At around eleven, the market made a small jump.

It wasn't much.

The unrealized profit in his account wasn't particularly impressive, either.

But as Lu Chuan looked at that small change, his gaze lingered.

The direction was right.