The next day, Buffett arrived in Shanghai, America, as promised. He reserved a table at the most luxurious restaurant and waited for Jiang Siming to arrive.
Jiang Siming did not break his promise either. He arrived on time.
The first time he saw Jiang Siming, Buffett still found it utterly unbelievable.
He could not believe that someone so young could thrive in the stock market and even set a record of zero losses.
Every stock he invested in was a sure win.
Was it truly extraordinary insight, or did he really know all kinds of inside information?
Buffett had spent so many years in the stock market, and he had always let results speak for themselves.
Otherwise, he would never have humbled himself by coming all the way to Shanghai to invite Jiang Siming to dinner.
In fact, he did not like Jiang Siming. He even faintly disliked him.
It was not only because of Jiang Siming's excessive demands this time, but also because he was showing too much of his edge, to the point that Buffett's title as the stock god was being shaken.
That was something Buffett could not accept. His title as the stock god was a golden signboard for him.
It was also a symbol of Old Buffett's honor. How could he let someone take it away?
Not to mention that the person stealing his honor was a man a full sixty-four years younger than him—put bluntly, nothing more than a little brat in his eyes.
But Buffett was extremely calculating. He knew that this was not the time to worry about pride. He had to secure an investment.
Nearly every rich person he knew in America had lost so much that they looked like shrimp. Never mind borrowing money from them; it was already good