A Bao understood now. Yesterday's plunge had already driven some people into bankruptcy and made them jump from buildings.
Judging by Wang Yue's tone, the stock market's collapse had only just begun, and so had the jumpers.
And that was exactly what happened. Over the next few days, A Bao watched Japan's stock market plunge off a cliff, its staggering losses enough to make anyone's heart pound. The stock exchange had lost all its usual cheer and laughter; the silence was almost frightening.
In that tense atmosphere, the first jump seemed like a signal. More and more people followed, and their methods grew increasingly inventive.
Walking beneath a building with no overhead cover was unsafe, so many people hurried past, afraid of getting caught up in it.
Fortunately, Wang Yue and A Bao had both gone short, so their funds kept growing. To avoid drawing attention, they came early and left late, steering clear of the gamblers who had lost their minds.
After several days of continuous declines, the relevant Japanese authorities finally introduced a series of incentives and rushed to rescue the market. But it was like pouring water into a desert: the measures stabilized things for just two days before the market plunged again like a flood breaking through a dam.
Japanese investors didn't trust the policies, so this time the market fell even harder than before. Investors felt as if the end of the world had come.
After this continued for a few more days, Wang Yue did the math. Once he cashed out and deducted all the fees, he would have a little over five hundred million dollars. Even A Bao's funds had grown to ten million dollars.
Wang Yue knew the time was about right. The market would still crash, but it would gradually stabilize