9:50 am, Henglong Building 28th floor.
Chen Xi stared at the screen, not daring to blink.
"Zhao Zong, today's scene..." Her voice was a little tight, "It's too tragic."
On the screen, Trading Volume has exceeded 40 million shares.
The stock price seesawed repeatedly between 5.90 and 6.05, like two trapped animals biting each other.
Every minute, millions of shares are traded.
Every transaction represents tens of millions of dollars in play.
"The bears can't hold on any longer." Zhang Qingxue said,
"Their intensity of smashing the market today is much smaller than yesterday."
Zhao Chen nodded.
He saw it.
The biggest problem for the short side today is not insufficient funds.
Yes - no one is following.
The institutions that followed them in smashing the market yesterday are all gone today.
Because they saw the announcement of Henglong.
Because they settled the score--
Zhao Chen party 82.32%.
The mysterious account bought at least 40 million shares.
Together, these two companies account for more than 90%.
How many chips are left in the hands of retail investors? How many are in the hands of institutions?
How many coupons can they borrow?
Who is willing to help the short side smash the market at this time?
That's not smashing the market, it's committing suicide.
"It's ten o'clock." Chen Xi said, "Trading Volume 56 million shares."
She paused:
"The 20 million shares on the short side have been sold."
At 10:05 a. m., a certain securities firm Trading Room.
The fund manager stared at the screen, motionless.
He has no ammunition left in his hands.
On the screen, the stock price fluctuated around 6.02.
Those retail investors are still buying.
One stroke, two strokes, three strokes.
Like ants moving, pushing up the stock price bit by bit.
"Boss..." the trader's voice sounded like it was squeezed out from between his teeth, "What should we do?"
The fund manager did not answer.
He knows the answer.
There is no way.
They sold 40 million shares today, plus yesterday's 70 million shares, for a total of 110 million shares.
He didn't expect that today's retail investors and vultures who heard the news would be so fierce.
It can be seen that there is no Large Funds pallet today.
That mysterious fund started buying stocks to boost prices when the market opened, and then fell into silence.
Retail investors.
Those retail investors that he had always looked down upon, thought they could only chase the rise and kill the fall, and considered them to be leeks.
Today, they became the last straw for him.
"Boss?" the trader shouted again.
The fund manager slowly stood up.
He looked at the number 6.02 on the screen and suddenly smiled.
The smile was bitter.
"Call the donors," he said, "Tell them we lost."
The trader was stunned.
"Lost... lost?"
"We lost." The fund manager said, "If there is no follow-up ammunition, we will buy and close the position."
He paused:
"Now that the stock price has not soared, I can make up as much as I can."
He turned around, walked to the door, and dialed the phone.
Five calls in a row, all filled with insults and threats.
The other party asked him to wait.
He knew he couldn't wait any longer. The owner of the mysterious account was more terrifying than he imagined.
Because that person is not here to help Zhao Chen.
That person came to Short Squeeze.
The fund manager stood in front of the window with his back to the screen.
He didn't dare to look.
He was afraid of seeing the thread still climbing up.
The phone is in my hand and the screen is black.
He is waiting.
Waiting for the call from the sponsor.
Waiting for the funds that will allow him to continue investing.
Or wait for the signal that makes him admit defeat.
The trader's voice came from behind, with a hint of trembling:
"Boss... the stock price has started to rise."
Fund managers haven't looked back.
"How much?"
"6.10...6.12...6.15..."
The trader's voice became tighter and tighter, "There is almost no big Trading Volume, the selling order... the selling order is gone!"
The fund manager turned around sharply.
On the screen, the line was climbing upward at an almost vertical angle.
6.18.
6.22.
6.25.
Every transaction is a red buy.
The green sell orders appear and disappear as if they were sucked away by something.
"What's going on?" His voice was hoarse, "Who is buying?"
The trader's fingers typed rapidly on the keyboard:
"They are all retail accounts! The single transaction is not big, but there are too many - too many to count!"
The fund manager's pupils shrank slightly.
Retail investors.
Another retail investor.
When they rushed in to take over this morning, he thought it was just an impulse.
But now, like sharks smelling blood, they are pouring in in droves.
"Where are the sales?" he asked, "Didn't they sell and run away?"
The trader's voice sounded like crying:
"Everyone was eaten! Buying Pressure is too strong."
6.30.
6.35.
6.40.
The thread is still climbing up without any pause.
The fund manager suddenly understood.
This is not a pull-up.
This is at Short Squeeze.
That person, the owner of the Cayman Islands account--
He didn't take action today.
But he made everyone see a fact:
There are no more chips in the market.
Those retail investors, those funds that follow the trend, those institutions that were still waiting and watching yesterday--
Saw it all.
So they rushed in.
They are not helping Zhao Chen.
They are robbing the meat.
Steal the flesh from these Short Selling ers.
The fund manager's hands began to shake.
He looked down at his phone.
The screen is still black.
No phone.
No news.
Funders, gave up.
6.45.
6.50.
6.55.
That thread is still crawling.
The trader's voice has changed its tone:
"Boss, it's 6.55--the market has no sell orders at all!"
The fund manager closed his eyes.
He knows.
From this moment on, he is no longer a player in this market.
He is prey.
6.60.
6.65.
6.70.
The line suddenly slowed down.
6.72.
6.73.
6.74.
6.75.
Stopped.
The fund manager opened his eyes.
On the screen, the line lies across the 6.75 position, like a snake that finally climbed ashore, coiled there, motionless.
6.75.
The closing price of Friday is 6.72.
That person pushed the stock price to the level of Friday.
Then it stopped.
The fund manager stared at that number and suddenly understood something.
That person didn't want to help him.
It's not that I want to help Zhao Chen.
That person is drawing a line.
One message to the short side - I'm here waiting for you.
And he is just a tool used to draw this line.
"Boss," the trader asked in a low voice, "What should we... do?"
The fund manager did not answer.
He looked at the 6.75 number on the screen, watched the dense purchase orders finally dissipated, and watched Trading Volume slowly shrink.
The main force on the short side did not buy to close the position.
The main bulls did not sell to close their positions.
The two sides were like two boxers after a fight, each retreating to a corner, panting, and staring at each other.
But he knew that he had lost this battle.
Total loss.
The phone finally turned on.
It's a text message:
"You can't borrow coupons in a short period of time. It's up to you."
The fund manager looked at that line of words and suddenly smiled.
The smile was very light and bitter.
He raised his head and looked at the trader:
"Let's count how much we smashed today and how much is left."
The trader is typing rapidly on the keyboard:
"I sold 38 million shares today, with an average price of 5.95. There are...2 million shares left in my account."
The fund manager nodded.
"Keep it," he said, "Until tomorrow."
The trader was stunned for a moment. "Tomorrow? Tomorrow is not going to..."
"We'll talk about tomorrow's matters tomorrow." The fund manager interrupted him, "That's it for today."
He turned around and walked towards the door, unwilling to stay in this Trading Room room for a moment longer.
The corridor was empty, only the sound of his footsteps echoed.
He suddenly remembered something:
The real Hunter never hunts by himself.
He simply lets his prey run into the trap.
And I am the prey.