First Pot of Gold

At Shan City's secondhand market, the air was thick with motor oil, dust, and the sounds of haggling.

Zhao Chen stood before the white C200L, watching the car dealer squat down to inspect the chassis.

"Last year's model, thirty thousand kilometers, in decent condition."

The dealer dusted off his hands, stood up, and offered him a cigarette.

"But brother, if you need to sell in a hurry, the price won't be high. One hundred eighty-five thousand. I'm taking the risk here."

"Two hundred thousand." Zhao Chen did not take the cigarette, his voice calm.

"Transfer the title today, cash or instant transfer. You can flip it for at least two hundred twenty thousand."

The dealer narrowed his eyes at him—a student in his early twenties, yet there was none of the usual reluctance or impatience young people showed when selling a car. There was only an almost icy sense of calculation in his gaze.

"One hundred ninety-five thousand," the dealer tested.

"Two hundred thousand." Zhao Chen turned as if to leave. "I'll try the next place."

"Deal!" The dealer grabbed him. "Kid, you're ruthless. Transfer it."

Half an hour later, a payment notification popped up in his mobile banking app.

Zhao Chen watched his Account Balance rise from a small leftover amount to a full two hundred thousand. As he left, he did not even look back at the car.

It had been the key his father had casually tossed to him on his eighteenth birthday.

Like throwing a toy to a pet.

Now, the toy had become ammunition.

His second stop was a Microcredit Company in an old office building in Jiangbei, an address he had just obtained.

"Young Master Zhao, what a rare visitor."

The owner's surname was Wu. In his fifties, he wore a gold chain around his neck and rolled prayer beads in his hand.

"I never thought the Crown Prince of Henglong would be short of this little bit of money from us."

The office was wreathed in smoke, and a faded slogan reading "Honest Business" hung on the wall.

"I need it urgently." Zhao Chen sat on the greasy Sofa and got straight to the point.

"Three million, for three months, at three percent monthly interest. I'll borrow it under my own name, but my father is Zhao Jianguo—you know he can afford to repay it."

Boss Wu smiled, revealing his gold-capped front teeth.

"Young Master Zhao's face is certainly worth something. But three million is no small sum. There needs to be collateral..."

"No collateral." Zhao Chen cut him off.

"Just one promise: principal and interest will be repaid in full after three months. If I can't repay it, you can go to Henglong Building and find my father. He can't afford to lose that kind of face."

The room fell silent for several seconds.

Boss Wu slowly lost his smile and studied the young man before him again.

At three percent monthly interest, three months meant nearly three hundred thousand in interest, and this kid did not even blink.

More importantly, it was his attitude—he was not begging for help. It was a transaction, even carrying a faint implication of, I'm giving you a chance to make money.

"Young Master Zhao." Boss Wu leaned forward. "What are you doing with these three million?"

Zhao Chen met his gaze. "Boss Wu, in this line of work, the rules are not to ask what the money is for, right?"

They stared at each other.

Five seconds later, Boss Wu burst into laughter and slapped the table. "Good! You've got guts! Bring the contract!"

As he signed and pressed his fingerprint onto the contract, Zhao Chen watched the red ink spread across his fingertip and recalled the fingerprint he had pressed onto the arrest warrant in his previous life.

Back then, he had trembled in despair, unable to defend himself no matter how he tried.

Now, this fingerprint was the first move on the board.

At 1:15 p.m., Zhengfa University's Finance Laboratory.

Zhao Chen logged into his live trading account, the cold glow of the screen falling across his face.

Account Balance: 3.7456 million yuan.

The money his mother had left behind, his own savings, the two hundred thousand from selling the car, and the three million loan he had just received.

The cursor hovered over Sanjiang Shopping's stock code.

The memory was as clear as if carved in stone:

On November 21, 2016, Alibaba Group announced a 2.15 billion yuan Strategic Investment in Sanjiang Shopping, taking a 32% stake.

The moment the news broke, the stock price began its Crazy Journey of consecutive limit-up days, rising from around 12 yuan before its trading suspension to a peak of 54 yuan.

Today was November 1, and the stock price was 12.08 yuan.

Twenty days remained.

Zhao Chen's fingers paused over the keyboard for a moment before he Pressed:

12.40 yuan, buy all in.

Thirty Cents Two above the current price, solely to ensure an instant fill.

320,000 shares.

He pressed Enter.

On the screen, more than half the order was instantly devoured, and the stock price jumped to 12.40.

The remaining buy orders sat in the queue like hibernating beasts.

The only sound in the laboratory was the low hum of computer fans.

Zhao Chen leaned back against the chair back and closed his eyes.

At that moment, memories from his previous life changed from "knowledge" into "fact."

The three-million loan, his mother's inheritance, every last chip he had—all of it was staked on this K-line he had personally experienced.

What if his memories were wrong...

What if history had changed...

"Ding."

The trade confirmation chimed.

His entire position had been filled at an average price of 12.39 yuan.

He opened his eyes and looked at the screen.

Holdings: Sanjiang Shopping, 300,200 shares, cost 12.40 yuan, current price 12.41 yuan.

Yet the corners of Zhao Chen's lips curved faintly upward.

This was not the end. It was proof that the beginning had arrived.

At three in the afternoon, the A-share market closed.

Sanjiang Shopping closed at 12.52 yuan.

Zhao Chen's unrealized profit: over 30,000 yuan.

He shut down the trading software, cleared his browsing history, and glanced at the time in the corner of the screen as he stood.

November 1, 2016, 3:03 p.m.

Twenty days remained until Ali's investment announcement.

A little over a month remained until Father Zhao Jianguo was taken away for investigation.

And today was the day Henglong Shares' stock price would suffer a flash crash.

Before he officially launched his plan to short sell his own company, there was still... preparation to do, starting now.

Zhao Chen walked out of the Finance Laboratory, where an icy draft poured through the corridor.

As he walked, he searched on his phone for "Henglong Shares pledge interest rate" and "securities firm equity financing requirements."

His father held 40% of the shares, while he himself held 10%, for a combined market value exceeding two billion.

At a 60% pledge ratio, they could cash out 1.2 billion.

But his father's shares were untouchable—those shares had long since been pledged to the limit. Otherwise, he would not have set his sights on Zhao Chen's 10%.