Pledge of Shares

For the next few days, Zhao Chen found a hotel and settled in.

He sat in a chair, his brain running like a machine built for efficiency.

As he drank tea, he sorted through every event he remembered.

Then, according to their urgency and importance, he drafted a simple plan for himself.

Once he was done, he took out his phone and opened Southwest Golden Ideas, Southwest Securities' app.

He logged in, entered his password, and saw that Sanjiang Shopping had closed at 12.57.

He had made 0.17 yuan per share. After commissions, his unrealized profit was over fifty thousand.

Stock trading was fucking profitable.

Though he had made money, a rare anxiety rose within him.

He knew the plot, but not the details—what if his purchase affected some tiny fluctuation? What if the news leaked early? What if Ali changed its mind?

That night, he had a dream.

In the dream, Bitcoin candlestick charts intertwined with headlines about a Real Estate collapse, flashing relentlessly before finally freezing on his father's cold face and Lin Wanqing's elegant, vicious smile.

When he woke at three in the morning, cold sweat had soaked through his pajamas.

He sat by the bed and repeatedly tapped numbers into his phone's calculator:

Even if Sanjiang Shopping rose to 50 yuan, 300,000 shares would be worth fifteen million.

After deducting the cost, the profit would be around eleven million.

A lot.

But not enough.

Far from enough.

To seize control of Henglong, protect those who needed protecting, and take the initiative in the coming chaos, he needed at least a hundred times that amount.

And Bitcoin—the field he had never seriously followed in his Previous Life, yet had watched become a legend—stood on the eve of an epic surge at the end of 2016.

In December, Bitcoin would break through 1000 US Dollar. Its current price was over 700 US Dollars.

And by the end of 2017, it would approach 20,000 US Dollars.

Nearly Thirty Times.

In the darkness, Zhao Chen took a Deep Breath. He picked up his phone, unlocked the screen, opened his contacts, and found a name: Zhang Qingxue.

Mother's closest friend while she was alive. Even in his Previous Life, after he had fallen into ruin, she had never stopped running around on his behalf.

His fingertip hovered above her name. The surging hatred, calculations, and icy resolve that had filled him since his rebirth strangely settled at that moment, replaced by a trace of bitter warmth.

The phone rang seven times before it was answered. A sleepy yet wary female voice came from the other end. "Xiao Chen? What happened?"

"Aunt Zhang." Zhao Chen's voice was exceptionally clear in the silent room. "I need to pledge my shares in Henglong."

The other end fell silent for a full ten seconds.

"Does your father know?"

"He can't know."

"Zhao Chen..."

"Half the market value will do," Zhao Chen interrupted, his tone as calm as if they were discussing the weather. "Offshore Fund, Private Agreement. I accept all conditions."

Zhang Qingxue fell silent again.

He could hear the change in her breathing, from drowsiness to wakefulness, then to heaviness.

"Do you know what this means?" she finally asked, keeping her voice low. "If the share price falls, you'll face a Margin Call. If you can't repay it, they'll liquidate your position. By then, not only will you lose your shares, you may also end up owing a huge debt. And if your father finds out..."

"He won't find out," Zhao Chen said. "At least not before the liquidation threshold is triggered."

"Why do you need so much money?" Zhang Qingxue asked, concern and confusion in her voice. "What your mother left you was meant to let you live securely, not to let you gamble..."

"Aunt Zhang, please trust me. I'm not gambling." Zhao Chen looked out the window. Shan City's lights blurred through the mist into a hazy sea of light. "I'm buying a boat ticket, Aunt Zhang. The Great Flood is coming, and I'm buying a ticket for a boat that can keep me alive."

A long sigh came from the other end.

Zhang Qingxue understood this child—stubborn, proud, and once he made up his mind, not even nine oxen could pull him back.

She also remembered the promise she had made to her best friend: to take good care of him.

"I know a Family Office in Singapore," she finally said, her voice weary. "They handle this kind of... private financing. But the interest rate will be very high, and you'll need to fly there personally to sign the agreement."

"When?"

"I'll contact them tomorrow. Next week at the earliest."

"Alright." Zhao Chen paused. "Thank you, Aunt Zhang."

"Don't thank me." Zhang Qingxue gave a bitter laugh. "If your mother knew, she'd blame me for indulging your madness."

"She wouldn't," Zhao Chen said softly. "She would understand."

"However," Zhang Qingxue said seriously, "we'll meet tomorrow. You'd better convince me, or I won't be at ease."

"Okay!"

After hanging up, he walked to the window.

The fog was beginning to disperse, and the horizon was tinged with the faintest hint of blue.

It was another new day.

He unlocked his phone and opened the Bitcoin trading app.

Current price: 734 US dollars.

Now, he had to wait for the pledged funds to come through.

Then, before Bitcoin broke through 1,000 US dollars, he would put everything on the line.

A reckless gamble with his entire fortune and future as stakes.

But to him, this was not a gamble.

This was the road home.

After washing up, Zhao Chen followed the path in his memories to the tiered classroom at the School of Economic Law.

The classroom was still thick with the warmth of the heating and the stale air exhaled by more than eighty young bodies. The droplets on the windowpanes had condensed even more heavily than yesterday, while Shan City outside lay submerged in dense, milky-white fog, blurring even the outlines of the nearby Chinese parasol trees.

Zhao Chen chose a seat near the back and sat down, opening his textbook on Financial Law, though his gaze did not fall on the printed words.