Hong Kong variety show: The mastermind behind the scenes is emerging.

In October 1983, compared to the uproar caused by the Thomas case, in Central, a small area where money never sleeps, a more devastating financial storm, enough to shake the foundations of the city, was entering its most frenzied moment.

For the past two weeks, Lu Chen has been like a chess player operating behind the scenes, calmly laying the groundwork for a deadly trap that would devour Wheelock between the Governor's Office and the foreign firms. Meanwhile, Ma Zhihua, the top general in his legitimate financial empire, has been leading Lu's Bank in carrying out what outsiders see as a crazy order that is almost "suicidal": to go long on the Hong Kong dollar.

Let's go back to October 1st.

The air in Lu's Bank's trading room was suffocatingly thick. Under intense mental pressure, all the traders seemed to be battling it out in a haze of smoke. Coffee cups and cigarette butts scattered on the floor testified to the tense atmosphere.

On the wall, a huge electronic display screen flickered in the dim light, showing the changing exchange rate of Hong Kong dollars to US dollars. Each fluctuation represented the evaporation of hundreds of millions of dollars in wealth.

8.92… 8.97… 9.01!

"President, it's broken 9!" The trading manager walked up to Ma Zhihua and said in a low voice, "The market is completely out of control. HSBC is leading the sell-off, and Citibank and JPMorgan Chase are constantly adding to their short positions. Retail investors are converting their savings accounts into US dollars. The whole market is in a state of panic, and even bread in supermarkets is going up in price!"

Ma Zhihua stood by the window, his back to the crowd, his dark suit vest outlining his steady, unwavering figure. He didn't look at the screen, but stared at the HSBC building outside the window, a symbol of Hong Kong's British financial hegemony, and coldly asked, "What's the situation with the forward contract?"

The trading manager wiped the sweat from his brow: "The 3-month forward rate is 9.35, and the 6-month rate is 9.6. Mr. Ma, nobody in Central believes the Hong Kong dollar can recover. Those foreigners are betting that the Hong Kong dollar's exchange rate will collapse like a piece of waste paper."

Ma Zhihua turned around, a glint of shrewdness in his eyes. He walked to the direct line connecting all the major brokerage firms in Hong Kong and tapped the table: "Post our offer."

The supervisor paused, his hand hovering over the keyboard: "Which side should we place it on? Short hedging?"

"Take it all," Ma Zhihua uttered three words, his voice not loud, but it resounded like thunder in the trading room. "Spot, forward, swaps—as long as the market dares to sell Hong Kong dollars, Lu's Bank will take it all."

The trading room fell into an eerie silence for a second.

"Mr. Ma, this isn't buying at the bottom, it's catching a knife falling from the sky!" The manager's eyes widened, as if he were trying to confirm whether Ma Zhihua had gone crazy due to too much pressure.

Ma Zhihua replied calmly, "The knife has already fallen to the ground; they just haven't seen it yet."

Then, the frantic ringing of the bell began incessantly.

"Hey? This is HOTOLI Securities. We heard that Luk's Bank is going to buy Hong Kong dollars at around HK$9? We have a sell order for US$2000 million, do you want it?"

Ma Zhihua took the phone and, without even haggling, said, "Give me everything, as many as you have."

The other person hesitated visibly for a moment: "...Are you sure? 'All'?"

"all."

The moment the call ended, Ma Zhihua knew that with this order, Lu's Bank would become the number one target for short-selling forces throughout Central.

At 3 PM, a senior trader from Citibank called, his tone a mix of excitement and joking: "Ma, we'd like to do a three-month forward contract, selling to you at HKD 9.4. Are you willing to lock in that price?"

Ma Zhihua's lips curled into a playful smile: "Are you sure you want to lock in 9.4? Don't you want to wait for a better price?"

"The market will only get worse, my dear horse. In times like these, cash is king."

"Deal," Ma Zhihua put down the phone, turned to his supervisor and instructed, "Write this down. This will be their congratulatory gift to us three months from now."

The numbers on the screen continued to tick, 9.09.

With each fluctuation of one basis point, Lu's Bank's unrealized losses jumped by tens of millions.

The risk control officer burst through the door, his face filled with anxiety: "Mr. Ma, we've already taken on over HK$15 billion in positions today, and the snowball is getting bigger and bigger. If we continue to buy like this, we'll have a major liquidity problem. What if it falls below 10…?"

Ma Zhihua interrupted him, his tone resolute: "It won't fall for much longer. Trust me, and trust the boss."

On October 10th, the phone rang again, and this time it was a familiar voice—the treasury manager from HSBC.

The other party, who was quite familiar with Ma Zhihua, joked, "You guys have been pretty aggressive lately, still taking on more projects?"

"Yes."

"We have a larger deal, USD 50M, equivalent to Hong Kong dollars, for a complete sale."

Ma Zhihua paused for a moment and said, "Give it to me."

The other person smiled and said, "Do you know something?"

Ma Zhihua laughed too: "Aren't you guys gambling too?"

After a brief silence.

"make a deal."

……

October 14th, Friday.

These are the last five minutes before the market closes.

The entire Central financial district was in a state of apocalyptic euphoria. The exchange rate had surged to 9.18. For Hong Kong people, it was a moment of utter loss of confidence; but for the short sellers, it was the eve of their impending harvest.

The phone calls gradually decreased.

Standing in the center of the hall, Ma Zhihua looked at the group of employees whose eyes were filled with exhaustion and fear, and ordered in a deep voice: "Do not close any positions tonight. Do not make a single move. Everyone, go home and get some sleep."

The trading manager was somewhat incredulous: "What if we wait until next Monday? What if the market gaps down to 10 yuan at the open on Monday..."

Ma Zhihua paused, looking at the flickering screen, and said in a deep voice, "Next Monday, we will no longer be participants—we will be the price setters in this market."

That night, the lights of Central never slept.

Exhausted, Ma Zhihua drove back to his private residence. Upon entering, he dismissed the Filipino maid and solemnly dialed the number he knew by heart.

……

The road to the top of the mountain leads to the Lu Family Manor.

Lu Chen was sitting on the thick carpet in the nursery, holding a custom-made rattle drum, teasing little Lu Qian who was lying in the cradle.

Because of Lu Chen's extremely powerful bloodline, Lu Qian was full of energy from birth and was trying to grab the toy in Lu Chen's hand with his chubby little hands.

"Boss," Ma Zhihua's voice sounded a little hoarse on the other end of the phone, "the trap has been set. Lu's Bank now holds the largest long position in Hong Kong dollars in the entire city. We... have practically risked our lives."

While expertly stopping his son from trying to eat the rattle, Lu Chen calmly spoke into the receiver, "Old Ma, are you scared?"

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone. Ma Zhihua answered truthfully, "Boss, if the policies we expected don't come out this time, we'll be the first ones to die in the market."

Lu Chen chuckled lightly, a glint of all-knowing wisdom flashing in his eyes: "Without policies, we will indeed die, but if we do—"

Lu Chen ran his finger across his son's nose, his tone calm yet exuding an air of domineering authority, "Then every dollar in the hands of those greedy foreigners will become our profit."

"Go and rest. Let the short sellers around the world continue their revelry this weekend. Because by Monday, they won't even have a chance to cry."

……

That weekend, the whole of Hong Kong was filled with a restless unease.

Monday morning, 6:50 a.m.

The lights in Lu's Bank's trading room came on earlier than usual. No one spoke; only the hum of the coffee machine and the occasional rapid breathing could be heard.

The screen was still stuck at 9.18, Friday's closing price. That was the death line in their eyes.

Ma Zhihua pushed open the door and entered, taking off his coat to reveal the clean white sleeves of his shirt. He sat in the main seat facing the large screen, like a stone Buddha awaiting judgment.

7:40.

A breaking news alert popped up on the Reuters terminal: "The Western government may announce major currency stabilization measures today."

Someone in the trading room muttered under their breath, "Damn it, they're finally here."

But Ma Zhihua suppressed everyone's restless impulses, because he knew very well that the bigger fish was yet to come.

7:55.

The phone started ringing incessantly, like an explosion.

"Ma! This is Wick from Citibank! The market is going crazy for Hong Kong dollars, and we need to cover our positions. Can you release any of your spot holdings? The price is negotiable!"

Ma Zhihua looked at the clock on the wall and slowly shook his head: "Not for sale."

It's exactly eight o'clock.

The Western government headquarters issued an official announcement, with a line of large, blood-red characters appearing on all terminals:

"The Hong Kong government announced that, effective immediately, a linked exchange rate system will be implemented, with the exchange rate between the Hong Kong dollar and the US dollar fixed at 1:7.8."

Two seconds.

The entire trading room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Then, like a long-accumulated powder keg being detonated, cheers and screams almost lifted the roof off!

The numbers on the screen began to scroll backwards wildly:

9.18 → 8.80 → 8.50 → 8.20!

There were no transactions in the market; only the quoted prices desperately chased after that fluctuating number.

"They're snapping up Hong Kong dollars! All the short sellers are covering their positions! Mr. Ma, the buying price has gone crazy!" The trading manager practically shouted excitedly.

Ma Zhihua walked to the large screen and looked at the curve representing the value of Hong Kong dollars, which was almost vertically upward: "Let them snatch it up. Tell those banks that are looking for goods that our offer is 8.40."

"The market price is only 8.6 now, and if we quote 8.4, they'll go crazy!"

"Then they can go to the market and see if anyone will sell to them," Ma Zhihua sneered.

On the other end of the phone, after hearing the offer of 8.4, the bank manager was initially deathly silent, then his voice broke into a gritted teeth: "Deal! Give me 100 million Hong Kong dollars!"

Nine o'clock sharp.

The real "bumper harvest" has begun.

Those banks that sold forward Hong Kong dollars to Ma Zhihua at 9.0 or 9.4 in the past two weeks must now buy back Hong Kong dollars on the market at around 7.8 to repay Ma Zhihua.

This was a textbook example of a "bloody massacre".

Ma Zhihua picked up the phone and spoke to the HSBC manager who had once mocked him, his tone eerily calm: "Do you want to close out that 3-month forward contract selling at HK$9.4 now?"

The other party remained silent for a long time, and only heavy breathing could be heard.

This means that for every US dollar sold, Lu's Bank could earn a profit of HK$1.60. And the contracts they held were in units of "billions".

"...Do it." The other person's voice conveyed a sense of despair, as if all hope was lost.

Ma Zhihua hung up the phone and turned to his supervisor, saying, "Revalue all forward contracts."

The manager's hands flew across the keyboard, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, but this time he was excited. He looked up abruptly, his voice trembling: "Mr. Ma, we've not only broken even on all the unrealized losses, but our current balance sheet has... has already surpassed two billion Hong Kong dollars, and it's still increasing!"

"We've started making money." Ma Zhihua turned around and walked to the window.

9:30.

The market exchange rate is gradually approaching 7.80. The direction of panic has completely reversed, from "selling Hong Kong dollars" to "unable to buy Hong Kong dollars".

At this moment, the atmosphere in the trading room was no longer oppressive, but rather an extreme, restrained celebration.

Looking out the window at the sunlight streaming into Central, Ma Zhihua's eyes flashed with a cold, sharp glint. He knew that from this moment on, Lu's Bank would no longer be a purse bag dependent on Jiahe; it would officially become a apex predator in this financial jungle.

"Mr. Ma, what's the next step?" the supervisor asked excitedly.

Ma Zhihua turned around, his tone profound: "In three steps."

"First, sell a portion of the spot position between 7.82 and 7.85 to lock in these billions of yuan in profits and let Boss Lu Chen see our achievements."

"Secondly, don't rush to close out any of the forward contracts. Let those American banks and HSBC slowly pay off their debts. I want them to be working for Lu's Bank for the next six months, the moment they open their eyes."

"Third—" Ma Zhihua paused, revealing a smile that would terrify any competitor, "put our quotes on the market. Today, Lu's Bank is the price setter for the Hong Kong dollar. Anyone who wants liquidity has to watch their step."

In this battle, Ma Zhihua earned a fearsome reputation throughout Central.

If Cheng Yiyan is the ruthless and cunning "Central Jackal" who tears everything apart in the business war, then Ma Zhihua is the "Central Bay Crocodile" that lies dormant in the depths of the ocean for half a month before finally opening its massive jaws and devouring everything in the tsunami.

When it moves, it is like a raging storm, tearing everything apart, leaving not a trace.

Meanwhile, at the mountaintop estate.

Lu Chen received a call from Ma Zhihua with good news. Looking out the window at the now-stabilized Victoria Harbour skyline, he whispered to his sleeping son in the cradle:

"Look, Dad said that all of them will eventually become our profits."

In Hong Kong, the autumn winds are getting cooler.

But in Lu Chen's empire, a funeral for power in the old era is only just beginning to reach its climax.