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

Midtown Manhattan, Qianning Capital.

Martin Channing stood before his large desk, his tie tossed casually onto the sofa, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He held the telephone receiver in one hand, while the other hand flew across the keyboard.

In front of him, three telephones were lined up in a row, two of which had their standby buttons lit up, and the S&P 500 on the computer screen was still dropping.

"Coca-Cola, one million shares, put them up for sale now... Yes, I know it's still falling, that's when I'll buy it."

He quickly hung up the call and immediately picked up another one.

"IBM, add another 500,000 shares. Don't worry about the current price, buy them in batches. The price has dropped to 90 per share? Very good—keep placing orders."

Over the past three days, Qianning Capital has been plundering the bodies of batches of dying behemoths.

The 1987 stock market crash disrupted the entire market's price system. Coca-Cola's price-to-earnings ratio plummeted to an all-time low, IBM's stock price was cut by nearly 40% from its peak, and General Electric's market capitalization was halved...

These companies have no problems in their operations—they remain industry leaders, maintain stable market share, and hold various core patents. Their only problem is being dragged down by the panicked market, causing their stocks to become worthless.

Martin was taking the waste paper for Lu Chen.

Just then, the office door was pushed open, and Cheng Yiyan strode in, holding a list of shareholdings in her hand.

"IBM bought another 600,000 shares today, and combined with what they acquired last week, their shareholding is now approaching 7.2%. The Securities and Futures Commission has triggered the disclosure threshold, and they need to submit Form 13D this afternoon."

He placed the list on the table and pointed to the IBM line with his finger: "Based on our current shareholding, we are IBM's third-largest shareholder, after Vanguard and BlackRock."

"What did Lu say?" Martin asked, glancing at the numbers on the list.

"The boss told us to notify the legal department and just make a routine disclosure."

"No problem, go find Donna, she'll cooperate with you."

"Understood." Cheng Yiyan nodded, picked up the shareholding list, and turned to leave.

Before the door was fully closed, Martin's private phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID—it was James Carter, the vice president of Merrill Lynch, an old acquaintance he had known for twenty years on Wall Street.

Martin picked up the phone, his voice instantly changing: "Hey Jim! Long time no see! How have you been?"

"Martin, tell me the truth, do you employ a bunch of astrologers?" Carter's voice was terribly hoarse, with the faint sounds of keyboards and suppressed curses from the trading floor audible in the background. "I'm practically bankrupt here, and you, on the other hand, have become Wall Street's biggest winner this year. You know what? My wife asked me yesterday if we could sell that Palm Beach villa—I only bought it a year ago!"

Martin laughed heartily, tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, casually typed a new buy order for Coca-Cola on the keyboard, and continued chuckling into the receiver: "You know my friend, the financial markets are all about ups and downs, it's all about luck, all luck."

"Don't give me that crap!" Carter scoffed. "We've known each other for so many years, tell me the truth, how much did you make this time? Wall Street is saying you have at least 30 billion dollars in short-selling profits! My God, that's insane."

"No, no, Jimmy, how many years have you known me? You know my style. This time I was just lucky. I did some analysis in advance and built some hedging positions—but the number you mentioned is too exaggerated. If I really had 30 billion in profits, I should be buying a private island now, not sitting in my office eating sandwiches."

"Bullshit!" The voice on the other end became somewhat gritted. "Fine, buddy, for the sake of all these years we've known each other, next time you have any inside information, give me a heads-up, okay?"

"Sure, no problem. Next time I ask a wizard to do a divination, I'll definitely have him make an extra copy of the star chart for you." Martin said, unable to suppress a laugh.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Martin hung up the phone, casually placed it on the table, and took a sip of his coffee. However, before he could even swallow it, the phone rang again.

The caller was John Goodman, his former boss at Salomon Brothers, now a senior partner at Goldman Sachs.

"Hey John! How are you settling in London? I heard it's dropped quite a bit over there too, are you unaffected?" Martin pressed the call button, and his warm voice immediately rang out again.

"Martin, stop with the nonsense, how much have you made?"

What do you think?

"When I taught you the arbitrage model before, you couldn't even derive the partial differential of the Black-Scholes formula. Now, you're using what I taught you in the opposite way in my long market? Fine, congratulations."

Martin put down his coffee cup, his tone suddenly becoming more serious: "John, your pension is still under my management, I won't pay you back."

"Hmph, only a fool would believe you, you old fox! Forget it, when are you free? I'll treat you to dinner."

"It's okay, let me treat you. Anyway, I can get reservations at any restaurant faster than you do these days."

John cursed something on the other end of the phone and then hung up.

James Carter's phone call seemed to be a signal; the private cell phone rang non-stop all afternoon.

The callers came from all walks of life—his former clients, investment banking partners, former colleagues from Salomon Brothers, and even a few Wall Street peers who managed to find his private number through roundabout means.

The goal was the same: to ask him how he did it.

In the US, it wasn't that no one foresaw this stock market crash.

But on Wall Street, there is a huge gap between anticipating a stock market crash and shorting it – the former only requires a pen and a mouth, while the latter requires immense composure, courage, and determination, as well as ensuring that you are still alive when the market crashes and the exchange opens.

Therefore, many people foresaw the stock market crash, but very few shorted it. And only one firm, like Channing Capital, not only survived the crash but also made billions of dollars.

As the sun set, Martin finally ended his last phone call. He put his phone on the table, sighed, and reached for the coffee cup beside him.

Outside the window, the setting sun shone through the glass onto the stock list on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, looking at the list, a slight smile involuntarily playing on his lips.

Unexpectedly, the former king of Ponzi schemes has now become a master of turning lead into gold.

However, before he could savor this subtle sense of accomplishment for long, his personal cell phone on the table rang again.

Martin glanced at the caller ID—it was a completely unfamiliar number.

"Mr. Martin, hello," came a middle-aged man's voice from the other end of the line. "I'm Victor Morgan. I'm very interested in your outstanding performance during this Wall Street stock market crash. Of course, I'm even more interested in Mr. Lu behind you—would you be so kind as to introduce me?"