Becoming the King of Bottom Fishing After Going All-In on A-Shares

October 16th, Thursday, 6:00 AM.

Hong Kong, Yue Si Youth Hostel.

Lu Chenzhou opened his eyes and picked up his phone. The screen displayed a series of alarming numbers.

The Dow Jones Industrial Average plunged 733 points, or 7.87%, the S&P 500 fell 9.03%, and the Nasdaq Composite dropped 8.47%.

The largest single-day drop since 1987.

He sat for a few seconds, then got up, washed up, and got dressed.

Wearing a black light jacket and a backpack, I headed out.

The TV in the tea restaurant downstairs was on, and the owner stood behind the cashier, staring at the screen, the rag in his hand frozen in mid-air.

"It's fallen again," the boss shook his head and cursed in Cantonese.

Lu Chenzhou took out his phone and opened the market data app.

Hong Kong stock futures have already fallen by nearly 5 points in pre-market trading, with Huaxin Pacific quoted at HK$14.50 and China National Building Material quoted at HK$4.20.

He took a sip of milk tea; he didn't want to stay in the hostel today.

At 9:15, Lu Chenzhou arrived in Central.

He went to the stock exchange.

The first floor of the Exchange Square building houses the Investor Services Center, which is open to the public.

There is a huge electronic screen there, displaying the Hang Seng Index and transaction data in real time.

He pushed open the door and went in, then froze.

The hall was packed with people.

Not dozens of people, but hundreds.

Retail investors, traders, reporters, TV cameramen, security guards maintaining order, and even a few uniformed men in hats.

The crowd was packed in front of the electronic screen, the air thick with the smells of sweat, smoke, and an indescribable stillness.

No one spoke; the entire hall was so quiet that you could hear the hum of the air conditioner.

This silence is more suffocating than crying out.

Lu Chenzhou found a spot in a corner, stood behind the crowd, and looked up at the screen.

At 9:30 a.m., the Hong Kong stock market officially opened.

The Hang Seng Index opened 1095 points lower, a drop of 6.85%.

The numbers on the screen suddenly jumped to red, a sea of ​​red.

Unlike A-shares, in Hong Kong stocks, red indicates a decline, and green indicates an increase.

The silence of the hall was ripped open.

A middle-aged man wearing a gray jacket stood directly in front of the electronic screen.

His hair was messy, as if he hadn't washed it for days, and he had deep dark circles under his eyes.

He stared at the screen, his lips trembling, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white.

The moment Hengzhi jumped down, his body swayed as if he had been pushed.

"It's over," he said softly, as if to himself, "It's all over, all over, all over..."

His voice grew louder and faster, like a broken tape recorder repeatedly playing the same sentence.

People around him started looking at him. Some frowned, some moved a step to the side, and some turned back to look at the screen expressionlessly.

A young woman walked over and grabbed his arm.

"Dad, don't do this."

He didn't react, just kept repeating, "It's all over, it's all over, it's all over..."

"Dad!" The young woman tugged at him hard. "Look at me, look at me!"

He slowly turned his head and looked at his daughter.

His eyes were unfocused, as if they had no direction.

"I lost my dad's money too," his voice suddenly became very calm, eerily calm, "and I also put your grandfather's retirement money into it."

The young woman's hand froze.

"How much?"

"Eight hundred thousand."

The young woman's face turned pale instantly.

She released her grip, took a step back, and stared at her father as if he were a stranger.

"You promised me you wouldn't touch Grandpa's money."

The middle-aged man did not answer. He turned back and continued to stare at the screen, his finger still dropping.

The young woman stood there, tears streaming silently down her face.

She didn't wipe it away; she just stood there, letting the tears stream down her face.

People around saw it, but no one cared.

Tears are commonplace here.

An elderly woman with completely white hair sat on a bench, clutching a string of Buddhist prayer beads in her hand.

Her eyes were closed, and her lips were moving incessantly as she chanted scriptures.

But her fingers were trembling as she rapidly twirled the prayer beads, one after another, as if racing against time.

A middle-aged man was sitting next to her, looking down at his phone.

He suddenly looked up, his face as white as paper.

"mom."

The old lady didn't react and continued chanting.

"Mom." His voice rose, trembling with tears.

The old woman opened her eyes and looked at him.

"All my money is gone," the middle-aged man said, his voice trembling. "My leveraged account was liquidated, not a single penny is left."

The old lady stared at him for a few seconds, then closed her eyes.

Her hands began to twirl the prayer beads again, and her lips began to move.

But her fingers, which were holding the prayer beads, trembled even more violently, and one of the beads fell to the ground, where no one picked it up.

The middle-aged man bent down, picked up the Buddhist prayer beads, and held them in his hand.

He didn't return it to the old lady; he just held onto it as if it were a lifeline.

A man in a suit with gray hair stood next to the electronic screen, holding a mobile phone and talking on the phone.

His voice was low, but he spoke very quickly, as if he were reporting something.

"Yes, close all positions, no matter the price. I know that, but there's no other way; we can't wait any longer."

What was said on the other end of the phone?

He paused for a few seconds, then said, "That's not my money, it belongs to the client."

What did the person on the other end of the phone say?

He didn't answer and hung up the phone.

He held his phone in his hand, head down, and stood there for a long time.

A young man walked over cautiously and asked, "Mr. Wang, what about the client...?"

"I know," the man interrupted him, his voice hoarse. "I'll go tell them."

He turned around and walked towards the door.

He took a few steps, stopped, turned around, and walked back.

He stood in front of the electronic screen, looked up at the numbers on his fingers, then lowered his head and closed his eyes.

His shoulders were trembling.

The young man stood to the side, not daring to speak or move.

About a minute later, the man opened his eyes, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Then he straightened his tie, straightened his back, and walked towards the door.

This time he didn't turn back.

The young man stood there, watching his retreating figure. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he said nothing.

On the other side of the hall, several people dressed in trader uniforms were gathered together.

Their expressions were different from those of retail investors; it wasn't despair, but a kind of numbness.

They have moved past the stage of despair.

"How many people got wiped out today?" a young man wearing glasses asked.

"I don't know," said an older man nearby. "I have more than a dozen clients who have gone bankrupt. The worst one lost twelve million with triple leverage and was wiped out."

"Margin call? Owes the brokerage firm?"

"I was so annoyed. When he answered the phone, I thought he was going to go to the rooftop."

Several people fell silent.

After a while, the older one spoke up: "Have you heard about that student? The one from Renmin University, the one who shorted China National Building Material and CEFC China Energy."

"I heard about it, double leverage, 3.2 million."

"He made at least fifty million today."

"Fifty million? More than that. China National Building Material fell 14% today, and Huaxin Taifu fell almost 8%, so his unrealized profit is at least seventy million."

The young man with glasses gave a wry smile: "We're here helping our clients lose money, while a student is making money in the stock market. This industry is fucking interesting."

No one responded.