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

A middle-aged man in a hospital gown stood in front of an electronic screen.

He wore a hospital bracelet on his wrist, his face was sallow, and his eyes were sunken, making him look quite ill.

But he stood very straight, head tilted back, staring at the screen, motionless.

Someone nearby recognized him: "Ah Qiang, aren't you in the hospital?"

He did not answer.

The man patted him on the shoulder: "Qiang?"

He slowly turned his head, his eyes were red, but not from crying, but from staying up all night.

"I snuck out," he said softly, "and the nurses didn't notice."

"Are you crazy? Your illness..."

"I know," Ah-Qiang interrupted him, "but I won't be satisfied if I don't come and see for myself."

He turned back and continued staring at the screen.

The Hang Seng Index is at 14800 points.

"I even mortgaged my mother's house," A-Qiang said calmly, as if he were talking about someone else's business. "Three million, all invested in China National Building Materials."

The person next to him opened their mouth, but didn't know what to say.

"This morning, the brokerage called me and said I needed to replenish my margin. I told them I didn't have any money, and they said they would force liquidation." A-Qiang paused for a moment, "I said, liquidate it."

He stood there, wearing a hospital gown and a hospital wristband, and calmly said the word "Pingba".

It seems that it wasn't three million, it wasn't his mother's only house, and it wasn't his entire fortune.

It seemed like it was just a trivial matter.

But his hands were trembling.

A young woman was crouching in a corner, hugging her knees and burying her face in them.

Her shoulders were shaking violently, but she didn't cry out.

She didn't want anyone to hear her crying.

A man of similar age was standing next to her, holding a bottle of water. She was unsure whether to hand it to him.

He stood there, at a loss, like a child who had done something wrong.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have let you buy it."

The young woman didn't look up, and said sullenly, "I wanted to buy it myself."

"But..."

"I told you I wanted to buy it myself!" She suddenly looked up, her eyes red. "Didn't you understand?"

The man froze.

The young woman lowered her head again, burying her face in her knees.

The man knelt down, placed the water beside her, and said softly, "We still have money, take your time."

The young woman didn't answer; she just hugged her knees tighter.

A middle-aged man in uniform stood at the entrance of the hall, his hands behind his back, staring blankly at the crowd.

His job was to maintain order, but he did nothing.

It's not that I don't want to do it, it's that I don't know how to do it.

There was no rioting, no conflict, only a silent, pervasive despair among the crowd.

He could not maintain the desperate order.

His phone vibrated, and when he took it out and glanced at it, his expression changed instantly.

For a fleeting moment, then his expression returned to blankness.

He put his phone in his pocket and continued standing there.

But his lips were trembling slightly.

Another security guard walked over and asked in a low voice, "What's wrong?"

He did not answer.

"You bought one too?"

He was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"How many?"

Two hundred thousand.

Both of them fell silent.

After a while, another sighed, "Who didn't lose out today?"

He didn't say anything; he was just thinking that of those 200,000, 150,000 was his wife's dowry.

At midday closing, the Hang Seng Index closed at around 14800 points, down about 6%.

The numbers on the screen stopped jumping.

The people in the hall did not leave.

Someone started making a phone call, speaking in a very low voice.

Some people sat on a bench, staring at the transaction documents in their hands, motionless.

Someone stood in the corner, hands in pockets, staring blankly at the ceiling.

An elderly man with a full head of white hair stood in front of the electronic screen, leaning on a cane, looking up at the set of green numbers on the screen.

He stood there for a long time, motionless, like a withered tree.

A middle-aged woman walked over and asked softly, "Uncle, are you alright?"

The old man didn't answer; he slowly turned his head and looked at the woman.

His eyes were empty, as if he wasn't looking at anything.

"I'm seventy-three this year," he said softly. "I've saved this money for thirty years."

The middle-aged woman's eyes suddenly reddened.

"My son is getting married, and we need the money to buy a house," the old man continued, as if talking to himself. "I told him to wait a bit longer, until the stock market went up a little, but..."

He didn't continue speaking; he turned back and continued staring at the screen.

The middle-aged woman stood beside him without saying a word.

She just stood there, keeping him company.

In the afternoon, Hong Kong stocks opened.

The Hang Seng Index once fell by more than 1400 points, hitting a low of 14578 points.

There were more people in the lobby than in the morning.

Some came from home, some took leave from work, and some ran away from the hospital.

The air grew increasingly stuffy, the smell of sweat grew stronger, and some people started coughing, some started cursing, and some started crying.

A young man suddenly burst out of the crowd, ran to the center of the hall, stopped, looked up, and shouted at the ceiling.

That sound wasn't anger, it was despair.

A howl that seeped from the very marrow of the bones, a cry that had been suppressed for too long and could no longer be contained.

The entire hall fell silent for a moment. Hundreds of people turned to look at him simultaneously.

He stood there, panting heavily.

Then he looked down, took out his phone, opened his stock account, and turned the screen toward the crowd.

"Did you see that?" His voice was hoarse, like he was crying, yet also laughing. "My money, all gone, all gone!"

He held the phone above his head and slammed it to the ground.

The phone shattered into several pieces, and a shard of the screen flew out and flashed briefly under the light.

He turned and rushed towards the door, shoving aside a person blocking his way, and ran out.

The person who was hit stood there, stunned for a few seconds, then lowered their head and continued looking at their phone.

No one chased after them, and no one was surprised.

Here, crashes are normal; it would be abnormal if they didn't crash.

Around 3 p.m., a middle-aged woman sat on a bench, holding a transaction slip in her hand, staring at the numbers on it without moving.

She has been sitting for an hour.

A staff member approached and said softly, "Ma'am, we're closing time, you..."

"I know," the middle-aged woman interrupted him, but did not move.

The staff member stood nearby, waited a moment, and then asked, "Do you need help?"

The middle-aged woman looked up at him.

Her eyes were dry, without tears, but her gaze was unsettling.

That wasn't sadness, nor anger; it was a complete, utter, and utter despair, leaving no room for anything else.

"I put my daughter's tuition money in there; she'll be taking the college entrance exam next year."

The staff member opened his mouth, unsure of what to say.

"She got into university, but I didn't have the money to support her. I feel so sorry for her."

The staff member squatted down and looked her in the eye: "Madam, please don't say that. The stock market goes up and down. Maybe it will rebound in a few days."

"Don't lie to me." The middle-aged woman's voice suddenly turned cold. "You don't even believe it yourself."

The staff remained silent.

The middle-aged woman stood up, folded the transaction slip, and put it in her pocket.

She straightened her collar and walked towards the door.

Her steps were steady, and her back was very straight, a stark contrast to when she was sitting on the bench.

But when she reached the door, she stopped and glanced back at the electronic screen.

The Hang Seng Index is still falling.

She looked at it for a few seconds, then pushed open the door and went out.