A $50 million margin call? I'll short Wall Street.

[9:33 AM Eastern Time, New York, Chinatown]

Fine raindrops fell, pattering softly.

The phone rang three times before being answered.

"Feed?"

It was an old voice with a distinct Cantonese accent, speaking in Mandarin.

"Good evening, Mr. Lin. I'm sorry to bother you so late."

The person on the other end of the phone was a young man with standard Mandarin and an extremely polite tone, as if he had carefully considered the nuances of every word beforehand.

"Oh, it's Xiao Zhang." The old man smiled. "Still not off work so late?"

It was already 10 p.m. Beijing time at this point.

"I've been busy lately," the man smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"The same as always," the old man said. "Go ahead and say it. You're calling at this hour, not just to ask about my health."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the phone.

"Mr. Lin, I'd like to ask you about someone."

"Who?"

"Lance Walker. Lu Ze. Chinese American, in his twenties, works at a hedge fund in New York. He's been making quite a splash lately."

Raindrops tapped against the windowpane, making a soft, pattering sound.

The old man did not answer immediately, but asked:

"Why are you suddenly asking about him?"

The young man carefully considered his words before speaking:

"Recently, we've been a bit unsure about some things regarding the US market. There's a lot of talk about it. We've heard that this young man did a very good job with Bear Stearns, so... the management wants to get to know him better first."

The old man stood by the window, gazing at the red lanterns in the alleyway, soaked by the rain, and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Don't you guys have a bunch of people keeping an eye on New York?"

"Staring doesn't mean you can understand it," the young man sighed softly.

After he finished speaking, there was a moment of silence on both ends of the phone.

The old man understood the helplessness behind those words.

When those sums of money came in last year, many people patted their chests and said it was a strategic move, a window of opportunity, and a chance.

But in less than a year, the accounts were already in such bad shape that they were unrecognizable.

Some people sell stories in New York, while others reap the consequences in the capital.

Today, no one dares to mention the true nature of those transactions, but some things, though unspoken, do not cease to exist.

"You want to see him?" the old man asked.

"If it's convenient, I'd like to meet first."

The young man remained polite, saying, "We don't necessarily have to talk about anything major; we just want to chat first. We want to see him and hear his views on the current market."

"Just an opinion?"

There was a slight laugh on the other end of the phone, but the laugh seemed a little forced.

"Let's start with perspectives."

The old man did not respond.

After a few seconds, the young man added:

"Mr. Lin, what we need now is not someone who talks a good game."

The old man's eyes flickered slightly after hearing this.

"His father," he began slowly, "was an old friend of mine."

There was a noticeable pause on the other end of the phone.

"That……"

"I can ask for you," the old man interrupted him, "but I won't promise him anything."

"Thank you very much."

The man immediately replied, "We will prepare our sincerity."

"Sincerity?" The old man gave a soft hum.

The sound of rain outside the window grew louder.

"If you really want to talk to him," the old man's voice was not loud, but suddenly turned serious, "you'd better figure out what you can offer right now."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

The old man continued:

"I haven't seen this child for many years. I can't be sure about his temper, his thoughts, or his methods. But there's one thing I can roughly guess."

"What is it?"

"That kind of get-rich-quick scheme,"

The old man said calmly, "It probably won't work for him."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Understood. We will prepare diligently."

"Um."

The elderly man hung up the phone.

He stood by the window, holding his old Nokia phone, looking at Chinatown in the rainy night, at the Chinese signs that had been weathered by time, and remained motionless for a long time.

After a long while, he finally let out a soft sigh.

"Jianhua..."

"Your son has really grown up."

……

[Yuanxing Capital Office]

The TV is still on, on silent.

CNBC's scrolling text slowly crawled down from the bottom of the screen, with the name Far Star Capital reappearing every few minutes.

Several unread emails lay spread out on the desk.

Goldman Sachs, Citigroup, Morgan Stanley, Deutsche Bank, UBS—the names of the senders were increasingly prestigious, and the wording was increasingly restrained.

Some invited me to dinner, some to golf, some offered to provide "more flexible prime brokerage services," and some simply wrote a single line:

Lance, let's talk.

Isabella stood at the table and put down the last printed copy of the list.

"So far, the line to see you is already open until next Wednesday."

Lu Ze hummed in agreement, but his gaze did not linger on the names.

There was a research report next to him.

WTI crude oil, 102.47.

He stared at the number for two seconds, and just as he was about to flip the paper over, the phone on the table rang.

Isabella glanced at the caller ID and paused for half a second.

"Who?"

"Greenberg".

Lu Ze reached out and answered the phone.

"Lance".

On the other end of the phone, Greenberg's voice was as steady as ever, even carrying a slight smile, "Did I bother you tonight?"

"It depends."

Greenberg chuckled.

"Then I'll make it short. Someone wants to see you."

"Who?"

There was a half-second pause on the other end of the phone.

"John Paulson."

The office fell silent for a moment.

Manhattan outside the window is brightly lit, like a giant, never-sleeping net.

Lu Ze sat there, holding the phone, without speaking immediately.

Paulson, a figure who is mentioned briefly in every finance textbook when discussing the subprime mortgage crisis, foresaw this massive crisis lurking beneath the surface a full year or two in advance and made a fortune of $07 billion in 150.

Later, he accurately bet on the downfall of Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers.

He now enjoys an almost mythical status on Wall Street.

"it is good."

Lu Ze agreed.

Isabella looked somewhat surprised after hanging up the phone.

"Paulson? The Paulson who shorted subprime mortgages?"

"It's him." Lu Ze nodded.

"What does he want from you... and why is he doing this through Greenberg?"

Paulson now manages a multi-billion dollar fund, and former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan is even an advisor to his fund.

"There's no particular reason," Lu Ze said.

"Everyone with a bit of influence on Wall Street knows me. Once you become famous and valuable, people will want to know you. For example, the CEO of Goldman Sachs invited me to play golf."

However, Lu Ze added.

"But Paulson...maybe he's just curious about this deal."

Isabella thought for a moment, "I can understand."

Lu Ze raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"Everyone is very curious about Yuanxing and about you. Your inbox is overflowing with interview requests from reporters."

Lu Ze smiled, neither denying nor denying, but simply said...

"In some ways, he may still be lonely. He also shorted Bear Stearns this time, though not as aggressively as we did."