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

The man led the way, the sound of his leather shoes on the gravel gradually swallowed up by the soft grass.

After passing the main white building, the view suddenly opens up.

This is more than just a garden. It's a standard, meticulously manicured private three-hole golf green, so fine you won't find a single weed. The azure Atlantic Ocean stretches out along the edge of the green, waves crashing against the breakwater with a deep, rhythmic roar.

In the center of the green stood a man.

He wasn't wearing the kind of perfectly tailored sportswear you see in golf magazines, nor was he wearing an expensive sun hat.

He wore a dark blue polo shirt, the color of which was somewhat faded, and the collar was even slightly deformed from being washed so many times. He paired it with very ordinary khaki casual pants and a pair of canvas shoes with worn edges.

If you put him on a bench in Central Park in New York, he would look like an ordinary middle-aged man who has just finished get off work at the post office and is about to feed a few pigeons to pass the time.

But he's standing here right now.

He is Lloyd Blankfein, CEO of Goldman Sachs, one of the true helmsmen of Wall Street.

Hearing footsteps, the man turned around.

His gaze lingered for a second on Lu Ze's deep blue haute couture coat and impeccable attire, then he suddenly grinned.

It was an extremely casual smile, completely devoid of any sense of defensiveness.

"Lance".

He didn't come over to shake hands, but stood still and waved as if greeting an old acquaintance.

"Come here. Do you think this #5 iron is a bit heavy?"

The male servant quietly withdrew.

Lu Ze stepped onto the green, the sea breeze ruffling the hem of his coat. He stopped two meters away from Blankfein.

"I've never played golf, Mr. Blankfein."

Lu Ze's answer was brief, calm, and even carried a hint of undisguised indifference. He did not lower his boundaries just because the other party was casual.

Blankfein paused for a moment, looked down at the golf club in his hand, and then burst into a hearty laugh.

He laughed so hard his shoulders were shaking, completely disregarding his image.

"Very good."

He casually tossed the expensive golf club to the caddie who stood a few steps away, maintaining a respectful posture.

"Actually, I hate this damn sport too. Every time I walk around on this lawn that's trimmed like a wig, I feel like an idiot in weird clothes looking for eggs."

Blankfein walked to the white parasol and sat down in the wicker chair, gesturing for Lu Ze to sit as well.

"When I was young, I grew up on the streets of East New York in Brooklyn. We call it 'rich people's dementia' back home."

Brooklyn and Manhattan are both in New York, but they can be roughly compared to the Suzhou River area and Huangpu/Jing'an.

He took a bottle of ordinary Perrier from the ice bucket, twisted off the cap with a "hiss," and took a big gulp.

This allowed him to instantly reveal an extremely raw, street-level vitality.

"But then I discovered..."

Blankfein placed the water bottle on the table, looked at Lu Ze, and a meaningful smile appeared on his lips.

"If you don't have this ridiculous stick in your hand, those self-important old money people won't hand over the money in their pockets to you."

This is Brooklyn-style self-deprecation, and also a top-notch way to break the ice.

With just a few words, he completely dispelled the suffocating sense of class in Manhattan. He was telling Lu Ze: I know you're an outsider, don't be nervous, I am too.

Lu Ze sat down and looked at the man in front of him who had neither poured him a drink nor offered him a cigar.

A man like Richard needs an Armani suit and a conference room with the air conditioning set to 16 degrees Celsius to establish his authority.

But the person in front of me doesn't need that.

He sat there, wearing an old polo shirt, and he was the rule itself.

"Mr. Blankfein."

Lu Ze did not touch the water on the table, nor did he casually sit down because of his breaking the ice.

"You didn't call me here to see how much you hate golf, did you?"

Blankfein laughed again.

He seemed to really like Lu Ze's communication style of not interrupting and getting straight to the point.

"Of course not."

He leaned slightly forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. His fingers weren't long and slender; they were even somewhat rough.

This posture instantly transformed him from an easygoing middle-aged man back into the brain of the "vampire squid" that had been entrenched on Wall Street for 139 years.

"Lance, do you know why I had Richard thrown out of the Goldman Sachs building by security last month?"

Blankfein spoke in a very soft tone, as if he were talking about eating a not-so-fresh salad for lunch yesterday.

Lu Ze looked at him but did not answer.

"It's not because he lost $746 million to you in that Bear Stearns deal."

Blankfein didn't even blink when he quoted that astronomical figure.

"Losing money is commonplace on Wall Street. In Goldman Sachs' history, there have been plenty of fools who lost billions due to misjudgments. I can tolerate that."

He paused for a moment, the smile in his eyes completely vanishing, replaced by an extremely clear-headed coldness.

"I threw him out because after he messed things up, instead of cutting his losses, he tried to cover up his stupidity by tampering with the contracts and falsifying your asset certificates."

"The most deadly thing is..."

Blankfein stared into Lu Ze's eyes, his voice becoming extremely low.

"He was extremely arrogant, yet incredibly stupid. He thought he was crushing an ant, but not only did you bite him back, you also gave him leverage, leading all those hyenas from the SEC and the Wall Street Journal to Goldman Sachs' doorstep."

"On Wall Street, greed is never a sin."

Blankfein tapped the table heavily with his fingers.

"Foolishness is what matters."

The sea breeze swept across the green, bringing a cool, salty sensation.

Lu Ze listened quietly. He didn't detect a trace of anger in the other person's tone due to the loss of 700 million, nor did he hear any remorse expressed through gritted teeth.

"so--"

Blankfein leaned back in his chair, spread his hands, and put on that casual smile again.

"Consider that 700 million or so as a cleanup fee for his stupid brain and the loopholes in Goldman Sachs' compliance department."

"It's very expensive. It really is very expensive."

He nodded and shrugged self-deprecatingly.

"But I think the lessons learned from this money should teach those young people in the Goldman Sachs trading floor something, letting them know that when they face a young Chinese person sitting across the table, they'd better put away their damn Anglo-Saxon sense of superiority."

"From this perspective, the money was well spent."