In the main conference room at Qingshan Company Headquarters, Huang Yuanmei sat at the head of the long table, her posture upright and composed. Arrayed around her were the core executives of Qingshan—faces lined with exhaustion, tension, and restrained anticipation.
Dozens of large screens flickered across the walls.
Some were tuned to international financial news channels.
"LME nickel prices continue their relentless surge. Despite Qingshan Company's announcement that sufficient physical nickel has been secured, the market remains unconvinced. Prices are holding at historic highs…"
"Breaking news! Major international energy and capital groups—including Barclays Capital, London Bank, and Neon Mitsui Group—have joined forces to go long against Qingshan. Qingshan's stock price has collapsed, with cumulative losses exceeding two hundred percent…"
"Exclusive: LME nickel breaks new record—$120,000 per ton as of today's close…"
At the center screen, the London Metal Exchange trading interface displayed a violently oscillating price curve—every fluctuation tugging at the nerves of everyone present.
A Qingshan executive slammed his fist lightly on the table, unable to suppress a cold snort.
"These people really won't let go."
Another executive followed, voice hoarse with pent-up anger.
"When have the imperialists ever stopped trying to destroy us? If they force liquidation and we fail delivery, bankruptcy is the least of our worries. What's truly terrifying is this—our Indonesian nickel mining rights. If those fall into their hands, our country will once again be strangled at the throat in nickel resources."
He paused, then stood slightly and bowed toward Huang Yuanmei.
"It's only thanks to President Huang stepping in that we haven't already become sinners of the nation."
This speaker was Jiang Ruimin, Qingshan's former chairman—the man who had built the company from nothing over more than a decade of blood and sweat.
Few people knew that China's nickel scarcity was even more severe than its chip shortage.
Domestic reserves accounted for barely 3% of global nickel, forcing nearly 95% reliance on imports.
And it was Qingshan that had changed that.
Each year, Qingshan transported back nearly a quarter of global nickel output, directly propping up the nation's industrial backbone.
Jiang Ruimin continued, voice low.
"Before President Huang arrived, we contacted the National Reserve Bureau. Their reserves aren't even half of what we need—barely forty thousand tons."
No one was surprised.
China's annual electrolytic nickel production hovered around 160,000 tons, while neighboring Bear Country produced only about 115,000 tons—now constrained by war and sanctions. Even domestic output was divided, with the majority reserved for military-industrial enterprises.
There was no surplus to spare.
Huang Yuanmei finally smiled.
"President Jiang, there's no need to dwell on the past," she said calmly. "Courtesy demands reciprocity. Since they've come knocking to bully us—then we'll teach them a proper lesson."
The room stirred.
"Oh?" Jiang Ruimin's eyes lit up. "President Huang, what do you mean?"
Huang Yuanmei leaned back slightly, fingers tapping the table.
"Now that they've pushed nickel prices this high… don't you think we should sell some?"
The room froze.
"…Sell?"
Several executives looked confused—until realization dawned.
Jiang Ruimin inhaled sharply.
"President Huang—you're planning a short squeeze?"
A collective intake of breath followed.
Yes.
Western capital could force liquidation by driving prices up—but that only worked if physical delivery was impossible.
And futures, no matter how abstract, were still rooted in real commodities.
Whoever held the nickel… held the knife.
"That's right," Huang Yuanmei said, eyes gleaming. "We don't just survive this. We reclaim principal and interest—and shear a bit of wool from these capitalist sheep."
A suppressed thrill rippled through the room.
Years of humiliation, pressure, and being hunted by foreign capital—all crystallized into anticipation.
"President Jiang," Huang Yuanmei continued smoothly, "find a chance to accidentally leak that we don't actually have two hundred thousand tons. Let them relax."
Jiang Ruimin laughed softly. "Leave it to me. After decades in business, my acting isn't worse than any movie star."
"Good. Also, coordinate with the National Reserve Bureau—let it slip that the state won't intervene. Make it look hopeless."
"That won't be difficult."
"And the nickel?" someone asked.
"Leave that to me."
The internet exploded.
Financial bloggers, analysts, and self-proclaimed experts swarmed the topic.
Top Hot Searches:
Qingshan Company Unable to Deliver 200,000 Tons of Nickel—Global Mining Earthquake Imminent!Confirmed! Qingshan Chairman Drunkenly Admits Bankruptcy Reorganization!The Pain of Dragon Country—Loss of Nickel and Rare Earth Pricing Power!LME Nickel Breaks $120,000 Per Ton—Historic High!The Collapse Is Inevitable!
Inside Qingshan's secured warehouse network, a report arrived quietly.
"President Huang, President Jiang—250,000 tons of electrolytic nickel have been fully stored. Additional warehouses are ready."
Only then did the executives finally exhale.
Days passed.
Nickel prices surged past $160,000 per ton.
Three days remained before delivery.
Monday morning, LME opened.
Fueled by geopolitical chaos and speculative frenzy, nickel spiked again—touching $180,000 per ton.
The world went mad.
Retail investors mortgaged homes. Institutions piled in. Champagne corks popped in boardrooms across London, Eagle Country, and Neon.
In a glass tower near the LME, a capital giant's boardroom rang with laughter.
"Push it to $200,000," someone ordered. "Force them out."
At Qingshan headquarters, Huang Yuanmei spoke evenly.
"Begin."
"Sell ten thousand tons."
"Yes."
The order hit the market.
Bought instantly.
"Continue. Ten thousand tons every hour."
One hour.
Two.
Six.
The price held above $200,000.
All 60,000 tons sold that day were devoured by Western capital.
A pure psychological war.
They thought Qingshan was bluffing.
Qingshan let them believe it.
"President Huang, continue?" the trader asked.
"No," she said lightly. "That's enough for today."
$12+ billion USD secured.
Day two—another 50,000 tons sold.
The longs hesitated now. Suspicion spread. Whispers turned into accusations.
Where was Qingshan getting this much nickel?
No intelligence reports explained it.
Allies began eyeing one another.
Yet greed prevailed.
They bought again.
Delivery eve.
The market opened.
Qingshan sold again.
Then again.
Then—twenty thousand tons at once.
Silence.
Even fools understood now.
Sell orders began flooding in.
Panic crept through the long positions.
Arguments erupted. Fingers pointed. Trust shattered.
But sunk costs chained them in place.
They bought.
Because gamblers never quit at the edge.
They only quit at the bottom.