Hearing this, Xu Zhigang's hand gripping the phone began to tremble.
Jiang Cheng's face exploded unbidden inside his mind—that forever unperturbed face—now felt like a thorn stabbing deep into his guts. Why? Why did Jiang Cheng always look as if victory were already in his pocket? Why, after all his careful schemes, was he still outplayed at every turn?
A scalding hatred surged along his veins straight to the crown of his head; the more he thought, the more obsessive he became, every breath in his chest nothing but the thought "I must win! I must grind Jiang Cheng under my heel!" He would make Jiang Cheng see who the real mastermind was, would personally tear that composed mask to shreds and make him lose everything.
As everyone knows, once obsession takes hold, judgment flies out the window—especially when the matter is tied to the stock market.
Inside the market, people are already prone to turning into gamblers.
They can't bear to cut losses and leave, yet don't dare charge deeper.
That was exactly the dilemma Xu Zhi found himself in now.
After a deep breath he still forced a cold laugh: "Bring it on! The more the better—when the price falls, every one of those longs will be our profit!"
But when the words left his mouth, he didn't notice how hollow his voice sounded.
On the screen, the price kept ticking upward, showing no sign of turning back.
Right then, on the other side, Jiang Cheng's phone lit up with Chen Xueer's live data push: "Xu Zhigang's five-million-share short at $179.5 was instantly filled by the Union Fund; current price $179.2, intraday line oscillating $179–180, no major volatility."
After reading, Jiang Cheng tapped twice on the screen.
He sent back a voice note, tone utterly calm: "Tell the fund to control the board—don't yank the price too fast, and don't let it drop below $179. Keep it oscillating in this range, use small clips to churn, hold turnover under 0.5%, make it look like normal market fluctuation so they still think 'there's a chance'."
On the other end, Chen Xueer understood at once: "Got it, notifying the traders now."
Moments later, Jiang Cheng received fresh data: "Xu Zhigang added three million shorts at $180, filled; total short position now 181 million shares, leverage 1:1.7, margin-call level $185."
Immediately followed by Chen Xueer's voice: "Mr Jiang, Xu Zhigang's upped the ante as expected. Shall we start a gentle push to probe his limit?"
Jiang Cheng's finger rubbed the cup's rim as he gazed at the sunlight outside, a faint smile on his lips: "No rush. Let the price idle $179–180 a while longer; when the US afternoon session opens, have Facebook drop a little 'cooperation teaser'. Scare him now and he might run."
After receiving the order, Union Fund made slight adjustments.
The slowly climbing price began to ease back.
By now, the two women in Xu Zhi's room had quietly dressed and sat to one side.
Xu Zhi still wore only the white bathrobe, not even thinking about underwear.
His eyes stayed glued to the screen.
Ten-odd minutes later, when he saw the figure tick down from $179.1 and finally settle at $178.2, he exhaled sharply.
The tension across his shoulders melted away.
"I knew it!" he barked, then laughed aloud, slapping his thigh.
He downed the red wine on the table in one gulp, all earlier panic and tension swept away.
He even shot Lao Zhou a glare: "See? That was the big player bluffing—now it's come right back! Lao Zhou, look, I told you $182 was the ceiling, didn't I?"
Lao Zhou studied the price chart on the tablet, his brow still slightly knit, but offered no rebuttal, only murmured: "Price has pulled back, but buying is still there. Mr Xu, you still need to watch—"
"All right, all right!" Xu Zhi cut him off with a wave, voice buoyant. "I'm on it—what could go wrong? You can go; report back before the afternoon session opens."
He leaned back into the sofa, robe collar slipping looser, gaze sweeping the two women nearby; the earlier hostility had vanished, replaced by playful interest.
Seeing this, Lao Zhou dared say no more, nodded and withdrew, even easing the door shut carefully.
His eyes flicked once more to the two beauties inside.
He had seen them before in Mr Xu senior's office.
Though they had passed through many powerful hands, standing there now their figures were still top-tier, even the way their arms hung carried a deliberately maintained softness.
His Adam's apple bobbed; he quickly averted his gaze and pulled the door gently closed, leaving the room's heady atmosphere behind.
The moment the door clicked shut, Xu Zhi lifted his chin toward the woman in the see-through slip, voice lazy: "Come here, pour me another glass."
The woman smiled and stepped over; as she bent for the bottle, her neckline slipped lower.
The other woman—the one pushed down earlier—clenched the hem of her dress, a flash of resentment streaking through her eyes.
Xu Zhi's fingers brushed the back of her hand as he took the glass, then glanced to the side: "You too—what are you standing there for?"
Hearing herself singled out, she nearly burst out laughing inside.
Still, she bit her lip in pretended grievance and walked over slowly.
For the next while, only the clink of glasses and occasional murmurs filled the room.
Less than five minutes later, the woman in the transparent slip, cheeks flushed, straightened her clothes and slipped quietly out.
A couple of minutes after that, the other woman also emerged, head lowered, hem of her nightgown still creased.
At the end of the corridor, the woman in the see-through slip stopped and spun around, glaring viciously: "What are you so smug about?"
The other lifted a hand to smooth her hair, a faint smile at her lips: "At least I got ten more strokes than you—what was that about being smug?"
"Ten strokes?" The woman in the transparent slip sneered, tugging at her collar, eyes full of disdain.
"Even if it's fifty against forty, you're proud of that? Last night I racked up hundreds—yet you strut around over a few extra strokes? You're not even worthy of being smug."