While Xu Zhi's mind was locked in civil war, the trader's call came through again.
"President Xu! We're in trouble! President Zhang's side can't hold out any longer! His trader didn't dare post a single big lot, so he split the order into dozens of small ones and unloaded 50% of his position at $179.50. The algo at United Fund snapped up every share, and now the whole market's piling in. The price's up another thirty cents—already at $179.80!"
Xu Zhigang's vision blacked out; he collapsed onto the sofa.
President Xu's own lots weren't huge, but her stop-loss was only the first domino.
Once someone leads, every other big shot will stampede to cut losses.
A tidal wave of short covering would trigger a "herd-crush."
It could even leave his 120-billion position as nothing but lambs for slaughter.
He grabbed his phone, ready to dial President Zhang and beg him to hold the line, but his finger froze over the keypad.
That old fox—calling him now would only earn a round of mockery, with zero chance of persuading him.
If he couldn't find a way to steady the ship, he'd have to watch the loss-snowball keep rolling, bigger and bigger.
Hardly had he dismissed the broker's margin-warning pop-up than the phone rang again.
The name flashing on the screen—"Old Zhao"—sent his heart into free fall.
Old Zhao held eight billion in the trade, the biggest retail-sized line of the whole bet, and the very last man Xu Zhi could afford to offend.
Xu Zhi didn't want to take the call—but he didn't dare not.
"Xu Zhi! Explain this goddamn mess to me!" Old Zhao's roar nearly burst the speaker the instant the call connected. "I'm short eight billion, sitting on a six-hundred-forty-million paper loss! The broker just warned me: another fifty-cent rally and I have to post another three-hundred-twenty-million margin. Where the hell am I supposed to find that kind of money? Yesterday you swore we'd make an easy ten percent—this is your idea of easy?"
Cold sweat soaked Xu Zhi's back.
His throat tightened; words failed him.
"Cat got your tongue? Last night on the phone you couldn't stop talking…"
Xu Zhi seized the opening, voice cracking: "Old Zhao, please, calm down! This isn't my fault! It's Jiang Cheng at Xingchen Investment—he's behind it!"
"Jiang Cheng?" Old Zhao paused, wary. "Who's that?"
Xu Zhigang hurried to fan the flames. "He's the boss of Xingchen Investment Company, looks young, but he's got clout in the beijing circle and people behind him—real pull! I never meant to cross him, but he envied my play and jumped in to mess me up, just to make an example of me!"
While he talked he sneaked glances at the price, heart rattling, afraid Old Zhao would see through the lie.
Several seconds of silence, then Old Zhao spoke again—no longer furious, but with the measured menace of a veteran cadre. "You didn't cross him? Xu Zhi, I've seen every trick in this game. Spare me the bedtime stories."
Xu Zhi's stomach knotted. "I swear, Old Zhao! He's jealous of the assets I control—he's targeting me on purpose, running this short-squeeze stunt to force me to cover!"
"Enough with the scare-mongering," Old Zhao cut in, voice icy. "I don't care if it's Jiang Cheng or whoever—you brought me the pitch, pounded your chest it was bullet-proof, and I brought the people around me in. Results are all that matter. I'll shield you from the outside noise, but mark my words: before three this afternoon the price drops back under 177 and fills the hole on my paper loss."
"If you can't," his tone turned razor-sharp, "you'll cover every cent of my eight-billion loss, and every loss of the people who followed me in. By then it won't be about margin calls—you'll eat every bite of this, understand?"
The words, soft steel wrapped in silk, dripped with bureaucratic menace.
Xu Zhi shivered; he dared not quibble. "Understood, Old Zhao! I'll get it done—price will be pushed back before three!"
"Good." A grunt, then the line clicked dead.
Xu Zhi's hand trembled around the phone—half from fear, half from rage.
Before he could hurl it, another call came.
"Young Master Xu, that two-billion was my son's college fund. We're down a hundred-sixty million already; if I'm stopped out, his tuition's gone. You know we can't mint money like Company—how long does it take us to save that kind of cash…"
Xu Zhi ground his molars, a cold laugh in his head: a hundred-sixty million is just one favor people owe me.
They all love to play the victim.
He could cover the loss, but he didn't dare voice the thought.
However easy their money looks, every yuan is budgeted to the decimal.
Unlike his own freewheeling splurge—once losses breach the line, no one spares a shred of sentiment.
He inhaled, steadying his voice: "President Sun, don't panic. I've told our trader to lean on the market-maker. We'll clip five million shares into small lots and smash the bid—price will ease. Sit tight—don't cut, or the loss locks in!"
"Xu Zhi, you'd better not be lying. One more slip and you're finished."
The line went dead.
The instant the dial-tone sounded Xu Zhi's face was twisted with hate.
Watching the ticking price, he realized the short trap he'd laid had become Jiang Cheng's hunting ground.
He and the rest of the elite were now the prey.
Xu Zhigang stared at $179.80 on the screen.
Old Zhao's threat still echoing, a desperate recklessness flared.
He snatched his private phone and rang the family's CFO.
"Move the fifteen-billion in the family trust—every drop of liquid cash—into my broker account to margin the Facebook short!"
The CFO panicked: "President Xu, we can't! That money backs the real-economy units—touch it and the whole group's cash flow seizes. The chairman will explode!"
"I'll answer to my father!" Xu Zhigang roared. "If I don't post margin, my twelve-billion line gets force-closed and we lose more than fifteen-billion—we lose the Xu Family's face! Transfer it now—I carry the risk!"
"But… Young Master Xu…"
"Cut the 'young'—I hate being called 'little'…"
"Yes, yes, President Xu…"
"No more talk—anything happens, I'm responsible."
The fake "Xingchen short" signal had lulled him, the forty-million-share bid wall boxed him in, then the offshore fund plus a bullish headline finished him—every step a perfect strike at his throat.