Chen Xueer finished the report in no time.
Chen Xueer: "President Jiang, based on a net profit of 32.6 billion—Xingchen's cut is 2.55 billion, you personally receive 16 billion, for a total of 18.55 billion."
Jiang Cheng glanced at the figures. His haul this round was precisely 18.55 billion. Roughly 16 billion came from profits on his own capital; the remaining 2.55 billion was the points-based fee the others paid Xingchen Company for managing the trade.
Among them, Wu Quan, Sun Zhisheng, Zhao Cheng and Cheng Gui had a 70-30 profit split with Xingchen. Each of the first three had chipped in three million and ultimately cleared 2.75 million apiece. Per the agreement, each owed Xingchen an operation fee of 1.1786 million. Cheng Gui had staked three billion, walked away with 1.691 billion, and owed Xingchen 725 million.
Besides those four, Wang Congcong, Qin Fen, Qi Yuan, Wang Zheng, Chen Hao, Zheng Zhigan, He Youjun and Xu Lei and An Xin paid a 15% handling fee.
After reviewing the report Jiang Cheng posted in the small group.
Jiang Cheng: "This trade yielded each of us 74.08%. One more thing: before returning principal, we'll first deduct the dedicated US stock shorting costs—borrow fees, SEC clearing charges and FX conversion—shared pro-rata by profit share. You'll receive the balance."
Qi Yuan: Got it, got it! Whatever Brother Cheng says!
Wang Congcong: Copy! Oh, and Cheng, bonuses for the Xingchen desk—take it from my slice!
Qi Yuan: Hey, why only you? We split it together!
Cheng Gui: Right on. The team earned it; we all cover it.
He Youjun: +1! Count me in—easy money, so this tab's on me!
Qin Fen: Yeah, Wang, don't hog the glory; we're all in.
Jiang Cheng: Enough. A few million bonus—company's handling it, none of your concern.
Fu Yang: What do I do? Suddenly I regret not selling my Koenigsegg.
Except for Wu Quan, Sun Zhisheng and Zhao Cheng, Fu Yang had invested the least.
He'd only put in a hundred million; that was the slice Jiang Cheng had allotted him.
Shorting US names demands stealth—the larger the footprint, the easier for the target to notice.
Once they buy back, bring in rescue capital and jam the price, our short cost skyrockets and we could even be squeezed.
Right now Jiang Cheng's own capital is just over ten billion, so he can still let them feed.
Later, when his own capital swells, their seats will shrink.
Shen An: "Heh, lucky I mortgaged two flats…"
Qi Yuan: Damn, Brother Cheng's awesome—so I can order a new ride?
Wang Congcong: Forget cars—you could buy several new houses.
Qin Fen: Never thought money could be this easy.
He Youjun: Dad always says gambling's a scam, but for once the thrill feels unreal.
He Youjun instantly deleted that line.
He Youjun: "Whoa, epic—thanks Cheng-ge!"
Qi Yuan: @He Youjun already screenshotted.
Wang Congcong: Screenshotted.
Wang Zheng: +1
Chen Hao: +1
Zheng Zhigan: +1
Qin Fen: +1
He Youjun: Bros, mercy—if Dad sees this he'll kill me…
Jiang Cheng: "All right, show's over—this group disbands now, move back to the old chat…"
Qi Yuan: Copy.
Wang Congcong: Copy…
With their acknowledgements Jiang Cheng hit "Disband."
Once the group vanished, Jiang Cheng received An Xin's wechat.
At that moment An Xin was curled up by the floor-to-ceiling window of a top-floor duplex overlooking the Huangpu River in Shanghai.
A camel cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders, setting off her bright, porcelain complexion.
Long curled lashes fanned as she stared at her phone, fingertips brushing the input bar.
She had watched the group chat in silence.
While everyone buzzed, she hadn't dared type a word.
Not that she didn't want to—nothing felt quite right.
Her mind spun with the fortune she'd just made with Jiang Cheng, and, more than that, the secret, tender feelings she couldn't hide.
She typed and erased, typed and erased.
Finally she opted for a private message.
An Xin: Jiang Cheng, thank you.
Jiang Cheng: Thank me for what?
Seeing his reply, her heart skipped; fingers trembling, she typed and hit send.
An Xin: What do you want?
Reading it, Jiang Cheng's lips curved.
He'd meant to play dumb, pretend he didn't know what she was thanking him for.
But her answer was far more interesting—asking what he wanted…
Jiang Cheng: I want you…
At those words An Xin bolted upright.
Her usually cool almond eyes widened, disbelief flooding them.
A delicate flush raced across her cheeks to her earlobes.
Even her neck turned a tempting pink, the corners of her mouth lifting uncontrollably.
What did he mean—he wanted her?
Seeing the "typing…" linger, Jiang Cheng followed up.
Jiang Cheng: …your collector's watch.
Once the second half arrived, her smile drooped, brows knitting in puzzlement.
What did that mean—teasing her, or a mistimed split message?