On the top floor of Shanghai Tower, in Mozi's trading room, the air seemed to have solidified into heavy amber. On the huge circular screen, the global gold‑market data stream, once flowing like an orderly river of stars, now writhed and churned violently, emanating ominous crimson light. It was 2 a.m., but the room was brightly lit, reflecting Mozi's unusually calm, yet utterly sleepless face.
His "adaptive dual‑core model" had issued a strong trend‑divergence alert three hours earlier. In the absence of major fundamental news, the market had suddenly seen a relentless torrent of enormous sell orders, like invisible sledgehammers pounding repeatedly at gold‑futures prices. This was not normal market fluctuation, but a premeditated, organized precision sniper attack. Mozi could sense that in the shadows, several blood‑thirsty financial behemoths had opened their fang‑filled jaws, targeting the massive gold‑long position he had built through months of careful deployment.
"Boss, it's those offshore accounts again. Clean technique, but the scale is too big—doesn't look like normal asset allocation." The voice of the chief risk officer came through the internal comm system, carrying a barely perceptible tension.
"Understood." Mozi's reply was brief and steady; his gaze locked onto the rapidly changing numbers and candlestick charts on the screen. "Keep the model running; monitor all linked accounts' leverage and margin levels in real time."
He picked up the already‑cold coffee, took a sip; the bitter liquid didn't dispel fatigue but sharpened his nerves further. This technique was all too familiar—**"spoofing"**. The opponent placed staggeringly large sell orders near key resistance levels, creating the terrifying illusion of an imminent market crash, inducing other traders—especially those relying on algorithmic and trend‑based programmed trading—to follow suit and sell off. Yet these massive sell orders themselves were often mere bluff; they would be quietly canceled or executed with minimal volume after prices were hammered down, triggering panic selling (a "stampede"). Essentially, it was an advanced form of market manipulation. Like shouting "Fire!" in a crowded theater—the real goal wasn't to run first, but to exploit the crowd's panic to create chaos, thereby achieving one's own objective.
Mozi clearly saw that, at several critical technical points, the piled‑up sell‑order magnitude was dozens of times the usual market depth—definitely not normal. His model, built on "anti‑fragility" philosophy, inherently possessed certain resistance to interference; it hadn't been easily tricked out of core long positions by these fake sell orders. But the opponent's assault didn't stop.
Next came an even more ruthless move—**"stop hunting"**.
The market knew that a trader like Mozi, holding massive long positions, would inevitably set a series of stop‑loss orders below his entry cost. These stop‑loss orders were like vulnerable points exposed under enemy fire; once the market price broke through a certain threshold, they would trigger chain reactions, automatically liquidating at market price, thereby further accelerating price decline, forming a vicious cycle. The opponent obviously knew this well; using the downward momentum created by initial "spoofing," coupled with concentrated, real selling, they began to target known stop‑loss‑cluster zones purposefully and precisely.
On screen, the gold price began to plummet like a kite with its string cut. Each break below a key technical point triggered another wave of stop‑loss liquidation; selling pressure piled up like an avalanche. Mozi's model began frequent alarms, showing that peripheral positions' stop‑loss lines were being hit, forced to close automatically. Though core positions remained relatively safe, this continuous bleeding and the market's one‑way oppression were enough to suffocate any trader.
"Report: our 'safety cushion' (extra margin reserved for market volatility) is being consumed rapidly. At this rate, if the market falls another 1.5%, we'll face risk of insufficient margin…" The risk officer's voice came again, the tension more obvious now.
"Activate backup‑liquidity contingency; prioritize safeguarding core positions." Mozi's instruction was clear and calm, but his knuckles whitened slightly from gripping the coffee cup tightly. He understood better than anyone: if forced to liquidate due to insufficient margin, it wouldn't just mean huge losses; it would be the sign of his meticulously built financial fortress being breached from outside, triggering market‑confidence collapse and even fiercer attacks. This was no longer merely a money game, but an ultimate test of will, resources, and system stability.
He walked to the window, looking down at the sleeping Shanghai. The Huangpu River wound like a dark ribbon through the glittering sea of lights. In this land were Xiuxiu's lithography‑machine battles, Yue'er's persistent exploration of mathematical truth, and the future of industries he sought to protect and propel with capital power. His anxiety didn't stem solely from fluctuations in account numbers, but from a deeper responsibility. If his system were crushed here, many cutting‑edge projects that relied on its funding could face starvation.
Pressure weighed like a solid boulder on his chest. He felt his temples throbbing—a physiological reaction to prolonged intense concentration and immense stress. He closed his eyes, trying to summon the "mathematical quietness" Yue'er had once described to him, imagining himself standing in a pure high‑dimensional space woven of logic and formulas, looking down upon this chaotic capital game in the three‑dimensional world. But right now, market noise was too clamorous; that abstract serenity was hard to reach.
Just then, the dedicated encrypted communicator on his console vibrated gently. He picked it up; it was a message from Yue'er—no text, just a simple symbol: ∞ (infinity). That was the symbol she often mentioned recently while studying the Langlands program, symbolizing infinite possibilities and eternal law. This simple symbol, like a drop of cool water, fell into his parched heart. He understood this was Yue'er telling him in her unique way: however violent the current fluctuation might seem, behind it perhaps lay some deeper‑level, yet‑to‑be‑discovered deterministic law; her exploration and his struggle were connected in some dimension.
He replied with a single character: "Safe" (meaning peace/stability), indicating he had received it and letting her know he was okay.
Almost simultaneously, another encrypted channel requested video connection. Mozi hesitated a moment, then accepted. On screen appeared Xiuxiu's face; she seemed still in the lab, background filled with faint light from various precision instruments; wearing a lab coat, her face showed some weariness, but her eyes were clear and firm.
"I just finished a round of EUV‑light‑source stability tests; data are decent." Xiuxiu skipped pleasantries, speaking directly; her voice came through the earphones, carrying the lab's characteristic calm atmosphere. "Saw your lights still on; just checking how your 'battlefield' is?" She didn't elaborate, but Mozi knew she must have noticed abnormal fluctuations in financial markets through some channel, or perhaps just through some ethereal telepathy.
Mozi smiled wryly, not hiding it: "Some trouble; someone is 'hunting' my stop‑losses."
Xiuxiu frowned. Though not directly involved in finance, her high intelligence and understanding of system logic let her quickly grasp the crux: "Like in our lithography‑machine R&D, opponents always try to attack the core‑component supply chain we most rely on—and perhaps also the most fragile—trying to halt our entire system?"
"A very apt analogy." Mozi nodded; Xiuxiu always could precisely analogize complex problems with her familiar domain. "Yes, they are attacking my 'supply chain'—liquidity and market confidence."
"Need me to do anything?" Xiuxiu asked directly.
"Unnecessary." Mozi shook his head. "You already have." He looked at the precision instruments behind her, representing the pinnacle of human industrial civilization, looked at her calm face under immense engineering pressure; warmth and strength welled up in his heart. What Xiuxiu faced were formidable barriers of physical law, impenetrable walls of technological blockade; every breakthrough she made was achieved under nearly impossible conditions. Compared to that, the capital siege he faced now, though dangerous, remained an artificial game. Xiuxiu's resilience gave him immense spiritual support, albeit indirectly.
"Yue'er and I are here." Xiuxiu seemed to see through the pressure beneath his calm exterior; she spoke softly, no hint of ambiguity, only comrade‑like firmness. "You are not alone against them."
The call didn't last long; Xiuxiu seemed to have new experimental data to process. After hanging up, the trading room returned to silence, but Mozi felt that suffocating pressure had eased considerably. He was no longer alone facing this dark forest of capital; Yue'er's ∞ symbol and Xiuxiu's "supply‑chain" analogy were like two distant stars—though not directly illuminating the path ahead, they provided reference for orientation and comfort for the soul.
He sat back at the console, eyes turning sharp and focused again. The opponent's "spoofing" and "stop‑hunting" tactics were vicious but not flawless. Both strategies' core lay in "creating illusion" and "exploiting rule loopholes." They relied on irrational panic among market participants and mechanical reactions of automated trading programs.
Mozi began to act. He first instructed the model to temporarily ignore those obviously abnormal, piled‑up massive orders (spoofing orders) at key points, avoiding being misled by their fabricated false market depth. Simultaneously, he deployed reserved emergency funds, beginning to quietly absorb shares panic‑sold by "stop‑hunted" positions at prices where the market was irrationally oversold due to panic. This was a counter‑trend operation, testing guts and judgment to the extreme—like walking backward during an avalanche, extremely risky. But he trusted his model's judgment of the market's intrinsic value, and believed that this artificially‑manipulated plunge inevitably would see corrective rebounds at some point.
More importantly, he began adjusting model parameters—not chasing short‑term price fluctuations, but focusing more on the market's deep liquidity structure and subtle changes in sentiment factors. He recalled Yue'er's discussions about "determinism" and "randomness," and Xiuxiu's engineering philosophy of "system robustness." He infused these ideas into fine‑tuning the model, making the system no longer merely a fit to historical data, but attempting to understand and adapt to the current market state distorted by "malice."
Minutes ticked by; outside, the skyline began showing faint streaks of dawn. The market's frenzy also seemed to show signs of weariness as daybreak approached. The opponent's continuous pressure consumed enormous funding costs, while Mozi's sponge‑like absorption of panic selling began gradually stabilizing local footholds.
Suddenly, a news flash captured and highlighted by his natural‑language‑processing system popped up—an influential overseas news agency published a "flash report," citing an "anonymous source," claiming a major gold‑reserve nation might significantly reduce its gold reserves in coming months.
This news, like another boulder thrown into the calm lake, made the already‑slightly‑weary market plunge again; the price curve that had just begun to stabilize turned downward once more, heading straight toward the final defense line of Mozi's core positions.
"Fake." Mozi judged almost instantly. Vague source, sensational content, perfect timing—this was the classic information‑warfare tactic paired with market manipulation. The opponent, seeing pure price‑pressing not fully effective, began using informational weapons, attempting to utterly shatter market confidence psychologically.
Yet this time, Mozi didn't panic. He even showed a cold, stern smile at the corner of his mouth. The opponent had finally shown their true intention; this also meant their arsenal of direct market‑attack methods might be nearing its limit.
He didn't try to debunk the rumor—in financial markets, rumors always outrun truth. He chose the most direct, most capital‑intensive approach: head‑on confrontation. He instructed the model that, at the moment when price broke through a certain key psychological barrier, when market panic peaked, instead of small‑scale absorption, it launched massive buy orders, like a sea‑calming needle, firmly holding back the collapsing torrent.
On screen, the green volume bars representing buying suddenly swelled, forming sharp confrontation with red bars representing selling. Amid violent oscillation, the price miraculously halted its decline, beginning to hover within a narrow range.
This was a brutal war of attrition. Every second, millions of dollars in capital vanished in silent slaughter. Sweat beaded on Mozi's forehead; he could hear his own heart beating heavily, powerfully in his chest. Yue'er's ∞ symbol and Xiuxiu's resolute gaze alternated in his mind, becoming the foundation supporting his will.
He didn't know when this sniper attack would end, nor what the final outcome would be. But he knew he couldn't retreat. This wasn't just for the numbers in the account, for his financial ideals, but for the promise to stand shoulder‑to‑shoulder on another battlefield—with Yue'er's mathematical universe and Xiuxiu's physical light. His code wrote the laws of capital flow; and now, he was using that code, engaging in a silent yet fierce struggle against dark forces trying to distort those laws.
The sky gradually brightened; morning light through the huge floor‑to‑ceiling windows gilded the cold trading room with a faint golden hue. The battle on screen continued; crimson alarms hadn't completely lifted, but that stubbornly standing green seemed to foretell: though the night was cold, dawn would ultimately arrive. Mozi took a deep breath, rubbed bloodshot eyes, once more poured his full attention into that digital battlefield. He knew Yue'er and Xiuxiu, perhaps in their own ways, were also accompanying him, together enduring this long, difficult hour.