assistirfilmes Chapter 19 | Once a person's hands start itching...
Chapter 19 | Once a person's hands start itching...
Mike had just finished venting his frustrations, and when he said the last word, "financial slave," he couldn't even laugh anymore.
As Cao Yisen listened, he suddenly felt a little dazed.
He recalled his early days in the industry, when he was just like that. He would say, "I can handle it," but his body felt completely drained every day; one second he would be working on a model, and the next he would be dragged into a meeting room to be scolded. Back then, he also thought that if he could just endure it, things would get better, and he would be able to reach a higher position.
As a result, when he finally stood on it, he fell even harder.
He didn't say any of this out loud, but instead, in a very casual tone, he tentatively probed the question as if it were a joke.
"If you really can't make it,"
Cao Yisen said slowly, "I can give you some 'future trends' so you can avoid some detours."
There was a half-second silence on the other end of the phone.
Then Mike let out a very standard American laugh.
"Bro—"
He drawled, "Are you trying to play mysterious on me now?"
No.
Cao Yisen said innocently, "I just said it offhand."
"Who do you think you are?"
Mike laughed even more exaggeratedly, "Buffett? Or did you awaken some kind of Eastern prophetic ability after you went to South Korea?"
Cao Yisen laughed too: "Do I look like I have that much free time?"
"You look like you've just been brainwashed by K-pop."
Mike immediately retorted, "Dude, if you could really predict the market, would you still be running a small entertainment company in South Korea? You should have bought an apartment in Manhattan by now."
"The buildings in Manhattan are pretty run-down too."
Cao Yisen casually remarked, "Buying it won't make me feel any better."
"Listen to your tone."
Mike clicked his tongue. "You're talking like one of those 'I've seen it all' charlatans."
Cao Yisen sighed and deliberately spoke in a more relaxed tone to avoid arousing suspicion.
"I am not a charlatan."
He said, "I used to enjoy studying charts and taking notes. Now that I don't have to trade anymore, a little bit of that occupational habit still lingers in my mind."
"Is your occupational hazard to wanting to be a prophet?"
Mike continued to mock, "Well, I have an occupational hazard too, I also want to be a CEO."
Cao Yisen was amused by him and tapped his fingers twice on the bed sheet, as if suppressing some impulse.
"OK."
He said, "Then forget I said anything. Just consider it me comforting you."
Mike snorted: "Bro, your way of comforting me is dangerous. Wall Street hates nothing more than 'I know the future' statements."
"That's why I didn't say I knew."
Cao Yisen said calmly, "I just said I can 'give some advice.' Believe it or not, it's up to you."
Mike paused for a moment, clearly having become curious after laughing, but not wanting to appear too serious, so he asked in a half-joking, half-probing tone:
"Okay, then tell me."
"Give me a 'future trend,' and let me see if you can make me laugh."
Cao Yisen looked at the night view outside the window, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
He knew, of course, that he shouldn't be too truthful.
But he also knew that what Mike needed most in his current state was not motivational talk, but a little hope to "breathe," even if it was just a joke.
You wouldn't believe me even if I told you.
He spoke very softly at first, "Just treat this as a story."
"Okay, tell me a story."
Mike immediately chimed in, "I love listening to stories. Come on, Mr. Buffett from K-pop."
Cao Yisen chuckled, his tone still casual, but a little more serious than before.
"Let's make this clear first."
"I don't charge consultation fees, and I'm not responsible if you lose money and then come back to blame me."
"Bro, you're like one of those underground traders now."
Mike laughed, "Continue."
Cao Yisen switched the phone to his other hand, as if casually tossing out a remark.
Consider this a little surprise from me.
"I'll tell you more if you really want to confirm it someday."
He didn't mention any specific stock names or timeframes, keeping the conversation shrouded in a gossipy, mysterious atmosphere. This made Mike laugh without turning the conversation into a genuine "insider trading" story.
Mike whistled on the other end of the phone: "Oh—well done, bro, you've got a knack for teasing people. Are you sure you didn't go to work as a screenwriter at an entertainment company?"
"I could have been that person anyway."
Cao Yisen replied casually, "I just didn't have time before."
Mike couldn't stop laughing: "Okay, then I'll wait for your surprise. If you're right one day, I'll treat you to coffee for a year."
"Remember what you said."
Cao Yisen laughed, "I recorded it."
"What the hell are you recording?"
Mike cursed, then laughed, "Alright, I have to go to my office. I'll listen to your 'future trend' story after I've been tortured by my boss."
"Go."
Cao Yisen said, "Don't be late."
"Later, bro."
After hanging up the phone, Cao Yisen stared at the black screen for two seconds, as if trying to confirm whether his earlier statement, "I can give you some insights into future trends," was indeed a slip of the tongue.
Cao Yisen stared at the black screen for two seconds, and suddenly felt that his words just now were like a tiny spark—small, but enough to ignite a dangerous idea.
He originally intended to give up.
But the trend charts from his past life and the key points he had written down in his notebook were like persistent shadows, always ready to jump out on their own.
But the next second he sat up straight, as if a switch had been flipped. He glanced at the time; the market should have opened in the Eastern United States as well.
Just do it.
He opened the laptop, the screen lit up, and his fingers flew across the keyboard. The financial news page appeared—the familiar layout, the familiar red and green indicator lights—like an old habit creeping straight back into his bones.
He really didn't want to do these things anymore, but it's a trader's occupational hazard: you can choose not to place orders, but you can't choose not to monitor the market.
He first glanced at the overall market sentiment, then casually clicked on a few industry sectors. It didn't take long for his gaze to settle on two stocks, like a hunting dog smelling a scent.
The first one is a hardware stock, leaning towards traditional and low-end sectors. The market usually treats it as an "old industry," but its performance is anything but stagnant. BlueCore is a company that makes CPUs and enterprise-grade chips. It's the kind of company you might not find particularly appealing, but you can't ignore.
He pulled up the daily chart and stared at it for less than ten seconds, and his whole body perked up.
The candlestick chart is very clean.
The daily chart shows a steady upward trend with shallow pullbacks, the price action resembling a gentle, controlled ascent. Each dip is precisely caught near the previous high, as if someone has laid a net there beforehand, trapping the price as it falls without giving it any room to struggle.
The trading volume is also intriguing; it doesn't exhibit the kind of frenzied, uncontrolled surge, nor the obvious signs of exhaustion and contraction. The volume flows like a steady, long river, indicating that buyers are still present, but there's no need to shout to get in.
Cao Yisen wrote a line in his notebook, the handwriting was very brief:
The price is rising slowly, but it's also unlikely to fall significantly.
In the context of trading, this translates to an even more direct subtext:
The real big money is already on this side.
He wasn't waiting for a breaking news story, nor was he betting on some miracle. He was watching this most annoying kind of trend: you want to wait for it to drop deeper before buying, but it just won't drop; you want to chase it, but it's not in a hurry to surge, as if it's forcing you to make a choice.
This type of stock is most likely to drive short-term traders crazy, making them unable to resist buying in, only for it to slowly rise, leaving you questioning your life choices.
But this is also the kind of ticket that makes "people with lots of money" feel comfortable: buy it, don't make any moves, and time will do the work for you.
He circled the key levels of the blue core indicator and then looked at the weekly chart. The weekly chart was more stable, resembling a flattened upward channel, giving the bears no chance to make their story.
He closed the pen cap and gently exhaled.
"Okay," he said softly, "Go long."
The second one is a food delivery stock, a typical internet story stock. After its listing, it was touted as "changing lifestyles" and "new consumer infrastructure," but in Cao Yisen's view, this kind of stock always has only one problem: the story is told too quickly, and the price moves too far ahead.
QuickDash is a food delivery platform.
He clicked on the picture and frowned at first glance.
After listing, the price surged too sharply, as if pulled up by a rope. The pullback was extremely short, only falling for two days before being pulled back up, leaving no room for the shares to change hands. When the price moved sideways at a high level, the trading volume began to increase, and the turnover became more and more frequent, as if a group of people were secretly passing their shares out.
In his eyes, this structure had only one meaning:
The chips are starting to loosen, but the story continues.
The story continues, so the bulls will still be stubborn and say, "This is just a healthy correction." But with the chips loosening, it means that if things don't go as expected even slightly, this high level will turn into a slide, and whoever is slow to run will get dumped.
He wrote down his reasoning in his notebook, as if confirming his own risk control:
It's not that the company is bad, it's that the prices are too high.
All the positive news has been discussed; once the positive news is realized, it becomes negative news.
We're not waiting for bad news, we're waiting for better news.
This is the type of stock he prefers to short.
It's not about waiting for a major scandal to erupt, but rather waiting for the market to realize that "no better news" is bad news in itself. For companies like food delivery platforms, once growth slows down, their valuations collapse first. They don't need widening losses or scandals; they just need a simple statement like, "Growth hasn't been as fast as expected."
The pullback will be quick.
He stared at the high-volume trading, already calculating in his mind: if he shorted stocks, the volatility would be even more agonizing; if he used options, buying puts could lock in the risk, but the time value would be deadly.
Cao Yisen didn't rush to conclusions; he first compared several expiration dates and implied volatility.
At this moment, he felt as if he had returned to his most comfortable state in his past life—not seeking victory, but remaining calm.
It wasn't an impulse, but a judgment.
His habit is to follow a stock for at least a few weeks before investing in it, to familiarize himself with its characteristics, before making any plans.
He placed the two charts side by side on the screen: Blue Core on the left, Speedy Express on the right. One was a large-capital stock that "slowly pushes you up," while the other was an emotional stock that "could be missed at any time."
He suddenly smiled, a light smile, but with a long-lost sense of exhilaration.
"One goes with the flow, the other turns against it," he muttered to himself. "A good match."
He did not immediately send the analysis to Mike.
Because he knows very well that when you give others "future trends," once you make it sound plausible, it becomes a rope that will eventually drag both of you down with you.
He only typed two lines in the chat box and then deleted them.
What remained was a statement that sounded more like a joke, but was delivered in a lighthearted tone:
"Bro, if you really can't hold on, I'll tell you a story. An established hardware company is slowly climbing up, while a food delivery company is starting to falter at its peak. Don't take it too seriously, just focus on your work."
send.
He placed his phone face down on the bed, returned to his computer, and began to "formulate a very Zen-like plan" for his persistent occupational hazard.
He opened the demo trading system and went long on Bluecore. He set up entry points in batches, adding more when the price retraced to near the previous high, and placing the stop loss at the point where the structure was broken. He preferred to exit with a small loss rather than stubbornly hold on.
When shorting Speedy, he prefers to use a put option, choosing an expiration date that is "long enough but not wasteful" to lock in the maximum loss. If it continues to go crazy, he considers it tuition; if it turns around, he will take profits and not be greedy for the last penny.
This time, he repeatedly reminded himself:
Don't get carried away. Don't cross the line. Don't think you're invincible.
After typing the last number, he closed the notebook and leaned back in his chair.
Seoul outside the window is quiet, completely different from the ever-rushing mornings of New York.
He realized that even though he said he was going to tank, the moment the screen lit up, he would still instinctively look for the structure, the chips, and that line that "only a few people could see".
This may not necessarily be a good thing.
When Cao Yisen turned off the two trend charts, he was actually feeling a little smug.
That long-lost, familiar feeling—like your fingers just touching the steering wheel, the car hasn't even started yet, and your brain is already calculating how to get around the curves.
He leaned back in his chair, still stubbornly insisting, "It's just a look, just some analysis, just a professional habit."
The next second he discovered a very real problem: his body didn't have a stock account at all.
Cao Yisen stared at the screen and remained silent for a few seconds.
"...Outrageous."
He sat up straight, as if negotiating with himself: "I'm just registering. Let's get the connection set up first. We'll see if I need to use it later."
He laughed after saying that, feeling that the line was too familiar—this is how everyone who is about to crash and burn begins.
He reached out, opened his browser, and searched for an international brokerage. The page popped up, and he narrowed his eyes, muttering to himself, "I'll just look, I'm not buying."
Then... the mouse honestly clicked "Sign up".
A series of forms popped up, listing fields such as name, date of birth, address, nationality, tax status, etc.
"Passport number... Okay."
"Mobile number verification... OK."
"Proof of residence... Does staying in a hotel count? Never mind, I'll fill in the Busan address first."
Then comes the most classic part—various terms and conditions, risk warnings, and small English text, densely packed across the entire screen.
HIGH RISK. MAY LOSE ALL YOUR MONEY.
MARGIN TRADING INVOLVES SIGNIFICANT RISK.
(Investing in the stock market involves risks; please exercise caution.)
Cao Yisen stared at the sentence "You might lose everything," feeling as if he had been slapped across the face through a screen.
He subconsciously spat three times, like a child who would immediately spit out anything unlucky he had said.
"Bad luck," he said seriously. "If I buy one again in this life, it'll be a puppy. I'm not buying it. I'm just looking."
The words were spoken with great emphasis, like a vow.
As a result, the finger continued to scroll down, and the selection continued.
As he continued, he tried to justify himself: "I just opened an account. Opening an account doesn't mean I'll trade. Just like having a gym membership doesn't mean you'll go to the gym, right?"
The more he listened, the more he realized how reasonable it made, and he even nodded in agreement.
The final step is to submit. The page then spins, and a welcome screen appears: Account created successfully, awaiting review.
Cao Yisen stared at the words "Under Review" and suddenly felt a little guilty, as if he had just done something that he himself was not quite sure he could admit to.
He immediately closed the computer, as if turning it off meant it had never happened.
"Alright, alright." He clapped his hands, his tone particularly firm. "That's enough. I'm just looking, I'm not buying."
After he finished speaking, he opened the computer screen a crack again, peeked at it, and only after confirming that the page was indeed not moving did he close it again as if to put his mind at ease.
The initial excitement dissipated somewhat after this series of actions, and the room fell silent again. Cao Yisen went to the bathroom to wash his face, and when he came out, his phone lit up—not with the microphone, but a message from Cao Rou about getting her hair done.
How's today? Busy?
The comment that followed was very similar to hers:
Don't be too nervous. Your first week is just for "broadening your horizons."
Looking at the line of text, Cao Yisen's initial agitation subsided somewhat. He sat down on the edge of the bed and replied with a very short sentence:
"It was alright. I wasn't too nervous."
After sending it, he added another sentence:
[It's just that the people at your friend's company are a bit too gossipy.]
He laughed first after posting it.
He tossed his phone next to his pillow, and as he lay down, he reminded himself one last time:
"I'll just look, I won't buy."
The room lights were off, and the light from outside fell on the floor like a thin layer of dust. Cao Yisen lay on the bed.
He closed his eyes, but his mind still involuntarily flashed back to the trends of those two stocks: one slowly rising, the other easing at a high level.
Cao Yisen turned over and pulled the blanket up, as if to cover the charts as well.
"Hmm, just looking." He muttered again.
"...I'm not buying it."