Chapter 63 Solo's Lament: Losing Three Billion Dollars in One Night

The piercing alarm was loud enough to blow the roof off the trading room.

Dozens of computer screens flashed with blinding red lights, aggressively assaulting everyone's retinas.

"We're liquidated! The system is executing forced liquidations!"

The risk control director's voice cracked completely, sounding like a screaming chicken being strangled by the neck.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto his knees on the expensive Persian rug.

George Soros leaned back on the leather sofa, the world spinning violently before his eyes.

The glass of Romanée-Conti in his hand shattered on the floor, the deep red wine spilling everywhere like a pool of glaring blood.

"Say that again. How much did we lose?"

Soros stared dead at the risk control director kneeling on the floor, his voice trembling like a dry branch in the cold wind.

The director swallowed hard, not even having the courage to look up.

"Three billion... three billion US dollars."

His teeth chattered as he crumpled the liquidation slip in his hand into a tight ball.

"Boss, Xinghai Technology's capital is like a bottomless pit. Our five-times leverage was blown out instantly."

Three billion US dollars.

This number hit Soros's chest like a heavy hammer, shattering all of his pride.

The US stock market on the big screen was still skyrocketing.

The stocks of Xinghai Technology's overseas suppliers had shot straight up, drawing a massive, vertical red candlestick.

Fifty percent.

One hundred percent.

Two hundred percent!

This was not normal trading at all; it was a one-sided slaughter.

Shifting back to Donghai City, inside the financial trading room on the third floor of Xinghai Technology.

The main lights in the room were off, with only a row of computer screens casting a cold, eerie blue glow.

Shen Qingqiu had kicked off her cumbersome high heels and was standing barefoot on the anti-static carpet.

Her white shirt sleeves were rolled up high, a thin layer of sweat beaded on her forehead, and her eyes shone with incredible intensity.

"Account number three, dump all of the five hundred million we just transferred right in!"

Her crisp, cold voice echoed through the trading room, carrying an unquestionable, decisive authority.

"Sweep up every single order on the board! Don't leave them a single chip!"

The fingers of several highly-paid traders flew across their keyboards, the clattering of keys sounding like a torrential downpour.

"President Shen, the other side can't hold on! They are buying back shares at high prices to close their positions!"

One of the traders turned around, his face filled with uncontrollable excitement.

Shen Qingqiu sneered, her gaze behind her gold-rimmed glasses sharp as a knife.

"Want to run? Not a chance."

She propped her hands on the desk, staring intently at the market data.

"Keep placing high-priced buy orders! Lock the stock price in the stratosphere! Force them to cough up even more money to save their own skins!"

This was a short squeeze, the most brutal kind of battle in the financial market.

To cut their losses, the short sellers had to hold their noses and buy back shares at exorbitant prices.

The harder they bought, the higher the stock price was pushed, tearing an even wider hole in their losses.

Lu Jingming sat in an executive chair in the corner.

He was peeling a mandarin orange, leisurely stripping away the white pith.

"Don't be so angry. Have a slice of orange to soothe your throat."

Lu Jingming stood up, strolled over to Shen Qingqiu, and handed her the orange.

He glanced at the exaggerated red line on the screen and smacked his lips.

"These Wall Street elites can't really take a punch, can they?"

Lu Jingming leaned against the edge of the desk, his tone incredibly leisurely, almost mockingly casual.

"We've only thrown in ten billion, and they're already trampling over each other?"

Shen Qingqiu took the orange and rolled her eyes at him.

"Dumping ten billion US dollars in cash into a small-cap stock like this—did you think you were just throwing pebbles into a river?"

She broke off a slice of the orange and popped it into her mouth, the sweet and sour juice slightly easing her tense nerves.

"Soros really kicked an iron plate this time."

Looking at the soaring floating profits on the backend, Shen Qingqiu's lips finally curled upward.

"He led the short-selling, only for us to pump the stock and bleed him dry instead."

"Once tonight's battle is over, those old foxes on Wall Street will take a detour whenever they hear the name Xinghai."

Lu Jingming brushed the orange peel crumbs off his hands.

"Taking a detour won't do. Our overseas expansion has only just begun."

He turned to look at the night outside the window, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes.

"Let the bullets fly a bit longer, and squeeze every last drop of grease out of these vampires."

In the president's office of Baker Microelectronics in California, North America.

Mr. Baker slumped in his large office chair, his tie long gone.

Just a few minutes ago, he was still worrying about the skyrocketing stock price, preparing to send a payment demand letter to Xinghai to save his own life.

Now, he stared at the computer screen, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

"It went up? Up by two hundred percent?!"

Mr. Baker rubbed his eyes vigorously, looking like a puppet struck by lightning.

The door was kicked open by a trader.

"Boss! We're rich! Our company's market value has tripled!"

The trader's voice cracked with excitement as he gesticulated wildly.

"Those Wall Street short sellers have been liquidated in a panic! They are risking their lives to prop up our stock price!"

Mr. Baker leapt up from his chair and grabbed the payment demand fax he had originally prepared to send to Xinghai.

With a loud rip,

He tore the fax paper to shreds without hesitation, tossing it into the air like snowflakes.

"Quick! Call President Lu in Donghai City!"

Mr. Baker's face flushed with excitement, and his voice was practically floating.

"Tell Xinghai Technology there's no rush on the payment! Our factory's production lines are open to them twenty-four hours a day!"

This wasn't some life-threatening demon; this was clearly the God of Wealth descending from the East!

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ocean, Wall Street had turned into a living hell.

Inside the top-tier trading room, there was a dead silence.

Only the roar of the computer exhaust fans could be heard, sounding like a dirge being sung for these short sellers.

Several senior fund managers lay slumped on the carpet, their eyes vacant.

Their expensive suits were crumpled, and some were even sobbing quietly.

"It's gone... All of our clients' money is completely gone."

A trader wearing a gold watch stood up shakily and ripped off the badge around his neck.

He stared blankly at the big screen and let out a miserable laugh.

"Mr. Soros, I'm going up to the roof to get some fresh air."

The trader pushed open the glass door of the trading room and walked toward the elevators like a wandering ghost.

Everyone knew exactly what he was going to the roof for, but no one went to stop him.

George Soros sat slumped deep in the sofa.

This titan who once commanded the financial world seemed to have aged ten years overnight.

His graying hair was a mess, and his bloodshot blue eyes were filled with deep terror.

Three billion US dollars in hard cash had vanished into thin air in just one hour.

He had never dreamed that a private enterprise all the way in China could mobilize such terrifying offshore funds.

This wasn't a financial game at all; this was using a nuclear bomb to swat a mosquito.

With trembling hands, Soros fished an encrypted satellite phone out of his inner suit pocket.

His fingers were so stiff they wouldn't obey him. After miskeying several times, he finally dialed a familiar number.

The phone rang for a long time before being picked up.

A deep, slightly impatient male voice came from the other end.

"George, what do you want in the middle of the night? Did your short squeeze game blow up in your face?"

Paul Jacobs, the president of Qualcomm Chips, spoke with unconcealed mockery.

"I've heard about the commotion over on Wall Street. Three billion dollars—quite an expensive lesson."

Soros took a deep breath, swallowing back the metallic taste of blood in his throat.

He stared fixedly at the night view outside the window, squeezing the words out through gritted teeth.

"Paul, stop gloating. These Chinese are absolute lunatics."

Veins bulged on the back of Soros's hand, his fingernails digging deep into the phone's casing.

"Financial tactics can't kill them, and the capital chain can't choke them."

He panted heavily, his voice laced with the desperate ruthlessness of someone driven to a corner.

"I don't care what excuse you use—whether it's patent trolling or a sanctions list."

"We must immediately cut off Xinghai's supply from the physical hardware level!"