Chapter 49: 88 Punan Road At the birthday lunch, Lu Liang refrained from drinking. After eating, he went home for a short nap before setting out on his return journey. Zhao Haisheng called to inform him that the rental procedures had been completed. All that remained was for Lu Liang to sign and authorize tomorrow, and the institutional account would become active immediately. Over the past two days, the stock market had started to recover. The Shanghai Composite Index stopped falling at 4,000 points, and today, for the first time since the crash, it turned positive. However, Te Li A (Special Power A) continued its slow downward slide, dropping just a few cents each day. It was pure torment. Lu Liang, closely monitoring the stock's funding movements, keenly noticed institutions starting to build positions at the bottom. Not wanting to lag behind, he prepared to act. By ten o’clock, Lu Liang had returned to Magic City (Shanghai). Instead of heading to Zhang Qian's place or Tomson Riviera, he went to the Sheshan Clubhouse. Last week, Meng Changkun had introduced him to this place—a highly reputable men's wellness club. Zhao Haisheng, beaming with enthusiasm, was thrilled. If Lu Liang's trading activity brought substantial income to the branch, Zhao might secure a promotion next year, breaking free from his current position to enter management. "88—it’s a lucky number," Lu Liang said with a smirk as he entered his private trading room. Years ago, back when internet access wasn’t as advanced, transactions had to be made in person at the trading floor. As a result, VIP and institutional trading rooms became common. Some teams would stay in them for days or even weeks. Although technology had evolved, making it possible to trade without visiting a securities firm, the trading rooms had been retained. Inside, five computers were lined up in a row, and the space also included a bathroom, rest area, and washroom, akin to a business suite in a hotel. "Haisheng, step out for now. I'll call you if I need anything." Taking out his own laptop, Lu Liang logged into the institutional account. While he trusted Guotai, he believed in erring on the side of caution. He even used his portable Wi-Fi instead of the office's connection.   𝙧Ａ𐌽ȏʙÊṦ Unlike regular accounts, institutional accounts allowed trading during the pre-market bidding session at 9:15 AM. However, Lu Liang opted to wait until the official market opening at 9:30 AM. From his observations, only one or two institutions were building positions in Te Li A. They seemed to be in collusion, and Lu Liang knew a sudden move from him might draw their attention. His current strategy was to bide his time. Only by accumulating enough chips would he qualify to sit at the table. Unlike his previous, aggressive trading style, this time Lu Liang was particularly cautious. He turned the 79 million yuan of available funds into a mere 790,000 yuan's worth of fragmented purchases. With the current stock price at 9.58 yuan, buying 100 shares (one lot) cost only 958 yuan. Patiently, he made small trades, buying just ten or twenty lots at a time, with each transaction capped at 50,000 yuan. This stock wasn’t a one-off rally; its trajectory spanned several months, with multiple waves of movement. Lu Liang had plenty of time to learn and gain experience. As a skilled accountant, she believed in more than bookkeeping—strategic planning, including tax optimization, was crucial. Tang was not only a management PhD from Shanghai Finance University but also a law master’s degree holder from East China Normal University. If she hadn’t resigned and wasted a few years, she might already be a vice president. Still, Tang was content with her current situation. Their boss was rarely in the office, leaving her workload light. It was even more relaxed than running a B&B in Cainan. “I’d love to, but ever since writing my thesis, I can’t stand the sight of books.” Chen groaned, clutching her head dramatically. A phrase she’d read online perfectly summed her up: “I’m the type to occasionally be ambitiously inspired but mostly just drift along aimlessly.” If she’d had even a shred of ambition, she wouldn’t have graduated from a second-tier university or ended up working as a receptionist. But the job offered a 9-to-5 schedule, weekends off, and an internship salary of 5,000 yuan per month. On top of that, the boss was surprisingly generous, offering a 600-yuan meal subsidy and an 800-yuan housing allowance. The total came to 6,400 yuan during the internship. Chen shared these benefits in her college group chat, instantly turning her classmates green with envy. Some struggled in major corporations for only 2,000–3,000 yuan as interns, uncertain if they’d be offered a permanent role. Meanwhile, she was enjoying the leisurely life of a retiree, sparking inevitable jealousy. “You’re remarkably self-aware,” a male voice teased. Assuming it was the guy next door trying to flirt again, Chen retorted irritably, “What’s it to you—” Join the discussion! Login to share your thoughts and connect with other readers. No comments yet. Be the first to comment!