The market is insane.
Especially when money is being made—there’s almost no rationality left.
By the late stages of a bull market, you can hardly spot a single red number.
For most people, the moment they open their eyes each day, the only question is whether they’ve made more or less money.
At this point,
people wish the market were open 24/7.
They resent weekends.
They dread the upcoming long holidays.
They hate sleeping—countless are kept awake by excitement, itching for dawn to break so the market can reopen.
And above all… they can’t stand the thought of others making more than them.
Most investors refuse to believe their profits are just luck—they’re convinced it’s pure skill.
Confidence swells to arrogance after a winning streak.
So,
screw those so-called "stock gods."
Screw all the fancy theories.
Screw the color red—
just get the hell out of here.
Of course, there are still a few rational, clear-headed, smart folks—just not many.
"I think we should still be cautious," someone might say.
"Looking at Stock God Ao Tian’s posts, he’s been right almost 100% of the time. Every word he writes could hold clues we need to study."
Another chimes in: "Honestly, I believe him, but I don’t see the market dropping below 10,000 points. Still, 7,000 or 8,000 seems likely. We’re only at 5,400 now..."
"I’m betting on 8,000 too..."
But voices like these are drowned out in seconds, buried under waves of indifference.
It’s human nature—when faced with information they dislike, people either lash out or scroll past without a second thought.
Some even double down on their own beliefs out of sheer defiance.
Comments quickly surpass a thousand.
Ninety-nine percent are either insults or dismissive sneers.
And that’s just one forum—reposts elsewhere are exploding, totaling over ten thousand combined.
Young Master Cao has become an early-era internet celebrity.
A full-blown influencer!
He could easily pivot to live-streaming sales in the future.
But he’ll need to be careful—bird’s nest, mooncakes, T-shirts, Maotai liquor… those industries are minefields, and Young Master Cao might not navigate them well.
He’s also quietly spent money
to get his essay published in stock analysis newspapers.
This is still the tail end of the internet’s wild west era.
Though online stock discussions are booming, they only represent a fraction of retail investors.
Most are older folks who don’t even use the internet.
Especially in the last six months.
Statistics show
that new investor accounts this year make up 76.8% of the total market.
What does that mean?
Last month alone, nearly ten million fresh "bagholders" joined.
With only seventy million seasoned investors last year, that’s a one-seventh surge in a single month.
This September? Almost eight hundred thousand more.
The frenzy is unreal.
They say even the janitor downstairs was lining up to open an account.
Not long ago,
a certain foreign financier named Soros visited China, saw the endless queues at brokerages, and muttered, "This is absolute madness."
In the real world…
"Why is there a travel article in the stock analysis section?"
"What’s the newspaper playing at?"
"Wait… is this Stock God Ao Tian?"
"Who’s that? Any good?"
Many papers ran the piece—not just for the paycheck, but to ride the hype.
For offline investors, it’s their first introduction to the name: Stock God Ao Tian.
An elderly but spry man nods. "I know him. Big name online. A real stock god—more accurate than most experts."
A grandma squints at the paper. "So what’s this about? Travel?"
"No idea." The man shrugs, then waves over his son. "Boy, what’s this article trying to say?"
A bespectacled man scans it. "I’ve seen this before. It looks like a travel piece, but it’s really warning about market risks."
"What?!"
"No way."
"I made thirty grand today."
"I’m up twenty."
"Seventy here…"
The moment profits come up, the room erupts in competitive bragging.
The newspaper? Forgotten instantly.
Similar scenes play out everywhere…
And each one feeds Young Master Cao a steady stream of negativity.
Because when people read the article and hear it’s bearish, they seethe.
"Everyone’s winning, and you’re out here predicting a crash?"
"You asking for trouble?"
"Damn jinx."
"Cutting off profits is like killing someone’s parents."
"Spouting doom now? You’re just begging for hate."
"Trash ‘stock god’ my ass."
Unexpectedly, many offline folks drag their kids or grandkids to help them get online—
whether at internet cafés or elsewhere—
just to hunt down this "Stock God Ao Tian" and curse him out.
"Shut your mouth," they demand.
Young Master Cao basks in the nationwide flood of emotional backlash, feeling invigorated.
Mission accomplished.
Not just fame—if even a few heed the warning, it’s worth it.
You can’t wake the greedy.
But not everyone’s greedy.
This is all he can do.
And he gave them a heads-up days in advance.
The next day, the index surges another 1.33%.
And that’s just the benchmark—imagine how individual stocks are soaring.
Another day later,
up 2.64%.
The mania grows.
Then comes the seven-day holiday.
October arrives.
The market collectively wails:
"No breaks!"
"Don’t halt trading!"
"We need to trade!"
Online, the desperation is palpable.
You can practically see the madness in every word.
Young Master Cao barely rests during this break.
He "consoles" his three business partners—Tang Xin, Third Sister, and Fourth Sister.
As for the employees?
Not that close.
But as majority shareholder, he makes a token gesture.
He considers showering the company’s QQ group with red envelopes—scattering billions in cash to harvest emotional energy.
But this era predates digital red packets.
Oh well.
Billions saved.
So don’t blame Young Master Cao for being stingy—blame Pony Ma for not adding the feature.
Lame Tencent.
The holiday flies by.
October 8th arrives—the long-awaited market reopening.
A crazy high open.
The index leaps from 5,555 past 5,700. Though it dips slightly by close, settling just under 5,700,
the euphoria holds.
Meanwhile,
Young Master Cao’s old "bearish post" resurfaces.
Trolled and mocked by the entire hivemind.
"Where’s the crash you promised?"
"Sorry not sorry, made another ten grand today, hahahaha... So you’re the so-called 'Stock God,' huh?"
"Even Napoleon met his Waterloo—what chance does this phony stock guru have? And people actually believe him?"
"Hehehe... pocketed a cool thirty grand today."
"Damn, boss, how much capital are you working with?"
"Not much, just sold my house and leveraged up... My buddy’s the real deal, though—made enough to buy a whole property today."
"Savage!"
"So jealous, I only pulled in four grand."
"Where’s the crash? Where’s the crash?"
Cao Cheng replied: "Your daddy’s right here! What’s up, son? Calling for me?"
"You motherf—#…!@$&a;￥…）…"
The barrage of rage kept fueling the drama.
Truth is, the internet’s crawling with self-proclaimed 'Stock Gods.'
Because plenty of people are raking it in.
But few ‘gurus’ are as infamous as Young Master Cao—which also makes him the perfect target.
grated, and just when he finally managed to get into an elite academy, he discovered that he actually had a system, and the way to earn rewards was extremely ridiculous. So for the sake of rewards, he had no choice but to start acting ridiculous as well. Su Cheng: "It's nothing but system quests after all." But later, what confused Su Cheng was that while he was already quite ridiculous, he never expected those serious characters to gradually become ridiculous too. And the way they looked at him became increasingly strange... (This synopsis doesn't do it justice, please read the full story)
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
] [Lone Wolf, No Male Gaze] [Protagonist is pursued early on; extreme protagonist-stans, stay away!] The "Carnival Paradise" descends and slowly devours the real world in the form of a game. By chance, Zhu Yan awakens the talent [Roleplay], becoming one of the first beta players. He thought he could develop safely, but after clearing the first instance, he is branded by humanity as the chief culprit behind the game's spread—a traitorous villain. A villain? Who would ever... become one! He'll be the villain! From then on, Zhu Yan is not only a player but also a lackey for the Carnival Paradise. Between the straight path and the crooked path, he chooses the con. With his left hand, he dons the villain's mantle, staging scenes within instances, infuriating players who decry him as a despicable traitor, all while the game happily promotes him. With his right hand, he joins the non-human organization "Fangcun Mountain," which opposes the Carnival Paradise, transforming into a mysterious player who slaughters game bosses, earning cheers of "Long live the expert!" from fellow players. Gradually, Zhu Yan rises to become an S-rank human player in Fangcun Mountain's archives, while also being the Carnival Paradise's certified top game Boss. But when the final war erupts and both major factions place their hopes in him— Players tag his various aliases: "Experts, this offensive depends on you." The Carnival Paradise's supreme Boss throws an arm around his neck: "Bro, you're the iron, I'm the steel; you can't let me down again!"
nto another world, I bought a slave for the first time, never expecting the silver wolf girl to be so cute... Lin Feng: I know it's cold, but you don't have to sneak into my bed! Yuna: Just sharing body warmth, if you dare do anything naughty, I'll definitely...
