Making so much money, are you out of your mind

The Weibo post.

This expert analyst surnamed Liu published his post,

and it quickly stirred up quite a reaction.

Mainly because what he said wasn’t wrong—isn’t finance just bloodsucking?

Isn’t a zero-sum game just you profiting from others’ losses?

So,

even though Expert Liu’s post was highly provocative, many found themselves at a loss for words.

Only the head of the review department called Young Master Cao to ask if they should ban the account.

After all, Young Master Cao held shares in the platform.

Acting as both referee and player—

sometimes, it really was a sweet deal.

But Cao Cheng remained upright and told the review team not to interfere with such opinions.

His attitude even earned the respect of the department head. Truly befitting a billionaire—such magnanimity.

Because this Analyst Liu had gone hard.

Slapping labels left and right.

Trying to stir up public resentment against the wealthy, fueling outrage and tarnishing Cao Cheng’s reputation.

This was outright hostility.

The kind that wouldn’t end until one side was crushed.

Then again,

this was a clash of titans.

Analyst Liu might not have Young Master Cao’s wealth, but he’d spent half his life in finance, serving as an expert for multiple banks.

He’d even worked with big foreign capital.

His credentials were solid.

Young Master Cao stayed silent.

But Analyst Liu’s friends began reposting his words, adding their own endorsements, agreeing that Young Master Cao had profited from two global crises, sucking people dry, driving countless to bankruptcy, to suicide, to broken families.

This was practically calling Young Master Cao the devil.

Making everyone suffer just to line his own pockets—was that even human?

As if he’d personally engineered both crises.

And,

it worked.

People naturally sympathize with the underdog, and suddenly, a flood of haters emerged.

Young Master Cao had plenty of fans.

But many of his male followers found themselves outmatched, trying to reason that finance was inherently a zero-sum game—how were those ruined families Young Master Cao’s fault?

But Analyst Liu’s troll army and fans weren’t here for logic. They just pinned every tragedy on Young Master Cao.

The male fans retreated.

Meanwhile, the "wifey fans"—

the female fans—held their ground.

No need for reason. Just one line: No skill, still playing the market? If they died, they deserved it! Whole families? Good riddance!

See?

That one sentence shut people down.

And it kinda made sense.

The wifey fans were a force. Whatever the argument, they were here for the looks—as long as their "hubby" wasn’t hurt, everyone else could burn.

That one stance made them invincible.

Foreigners’ tragedies? What’s that got to do with us?

Of course,

this only added to Young Master Cao’s haters.

Even he shook his head reading it.

Ladies—ah, only the pretty ones, the ugly don’t count—

Ladies, some things just shouldn’t be said. Even if some people had it coming, we still gotta respect the dead.

Take a page from the Japanese playbook.

Bow, say sumimasen.

Problem solved.

Gotta keep up appearances.

No need to double down.

Cao Cheng was amused.

...

The controversy kept growing.

Emotions kept rising.

As the central figure, Young Master Cao hadn’t said a word, just basking in the emotional storm.

Until the third day.

Finally, Cao Cheng broke his silence.

He posted a picture.

"Grilled chicken wings—my favorite!"

A trident of Poseon skewered several chicken wings, mid-barbecue.

No need to guess—Cao Cheng was clearly indulging in leisure again.

"..."

"!"

"?"

"Husband, I want some too."

"Jealous of your daily life, Young Master Cao. Meanwhile, I'm still slaving away at work."

Fans arrived first, flooding the comments with envy—mostly female admirers.

Then came the haters.

"How can you even eat at a time like this? Disgusting."

"Enjoy your dirty money while it lasts. Your downfall is coming."

"..."

A tidal wave of comments scrolled endlessly.

Plenty of onlookers chimed in too.

That simple photo of grilled wings reminded people of a certain movie, inadvertently boosting its viewership.

Emotional engagement points? Maxed out.

Lately, Cao Cheng needed more and more of these emotional points. He was grinding for loot boxes, and the tech demands kept rising—after all, eight research institutes were waiting for work.

He’d spent a fortune hiring all these Ph.D.s and professors. Couldn’t let them sit idle, right?

That’d be a waste.

And honestly, he had to admire them. As long as they weren’t forced to create something from nothing, their R&D speed was insane.

Patent filings were skyrocketing too.

Cao Cheng was confident—within two years, these patents alone would let him retire, living off royalties.

Give it another two years, and he’d be rubbing shoulders with the global elite.

...

The next day.

Cao Cheng posted a hotpot photo.

Rain poured outside.

But here? A massive canopy kept them dry.

Two women in qipaos attended to him, so Young Master Cao didn’t lift a finger—just pointed at whatever he wanted to eat.

Another photo, another wave of shattered sanity.

The curses piled up.

But curses, in essence, are a double-edged sword.

When you curse someone, if the curse ever takes effect, the backlash will be tenfold.

Of course,

Cao Cheng wasn’t afraid. Death couldn’t even touch him—why fear a few bitter words?

Just the usual "waiting for your downfall" or "the ghosts of those you ruined will come for you at midnight" nonsense.

Meh.

Whatever.

As long as the emotional points kept rolling in.

And they were rolling in plenty.

...

Day three.

The rain didn’t let up.

Cao Cheng lounged in a lush eco-park, a masseuse working on his back.

Young Master Cao snapped a selfie.

Grinning like an idiot.

Caption: "This girl’s hands are strong. Hurts so good."

...

Day four.

Finally, Cao Cheng did something "serious"—he posted a screenshot.

A foreign exchange earnings chart.

Most couldn’t make sense of it.

But some could.

Forty million in profit. In a single day.

Caption: "Looks like another wave of bankruptcies and ruined families overseas. Alas, woe is them."

"..."

"You absolute monster."

"No humanity left in you."

This time, the meltdown was total.

Truthfully, it wasn’t about the ruined lives—it was about the sheer scale of his profits.

Earning that much?

Are you trying to get yourself killed?

...

Day five.

Cao Cheng posted nothing.

Not because Young Master Cao didn’t want to.

After all, those emotional points were too easy—just snap a pic and rake them in. No more hustling like the old days, personally hustling chess games.

He’d long since outgrown the beginner phase.

But,

the reason for the silence?

His father-in-law called.

And tore into him.

Later, the village officials called and even personally visited the eco-park to have a chat with Young Master Cao.

How to put it?

The gist of the situation was this: eating, drinking, having fun, and even pissing people off—no problem. That’s your freedom. Do whatever you want.

But…

Posting screenshots of forex profits? That’s a no-go.

It’s obvious this isn’t a bank-approved forex platform.

To put it bluntly—it’s not compliant.

On top of that, this was essentially the old man (his father-in-law) ordering Young Master Cao to keep a low profile.

Back when Young Master Cao used to post in stock forums about profits in the hundreds of thousands or even millions, no regulators ever came knocking.

Now that he’s made it big, the responsibilities and rules weighing on him have multiplied.

When you think about it, it makes sense.

If everyone sees you making money in forex, especially with high leverage—turning small bets into massive wins—it’s easy for people to follow suit. Seeing is believing, and believing leads to action.

Once enough people try it, the number of those losing everything, jumping off buildings, or fleeing debt will skyrocket.

Do they really think anyone can profit from forex?

Ever seen someone get wiped out in minutes?

So,

Cao Cheng had no choice but to delete that screenshot.

……

Of course,

In the end, he also got wind of something: someone had reported him internally, claiming his forex activities were non-compliant.

And it wasn’t just one person—multiple domestic financial institutions had lodged complaints.

That’s why the higher-ups had to take it seriously.

Damn it.

Playing the snitch game?

Young Master Cao was amused.

He’d been planning to take things slow, but now they’d gone and tattled—like kids running to the teacher or their parents.

Fine. Wait for me after school, you bastards.

……

Cao Cheng made a call to Tang Xin.

“Look into something for me…”

If you’ve got connections, you might as well use them.

He had Tang Xin dig up the list of whistleblowers.

Anonymous or not—it doesn’t matter.

Nothing in this world is truly anonymous, you know?

If you really believe you can report someone anonymously, you’re just naive.

Two days later.

A long list, covering twelve institutions and over forty names, landed on Young Master Cao’s tea table.

Originally, he’d planned to make an example of just one person—the so-called “Expert Liu”—to scare the rest into line.

But since they’d all jumped out of the woodwork, he couldn’t be blamed for playing dirty.

Young Master Cao was sure

Not all of them were moles—just a handful. The rest were bandwagoners, probably just jealous of him.

After all, they were in the same industry.

Envy and resentment were only natural.

But once they’d taken a swing at him, they couldn’t complain when he hit back.

……

The controversy still had legs.

Even though Young Master Cao hadn’t posted any screenshots for days, rumors were swirling in certain circles.

A new account posted on Weibo: “Cao Cheng is under regulatory investigation. Suspected issues with fund sources and tax evasion…”

Rumors spread like wildfire.

The damage to Young Master Cao’s reputation was severe, and many of his followers bought into it.

Debunking the rumors wouldn’t be hard.

But erasing their impact? Nearly impossible.

Let’s break it down:

If a false claim reaches ten thousand people,

After a rebuttal, maybe 30% will see the correction.

The other 70% will forever doubt your integrity—some might carry that suspicion to their graves.

And of those 30% who see the rebuttal, only a fraction will actually believe it.

Meaning, most people will still trust the original rumor, especially if it fits their cynical worldview—because that’s human nature.

So,

When hit with rumors, the best counterattack is to drown them out with an even bigger scandal.

Fighting fire with fire is the best solution.

Just as many people began accusing Young Master Cao of tax evasion and urging regulators to investigate, Cao Cheng broke his five-day silence.

He posted again—this time, a single image.

The picture showed a USB flash drive.

The caption read: "Found this USB at the door. No idea who it belongs to."

"..."

"..."

The déjà vu moment left the comments section eerily quiet for a full minute.

Cao Cheng chuckled dryly and called the tech department: "Did Weibo crash? Why’s there no reaction?"