Chapter 59: Even a "Demon Stock" Needs a Proper Story
As the setting sun cast its golden glow through the windows, Lu Liang lazily opened his eyes, his mind clear and his body enveloped in a pleasant comfort.
He noticed the shoes and socks of Zhang Qian and her daughter still by the entryway. After washing his face in the bathroom, he opened Zhang Qian’s bedroom door.
Mother and daughter were nestled together on the bed, exuding a tranquil and beautiful aura. Zhang Qian’s lips curved into a contented smile, though her daughter, wide awake, brightened at the sight of Lu Liang entering.
“Uncle, you’re awake!” she whispered joyfully.
Zhang Qian stirred, groggily pulling her hair back as she squinted. “Let wash up, then I’ll start cooking.”
“Don’t bother. Let’s eat out,” Lu Liang suggested.
The three of them headed to a newly reopened mall nearby.
At the entrance of a shop, Zhang Qian pointed to the third storefront. “What do you think of this spot?”
The space was 185 square ters. Though not near the subway, it was on a busy route connecting nearby residential communities to the station.
By 7 p.m., the street was bustling, lined with snack stalls every five steps and restaurants every ten.
Lu Liang thought back to what Zhang Qian had said before his nap. After a mont of contemplation, he remarked, “If you open here, the competition will be intense.”
Urban fast food generally fell into two categories: portion-based or weighed. Both were popular with city dwellers.
Lu Liang often dined at weigh-your-plate restaurants—als costing around 20 yuan with a wide variety of dishes to choose from.
“Give it a shot. If the store is clean and organized, you could make a na for yourself,” he encouraged.
Zhang Qian’s determination showed in her tone. The area was mostly small eateries with varying hygiene standards. Urban fast-food chains typically thrived in comrcial districts, and this street had none so far.
“How much more do you need?”
“No need. I’ve got enough savings,” she replied with a radiant smile.
Lu Liang studied her for a mont before sighing. “If you’re short on funds, don’t force yourself.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t pretend to be fine when I’m not,” Zhang Qian said, beaming.
Turning to the little girl, Lu Liang asked, “What do you want to eat?”
“Chestnut chicken pot!”
“Let’s go. I thought you’d pick McDonald’s again.”
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That night, Lu Liang stayed over at Zhang Qian’s ho. The next morning, he went to Yongfeng Building.
The office had new faces: Tang Caidie had hired a new accountant, an administrative assistant, and a receptionist.
To balance the gender dynamics, the accountant was a man in his thirties with a simple and honest deanor. However, the assistant and receptionist positions hadn’t attracted male applicants, so they remained female hires. RА₦ȫᛒƐṦ
Including Lu Liang, the office now had six staff mbers—two n and four won—finally resembling a proper company.
Tang Caidie implented a new managent plan, especially for financial oversight: expenditures under 2,000 yuan required dual approval, while anything above needed Lu Liang’s signature.
The previous practice of buying first and seeking reimbursent later was abolished.
She emphasized that a startup must adhere strictly to rules early on, as later adjustnts would be harder when the company scaled up.
Unlike most startups, their company wasn’t short on money and didn’t need emotional bonds to retain employees. Lu Liang welcod the increased professionalism.
After a quick morning eting to greet the new employees, he got to work.
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The prior Friday, TeLi A (Special Power A) closed at 9.80 yuan, up 3.55%. On Monday, it opened 1.25% higher, pushing toward the 10-yuan threshold.
Lu Liang recognized this as an excellent ti to accumulate shares.
Chinese investors have a penchant for round numbers, making each one a critical psychological barrier in the stock market. If a stock broke through, it could soar another 4-5%. If it failed, it would plumt.
At 9.97 yuan, Lu Liang prepared to buy. However, unlike before, he refrained from placing visible orders to avoid revealing support levels to retail investors.
Using rapid seat-based transactions, he bought significant volus each ti the stock dropped below 10 yuan but ensured no large orders appeared in the transaction log.
This cycle repeated.
The first half hour after the market opened was the most active. The stock’s turnover, previously averaging 5.2% daily, began climbing steadily.
When turnover reached 7%, Lu Liang stopped buying. His holdings had already reached 24 million yuan, with 11 million purchased that morning. Continuing might draw institutional attention.
TeLi A’s price fluctuations hinted at a wash-trading strategy to shake off retail investors and gain more control over shares. If institutions noticed Lu Liang competing, they might suspend their plans or even target him first.
In the stock market, self-interest reigns supre. Institutions would rather suffer losses than let soone else profit.
By 10 a.m., two institutions were actively manipulating the price, which hovered around 9.99 yuan. Lu Liang identified one as Zhongxin Fuying, a Shenzhen-based private equity firm founded in April with 50 million yuan in registered capital. They had ten trust plans managing assets worth 2.8 billion yuan.
“Both in Shenzhen?”
TeLi A, a Shenzhen company, had strong ties to the local market. Lu Liang suspected insider trading might be involved. Otherwise, how could a newly founded firm raise billions in just two months?
Pulling up TeLi A’s details, Lu Liang reflected on how even "demon stocks" need a compelling narrative to justify their rise. With the right story, even trash could be traded like gold.
TeLi A’s parent company was once a machinery firm but had since transitioned to real estate, specifically leasing. Its actual controller was the Shenzhen State-Owned Assets Supervision and Administration Commission.
Located in Shuibei, Asia’s largest gold and jewelry wholesale market, TeLi A was the biggest landlord in the area, owning the TeLi-Gemgold Jewelry Industrial Park.
Their pitch was building a “jewelry ecosystem.” In simpler terms, they were landlords making money off rent.
Lu Liang struggled to see how such a business warranted hype. But with so imagination, he linked it to the trending “state-owned enterprise reform” concept.
Over recent years, SOE reform had been frequently discussed but not implented, making it a speculative the in the stock market.
“If they’re playing this ga, aren’t they afraid of getting caught?” Lu Liang murmured, surprised.
Insider trading often involved acting on key decisions before public announcents. But tampering with redhead docunts or national policies was a severe violation, punishable by extre asures.
Feeling cautious, Lu Liang decided to hold his 30.4% position and observe.
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Later, Chen Jinchun knocked on the door, announcing the arrival of OFO’s founding team to sign their contract.
Lu Liang entered the conference room to see Dai Wei and his classmates being hosted by Tang Caidie.
While waiting for the contracts, Lu Liang casually asked, “Mr. Dai, how much do you know about Mobike?”
Dai Wei, surprised by the question, explained, “We’ve kept an eye on them, but our philosophies differ.”
Both companies focused on bike-sharing, yet Dai Wei believed bicycles were rely a tool to solve last-mile transportation issues. They didn’t need to be fashionable or luxurious—just functional.
“All shared bikes have solid tires with limited elasticity, making them bumpy and uncomfortable. That’s inevitable,” he noted.
In contrast, Mobike’s founder Hu Weiwei had a romantic vision. She dread of people cycling down Beijing’s autumn streets, surrounded by fallen leaves, past the ancient walls of the Forbidden City.
Her ideals had led Mobike to produce bikes costing twice as much as OFO’s. Dai Wei didn’t see a sustainable future for such an approach.
Lu Liang smiled and remarked, “Mr. Dai, Mobike has its rits. Learn from them where you can.”
Dai Wei, mindful of the investor relationship, couldn’t outright disparage Mobike. “Of course, learn from the barbarians to beat them,” he replied.
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