He Chu San stepped forward to receive him, personally leading the man into his office. The proxy walked up to the floor-to-ceiling window and cast a glance at the glittering morning sea beyond. Then, without a word, he turned and drew the curtains shut—the room sank at once into shadow.
“Shall we begin?” He Chu San asked.
“Let us begin.”
……
Mr. He sat beneath the awning, leisurely puffing on his pipe, exhaling clouds of smoke in contentment. Two old neighbors hurried past his stall in a flurry.
“Where are you off to?!” Mr. He called out.
“Old He! Didn’t you read today’s paper?! Disaster’s struck! I’ve got to find my stockbroker—now!”
“What disaster—?” Mr. He had barely begun to ask when the two had already scampered off, their old legs moving with surprising speed. Frowning, he picked up the morning paper from his stall and gave it a look.
The front page screamed in bold, jarring print: “The Death of Hong Kong!!!”
Beneath it ran a string of alarming subheadings:
“A Massive Bubble Hidden in Property and Stock Markets—Hang Seng Index to Plunge to Historic Lows”
The article itself, penned by an anonymous “informed source”, laid out an overwhelming array of data, expounding at length on how last year’s pound sterling collapse had impacted the Hong Kong dollar and stock market. It went further, exposing the seemingly prosperous real estate, equities, and futures markets as hollow shells—bloated with perilous bubbles waiting to burst. Line after line condemned the Hong Kong market, each word resolute and forceful.
Hang Seng Index, a key indicator of Hong Kong’s stock market prices.
Such a grand, sweeping piece—like a blade carving through armies—yet Mr. He read no more than three lines before tossing it aside.
“What’s that got to do with me? I can’t even afford a house.”
He cupped his hands and shouted in the direction the two men had fled: “And you two! At your age, still playing the stock market?!”
Mrs. Wu came out from inside upon hearing this, bending to pick up the paper with a worried look. “Isn’t our A’San also dealing in stocks?”
“That damn brat!” Mr. He waved a hand grandly. “Don’t believe a single word he says!”
……
Yet before stock index boards, in front of hundreds and thousands of computers, and at the entrances of every exchange, crowds surged and clamored—everyone speaking of the same “great calamity.”
In the hands of the people were newspapers of all sizes, each publishing analyses by various “informed insiders” and “anonymous experts,” all echoing the same dire conclusions. On brokers’ desks, telephones rang incessantly; within the exchanges, a din of chaos rose unceasingly.
Just as the masses debated whether this was mere alarmist folly or a scheme by those with hidden motives, the morning session opened—and the prophecy came true.
A flood of sell orders for the Hong Kong dollar surged through the foreign exchange market. The currency began to fall.
Across countless screens, green numbers flickered into life.
The unease of investors lasted only moments before transforming into outright terror—mass sell-offs struck the stock market as well, and the Hang Seng Index began its downward slide.
The day had dawned clear and gentle, a sky without a single cloud—yet fear spread through the city like a plague tide. From behind the scenes, market manipulators rode the wave of media assault, dumping Hong Kong dollars and short-selling Hong Kong stocks the moment trading began.
Under such pressure, countless small investors followed suit, scrambling to unload their shares, dumping HKD, buying USD, desperate to preserve what value they could…
For a time, the great fall of the market seemed all but sealed.
In streets and alleys alike, voices rose in endless discussion; hearts trembled, unrest spreading through the populace.
Within a standalone office building in Wan Chai, inside the lobby office—
Several managers worked at their computers with lightning speed, phones clamped between shoulder and ear as they barked rapid instructions down the line. All manner of jargon and underworld code spilled from their mouths—some Kevin could understand, others slipped past him entirely.
Kevin stood alone before the television. On-screen, crowds of investors clogged the streets; financial reporters relayed the market’s turmoil in tense voices:
From 10 a.m. to 12:30 p.m., throughout the entire morning session, both the Hong Kong dollar exchange rate and the Hang Seng Index had fallen without pause, nearing historic lows. Dark clouds loomed over this solitary city upon the sea…
……
Inside the dim general manager’s office, He Chu San remained composed, his gaze fixed on the ever-shifting data across the computer screen. His fingers idly toyed with the diamond ring hanging from a chain around his neck.
“You’re married?” the proxy asked. He had never seen He Chu San wear it before.
“Privately pledged for life.”
The proxy smiled faintly. “Young people always believe that a single moment can last a lifetime.”
“Better that than living an entire lifetime… only to never have that one moment at all.”
The proxy chuckled again.
He Chu San watched as the Hong Kong dollar’s exchange rate broke past its historical low at market close. Rising to his feet, he turned the screen toward the proxy.
“Report to the Shopkeeper. It’s time for your side to enter the field this afternoon.”
……
Xia Liu Yi braved the blazing midday sun, hiding in a corner of the upper lobby of the International Convention and Exhibition Center. A baseball cap was pulled low over his face, a mask covering his features. Pressed against the glass, he peered outward through a pair of binoculars with intense focus.
Though He Chu San had hung up in haste that day, though he had not revealed when he would make his move, Xia Liu Yi’s eyelids had been twitching violently since the night before.
He could feel it—He Chu San would not wait any longer.
Beneath that calm exterior lay suppressed emotion, a desperate urge to end everything swiftly… and come to him.
Cold dread seeped into his limbs. Only by seeing him with his own eyes could he find peace.
He had been wedged in this narrow gap for over an hour now—He Chu San’s office faced the sea and stood at a high elevation. Xia Liu Yi had run through nearby buildings the entire morning before finding this slanted vantage point that allowed him a glimpse of those floor-to-ceiling windows.
Yet the curtains there remained tightly drawn.
Through the binoculars, he checked again and again, confirming that He Chu San’s car still sat in the parking lot below. Just as he strained his eyes to detect any movement in the curtains, staff from the venue finally noticed him.
“Sir? Sir?”
“What?”
“Sir, you can’t stay here.”
“I’m here for the exhibition.”
“There’s no exhibition on this floor today. Which one are you attending?”
“The… the one downstairs.”
“Then we’ll escort you down.”
“Don’t touch me! Get lost!”
“Sir, if you continue like this, we’ll call security!”
Seeing two burly Indian security guards rushing toward him, Xia Liu Yi swiftly calculated the consequences of knocking them down—and the inevitable police cars that would soon arrive below.
With a sharp tug, he lowered his cap, gripped his binoculars tight, and slipped away along the wall like a shadow fleeing pursuit.
An hour later, he climbed to the rooftop of the building where he had once gazed across at He Chu San under the night sky. Beneath the blazing sun, he frowned and opened a pink parasol—hastily bought from a supermarket below, color not his choice.
Beneath the lace-trimmed edge, he raised his binoculars again.
From this angle, he could only see the lobby office of He Chu San’s company. He spotted Kevin pacing near the window, and several staff seated at their computers.
……
At that very moment, separated from his gaze by a single door, He Chu San sat within the general manager’s office, rapidly scrolling through data—the afternoon session had begun.
Yet the fall of the Hang Seng Index had begun to stall.
He Chu San rose and made several calls in succession, learning that major blue-chip companies had begun responding to the sharp drop in their share prices, initiating stock buybacks to halt the decline.
“Notify your funds to enter the market!” he said sharply to the proxy. “We won’t be able to hold this situation much longer!”
The proxy glanced at his watch—it was not yet three o’clock.
“‘He’ is currently attending a lecture. He cannot take calls. You’ll have to wait until he comes out.”
He Chu San’s temper flared. “By then it’ll be too late! Inform your traders directly!”
The proxy met his gaze calmly. “I believe you misunderstand my position. I am not his agent—I am merely his stand-in. I hold no authority to make decisions.”
In a flash, He Chu San lunged forward and seized his wrist!
“Understand this clearly!” he snapped. “I’ve put in one hundred million! The Shopkeeper stands to make three billion! Every second of your hesitation is a massive loss! Can you bear that responsibility?! Call him—now!”
Under that burning, blade-sharp stare, the proxy’s brows knit slightly. Before He Chu San, he dialed the brick phone and held it out.
“Beep—! Beep—! ……”
As expected, Xie Ying Jie did not answer.
He Chu San’s face drained of color. Cold sweat seeped down his back in steady drops.
He knew it—this was deliberate.
His grand spectacle in the marketplace had not yet earned the other man’s trust. If the scent of blood did not reach the sea, the sharks would not come. They would squeeze him dry—drain every last drop—before believing in his loyalty.
Releasing the proxy, he strode quickly to the desk and dialed the internal line.
“Kevin—have them put in the clients’ funds as well!”
From the other end came the hesitant voice of a manager who had been listening in: “Mr. He, but—”
“Tell them to shut up!” He Chu San barked. “Do as I say! Whatever happens—I’ll bear it!”
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Futile Devices Scans 
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