In 1983, the Shenzhen Special Economic Zone was a hive of activity.
Gu Xiao, a military officer recently transferred to civilian life, was overwhelmed at headquarters: foreign investors were pulling out, and foreign currency reserves were running low.
Late one night, he came home to find his new wife, Su Wan, in the kitchen, speaking fluent English into a satellite phone: “All in on Hong Kong stocks!”
The Financial Times lay scattered across the counter, stained with cooking oil, while his late-night chicken soup simmered in an iron wok.
“Wanwan, are you speculating?” Gu Xiao asked, tightening his grip on his service pistol.
Su Wan turned with a smile and slipped a Swiss bankbook into his hand. “Honey, will this be enough to attract investors?”
Three days later, when Hong Kong businessmen showed up with withdrawal papers, Gu Xiao slapped the bankbook down on the table.
“Foreign currency? My wife has plenty.”
The entire Special Economic Zone was in an uproar: Could the beloved wife of this doting husband really be a Wall Street financial wizard?
