Traveling through Hong Kong in the 1980s, I, the Wolf of Wall Street, became the fourth-nine kid at the bottom of the gang.
At the beginning, he owed loan sharks and was about to be reclaimed to feed fish. Facing the murderous club, I adjusted my non-existent gold-rimmed glasses:
"Boss, give me three months to make your bankrupt company's market value increase tenfold."
From then on, the rules of the world were stepped on by me.
While others relied on machetes to grab land, I relied on capital acquisitions and short-selling the stock market. While others lent money out nine times and 13 times, I launched "debt restructuring" and "credit evaluation" to turn bad debts into gold. While others indulged in parking and watching, I quietly built a media empire and controlled the mouthpieces.
When my enemies thought I was still the bad boy on the street, little did they know that their wealth, public opinion and even their destiny had already been silently controlled by me.
It makes me pick my feet when I hear it.