No one knew the secret behind my boyfriend’s first love, Yang Qingqing, a rookie analyst who claimed she had a “stock god’s intuition.” The first time, she sensed an exact list of stocks about to hit their daily limit. The second time, she predicted financial figures that hadn’t been released yet. The third time, she confidently told the cameras a certain stock would soar, while secretly shorting it like crazy. As everyone applauded her and hailed her as the “Wall Street Goddess,” I calmly submitted a request to transfer to an administrative position. Watching the sweet, bloody scent waft from her red nails, I sneered and tossed my final research report into the recycling bin. In my previous life, Yang Qingqing used her “stock god’s intuition” to ascend to the heights of fame, while I was mocked as all talk and no action. Whenever my quantitative model was about to be released, she always seemed to “know in advance.” Every time I spent all night calculating figures, they became her “sudden flashes of inspiration” in the blink of an eye. Clients who didn’t know the truth decided I had deliberately misled them, causing them to lose everything, and killed me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Yang Qingqing first demonstrated her “stock god’s intuition.”
