No one knew the secret behind my girlfriend’s childhood friend, Lin Yang, a rookie analyst who claimed he had a “stock god’s intuition.” The first time, he sensed an exact list of stocks about to hit their daily limit. The second time, he predicted financial figures that hadn’t been released yet. The third time, he confidently told the cameras a certain stock would soar, while secretly shorting it like crazy. As everyone applauded him and hailed him as the “Wall Street God,” I calmly submitted a request to transfer to an administrative position. Watching the sweet, bloody scent waft from his left wrist, I sneered and tossed my final research report into the recycling bin. In my previous life, Lin Yang used his “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, he always seemed to “know in advance.” Every time I spent all night calculating figures, they became his “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 Lin Yang first demonstrated his “stock god’s intuition.”
