Peninsula: Compound Returns on Korean Stocks, and a Chance Encounter with a Top-Tier Star Next Door

Chen Jing'an didn't like to talk. He only liked watching the markets.

He entered the market in his sophomore year of college, and by graduation, his account had six figures. He stayed cooped up at home for two years and grew that sum to seven figures. Then he moved to Seoul alone with two suitcases and rented a north-facing apartment by the Han River.

A woman with a very strange schedule lived next door in 1902. She came home at three in the morning, showered at four, and had nothing but a tub of sugar-free yogurt in her fridge. She said she worked in corporate planning and was following a five-person project that "couldn't be discussed before launch."

He believed her.

All he knew was that she couldn't stand noise, had a bad stomach, turned his T-shirts inside out before hanging them to dry, and would hand him a can of beer by the river at four in the morning and say, "I understand."

What he didn't know was that the woman hailed as a top-tier star by millions on the television in the convenience store downstairs crossed the hallway every night, knocked on his door, and asked what he'd eaten that day.

When it came to trading, he believed in only two things: rules and compounding.

Until one New Year's Eve, the tablet she'd left at his place lit up.