“A billion yuan? Are you sure?” After the initial shock subsides, I finally find my voice. “That’s a huge bet on swap bonds when equities are red-hot. Do we even have that kind of cash lying around?”

  “Of course we do,” Hansen replies. “Look, David, I trust your instincts. If you want to make real money, you have to play big. You think I got here by playing chicken? Buy a billion.”

  “Right. Will you be available for the rest of the evening?”

  “Yes, but I’ve got work to do. Don’t disturb me unless you really have to.” He hangs up.

  A billion. It’s not just big—it’s seismic. If I’m wrong, the losses could wreck our performance for the year. But if the Big Five really took 3 billion, and we take 1, that leaves just 1 billion for the rest of the market. Hansen’s known for taking bold, calculated risks—and landing them.

  A light flashes. It's Jinfa.

  “We’re launching it now,” he says. “What do you think, buddy? Want a hundred? I feel lucky on this one. Let’s make some dough!”

  My throat tightens as I speak slowly and deliberately, “I’ll take a billion.”

  Even Jinfa is silenced by that one. I can just hear a whispered “Wow!”

  He puts me on hold. Five seconds tick by.

  “We can’t do a billion at 99,” he says. “We’ll sell you five hundred at 99, but the second five hundred has to be at 99.20.”

  No way. I’ll be damned if I'm letting them get away with that. They're not going to front-run me on my own conviction.

  “Come on, Jinfa. You know the rest of the market hates this deal. I just happen to like it—but only at 99. It’s a billion at 99 or none at all.”

  “David, you don’t understand how these things work. If you want size, you pay up.”

  His wheedling tone grates.

  “A billion at 99,” I repeat, “or you’ve got a dog on your hands.”

  A pause.

  Then: “Fine. You're done. We'll sell you one billion of the new Shandong at 99.”

  I set the phone down. My hand is shaking. This is by far the biggest position I’ve ever taken. Betting a billion yuan against the market’s consensus makes me more than a little nervous. My mind conjured up the awful possibilities.

  What if I’ve got it all wrong? What if we lose millions in the next few minutes? How do I explain this to Chairman Wang? To the State-owned Assets Supervision and Administration Commission? This isn’t the U.S. This is the Republic. Losing state money isn’t just failure—it’s a serious crime.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  This wouldn’t do. I have to banish all the what-ifs from my mind. I have to transform my brain from an emotional jumble of wild conjectures to a totally reliable calculating machine. I have to relax. I notice that my knuckles are white as they clutch the handset of my telephone. I force my fingers to loosen their grip.

  The lines are all flashing. I pick one up. It’s Claire.

  “What did I tell you? A howling dog. Did you actually buy any?”

  “We did buy some, actually, yes.”

  “Oh no.” She sounds sympathetic. “You really have to be careful with Jinfa. But hey, if you want more, you know where to come. We’re offering at 98.90.”

  “No thanks. Bye.”

  So Citadel is already offering below the initial offering price of 99. But Claire had mentioned that they would try to short-sell bonds they don't have in the hope of buying them back later. No wonder their offer was low.

  I pick up another line.

  “Hi David, it’s Paul. Did you take any of these new Shandongs?”

  “A few,” I reply.

  “Well, this thing is falling out of bed. We’re bidding 98.75, offering at 98.80. No one wants it.”

  Oh God. This is all going horribly wrong. The price is falling fast. At a bid of 98.75, I’m down 2.5 million. Do I cut my losses?

  I hear the old trader’s mantra: Cut your losses, let your profits run.

  Then another: If you have a view, stick with it.

  Great. Contradictory wisdom. Think, David. Think.

  Another line flashes. Claire again.

  “This doesn’t look good, I’m afraid” she says. “We’re bidding 98.50 now. There are sellers everywhere. This bond’s only going one way. Do you want to do anything?”

  Ninety-eight fifty. My losses are now five million.

  A voice inside me screams: Sell!

  Fortunately I manage to answer in a quiet, hoarse voice, “No, nothing right now, thank you.”

  I dial Merchants Securities. Jinfa picks up.

  “What’s going wrong with this deal?” I ask, just winning the struggle to keep my voice below a shout. “I thought you had placed most of it?”

  “Relax, David,” he says. “We sold three billion to the Big Five. You took a billion. Guotai Junan took five hundred million. We just bought back five hundred million from other dealers. That’s five billion. There’s nothing else out there.”

  I want to scream. I want to curse him out. But I don’t. I just murmur, “Goodbye.”

  I feel cheated. Betrayed. Worst of all—I feel stupid.

  Anyone can misread a market. But trusting a billion yuan to Jinfa Tian? That’s not a misread. That’s negligence. And he won’t even admit the lie, now that the collapse has exposed it.

  I try to reach Hansen. No answer. I ask his secretary to keep trying while I figure out how to contain this mess.

  During all this, I’m completely absorbed in the chaos unfolding through my phone. When I finally look up, Sonora is watching me over the cubicle wall.

  Her usual half-formed smile isn’t there—but her eyes are steady, warm. Not alarmed. Just present.

  “What was that you said about jumping out the window?” I joke, struggling to keep my voice steady.

  She smiles gently, the kind that doesn’t need effort. “If you’re going to jump, at least wait until the dust settles.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

  “Any ideas?” I ask.

  She tilts her head, thoughtful. It is wrong of me to ask her. There is no magic solution to this problem, and I can't offload the burden of responsibility for such an enormous cock-up on to her.

  But as she pauses, I find myself daring to hope that she’ll point out something I’ve missed. Some elegant, overlooked solution.

  “You could sell,” she says, voice soft but clear.

  I could. And lock in a 5 million loss. Maybe lose my job. Or I could hold—and risk losing more.

  Then she adds, almost gently: “Or you could buy more.”

  I stare at her. Like she’s just suggested I jump into the fire.

  Yet, something in her measured tone and the glint in her eyes tells me she's not being sarcastic—she's being strategic.