Chapter 437: Short Selling

The rain over Tokyo finally stopped before dawn.

The sky turned a murky lead‑gray, and the damp streets reflected the sparse lights and the city's outline gradually waking.

In the all‑night office in Roppongi, the harsh screen glare was finally dimmed, yet the air still lingered with excitement and the smell of gunpowder.

Li Ping'an still stood by the window, watching the street below fill with early‑morning trains and scattered pedestrians.

Overnight, the winds and clouds changed.

The once‑arrogant skyscrapers that pierced the skyline, and the dazzling neon that symbolized economic miracles, now seemed shrouded in a dim shadow under the cool dawn light.

He knew the shadow did not come from the sky but from a chill called "panic" spreading from countless trading terminals and investors' minds.

Behind him, Zhou Wenbin slumped in his chair, eyes closed, his fingers still twitching involuntarily as if still striking an invisible keyboard.

Lin Wanyi leaned against the filing cabinet, holding a coffee long since gone cold; her gaze was unfocused, yet a faint, almost feeble smile tugged at her lips.

Other traders and researchers either propped themselves on the desks for a nap or whispered, their faces a mix of extreme fatigue and incredulous excitement.

On the desks and floor lay scattered scrap paper filled with numbers, empty coffee cups and a crumpled pack of cigarettes—though no one smoked in the room, the habit of fidgeting when tense was unavoidable.

The preliminary figures were reconfirmed at daybreak.

During the frantic trades of the past ten‑plus hours, riding the market tsunami triggered by the Plaza Accord, Wanshang Investment employed up to 300 % leverage to secure astonishing floating profits on short positions in Nikkei futures, major bank stocks, real‑estate stocks and the foreign‑exchange market.

"5.7 billion… dollars," Lin Wanyi read the figure, her voice still a little airy.

And this was only the first wave.

The Accord's impact was far‑reaching; the yen's forced appreciation had just begun, and the shockwaves to Japan's export‑oriented economy would spread layer by layer, gradually eroding the inflated asset‑price bubbles.

Their short positions were like a massive net laid in advance along an avalanche path, catching the rolling "wealth snowballs" as they fell.

"Mr. Li, next…" Zhou Wenbin rubbed his blood‑shot eyes, sat upright, and asked hoarsely. After the initial euphoria, a deeper sense of responsibility for the massive capital and the uncertain situation seized him.

Everyone's gaze refocused on Li Ping'an.

He left the window, moved to the center of the room, his calm eyes sweeping over the tired yet hopeful faces.

"Stage one, harvesting panic, essentially complete," his voice was steady, carrying a soothing power, "but we came to Japan not to make a quick profit."

He walked to a whiteboard and picked up a marker.

"Stage two: cold‑eyed observation, waiting for deep winter."

The tip of the marker scratched the board, producing a crisp sound.

"From now on, the trading strategy shifts," Li Ping'an said while writing, "short positions will retain their core, especially those targeting obviously over‑valued, heavily indebted real‑estate and certain financial institutions.

The remaining highly profitable positions will be gradually unwound over the next week as the market rebounds, locking in profit and returning capital."

"Rebound?" a young researcher asked instinctively. Staring at the still‑green crash curve on the screen, he could hardly imagine a decent rebound in the short term.

"There will be one," Li Ping'an affirmed, "a drop this severe will inevitably trigger technical buying and some institutions' self‑rescue attempts.

Panic isn't a straight line but a wave. We will use these waves to safely pull back part of our forces while maintaining pressure on the market."

He paused, "The funds recovered from closing positions will be transferred entirely into a special account at Wanshang Bank Tokyo Branch, converted to yen and dollar cash, maintaining maximum liquidity."

"Stage three," Li Ping'an wrote larger on the board, "the real goal: selective whale‑taking."

The marker tip halted heavily.

"We need to form a special team—no, multiple teams."

His gaze sharpened, "First team, industry analysis group. Led by Lin Wanyi, mobilizing our industry researchers in Hong Kong and the United States, focusing on Japan's globally competitive sectors: automobile manufacturing, Precision Machine Tool, optical instruments, semiconductor materials and equipment, and specialty chemicals."

"Your task isn't to watch stock prices but to examine factories, technologies, patents, and R&D teams. Compile a list, assess which companies' core assets may be forced to sell in the coming winter, or which top talent might defect."

Lin Wanyi immediately nodded, her eyes regaining clarity and focus.

"Second team, intelligence and channels group. Zhou Wenbin, you lead."

Li Ping'an looked at him, "Leverage all the networks we've built over the past years in Japan's financial market—including brokerages, investment banks, accounting firms, and even some grey‑area information brokers.

I need to know which conglomerates' cash flows will run dry first, which banks face the greatest bad‑loan pressure, and which companies are secretly seeking a 'white‑coat knight' or planning to sell non‑core assets."

"Especially," he emphasized, "watch those firms with secret tech collaborations with the Soviet Union or possessing unique military‑to‑civilian tech. The Plaza Accord's impact is comprehensive; these hidden under‑ice assets may surface even faster."

Zhou Wenbin inhaled deeply, feeling the weight on his shoulders grow heavier yet more concrete.

"Third team, legal and negotiation group."

Li Ping'an continued, "Bring the best cross‑border M&A lawyers, accountants, and valuers from Hong Kong and New York. What we're doing isn't stock‑picking; it's acquisitions, mergers, and technology transfers. How contracts are drafted, structures built, capital moved, taxes handled—these must be compliant and efficient."

"Remember," he surveyed the room, "our identity is Hong Kong's 'Wanshang Investment', a 'friendly capital' that sees the long‑term value of Japan's quality assets. Our appetite shouldn't be too unsightly, but we must take every cent we're owed."

"Finally, the fourth matter I'll handle personally," Li Ping'an set down the marker, "talent."

He walked to the window again, gazing at the city gradually coming into focus in the morning light.

"In an economic winter, the first to freeze are plants and trees shedding leaves. But for the true pillars—top engineers, scientists, senior technicians—losing jobs and purpose is scarier than the cold."

"We'll use a method similar to the intelligence network we built in the Soviet Union, but more legal and gentle. Under the names 'Wanshang Research Institute' and 'Wanshang Manufacturing', we'll set up recruitment offices in Japan, offering competitive international salaries, stable research environments, and… a booming massive market—the future of China."

His voice was calm yet carried a powerful persuasiveness.

"We're not digging for one or two people, but for whole teams, souls carrying know‑how."

With deployment complete, the office fell silent.

Everyone understood the boss wasn't drawing a short‑term trading chart but a grand strategic acquisition blueprint.

A night's profit of tens of billions of dollars was merely the seed capital and confidence backing this blueprint.

"Everyone," Li Ping'an turned, his face still expressionless but his eyes resolute, "the wildest sell‑off may be ending, but the most patience‑testing hunt is just beginning. The market will move from panic‑driven crash into a prolonged winter of down‑trend, consolidation, occasional rebounds. This could last a year, maybe three."

"What we must do is endure like hunters, sift like archaeologists, plan like strategists. Forget last night's screen numbers; they're not the finish line, they're tickets—to the next room, to the real feast."

He clapped his hands, "Now, aside from the watchmen, everyone else may rest. At two p. m., the team leaders will meet; I want to see the preliminary framework and personnel list."

The crowd dispersed, and the office suddenly felt empty.

Li Ping'an stayed alone, walked to a secure telephone dedicated to international long‑distance calls, and dialed a number.

After a few rings, the call was answered.

"It's me," Li Ping'an said in Chinese.

The voice of Political Commissar Zhou Zhengwei came over the Telephone, steady and with a barely perceptible concern: "There's a lot of movement in Tokyo."

"The first step is on target," Li Ping'an reported briefly. "Funds will soon partially flow back. The second‑phase plan is launching, focusing on technology and talent. The 'receiving unit' and 'expert assessment team' you prepared can start warming up now."

"Understood," Political Commissar Zhou Zhengwei said gravely. "I'll handle the routes and security. Remember, Ping'an, technology can be indirect, talent can be flexibly introduced, but everything must be done in the open, able to withstand any scrutiny. Your arena is business, and that has never changed."

"I'm clear on that," Li Ping'an nodded. "The arena is business, but the audience is the nation's future."

He hung up the Telephone and let out a long sigh.

Cooperating with the state is a deeper level of scheming.

He brandishes the capital's spear at the front desk, capturing valuable 'prey'; the state supplies the landing plain and research nest at the rear, turning the prey into tangible productive power. It's a win‑win, and a mission beyond wealth bestowed on him by this era.

In the days that followed, Tokyo's financial market underwent roller‑coaster turbulence.

As Li Ping'an had anticipated, a technical rebound followed the plunge, with some institutions and retail investors trying to scoop up the bottom.

Wanxiang Investment, per plan, calmly covered part of its short positions on the upswing, converting massive floating profits into solid cash that continuously flowed into bank accounts.

Meanwhile, Lin Wanyi's industry analysis team kicked into high gear, compiling preliminary reports on Japan's advantageous industries and potential targets.

Zhou Wenbin's intelligence unit was active in Tokyo's financial circles—tea rooms, bars, and golf courses—gathering a mix of true and false information.

Li Ping'an did not overly intervene in the concrete operations.

He moved out of the Roppongi trading hub and rented a small villa with a courtyard in a quiet harbor district. He kept a low profile, yet he listened to reports and reviewed key documents daily.

Most of the time, he was reading.

Reading annual reports of major Japanese firms, reading industry white papers, reading deep dossiers on certain small‑ and medium‑sized tech companies obtained through special channels.

His Divine Perception, to some extent, assisted him, allowing him to keenly spot truly valuable glimmers amid the sea of information—perhaps a little unknown factory with unique ceramic bearing technology; perhaps a team of engineers about to be laid off by a big corporation yet possessing critical semiconductor packaging processes.

One October evening, Li Ping'an walked in the courtyard.

The courtyard was small but exquisitely arranged, with a few stalks of emerald bamboo and a stone lantern that seemed especially tranquil in the dusk.

Beyond the wall, the metropolis still drowning in asset‑shrinkage panic felt like an entirely different world.

Zhou Wenbin arrived to report, a folder in hand, his complexion oddly strained.

"Director Li, there's a special situation,"

"Go on."

"Our sources indicate that Osaka has a mid‑size machine‑tool factory called 'Komatsu Precision Machinery.' It's not large, but it specializes in machining core components for five‑axis high‑speed milling machines. Its president is a tech‑obsessed man who, a few years ago, poured huge capital into developing a new static‑pressure guide rail and high‑speed electric spindle. The technology is said to be ahead, but costs are steep and market entry is difficult."

Zhou Wenbin opened the folder.

"After the Plaza Agreement, their main export orders were cancelled, and the bank began pressing for loan repayment… The president privately contacted our intermediary last week, indicating… he's willing to sell the entire company, including all patents, drawings, and the core thirty‑person tech team. Provided… provided the team stays intact and R&D continues."

Li Ping'an halted, his gaze drifting into the deepening dusk.

"Price."

"The asking price is three million dollars," Zhou Wenbin said. "But our preliminary assessment suggests that those patents and the tech team are worth far more in the European‑American market. The issue is our own machine‑tool research institute is still tackling challenges, and its absorption capacity…"

"Buy," Li Ping'an said without any hesitation.

"But…"

"There's no 'but.'" Li Ping'an turned, his eyes clear. "Three million buys a possibility that could shave three years off our R&D, buys a complete, battle‑ready tech team—far too cheap."

He looked toward Tokyo's glittering lights beyond the courtyard, where a cold wave spread beneath the illumination.

"Tell them Wanxiang Group is acquiring Komatsu Precision Machinery. The former president may stay on as a technical advisor, the whole team remains, salaries increase by twenty percent. R&D direction will merge into Wanxiang Machine Tool Research Institute's overall plan. Also…"

He paused: "In the name of Wanxiang Bank, grant them a low‑interest operating loan to help them weather the current order drought. The condition: they must send core engineers to rotate at our R&D center in Shenzhen for technology exchange."

Zhou Wenbin stared briefly, then grasped the boss's deeper intent.

This isn't a simple bottom‑fish acquisition; it's a combo of 'acquire + integrate + infuse.' It secures the technology, steadies the talent, and through loans and tech exchanges begins the assimilation process early.

"I'll handle it immediately," Zhou Wenbin said, closing the folder and hurrying away.

Nightfall fully enveloped everything.

Li Ping'an sat alone on the stone bench in the courtyard.

"Komatsu Precision Machinery" is only the beginning, the first touchstone testing his 'select‑the‑best, swallow‑the‑whale' strategy. In the future, more "Komatsu Precision Machinery"‑type targets will struggle to survive the cold wave.

His capital will become a cold, rational warm current—cold in merciless price‑cutting, rational in precise valuation, warm in cherishing and embracing talent and technology.

It is no longer a bullish‑bearish game in the financial market.

It is a silent cultivation of the nation's future industrial foundation.

It is an intellectual migration across the waves.

And he, seated steadily in this noisy world's quiet corner, is like a patient gardener, beginning to select and transplant precious seedlings that might have been frost‑bitten in foreign snowstorms.

He knows that when these seedlings re‑root, sprout, flower and bear fruit in their native spring, tonight's Tokyo cold wave and silence will be given a completely different meaning.

In the distance, Tokyo Tower's lights blink rhythmically against the night sky.

Like the era's rapidly shifting pulse.

And like the heavy piece that silently settles in the ever‑deepening chessboard of his mind.