Chapter 482: The Battle for Hong Kong

Hong Kong on July 2, 1997 was hot like a steamer.

The air was so thick you could wring water from it, and lead‑gray rain clouds piled over Victoria Harbour, yet they refused to fall.

The glass curtain wall of Central Exchange Plaza reflected the bleak sky, like huge tombstones standing in the city's financial heart.

In the top‑floor trading room of Wanshang Bank, the air‑conditioner was already at full blast, but the back of Zhou Wenbin's white shirt was still soaked in a large patch.

He stared at the six displays before him, where real‑time data of the world's major FX markets flickered—USD/JPY, GBP/DEM, and most importantly, USD/HKD.

The number burned onto his retina like a branding iron.

Hong Kong operates a linked exchange rate system; the official USD/HKD rate is 7.8, with a floating band of 7.75 to 7.85. Now the rate has reached the upper bound of the strong‑side guaranteed exchange range.

That means international speculative capital is wildly dumping HKD and buying USD.

"Zhou Zong, another huge sell order," trader Xiao Chen's voice tightened, "five hundred million HKD, split across ten accounts simultaneously dumping."

Zhou Wenbin said nothing, just fixed his gaze on the steep descending curve on the screen. His fingers tapped the desk unconsciously, a habit Li Ping'an taught him— the more nervous, the more you must keep moving, not freeze.

A muffled thunder rolled outside; the rain was finally coming.

Three days earlier, Thailand announced it was abandoning the fixed‑exchange‑rate system, and the baht plunged 17% in a single day.

The financial storm that began in Southeast Asia finally landed on Hong Kong like a typhoon.

And steering it all was the man dubbed the "Financial Crocodile," George Soros.

His Quantum Fund, together with Tiger Fund, Morgan Stanley and dozens of other international hedge funds, amassed over $300 billion to short HKD, short Hong Kong stocks, and short the post‑handover economic outlook.

The justification sounded lofty: "Hong Kong's real‑estate bubble is out of control; the linked exchange rate system is unsustainable."

The real purpose was clear to everyone— to give China a stern warning at the handover milestone while raking in astronomical profits.

Li Ping'an sat in the adjacent command room, a screen before him showing the same data. The sixty‑six‑year‑old, dressed in a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows, held a cup of now‑cold Longjing Tea Tea tea.

His gaze passed beyond the screen, landing on the Hong Kong map on the wall.

The city he had been scheming for twelve years, the city he had poured over a hundred billion dollars into, had now become an arena for international financial capital.

"Boss, state‑owned banks like Bank of China have already entered to support the market," Chen Jianghe pushed the door open, holding the latest battle report, "but the sell pressure is too heavy; every minute there are sell orders worth over a hundred million HKD."

"Soros is probing," Li Ping'an set down his tea cup, "he's testing Hong Kong's foreign‑exchange reserves, testing our resolve, testing Beijing's attitude."

He stood up and walked to the window.

Rain began, bean‑sized drops hammering the glass with a crackle.

Pedestrians on Queen's Road below fled in panic, taxis splashing murky water. This city famed for efficiency now looked somewhat disheveled in the downpour.

"Wenbin, is the other side ready?" Li Ping'an asked.

"Eight hundred billion USD is already in place, another seven hundred billion is coming in batches through underground money houses."

Chen Jianghe hesitated, "But boss, are we really going to stake everything? If…"

"There is no 'if'." Li Ping'an turned, his eyes terrifyingly calm, "This battle cannot be lost."

2 p. m., Hong Kong stocks opened.

The Hang Seng Index opened down 3%, then kept falling amid panic selling. Property stocks, financial stocks, utilities… all blue‑chips slid, the screen a sea of bleak green.

Telephone rings in the trading room rose and fell.

"Zhou Zong, Cheung Kong's share price fell below fifty!"

"New World Development dropped 8%!"

"HSBC's sell orders stretched into a long dragon!"

Zhou Wenbin grabbed the internal telephone: "According to plan, enter and take the offers. Start with property stocks—Cheung Kong, New World Development, Hang Lung—take as much as we can. But remember—eat slowly, don't rush, don't reveal strength."

The order given, the traders began operating.

Keyboard clatter sounded as dense as battlefield gunfire. Order after order slipped in, like wooden piles driven into a flood to steady a collapsing dam.

But the sell pressure was simply too great.

International speculative capital had clearly prepared; they sold Hong Kong stocks and HKD through hundreds of offshore accounts simultaneously. Every support level was easily pierced, every rebound brutally suppressed.

At 3 p. m., the Hang Seng Index fell below the point, a single‑day drop of over 7%.

It was the largest single‑day decline since 1997.

Panic began to spread.

"Boss, we have taken in 3.2 billion HKD of stock, but the index keeps falling."

Zhou Wenbin burst into the command room, sweat covering his forehead, "Soros's firepower is stronger than we estimated."

Li Ping'an watched the numbers flickering on the screen, then suddenly asked a question.

"Wenbin, what do you think Soros is thinking now?"

Zhou Wenbin was stunned.

"He thinks Hong Kong's foreign‑exchange reserves are only $880 billion, while he has $30 billion, plus other following capital, at least $50 billion. He thinks that as long as pressure continues, the Hong Kong Monetary Authority will eventually buckle, either abandon the linked rate or exhaust its reserves."

Li Ping'an smiled.

"Has he considered who stands behind Hong Kong?"

He walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and drew two circles.

"The first circle is Hong Kong's local foreign‑exchange reserves, $880 billion. The second circle—" he drew a larger one, "—is the mainland's $1.3 trillion reserves. And the third circle—"

He drew another circle outside the second one.

"—that's our $150 billion."

The tip of the marker squeaked a harsh friction on the board.

"Soros thinks he's battling Hong Kong, but in fact he's battling China. And China," Li Ping'an set down the marker, "has never feared a duel."

Outside, thunder rumbled, rain poured down.

6 p. m., Hong Kong stocks closed.

The Hang Seng Index finally closed at the point, a single‑day plunge of 7.8%, wiping out over HK$2 trillion in market value.

All Hong Kong television news were reporting on this stock crash, analysts using various professional terms to describe market panic, but the core meaning was just one: international hot money had won the first round.

Zhou Wenbin slumped in his chair, eyes fixed on the closing data, his mind racing with calculations.

Today Wanshang Bank deployed 4.7 billion US dollars, taking on stocks worth 32 billion Hong Kong dollars.

The market value of these stocks has shrunk by eight percent, with book losses exceeding 2.5 billion Hong Kong dollars.

What's worse, this is only the first day.

Following Soros's style, the attack will last weeks or even months, until the opponent's confidence is completely shattered.

"Zhou Zong, Soros's spokesperson has just been interviewed by CNN." An aide ran in, saying, "He said Hong Kong's asset prices are severely overvalued, the linked exchange rate system is a 'mistake of the era,' and advised the Hong Kong government to 'face reality.'"

Face reality?

Zhou Wenbin gave a cold smile.

The so-called reality is that these international financial giants want to use financial weapons, at this historic moment of Hong Kong's return, to give China a lesson.

The phone rang.

It was Li Ping'an.

"Come to my office, let's hold a meeting."

Besides Li Ping'an, there were three other people in the office.

One was Chen Jianghe, one was Lao Zhao, chief economist of Wanshang Bank, and another was a middle-aged man Zhou Wenbin had never seen, wearing a gray jacket, sitting upright, with sharp eyes.

"This is Director Wang, who has come from Beijing." Li Ping'an briefly introduced, "Director Wang is responsible for coordinating mainland financial institutions and supporting Hong Kong's market stability."

Director Wang nodded, said nothing, merely opened his briefcase and took out a document.

"The central government's resolve is clear." His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried weight, "Hong Kong's financial stability concerns national sovereignty and dignity; this battle must be won."

He pushed a set of data toward them.

"Major mainland banks have prepared, able to deploy 600 billion US dollars of foreign exchange reserves through channels such as Bank of China Hong Kong to support the Hong Kong dollar. Moreover, the People's Bank of China has formulated an emergency plan, and can directly intervene in the market if necessary."

Zhou Wenbin's heart gave a sudden thump.

This is the power of the state machinery.

No matter how formidable Soros is, he's just a hedge fund; what he faces is a nation determined to defend its territorial integrity.

"But we can't rely solely on the state." Li Ping'an took over, "This battle is both a national struggle and a market struggle; we must use market means to defeat market attacks."

He looked toward Zhou Wenbin.

"Wenbin, starting tomorrow, adjust strategy. No longer passive reception, we must take the initiative."

"How to take the initiative?"

"Go long." Li Ping'an said, "Soros is shorting the Hong Kong dollar and Hong Kong stocks, so we will go long. But not blindly, we will go long with precision—buying quality blue chips that have been maliciously shorted, and buying state‑backed SOE stocks. We want the market to see that someone firmly believes in Hong Kong's future."

He paused.

"Furthermore, launch a public opinion offensive. Tomorrow morning, let our economists appear on TV and in newspapers, listing one by one the financial crises Soros has created worldwide over the past twenty years—1992's Sniping the British pound, 1994's attack on the Mexican peso, and now coming to Hong Kong. We must tell the world this is not normal market fluctuation, but a premeditated financial war."

The next day, the rainstorm stopped.

Hong Kong's sky was washed clear, the sun glaring, but the storm in the financial market had only just reached its climax.

At 9:30 a. m., the Hong Kong stock market opened.

Selling pressure remained fierce, the Hang Seng Index continued to open lower. But today, a different force appeared in the market—several huge buy orders suddenly emerged, targeting the stocks most heavily shorted: HSBC Holdings, Yangtze River Realty, Bank of China Hong Kong……

Each buy order precisely hit the key price level.

It was as if saying to the international hot money: Here, I am standing guard.

In the trading room, Zhou Wenbin stared at the screen, gripping a satellite phone.

"Yangtze River Realty, 48, buy 20 million shares."

"HSBC Holdings, 75, buy 15 million shares."

"Bank of China Hong Kong, 12, buy 30 million shares."

His voice was calm, but each instruction was worth hundreds of millions of Hong Kong dollars.

On the other end of the phone were traders distributed across a dozen or so trading rooms worldwide, operating simultaneously in London, New York, Singapore, and Tokyo, quietly building positions through hundreds of accounts.

This is not retail investor behavior, nor an ordinary institution.

This is an organized, premeditated counterattack.

At noon, the Quantum Fund's Hong Kong office.

Soros stood by the floor‑to‑ceiling window, holding a cup of coffee. This sixty‑seven‑year‑old financial titan had white‑tinged hair, wore wire‑rimmed glasses, and looked more like a university professor than a capitalist assassin.

"George, something's not right." His chief strategist approached, "This morning, a mysterious fund appeared in the market, specifically targeting our short positions."

"How large is the scale?"

"At least three billion US dollars, and it's still growing."

Soros took a sip of coffee, his eyes deep.

"Have you traced the source?"

"It's highly dispersed, coming from dozens of offshore accounts, hard to track. But the method is professional—each time they enter at a key support level, clearly they are defending the market."

Defending the market?

Soros laughed.

"Has the Hong Kong government finally snapped? Or… has Beijing stepped in?"

He walked to the computer, pulled up the trading data. The timing, price, and quantity of those buy orders all revealed the operator's superb skill and formidable financial strength.

This is not ordinary market defense.

This is a showdown.

"Increase the intensity." Soros set down his coffee cup, "Move tomorrow's sell‑off plan up to this afternoon. I want to see just how much ammunition they have."

At 1 p. m., the Hong Kong stock market opened.

The sell‑off by international speculative capital suddenly intensified, sell orders surged like a tide. The Hang Seng Index plunged in an instant, dropping two percent in just ten minutes.

In the trading floor, an alarm sounded.

"Zhou Zong, the selling pressure is too high! Every minute there are sell orders exceeding a hundred million Hong Kong dollars!"

"Cheung Kong Holdings has fallen below 47 dollars!"

"HSBC Holdings has slipped below 73!"

Zhou Wenbin's palms were slick with sweat, but he forced himself to stay calm.

"Keep buying," his voice, transmitted via satellite Telephone, rang through the global trading floor. "Ignore the price, take whatever comes. But remember—buy in batches, buy slowly, don't reveal the total amount."

The clatter of keyboards grew more intense.

It was a battle without smoke, yet its ferocity was no less than any war. Every second, tens of millions of Hong Kong dollars evaporated; every minute, investors' wealth shrank.

At 2:30 p. m., the Hang Seng Index fell through the support point.

Market panic peaked.

At that moment, a TV news bulletin broke in—a Wanxiang Group chairman Li Ping'an would hold a press conference at 3 p. m.

The press conference was set in the Wanxiang Bank lobby.

Hundreds of media outlets swarmed in, long lenses and short flashes aimed at the podium. At 3 p. m., Li Ping'an appeared on time, not in a suit and tie but in a white shirt with sleeves rolled up, like a master craftsman just off a construction site.

"Media friends, thank you for coming today; I have a few words to say," his voice, amplified by the microphone, filled the room. "Regarding the recent volatility in Hong Kong's financial market, many have asked me whether I'm nervous."

He paused.

"I say, I'm not nervous. Because I am optimistic about Hong Kong's future, and about China's future."

Murmurs rose from the audience.

"Some say Hong Kong's asset prices are too high, and the linked exchange rate system is outdated."

Li Ping'an continued, "I want to ask, who gets to decide whether it's too high or outdated? Is it those in London or New York offices who have never set foot in Hong Kong, or is it us who live, work, and invest in Hong Kong?"

His voice rose a bit.

"Today, I solemnly announce that Wanxiang Group will, within the next three months, increase its holdings of high‑quality Hong Kong assets by no less than 50 billion Hong Kong dollars. We believe in Hong Kong, we believe in 'One Country, Two Systems', and we believe Hong Kong's tomorrow will be better."

Flashes lit up the room.

"Furthermore," Li Ping'an looked toward the camera, as if speaking to an unseen opponent, "to those who seek profit by shorting Hong Kong, I have a sentence for them—"

He paused, word by word.

"Hong Kong is not a field you can harvest at will."

Fifteen minutes after the press conference ended, Hong Kong stocks in the closing session suddenly surged violently.

Those mysterious buy orders grew fiercer, as if under a secret command. The Hang Seng Index surged 3.5 % in the final half hour, closing at the point, nearly recapturing the ground lost earlier in the day.

Cheers erupted in the trading floor.

Zhou Wenbin slumped in his chair, only then noticing his shirt was soaked through, clinging tightly to his back.

He knew that today, in this battle, they had won.

It wasn't a win in capital—indeed, today Wanxiang lost another several billion dollars.

It was a win in confidence.

Li Ping'an's words were like a shot of adrenaline injected into Hong Kong's market veins. Those investors who had been panicking, the small retail traders ready to cut losses, the institutions waiting on the sidelines, now saw hope.

Hong Kong is not fighting alone.

It has mainland support, and firms like Wanxiang standing firm.

More importantly, someone dares, before the international financial sharks, to say, "This is not your field."

The Telephone rang.

It was Li Ping'an.

"Wenbin, good work today. But the war has only just begun; Soros won't concede so easily."

"I understand," Zhou Wenbin took a deep breath, "Tomorrow, we continue."

"Right, continue," on the other end of the Telephone, Li Ping'an's voice was calm, "We fight day by day, hold one front after another, until they understand—"

He paused.

"The rules of this era's game need to be rewritten."

It was late at night.

Li Ping'an stood alone by the office window, watching Hong Kong's brilliant lights after the rain.

The city he protects, the city he will soon return to, remained beautiful and resilient in the night.

He recalled the boy many years ago, who left his village in Henan, famished. Back then he owned nothing but his life and an unyielding drive.

Now, he possessed the authority to mobilize hundreds of billions of capital, and the power to influence a nation's finance.

Yet at his core, he remained that boy who would not concede.

He would win this battle.

Not just for money, not just for Hong Kong.

But to tell the whole world—

Some lines must not be crossed.

Some dignity must not be discarded.

Some homes must be defended.

Outside the window, a cruise ship on Victoria Harbour drifted by, its stern leaving a long trail of light, like a fresh chapter this era is writing.

And Li Ping'an knew he was merely a veteran in this chapter who would not bow out.