Chapter 399: Three Daggers, Stabbing Morgan's Soft Underbelly

"Now."

Lu Qingshan's voice was not loud, but it was like a current of electricity, instantly piercing the nerve endings of the entire team.

Ye Ning showed no hesitation; she put on her earpiece, and her slender fingers typed a brief command on the encrypted communicator's keyboard, then pressed the send key.

The command was only four characters.

"Begin operation."

……

New York, Queens, in a cheap apartment filled with the smell of takeout containers and beer cans.

Razor Mike, the hulking man with a face full of flesh, was shirtless, facing an old 21‑inch monitor.

On the screen, the K-line Chart representing Morgan Stanley's stock price rose like a steep green mountain.

The keyboard before him was greasy, and the ashtray was packed with cigarette butts.

With a light "drip" sound, the four characters popped up in a black dialog box at the lower right of his computer.

A cruel smile appeared on Mike's face.

He grabbed the mouse; that hand large enough to crush a walnut was now astonishingly nimble.

"Come on, little babies."

He let out a low growl, and the pre‑set sell program was instantly triggered.

Each massive sell order, just below the exchange's monitoring threshold, surged out of his account like a breached flood, crashing into the market.

……

Brooklyn, in a windowless basement.

The only sound in the air was the hum of server fans.

Ghost Andy, skinny as a skeleton, faced a matrix of six monitors, with countless data streams cascading across the screens like waterfalls.

When the command arrived, he didn't even look; he nervously nudged the glasses on his nose.

His hands, like elves dancing on a piano, operated three different keyboards simultaneously.

He didn't dump sell orders directly like Mike.

Instead, using a complex algorithm he wrote, he precisely targeted a few minute flaws in Morgan Stanley's trading model.

What he placed were not sell orders but countless ultra‑tiny buy‑sell commands executed within milliseconds; combined, they created a high‑frequency resonance that quickly cancelled out and began to interfere with Morgan Stanley's protective capital's automated trading program.

He was like a ghost, silently injecting a virus into the massive trading system.

……

Manhattan, Upper East Side, in a minimalist top‑floor apartment.

Black Widow Sophia, dressed in a silk robe, elegantly held a glass of red wine, standing by the floor‑to‑ceiling window, overlooking Central Park's night view.

Her laptop rested on the bar beside her.

When the command came, she didn't even raise an eyelid.

She simply picked up her phone and dialed a number.

"It's me," her voice lazy and hoarse, "send the 'data' we have on those Morgan investment banking executives anonymously to the Wall Street Journal and Bloomberg's few old friends. Yes, right now."

After hanging up, she walked to the computer, sipped her red wine, then split a large pre‑prepared sell order into hundreds of pieces, sending them through different proxy accounts, calmly dumping them into the market.

Three people, three styles.

One ferocious, one insidious, one vicious.

Three knives tempered with lethal poison, from three completely different directions, simultaneously stabbed the financial behemoth Morgan Stanley.

Saint Remo Apartment.

"My God..."

David Cohen stared intently at the main screen before Ye Ning, his expensive suit drenched with cold sweat, clinging to his back.

On the screen, the green K line, forcibly pulled up by thirty‑billion dollars, began to shake violently the instant the command was issued.

Then countless dense red sell orders, like swarming locusts, surged from all directions, ravenously gnawing at the green dam built of massive capital.

"What are they doing? This isn't a normal dump!" David's voice sharpened with excitement, "Look! That point! They're attacking the options Settlement point! They're triggering the stop‑loss line of algorithmic trading! They're… they're even attacking market confidence!"

He babbled, pointing at the screen, "This… this isn't trading, it's dismantling! They're like the most brilliant surgeons, precisely cutting off every vessel of Morgan!"

Li Junjie's breathing grew rapid, but he was far calmer than David.

He swiftly jotted in his notebook: "Distributed attack… cross‑market linkage… media‑war coordination… this isn't a simple financial maneuver, it's a three‑dimensional, multi‑dimensional composite strike model!"

He looked at Lu Qingshan's back, feeling he wasn't observing a business war but witnessing the birth of an entirely new form of warfare.

Lu Qingjun didn't understand those complex terms, but he could read the screen.

He saw that green line, retreating segment by segment under the assault of countless red dots, falling bit by bit.

He only felt a surge of hot blood rush from the soles of his feet to his crown, his clenched fists drenched in sweat.

"Brother… it's… it's breaking!"

Morgan Stanley headquarters.

"What's happening!?!"

John Parker stared at the wavering defensive line on the screen before the trading director, letting out an incredulous roar.

"Where's our firewall? What about the thirty‑billion dollars? Why can't it stop!"

The trading director, a middle‑aged man usually known for his composure, now had bead‑sized sweat droplets covering his forehead.

"Sir… the attacks come from at least four‑to‑five hundred independent accounts, and… their methods differ completely! Some are directly slashing the market, some are using high‑frequency trading to interfere with us, and… the media just broke the scandal of our investment banking Asia supervisor, market sentiment is panicking!"

"Trash!" Parker kicked the chair beside him, "Then pour me more money! Five billion! Ten billion! I don't care how much it costs, get the stock price back up! Now! Immediately!"

He was completely insane.

Dignity is more important than money!

Morgan Stanley's stock price must never be knocked down by a bunch of rats that hide their heads and show their tails while in his hands!

Saint Remo Apartment.

Watching the screen, a new, larger influx of buying capital surged in, trying again to force the stock price up, and Lu Qingshan finally moved.

He walked to Ye Ning's side, looking at the K line fiercely struggling a few cents above the opening price.

"Their temporary bullet is almost used up," he stated calmly.

Then, he turned to Ye Ning.

"Use the 'Thus line: Lookout' account."

His voice had not a hint of ripple, yet it made the whole room's temperature drop.

"Fifty billion US Dollars."

"One‑time."

"Against the opening price, smash it all down."

Ye Ning's fingers trembled slightly at that moment.

This is not a probe, not harassment.

This is the horn of the final assault.

This is the flagship's ramming, to with thunderous force directly sink the opponent's battleship!

She inhaled deeply, her gaze becoming sharp again.

She typed the command on the keyboard.

Then, she pressed the Enter key.

In that instant, everyone in the New York Stock Exchange's trading pool saw an unforgettable scene.

Under Morgan Stanley's trading code, a massive sell order worth fifty billion US Dollars, like a meteor falling from the sky, with no warning, no buffer, appeared abruptly, aggressively, directly on everyone's screen!

Time seemed to stand still at that moment.

The hundred‑billion‑fund Great Wall that Morgan Stanley and its allies had built, seemingly indestructible, couldn't hold even a second under the meteor's impact.

"Boom!"

It seemed one could hear a huge roar.

The green dam collapsed instantly, earth crumbling!

On the screen, that K line representing Morgan Stanley's dignity fell in a free‑fall manner, plunging straight down in a torrent!

The opening price was pierced instantly!

And it continued to fall at a terrifying speed!

In Saint Remo Apartment, a death‑like silence.

David Cohen opened his mouth, slumped on the carpet, his gaze vacant, unconsciously repeating, "It just began… everything is over…"

Lu Qingjun leapt up violently, swinging his fists, letting out an uncontrollable cheer, "We won! Brother! We won!"

Zhang Qianru and Ye Ning exchanged glances, and in each other's eyes lay unmistakable shock and ecstatic joy.

They did it.

They gave Morgan Stanley a resounding slap in the heart of Wall Street.

In that ecstatic atmosphere, only Lu Qingshan still calmly looked out the window.

Suddenly, an encrypted phone that had just been connected, dedicated to receiving messages from Razor and others, emitted a rapid buzz.

Ye Ning immediately stepped forward to answer; after listening for three seconds, her complexion turned pale instantly.

She put down the phone, hurried to Lu Qingshan's side, her voice trembling from nerves.

"Boss, something happened."

"Ghost Andy's trading port has been completely cut off; the signal source vanished."

She swallowed, and with difficulty continued.

"Also, the 'Butcher Bar' was just surrounded and sealed off by dozens of NYPD agents. The few traders David mentioned that we had dealt with were all handcuffed."

Lu Qingshan slowly turned, and the cheering in the apartment abruptly stopped.

He looked at the brilliant lights outside the window, his mouth curving into a cold arc.

"Flipping the table so quickly?"

"It seems they're even more afraid of pain than I imagined."