Chapter Nineteen: The "Thunderous" Quarterly Report

Zhang Yang remained unperturbed by Wang Xingbang’s messages. After turning off his phone’s screen, he continued to enjoy his breakfast at a leisurely pace.

As a mature adult, from the moment he decided to take over Lai Weijie’s trades, he had prepared himself to face the consequences.

He had calculated the worst-case scenario: both he and Lai Weijie would be forcibly disqualified.

As for failing the course, Wang Xingbang likely did not have that power. After all, the course instructor held at most 25 attendance points, and even if all were deducted, Zhang Yang could still secure a score above 60 based on his exam marks.

Since the consequences were bearable, there was no need for panic.

...

After finishing his meal, he quickly tidied up the utensils.

University canteens usually have multiple collection points for utensils. Students tacitly dump leftover food into waste buckets before placing their dishes in the return baskets.

Of course, a few inconsiderate students simply leave after eating, leaving the cafeteria staff to clean up.

Zhang Yang, evidently well-mannered, cleared his dishes before heading to the library.

The Shanghai University of Finance and Economics library opens from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m., but the first-floor stacks and study areas remain accessible until 11:30 p.m., so students generally consider the closing time to be 11:30.

Entering the sixth-floor financial analysis room, Zhang Yang paused briefly and looked toward a figure in the study area.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Brother Yang, you haven’t replied to my messages these past two days, I was worried,” Lai Weijie said with a troubled expression, standing to explain his reason for coming.

He desperately wanted to get into Huaxin Securities. Just a few days ago, he had even boasted to his girlfriend that he would secure a position there upon graduation. If Zhang Yang faltered, he didn’t know how to explain it to her—perhaps it would even lead to a breakup.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get in,” Zhang Yang reassured him.

Setting down his laptop bag, he took out his notebook computer.

The reason Zhang Yang hadn’t replied to Lai Weijie’s messages these past few days was that he treated being a “ghost trader” as part of his job.

He drew a clear line between work and life.

When enjoying life, Zhang Yang refused to handle work-related matters.

Besides, what good would it do to reply to Lai Weijie during the holidays?

Comfort him?

Soothe him?

Stabilize him?

He was not a customer service agent; he didn’t want to waste effort on useless tasks.

It was like someone drowning while swimming in the wild—no matter how many encouraging words you shout from the shore, even if you praise all their ancestors, the one destined to drown will still drown.

The correct approach was to ensure your own safety first, then jump in to rescue or call for help from someone who could swim.

Zhang Yang had no mood to console Lai Weijie, so during his two days out for fun, he ignored all his messages.

Focused during work.

Enjoying life otherwise.

That was Zhang Yang’s philosophy.

...

Lai Weijie looked at the confident and resolute Zhang Yang and made his request: “Can I watch you trade?”

“If you don’t mind others finding out, I don’t care,” Zhang Yang said as he plugged in the network cable, adding, “But if things get exposed because of you, I won’t take responsibility.”

His meaning was clear: Lai Weijie could stay, but if suspicions of cheating arose due to him, Zhang Yang would not refund any money.

After weighing the pros and cons, Lai Weijie packed up his things.

“Then I won’t bother you. Brother Yang, you must make the top ten. I’ll give you a bigger bonus then.”

“Don’t worry,” Zhang Yang waved him off, signaling him to leave.

They rarely interacted, and if someone they knew saw them together, it would be hard not to suspect some clandestine deal.

Lai Weijie didn’t dawdle and hurriedly left the financial analysis room.

Just outside the door, he ran into the accounting department’s study group. Leading the group was a girl with long straight black hair—none other than Xu Zhirou, the younger sister of Xu Zhiruo.

Today she wore a loose off-shoulder tank top, black short shorts paired with breathable black stockings. The blend of youthful innocence and subtle allure made her impossible to ignore.

“There’s someone here,” someone whispered.

As they entered the financial analysis room, they saw Zhang Yang sitting in their usual study spot.

“Let’s go over there.”

Xu Zhirou glanced at Zhang Yang, then averted her gaze and headed toward a corner of the finance study room.

She recognized Zhang Yang and, through her sister Xu Zhiruo’s social updates, knew that he and her sister had been camping out recently.

Her knowledge of this was limited since they were from different departments; their last interaction dated back to sophomore year during a simulated entrepreneurship competition, which had led them to add each other on QQ.

Zhang Yang didn’t notice Xu Zhirou and the others arriving. He was engrossed in Sina Finance, meticulously examining the detailed contents of Chang’an Automobile’s Q1 2009 report.

According to the report, Chang’an Automobile’s total revenue in the first quarter was 4.8768 billion yuan, up from 3.9993 billion in Q1 2008—a 21.94% increase of 877.5 million yuan. However, net profit had plummeted sharply.

In Q1 2008, net profit was 267.6 million yuan; by Q1 2009, it had shrunk to just 28.34 million yuan.

Many investors might panic upon seeing such a steep decline in net profit, since it is a key measure of returns.

However, Zhang Yang quickly pinpointed the cause.

The 2008 Q1 balance sheet showed Chang’an’s construction in progress totaled 305.5 million yuan, but by 2009 it had soared to 982.7 million yuan.

In other words, the management had invested close to 700 million yuan in the past year.

What were they aiming for?

Four words: expanding production capacity.

The government was now promoting “cars for the countryside,” offering generous subsidies. Coupled with strong sales of the “Yuexiang” model in mountainous cities, ramping up production was a wise move.

As the saying goes, a clever housewife can’t cook without rice. No matter how well your cars sell, if you can’t deliver them, it’s as good as not selling at all.

All the quarterly report data fell exactly within Zhang Yang’s expectations.

He then opened Baidu Tieba to check investors’ reactions to the Chang’an report.

[Little Old Me]: “It’s over, net profit dropped so much. Is there a hidden bomb about to explode at Chang’an?”

[Green Chives]: “I don’t get it. Why is the 2009 Q1 report worse than the 2008 crisis report? Isn’t the economy supposed to be recovering with commodity demand rising?”

[Da Vinci]: “Net profit dropped so much, and debt ratio is rising fast. This rally is topping out. Everyone get ready to bail!”

Investors were mostly pessimistic, focusing solely on net profit.

Meanwhile, Zhang Yang noticed a flood of media outlets stirring up trouble.

“Chang’an Automobile Q1 2009 net profit only 28.34 million, down 89.41% year-on-year!”

“Shocking! Chang’an’s Q1 report shows huge net profit plunge and soaring debt—what’s going on?”

“Domestic auto leader blows up? Net profit down 89.41%, what to do with your stocks?”

The market was awash with panic-driven articles, spreading since the report’s release yesterday. Retail investors in the comment sections predicted declines, some even forecasting a drop below October 2008 lows.

Watching the market’s fear reach a fever pitch, Zhang Yang quietly logged into his real trading account and smiled faintly:

“Bloody chips, I won’t let you all be picked up for free.”