Chapter 8: Stock Trading Plans

Yang Dong stepped out of Tian Guanghan’s office and immediately noticed a group of people craning their necks from the General Affairs Section, all gawking like ostriches at a spectacle. At the forefront were Zhou Hui and Gu Chen, both with expressions of vindictive delight.

“Group Leader Yang, what did Secretary Tian say?” Zhou Hui asked, covering her mouth, her face twisted in mockery.

“Yes, what exactly did Secretary Tian say?” Gu Chen grinned, his eyes brimming with satisfaction as he watched Yang Dong’s reaction.

Who knows what Yang Dong had done to offend them so deeply?

Yang Dong had no intention of arguing with them, nor did he wish to engage in pointless bickering. Such disputes only served to diminish his own dignity.

“Group Leader Yang…” Someone squeezed out from the crowd at the doorway—it was Li Chen.

Worry was etched across Li Chen’s face as he looked at Yang Dong, concerned for his current predicament.

“Li Chen, do your best in the General Affairs Section,” Yang Dong said, striding forward to pat Li Chen on the shoulder.

His years in the General Affairs Section hadn’t been a total loss; at least he had colleagues like Li Chen. In a crowd filled with people who’d bought or pulled strings to get their jobs, he and Li Chen—who’d entered through the proper city examination—were outsiders.

The Municipal Government Office was always a coveted post, especially the General Affairs Section, the very heart of the coveted positions. The wealthy, the powerful, children of officials—all wanted to squeeze someone in.

Lin Yaodong was a prime example: his father was the head of the Cadres Division in the Municipal Organization Department, which made it easy for Lin to get in through family connections. Zhou Hui and Gu Chen were similar cases, not through formal exams but via back doors.

They might face limited promotion prospects because of this, but they valued stability. With powerful backers, as long as they didn’t cause trouble, nothing would happen to them.

Yang Dong’s situation was different. He had no background. Especially now, after Secretary Yin Tiejun was taken away by the Municipal Discipline Commission, he was left completely alone.

His family was rural—his parents were farmers who lived off the land. He was the son of peasants, with a younger brother in high school and a sister in middle school. The family’s financial burden was heavy.

Most of his salary was sent home; he lived frugally himself. Now that his girlfriend Han Wen had left him, he could at least afford a few decent meals.

He bid Li Chen farewell, turned, and left the General Affairs Section floor, then the government building itself.

“He’s finally gone! Good riddance!” Zhou Hui laughed aloud, uncaring that she was still in the General Affairs Section.

“Now Brother Lin can relax,” Gu Chen grinned. With Yang Dong gone, Lin Yaodong’s prospects in the section would only improve. Word was that Deputy Secretary Tian Guanghan was eyeing a promotion; if he became Municipal Secretary-General, Lin Yaodong would surely be promoted, at least to deputy section chief.

And with Mayor Hou Yong’s secretary being sent down to a county post for training, there would soon be a search for a new mayoral secretary. If Lin Yaodong made deputy section chief, he might become the mayor’s secretary, and in a year or two, reach full section chief status.

"Let’s not talk about Yang Dong anymore. He’s history—boring," Zhou Hui announced after her laughter faded.

Her declaration drew some eye rolls. You got to laugh, but we can’t discuss it? Who do you think you are? But Zhou Hui was notorious for her sharp tongue, and few cared to argue with her.

“Have you heard? The new Secretary of the Municipal Discipline Commission has arrived!”

“Really? The post’s been vacant for half a month—finally filled? Do you know who it is?”

“I think it’s a man.”

“Well, obviously…”

They chattered away, speculating about the new Discipline Commission Secretary.

Li Chen slumped in his chair, dejected. With Group Leader Yang gone, he would face even more isolation and exclusion in the General Affairs Section. Listening to his pretentious colleagues gossip about the Standing Committee and the Discipline Commission Secretary, he couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. Did these low-level staffers, some not even official clerks, really think themselves worthy to discuss such high offices?

Yang Dong exited the municipal compound and gazed back at the old eight-story building. The national flag atop fluttered brightly in the wind, the national emblem on the facade gleaming in the sunlight.

He had spent over four years here, but it was unlikely he’d ever return.

But he refused to repeat the mistakes of his past life—being kicked down to the Rural Affairs Office, living a life of mediocrity, only to die in a flood rescue operation.

This time, he had the vision and experience nearly twenty years ahead of his peers, returning to 2008. If the path of public service was blocked, he would turn to business.

Abandoning officialdom for commerce was its own kind of path—especially now, as the private sector was booming and the internet economy was growing rapidly.

With two decades of effort, he could aim for financial freedom—perhaps amassing tens of millions, even a hundred million. He would never want for anything again.

It took him ten minutes to walk back to his rental flat, which he'd chosen for its proximity to the government offices.

The place was small, about forty square meters. One bedroom, a living room, a kitchen—but no private bathroom; the restroom was shared, at the end of the corridor.

Rents in the northeast were cheap—despite its location near the government building, it cost only three hundred yuan a month.

Once home, Yang Dong retrieved a bank card from his drawer; it contained thirty thousand yuan, the sum of his part-time work and scholarships during university and his years of savings since.

He had originally intended to use the money to buy Han Wen the “three golds”—a gold necklace, earrings, and ring—for their wedding. But now, that was unnecessary.

He left his flat, hailed a cab, and headed to the bank to withdraw the money. If he was leaving officialdom for business, he would need seed capital.

But thirty thousand yuan was a meager sum. He needed his money to make money. Only with more capital would he have the flexibility to pursue various ventures.

Real estate was booming in 2008, but it was out of his reach. The internet sector, or perhaps building materials, were more feasible. Investing in phones was also a sound idea; the coming decade would be a golden age for mobile consumption in China.

Yet everything depended on startup capital.

So he withdrew thirty thousand yuan, planning to invest in stocks—specifically, stocks that could yield massive returns within a year. He needed a short-term return of five to ten times.

There was one stock—ST Yanhuh—that was one of the most explosive performers in 2008. At the moment, it was trading at a maximum of four yuan per share. After March 10, it would skyrocket past thirty-five yuan, and by April 17, 2008, it would hit a historic high above 107 yuan per share.

In his memory, this stock’s glory didn’t last long, with several trading suspensions. But as one of the most lucrative stocks in the short term, Yang Dong was sure to profit—maybe even twenty-fold.

And it was only February 26, 2008—plenty of time to act.

If he wanted to make more, he’d need more capital. With only thirty thousand yuan, he’d have to talk to his parents about borrowing more. If he could invest fifty thousand, he’d make at least a million in profit.

With a million in seed capital, countless opportunities would open up.

He lacked the miraculous luck of protagonists in business novels, who could make tens or hundreds of millions overnight or win the lottery at a whim. He’d never played the lottery, nor did he know much about it.

Even the tip about ST Yanhuh had come from Secretary Yin Tiejun, who was an enthusiastic investor and had registered this hobby with the Provincial Discipline Commission.

Clearly, the idea that Secretary Yin had embezzled half a million was absurd. He had made plenty through the stock market and had no need to take such risks.

After all, Yin Tiejun was only in his forties and already a bureau-level secretary-general—he had a bright future ahead, with no reason to jeopardize it.

Sitting in the taxi, Yang Dong took out his phone and dialed his university classmate Chu Li.

After graduation, Chu Li had gone to work at the Shenzhen Stock Exchange—a prestigious post. Having him handle stock purchases would save Yang Dong a lot of trouble.

The phone rang a few times before Chu Li picked up.

“Yang Dong? It’s been a while since you called,” Chu Li said. “What can I do for you, Mister Municipal Secretary?”

Chu Li’s tone was as annoying as ever, but he was a good guy—more than a classmate, he’d been Yang Dong’s roommate at university. And his family wasn’t ordinary; otherwise he wouldn’t have landed a job at the Shenzhen Stock Exchange.

“Old Chu, I want to invest in stocks,” Yang Dong said crisply, wasting no words.

“Uh…” Chu Li had been ready to tease Yang Dong, but was caught off guard and was silent for a long moment.