The Wick at Three in the Morning

The market kept falling, new liquidation screenshots kept appearing, but those no longer belonged to him. He had already been fully cleared. All that remained was wreckage. Then, on the fourth night, Lin Zhaoye knocked on his door. When the door opened, the room smelled like smoke and takeout containers. Lin Zhaoye looked at him, did not curse, did not comfort him, just placed a bottle of water on the table and sat down. “Do you know what you actually lost?” he asked. Pei Yanzhou was silent for a long time. For the first time, he did not rush to defend himself. Instead, he pulled up all of his trade records. Every entry, every add, every margin top-up, every close, every failed stop-loss felt like a knife cutting through him.