The Chinese stock market has always been treacherous, erupting like a tsunami during a boom, and lying silent as the deep Arctic Ocean during a lull.

Every year, a few "demon stocks" emerge in the market; their performance is as enigmatic as a corrupt official's hidden assets, their true earnings as coy as a maiden kept in seclusion. Their surges and plunges occur without warning, reversing faster than one can flip a page.

With nearly half the year gone, several such stocks have already surfaced. The most conspicuous, dazzling, and powerful among them is Shengshi Wangchao (Dynasty of Prosperity), which reverse-merged with ST Zhongzheng. After its listing, the stock’s trajectory was wildly unpredictable: it soared through several consecutive daily limits, paused briefly for consolidation, and then plummeted straight down, much like a bungee jump.

After hitting bottom, it lay dormant for a few days before suddenly being buoyed by positive news. It then began a tedious oscillation and consolidation at the low point, driving retail investors to the brink of madness. Just as many investors, unable to bear the torment, reluctantly liquidated their positions, this demon stock suddenly suspended trading to hold a press conference, dropping an earth-shattering bombshell.

The news—unconfirmed intelligence suggested the discovery of a copper mine with the largest reserves in Asia—was such a massive positive shock that it reportedly caused three cerebral hemorrhages and two heart attacks among shareholders who had been severely hit. It even sent one investor who had just cut their losses tumbling down the stairs, while another who had sold off committed suicide by swallowing sleeping pills or jumping from a building.

Furthermore, two fund managers who had liquidated their holdings were physically assaulted by their clients. Countless retail investors who had recently bought in amidst the controversy were hailed as stock market gurus of the new era. In short, the myriad human dramas arising from this single stock fluctuation were incredibly diverse, serving as a microcosm of the entire market.

The greatest beneficiaries of Shengshi Wangchao's wild ride were undoubtedly Wang Zhuo and his partners. Qiu Lu gained slightly less due to equity dilution, while Qi Fei and Guan Yingying held substantial stakes, catapulting them into the ranks of billionaires overnight.

On various "Rich Lists" published by institutions, one frequently sees entries like "The XX Family" or "Mr. and Mrs. XX," with their changing rankings attributed to reasons such as "Company Listing," "Stock Price Increase," "Asset Cashing Out," or "Asset Appreciation."

Following the unveiling of the copper mine, many eyes turned toward Shengshi Wangchao, a new company barely six months old. With the stock soaring, people couldn't help but wonder: will the company's boss use this opportunity to secure a spot on those prestigious lists as well?

In reality, those who are truly wealthy understand that on this fertile ground teeming with hidden talents, making it onto a rich list with mere tens or hundreds of billions is sheer nonsense. Lists like the Hurun Report are viewed by the upper echelons of society as nothing more than a gimmick, an outright joke.

The true path for the wealthy is discretion: never flaunt your riches, always maintain a low profile. There is an old Chinese saying: the gun always shoots the bird that sticks up. Haven’t Zhou Zhengyi, Yang Bin, and Huang Guangyu, all of whom once graced the Hurun List, ended up incarcerated? This is largely connected to the fact that their appearance on the list made them targets of intense public scrutiny.

Thus, after the massive stock surge, Wang Zhuo and his associates weren't busy celebrating; instead, they were plotting how to fake their accounts and hide their wealth.

"Apples, oranges, bananas, grapes..."

The air in the afternoon room was chilled by the fully running air conditioning.

Wang Zhuo sat before the coffee table, fiddling with the fruit on the platter, and chuckled, "...We have everything here, except for Asian pears."

"Hmph," Guan Yingying scoffed from beside him, "You've really become a hands-off manager. Everything is left for us... to do. What pressure could you possibly have?"

She had almost said, "Everything is left for us women to do," but managed to stop herself just before letting it slip.

Qi Fei, seated in a chair, was unaware of Guan Yingying's near slip-up. She laughed at Wang Zhuo, "If this keeps up, we'll have to call a board meeting and propose cutting your salary."

Wang Zhuo grinned mischievously, "Salary is trivial; the bonuses and benefits are what matter."

His registered salary was only a little over 20,000 yuan a month, totaling 300,000 a year. But his bonuses were tied to Shengshi Wangchao's performance—that’s where the real money was, requiring adding zeros after the 300,000 and multiplying by a factor.

"Director Wang is so wicked," Siyuan said playfully, emerging from the bedroom. "Just expecting a share of the money without doing anything—where is such a good deal found?"

"A boss," Wang Zhuo chuckled, "is supposed to hire people to work; only a fool does everything himself." He happily took the fully peeled mango Qi Fei handed him and took a large bite.

This was Qi Fei's home, located not far from Shengshi Wangchao on Nanjing Road. Only Wang Zhuo, Qi Fei, Guan Yingying, and Siyuan were present. Since the company went public, it had been rare for the three of them to sit together so leisurely. This day was a brief respite snatched from their hectic schedules.

Picking up an apple and starting to peel it, Qi Fei suddenly remembered something and laughed, "Oh right, Sinopec issued another announcement saying their refining segment lost over ten billion in the first two quarters this year."

"Idiot," Wang Zhuo scoffed, tossing the mango pit toward the trash can. "They really take the common people for fools."

"Tell me about it," Guan Yingying pouted. "Their net profit is sixty billion, but the refining segment is supposedly losing money. The arithmetic of the 'Petro-Brothers' is a joke we can only listen to."

Siyuan interjected, "What are you talking about? I don't understand."

"We’re talking about PetroChina and Sinopec," Qi Fei explained. "They earn three to four hundred billion annually, yet they constantly emphasize to the outside world that their refining operations are losing money, and then they petition the state for tax relief."

[Note: The time setting in the book is after the Earth's destruction in 2012. This story is purely fictional, a "what if" scenario exploring what might have happened years later had Earth not been destroyed. Thus, the Petro-Brothers earn even more than they do now—you get the picture.]

"Oh, oh, I know!" Siyuan’s eyes lit up. "They're the company that entertains guests with ten-million-yuan chandeliers and buys million-dollar fine wine, right?"

"That’s the one," Qi Fei continued. "The Petro-Brothers deliberately separate their crude oil business and refining business into two segments. If international oil prices rise, they claim their refining segment is losing money and demand subsidies and tax cuts from the government. If international oil prices fall, they claim their crude segment is losing money, allowing them to still demand subsidies and tax breaks."

"Sister Qi didn't explain it clearly," Wang Zhuo added. "Let me put it simply: the company splits its operations into a crude segment and a refining segment. The crude oil produced is sold from the first segment to the second—it’s a transaction between their own businesses. When the refinery buys crude, they either set the price so high that refining loses money, or they set it so low that crude production loses money. In total, they are making a massive, massive profit, yet they desperately publicize that they've lost money. This allows them to secure preferential policies."

Siyuan might lack in social intelligence, but her intellect was sharp. She immediately grasped the concept and asked with surprise, "Aren't the petrochemical companies state-owned enterprises? Even if they make a lot of money, it still belongs to the state. Why resort to such petty tricks?"

"Shh—" Wang Zhuo made a gesture to quiet her, looked around nervously as if expecting eavesdroppers, and then whispered, "I can’t tell you that. If someone overhears and spreads it, it could cause trouble."

Guan Yingying let out a snort of laughter. "Siyuan, don't listen to him. There’s a lot of news about these things online; you can search for it and find out."

"Okay," Siyuan nodded, stuck out her tongue at Wang Zhuo, and ran back to the bedroom.

Even without Guan Yingying’s suggestion, she would have thought of that method. Searching on the news section of Baidu—that scoundrel’s search engine—was saturated with negative reports; finding news on such topics would be effortless.

As soon as she opened the Baidu News feed, the computer screen immediately displayed a scene of "deep trouble and raging fires"—it was an absolute minefield of toxins. Siyuan scanned it casually, used to such sights, and typed in the search term "refining segment."

In the living room, Wang Zhuo chuckled, "For our copper mine, I think we can learn from the Petro-Brothers. We can split into an ore segment and a finished copper segment. Then, when we want the stock price to rise, we release news saying we profited several hundred million this quarter. When we want the price to fall, we announce that a certain segment lost several hundred million. What do you think?"

Guan Yingying burst into laughter, tears streaming down her face. "I think we should forget it. Only the Petro-Brothers could pull off such childish tricks."

"Exactly," Qi Fei agreed, her shoulders shaking with mirth, pointing at Wang Zhuo. "The Petro-Brothers are fake fools, and everyone is tacitly cooperating to put on this show for years until it yields results. You want to play these games with retail investors? Do you really take them for idiots?"

Guan Yingying delivered the final summary on the topic with one sentence: "The Petro-Brothers are feigning stupidity; anyone who believes you is truly foolish."

Wang Zhuo had only spoken offhandedly; he knew himself that such an excuse, which could only fool a three-year-old, wouldn't hold water. As Qi Fei pointed out, such tricks only work when everyone is united; the Petro-Brothers can manage it because they have backing. If Shengshi Wangchao tried the same thing, wouldn't they become the laughingstock of the town?

"Alright, stop fooling around," Qi Fei stood up, stretched languidly, displaying her perfect curves. "We're going shopping. Are you coming?"

"Who is going?" Wang Zhuo asked.

"The three of us," Qi Fei gestured in a circle, indicating that she, Guan Yingying, and Siyuan were going, then added, "Plus the two in the car."

The two in the car were the female bodyguards hired for them by Wang Zhuo’s cousin, Lu Weimin. Both were highly trained professionals with formidable combat skills, which gave Wang Zhuo considerable peace of mind regarding Qi Fei’s and Guan Yingying’s safety.

"I'm not going," Wang Zhuo said with a wry smile. "With so many women, I’d be the only man—that’s no fun at all."

"Then you enjoy yourself; we're leaving," Qi Fei smiled at him and turned back toward the bedroom to change.

Wang Zhuo immediately winked suggestively at Guan Yingying. She quickly understood, first glaring at him, and then giving a nearly imperceptible nod.