6:30 a.m., and Taipei hadn't fully woken.Chen Hao's phone alarm went off, though he was already awake.
His laptop, left open beside the bed, glowed faintly in the dim room.On the screen was last night's trading forum —a post pinned at the top: "From Engineer to Trader: Tripled My Account in One Year."The attached screenshot showed a +312% return.Below it, hundreds of comments:
"Legend!""Cried for missing out!""Bro, give us the next tip!"
He stared at the red numbers, feeling heat rise in his chest.Not envy, exactly — more like something had caught fire.
He was thirty, in his eighth year as an engineer.Steady pay, stable performance, living alone in a small apartment in Neihu.Two MRT stops from the office.Life flatlined: not bad, not good,but nowhere near alive.
Sometimes he'd imagine himself ten or twenty years later —more savings, less time,drinking beer outside a convenience store,sighing, "If only I'd tried back then…"
He didn't want to be that man.
He opened the fridge — only milk and a half-eaten tea egg.He ate in silence, scrolling through his phone.YouTube's algorithm knew him better than his friends:"Learn K-charts in Five Minutes,""Turnaround in Three Days,""Retail Trader's Revenge."
He clicked on one.A fast-talking young man shouted over dramatic music:
"All you need is to follow the whales —catch the rhythm, and you'll flip your life!"
The screen flashed with green and red candlesticks,trading volume exploding like fireworks.Chen Hao watched, transfixed.The word "flip" lodged in his mind like a spark.
By 7:30, he'd changed clothes and left the apartment.The MRT was full of office workers.Some watched financial news, others stared at stock apps.The man next to him was on a voice call:
"That stock was solid yesterday — foreign funds piling in."
Chen Hao glanced over.Ticker 2330 — TSMC.
Too expensive, he thought.
He opened his own trading app —a brand-new account he'd opened days ago.He'd promised himself to "just play small,"start with day trades.
But that morning, he felt different.Maybe… he should really try.
8:45 a.m.At the office, sunlight spilled across his desk.He worked for a network hardware company,his workstation near the window.
He opened his browser in stealth mode, typing the brokerage URL.The interface was sterile, gray,the words "Pre-Market: 08:30–09:00" glowing at the top.
He entered 2330 —price: 562.Too high, he muttered.
He scrolled through other tickers,names he'd never heard of.Then one caught his eye: Jinzhi Tech.Good name.Chart looked clean.Volume steady.He clicked a news blurb:
"Institutional funds entering. Short-term upside expected."Below, the comments screamed:"Whales moving in!""Three days to moon!""ALL IN!"
His pulse quickened.Maybe this was it.
8:59.He took a deep breath, hand hovering over the mouse.The bell rang.Market open.
Jinzhi Tech: 41.8.Volume spiking.There's something here, he thought.
9:05, up to 42.5.9:08, 42.8.His breathing quickened.If I don't get in now, I'll miss it.
He clicked Buy.Two seconds later: "Order Filled."
His palms were sweaty.He stared at the line climbing —42.9, 43.1, 43.3.He actually laughed out loud.
A coworker turned. "What's funny?"He coughed. "Coffee's too strong."
9:30.43.6.He hit Sell.The screen flashed: +1,800 TWD.A small green miracle.
I can do this, he told himself.
At lunch, he bought sparkling water instead of soda — a tiny celebration.He scrolled through the forums again.Someone posted:
"Jinzhi Tech breaking out — likely to hit limit-up tomorrow!"Replies flooded in:"I'm in!""Main wave coming!"
His fingers tingled.One more round. This time, I'll ride the wave.
1:30 p.m.He bought again.This time, not so smooth.Within fifteen minutes, the price dropped from 43.5 to 42.8.Just a shakeout, he told himself. It'll rebound.
2:15.A long black candle.Volume explosion.Price crashed through 41.5.
His mind went blank.One voice said: Hold. It'll come back.Another whispered: Something's wrong. Run.
He didn't run.
3:00 p.m. close:41.1.-5.2%.
The red number burned brighter than any green he'd seen.
That night, he sat before his monitor,opening and closing the chart again and again.The lines moved like they were alive —mocking him.
"How?" he muttered."It was fine this morning…"
Rain pattered outside.He didn't turn on the light;the glow from the screen filled the room.
The pain wasn't about losing money.It was about losing to himself.How could victory turn to defeat so fast?
He clicked YouTube again.The same guru was shouting:
"The biggest mistake retail traders make is lacking conviction!You have to hold!"
He smirked and hit mute.Then he opened a notebook —and wrote his first entry.
"I made two thousand, and lost five.This morning I thought I understood the market.Tonight I realized — I don't even understand myself."
At 11 p.m., the rain stopped.He stepped out onto the balcony.Far away, Taipei 101 pierced the clouds,its blue light flickering through the mist.
He remembered that post — the one with the +312%.He whispered to the night:
"Someday, I'll post one like that too."