For a seasoned stock trader like Chen Baocai, nothing — neither wind nor rain — could keep him from the exchange.
He showed up every single day, without fail.
Today was no different.
Before the market even opened, Chen arrived at the Hong Kong Stock Exchange, greeting a few familiar faces who had also come early.
"The market looks like it's picking up again," one of them said excitedly. "Year's end rally — I'm going all in this time."
"Same here," another replied, "but picking the right stock is what matters."
"You said it. Even in a bull run, plenty of stocks still crash. Choose wrong, and you're finished."
"This year's been terrible. Up one day, down the next — hardly made anything. Now I'm counting on this year-end rebound to finally earn some money."
They all nodded knowingly.
Chen and his circle were what people called professional stock players — men with some capital who treated the market as their daily grind.
Some had once made fortunes only to lose it all and quit. Others had gotten rich and retired gracefully. New faces came in to replace them every few months. The market never stopped spinning; only the names changed.
These gatherings weren't about teamwork — just casual exchanges of opinion. Each man made his own trades, his own decisions.
After all, recommending a stock to someone was a thankless task.
If it made money, the most you'd get was a dinner. But if it lost money — you'd be blamed, scolded, maybe even harassed. No one wanted that trouble.
As the men talked, the clock ticked toward nine.
At exactly 9:00 a.m., the market entered the pre-opening auction period — fifteen minutes of competitive bidding.
From 9:15 to 9:20, there was a short matching phase, followed by a ten-minute break.
Then at 9:30, trading officially began.
Excluding the pre-market, the Hong Kong Stock Exchange traded from 9:30 a.m. to 12:00 noon, and again from 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m.
Normally, unless there had been some major news or a sharp swing the day before, trading during the auction phase was dull — few transactions, small price movements.
Chen and his friends didn't place any orders during the auction. But once the prices were set, a particular stock caught his eye — and the eye of many others in the hall.
Wharf Holdings.
It opened at HK$13.58, up from yesterday's close of HK$13.10 — a 3.67% increase, with over 4,000 lots traded.
At 100 shares per lot, that meant more than HK$5 million in transaction value.
That kind of volume meant only one thing — big money was moving in.
This stock was going to be lively today. The volatility would be large — a perfect opportunity for those who knew how to play it.
Chen Baocai noticed it immediately — not only because of the numbers, but because he himself already held 1,000 shares of Wharf.
There was no way he could ignore it.
At 9:30, the bell rang.
The market was open.
All around the trading hall, eyes turned toward the electronic display, where Wharf's numbers flickered like heartbeat lines.
Though computers weren't yet used for stock transactions in 1977 Hong Kong, electronic boards had already been introduced to display live price changes. For traders like Chen, they were mesmerizing.
Under the gaze of countless investors, Wharf's price began to climb.
Buy orders surged in, swallowing every sell order that appeared.
Within five minutes, the price had shot up to HK$14, a 7% rise.
But the momentum soon began to slow.
Sell orders started appearing at the top, each rise now facing resistance — a three steps forward, one step back pattern.
"The bulls on Wharf look strong today," Chen muttered. "I think I'll add to my position."
He said it casually to his friends, then walked off to place his order.
He bought ten more lots, bringing his total to 2,000 shares.
His original cost had been HK$12.80, but now his average price rose to HK$13.50.
If the stock fell back to yesterday's close, he'd lose money — and not a small amount.
But that was the nature of the game. Many investors did exactly what Chen did — chasing the rise. When the price kept climbing, it was hard to resist the urge to jump in.
As Wharf's price continued upward, the gain from yesterday's close soon exceeded 10%.
Those who had bought earlier — days or even weeks before — began selling to lock in profits.
Yet, despite the heavy selling, two powerful forces were quietly absorbing everything.
Lin Baicheng, intent on acquiring Wharf, had instructed An Yuan to keep buying as long as the price stayed below HK$20 — to accumulate as many shares as possible.
Meanwhile, Li Jiacheng, watching from the opposite camp, was also buying.
He wanted to push the price up deliberately — to see how the mysterious other side would respond.
Two giants buying at once, both with deep pockets, devoured every sell order thrown their way.
Under their combined strength, Wharf's price kept climbing.
When it hit HK$15, the sell orders began to thin out.
Investors could tell by now that big capital was behind the movement. Many stopped selling and held on for higher gains.
Institutional traders noticed too — and began increasing their own positions, hoping to ride the wave.
Now, the entire market was pushing in one direction:
Two major buyers, several institutional funds, and countless retail traders chasing momentum.
The stock surged relentlessly.
Each resistance level — HK$15.50, HK$16.00, HK$16.50 — fell in succession.
Finally, Wharf's price broke through HK$17.
From the previous close of HK$13.10, that was a 30% surge in a single day.
Someone who had held HK$10,000 worth of shares that morning now had HK$13,000. A tidy profit — in just a few hours.
Hong Kong's stock market had no daily price limits and unlimited trading.
With HK$10,000, you could — in theory — make HK$100,000 in a day, or lose it all and end with only HK$1,000. Both extremes were rare, but the possibility thrilled (and terrified) everyone.
At this level, the profit-taking intensified.
Sell orders mounted.
More importantly, Li Jiacheng's camp stopped buying at HK$17, choosing to step back and observe.
On the other side, Lin Baicheng's men at An Yuan had standing orders to buy below HK$20 — but when they saw the sudden wave of selling above HK$17, they also paused.
With both major buyers on hold, the market instantly lost momentum.
Retail traders and smaller institutions couldn't absorb the flood of sell orders.
The price turned downward.
And once it did, the profit-takers pounced.
Within ten minutes, Wharf's price plunged below HK$15, before quickly bouncing back into a short-term consolidation — oscillating around the HK$15 mark.