Chapter 224: It Really Was Like Picking Up Money
Chapter 224: It Really Was Like Picking Up Money
After posting her update on Weibo, Liu Yue kept refreshing the comments, waiting for any replies. The moment she saw that the user “Peerless Stock Deity” had responded, her eyes lit up immediately.
“Buying stocks from the pharmaceutical and biotech sector tomorrow is like picking money up off the ground.”
That was all he’d written. Just one vague, offhand prediction — no supporting data, no reasoning, not even a specific stock mentioned from the hundreds in the sector. A few simple words with no persuasive power whatsoever.
Liu Yue couldn’t take it seriously. How could it be that easy? Was he implying that anyone could just randomly throw money into that sector and walk away with a profit? That kind of situation might only show up once a year in the entire market.
She dismissed “Peerless Stock God” as just another internet loudmouth looking for attention.
Yet just as she had that thought, replies began flooding in under the “Peerless Stock God” comment.
“All your fault, jinx! Our goddess of stocks never makes mistakes — the only reason things went wrong yesterday was because you cursed it! This is on you!”
“Yeah, I agree. This bastard jinxed everything!”
“I lost three grand on Yaochi Liquor today! You damn jinx, pay me back!” “Buying pharma stocks is like picking up free money? Who the hell are you? You sound like such a blowhard. What, you think you’re really some kind of Stock Deity?”
“Whoever buys pharma stocks tomorrow is a total idiot.”
On the other side of the screen, Wang Haoran — the man behind “Peerless Stock Deity” — was also seeing the comments roll in. The early replies were still civil, but the further they went, the nastier they got. People were hurling curses, venom dripping from their words.
He scowled. It was Liu Yue who had made the wrong prediction. These idiots followed her advice, lost money, and now they were blaming him just because he’d made a contrarian comment? What a joke.
They wanted to make him the scapegoat? Not a chance.
Grinding his teeth, Wang Haoran tapped out a fiery response: “Just wait for tomorrow’s market. You brain-dead bootlickers can get ready to kneel and call me Daddy under this post when the truth hits. Damn!”
That comment set off another frenzy. Replies poured in even faster now — insults, mockery, personal attacks, all vile.
Wang Haoran’s eyes grew colder. He picked out the loudest ones, noted down their social media handles, and calmly tapped into his top-tier hacking arsenal. In moments, their devices — phones, computers, tablets — all locked up and crashed.
Dead.
Then, with the satisfaction of a blade drawn in darkness, he returned to the comments and kept replying, targeting each rabid critic one by one.
But just as he typed out a new response, an error message popped up. Failed to send.
He checked his following list — Liu Yue’s account had vanished.
Instantly, he understood: he’d been blocked.
“Damn it!”
Meanwhile, back at her villa, Liu Yue had indeed blocked Wang Haoran. She didn’t want the chaos spilling further into her feed, with people arguing, spitting filth, turning her Weibo into a cesspool. So she took the final step — she disabled the comments altogether.
Silence returned at last.
Done with the mess, she washed up and went to bed. As for that “Peerless Stock Deity”? She had already erased him from her mind, lumping him in with the usual internet clowns who stirred things up for a bit of attention.
—
The next day.
At 9:30 in the morning, the market opened. As the hours passed and the clock neared 2:00 in the afternoon, the market behaved exactly as Liu Yue had predicted. The restaurant and catering sector as a whole showed a rising trend, with only a few exceptions dipping slightly.
Most investors who had followed her guidance bought stocks in this sector — and most of them were making money. Not just small gains either. While a few unlucky ones lost a little, the losses were minor and easily absorbed.
Liu Yue’s damaged reputation from the previous day had begun to heal. Her prediction this time had restored her prestige, if not completely, then enough to stem the tide of ridicule.
At that moment, she reopened the comments on her Weibo post.
Immediately, the floodgates opened. People who had followed her advice and profited stormed into the comments section like a joyous parade.
“Made a quick thousand — thanks, Goddess!”
“Up three grand! Long live the Goddess!”
“Not bad at all, eight thousand in the bag today!”
“Recovered all my losses from yesterday and added another sixteen thousand! As long as I follow the Goddess, I’ll never go hungry!”
“Damn, should’ve gone in heavier… only made enough to buy a Porsche Panamera.” A Panamera cost nearly a million — that comment triggered a storm of envy and banter.
The entire comments section became a celebration. The arguments from yesterday were quickly drowned beneath waves of gratitude, joy, and praise.
Liu Yue smiled as she scrolled through the messages.
There were just over ten minutes left until the market closed. The trends had already settled — there wouldn’t be any major shifts.
She relaxed. No need to watch the tickers anymore. Opening the overall sector charts, she started reviewing the day’s volatility trends.
But then — just ten minutes before the bell — something unexpected happened.
On the floating trend graph, the pharmaceutical and biotech sector suddenly shot upward, as if it had sprouted wings and taken flight.
“No way…” Liu Yue’s heart skipped a beat. She remembered the comment from last night. That single line from “Peerless Stock Deity.”
Her fingers flew across the screen. She stopped looking at the general sector movement and went straight into the pharmaceutical board, checking each stock’s performance in real time.
What she saw made her pupils shrink.
Stock after stock that had been sitting in the red all day — some down as much as -9.9%, almost hitting the daily floor — were now rebounding furiously. The numbers flipped from red to green to bright, blazing crimson, as stock after stock surged straight to the daily limit — 10% up.
By the time the clock struck 3:00 and the market closed, the entire pharmaceutical and biotech sector was a wall of red — and not the bad kind.
Every single stock had risen.
Not a single one was down.
It really was like “Peerless Stock God” had said. Buying pharma stocks today was like bending down to pick up money. Even blindfolded, you couldn’t have lost.
Staring at the crimson data flooding the screen, Liu Yue sat frozen in place, stunned speechless.
After several seconds, she finally snapped out of it, hands trembling as she reopened her blacklist and dug out the account she had buried just last night.
Then, she typed a private message.
“Sorry about yesterday. You were right. I was wrong. Could you tell me how you made your analysis? I’m willing to pay — you name the price.”
One prediction could be luck. Two in a row?
That was no coincidence.
This Peerless Stock God… there was something remarkable about him.
She hit “send” on the message.
A moment later, a notification popped up.
“Message failed to send.”
Liu Yue froze again.
She’d been blocked.