Chapter 42: Upgrade Plans (Seeking Followers)

There was a computer in the reception room. Zhang Long flipped through the stock recommendation reports while searching and verifying them on the trading screen. He knew that the reports given to him would certainly be embellished, but it didn’t matter. His main concern was whether the company’s analyst team had real strength—anything but flashy but hollow. If a major platform’s analysts were truly subpar, wouldn’t they be fired long ago? In most cases, that simply wouldn’t happen.

...

“What's the commission rate?”

Twenty minutes later, Zhang Long set aside the stock recommendation report and asked his next question. Shengxin’s commission rate was standard—neither high nor low. Some small platforms even offered commission rates as low as 0.06% or 0.05% for accounts of one or two hundred thousand yuan. There was never a shortage of clients chasing cheap rates. Small platforms often rented obscure locations, keeping rent and utilities low, with reduced staff costs, and sometimes were outright fraudulent shell companies with fake trading screens. They’d open up, operate for a year or two at most, then shut down and abscond with the money.

Clients were drawn in by cheap commissions, while platforms targeted their principal; once they'd had their fill, they’d disappear. Or, if a crackdown was imminent, they’d flee ahead of time.

“For amounts below five hundred thousand...”

When Zhang Long asked, the client manager began explaining the company’s commission structure, which was similar to Shengxin’s. Zhang Long calculated: he currently had only about 3.5 million in his bank account, not enough to qualify for the 0.03% rate for amounts above five million, so he’d have to settle for the 0.05% rate for two to five million. Though commission fees weren’t much compared to trading profits, saving a bit wherever possible was always preferable.

“No discounts?”

Zhang Long smiled slightly. “That’s the usual rate, but there’s always room for a better deal. If you insist the rules are fixed and non-negotiable, I’ll just leave.”

The client manager noted Zhang Long’s youthful appearance and ordinary attire, thinking he couldn’t be very wealthy. Yet Zhang Long’s confident, calm demeanor unsettled him—could he be some rich heir?

“So, Mr. Zhang, how much are you planning to deposit?”

“If it’s too little, there’s really nothing to discuss.”

...

Thus, throughout the morning and afternoon, Zhang Long visited a total of five account-opening platforms he'd scheduled yesterday, but only submitted applications at two—the other three didn’t make the cut. The stock recommendation reports were too fake, and the client managers were perfunctory in their attitude. No point talking further; he’d simply walk out.

Of course, even after he began trading stocks next week, he’d keep screening platforms, opening accounts to obtain analyst reports from various companies. Until he could freely analyze the market and select stocks himself, he wouldn’t stop.

“Lv.1...”

Returning home, Zhang Long scratched his head. He looked at the virtual level indicator at the upper right corner of his vision—just a bare rank, with no progress bar or experience points. It was quite a headache. He’d thought that helping more clients upgrade might be tied to performance, but it wasn’t; nothing changed.

Zhang Lizhen had recovered most of her losses, Chen Youwei had added more funds, and Qian Caiying had made excellent profits—all achievements in terms of transaction maintenance. Still, there was no sign of leveling up, which left him frustrated.

Moreover, income for September had been credited with no reaction; October’s settlement would be mid to late month. If there was still no change, then level and income weren’t linked.

“Financial Analyst Certificate?”

Zhang Long pondered. The closest answer seemed to be needing independent analysis qualifications. Ordinary securities license holders were usually just salespeople, able to read and analyze the market, but not much deeper. Otherwise, anyone could join analyst teams and write stock recommendations, diluting the value of the Financial Analyst Certificate.

So, over the past two months, Zhang Long had considered many possibilities. He’d previously asked Liang Xue for recommendation reports to see if his ability could be applied to himself, but that was only one approach. He also spent weekends at home studying for the December Financial Analyst exam—just in case. If he guessed right, all the better.

...

“Uh, don’t look at me like that?”

By evening, Zhang Long had planned to meet Luo Man in the southern suburbs for a date, but unexpectedly, Liang Xue called to meet him.

“You really put Chang Song in a bind...”

At a small restaurant, Liang Xue pursed her lips. “Nearly half your clients withdrew their funds. Old You’s lips broke out in blisters today—he’s furious.”

Zhang Long remained silent. Serves them right. Small retail investors were one thing, but those playing with hundreds of thousands or millions weren’t fools. The funds had been added over ten days or even a month, and with new guidance, it was natural for them to withdraw and observe for a while. Even if they didn’t withdraw, they’d watch the market for a few days, analyzing trends—like Thursday and Friday, when trading volume dropped sharply.

The good news was that Shengxin’s stock recommendations these two days were fairly accurate, restoring some trust. Some funds would return next Monday. But Qian Caiying’s money wouldn’t be coming back.

“Five million withdrawn...”

Liang Xue rolled her eyes. “Qian Caiying made a net profit of 2.5 million in a month and a half. You really pulled it off.”

“I called to confirm today—the five million withdrawn won’t return. She said there’s still three million left in the account, which is plenty for trading.”

“November has just started, and my Blizzard Team’s deposit performance is already in the negative—what rotten luck.”

Zhang Long ate in silence. Most of his previous clients belonged to the Blizzard Team, so at the month’s start, Blizzard Team suffered the worst withdrawals, directly making them top negative in deposit performance—a huge gap. And the trading volume these two days had dropped sharply; compared to the other seven teams, Blizzard wasn’t at the bottom, but only ranked mid-range—hardly impressive.

...

Still, having enjoyed the performance honors and bonuses from these clients’ additional funds, it was reasonable to bear the mess of withdrawals and fill the gaps now. You can’t just take the good without the bad.

...

“Did you keep backups of your clients?”

Suddenly, Liang Xue’s eyes flickered. “Whether you kept them doesn’t matter. What matters is don’t do anything for now. Old You is furious with you—don’t show any weaknesses.”

Shengxin’s client information confidentiality measures were strict, but even so, there were plenty of loopholes. Phones were all company-issued or system-assigned numbers, and QQ chat accounts were newly issued upon joining and handed over upon departure. But if someone privately noted client phone numbers or QQs, they could later reach out and add them—this happened with ex-employees, or rather, was common industry-wide. Human nature.

When leaving, they’d claim not to have copied anything, nor would they contact clients. But after moving to a new company and struggling to make sales, they'd inevitably break the rules. Besides, stockholder information circulates within the industry, rarely obtained through official channels.

Some resign just to take their clients and jump ship as supervisors or managers. Otherwise, why leave just to be a regular employee elsewhere? That would be pointless.

“Don’t worry, just eat.”

Zhang Long didn’t answer directly—not because he feared Liang Xue recording him, but simply because there was no need to contact those clients for now. If he needed to in the future, he’d deal with it then—perhaps when starting his own company...

For now, he’d focus on trading stocks himself and accumulating funds. The bull market was estimated to arrive in two years. With the market sluggish and investors hesitant, the cost-effectiveness wasn’t right. Better to let things settle, and when funds and timing were right, it wouldn’t be too late.

By then, the protection period would be long over, and contacting clients would be no issue—Shengxin wasn’t the only game in town.

Well, there was another possibility. Though a bit ruthless, Shengxin might have gone bankrupt by then, and a hundred top-tier clients could be used freely.

“All right, let’s meet again another time.”

As dinner wound down, Liang Xue saw Zhang Long had things well in hand and said no more—after eating, she said goodbye.

“Not bad, seven fifty...”

Zhang Long glanced at the time, licked his lips, and headed south. After two days apart, he missed Luo Man dearly—tonight, he’d savor her tender, sweet lips again.

When you’re in love, it’s perfectly normal to indulge a bit more.

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