Having tasted victory at the gambling table, Jin Zhao was no longer as inexperienced and unpolished as a beginner. He kept maneuvering, buying and selling. In six months, he earned 3.2 million yuan. Adding that to his initial capital, he now had 4.5 million yuan. He purchased a Mercedes-Benz sedan—a car that became the only one in the hospital residential area where he lived! He appeared so poised and graceful. He no longer visited the lab to work on his pain-free injection medicine, nor did he bury himself in books there. He stopped taking me out, as well. Dressed impeccably, he would drive his Mercedes-Benz back to the hospital where he once worked, determined to make those who had humiliated, bullied, and undervalued him boil with envy, possibly cursing him out in the middle of the night. That feeling was simply too exhilarating. <br><br>The prices of bulk steel shot up to nearly 4,000 yuan. Jin Zhao invested all 2 million yuan he had at a price of 3,500 yuan per ton, predicting the price would rise to 5,000 yuan. When it reached 4,500 yuan, he planned to sell half, and when it hit 4,800 yuan, he intended to sell off entirely. <br><br>In just four months, the price soared to 4,000 yuan per ton. Jin Zhao didn't sell. In his mind, as an indisputably seasoned player based on his numerous prior experiences, the price would undoubtedly rise further. Only at his predetermined selling point would he consider unloading his shares. With this level of craziness, it was only a matter of time before the price reached his target. So, when the price hit 4,000 yuan, he poured in the remaining 2 million yuan. This averaged out his purchase price to 3,750 yuan per ton. <br><br>The market was rife with rumors about the disciplinary confinement system being enforced and talks of establishing a bulk steel trading hub. Jin Zhao said, "Let's wait and see." <br><br>Due to national policy influences, the price peaked at 4,250 yuan but soon started to plummet rapidly, breaking the 4,000 and 3,000 marks. Jin Zhao reassured himself, saying, "Wait it out. This drastic drop will stabilize and rebound." But anxiety started to creep in. Day by day, he found himself staring blankly out the window. Before long, the price fell to 2,500 yuan. In just half a month, it had dropped by nearly half. <br><br>Unable to hold out any longer, Jin Zhao saw his funds reduced to his original capital. Suddenly, he felt like the biggest fool at the gambling table—a drafting leader, a complete idiot. He set his price at 2,600 yuan per ton. But during a market freefall, instead of discounting, he wanted to sell at a premium? The market ignored him completely. Finally, at the rock-bottom price of 1,950 yuan per ton, he sold everything. At that moment, his only thought was: "I can't endure this anymore. I have to get out. I need to at least break even." And so, within just one month, he was left with only 1.9 million yuan. <br><br>Meanwhile, Mr. Zhang, the boss, kept piling on pressure, urging him to find a profitable project quickly to generate returns for the company. This whirlwind rollercoaster had left Jin Zhao—who had just transitioned from the planned economy to the market economy—utterly disoriented. He was afraid. He worried that Mr. Zhang would saddle him with a 100,000-yuan debt. He feared the more he managed on his own, the more he would lose. <br><br>During this time, many companies were emerging. The X-Fan company approached Jin Zhao multiple times, offering to sell him 20% of its shares for 50,000 yuan. But Jin Zhao, battered and demoralized by this devastating wave, couldn't see the enormous opportunities and the rare initial capital he possessed—something so many others dreamed of having. His mind was consumed with thoughts of failure and fear of the future. At that moment, he simply couldn't muster the courage to push forward. He was paralyzed by terror. <br><br>He made a decision: to return the company to Mr. Zhang, with the sole condition that he would not have to repay the 100,000-yuan debt. Hastily, he handed the company over and returned home—back to his job retention without pay position. Awaiting him were the same colleagues and leaders who, only months earlier, envied and resented him from under their blankets. Now, he returned like a drowned rat, his pride and confidence utterly shattered. <br><br>A three-year-long depressive period began. Every morning, he would wake at 4 a.m., restless and irritable, and started gambling. By evening, he anxiously waited by the window, hoping for someone to come call him out to play cards. He argued with my mother every day. There was a constant cold war between them. Our home became a battleground—a competition of suffering among the three of us. <br><br>Debt collectors began showing up every few days. The most vivid memory I have was opening the door to find something cold and hard pressed against my head. A man outside said, "Where's Jin Zhao? If he doesn't bring me the 10,000 yuan he owes by tonight, I'll blow your head off." Turning my head slightly, I saw he held a gun, pressing it to my head. I responded, "Are you sure you can kill me with one shot? Then go ahead and do it." <br><br>This suffocating life drove me to despair. My father's deep sighs, my mother's sobbing—I closed my eyes and firmly said, "Go ahead and kill me." The man, taken aback, trembled slightly. Slowly, he lowered his gun, sliding it into the inner pocket of his jacket. Muttering curses, he spat, "Crazy! The whole family's crazy!" <br><br>Soon after, my mother insisted on a divorce, and my father attempted suicide. Three days later, he regained consciousness. But he was no longer Jin Zhao. When I looked into his eyes, it was clear his old soul was no longer there. He had become agitated and manic. <br><br>His past had died, and his future had been born. <br><br>After being discharged from the hospital, he quickly arranged for his suspension. He told me, "Man's ambition knows no bounds, reaching the moon and plumbing the seas!" He began selling newspapers, peddling along the street. He started smuggling cigarettes. He took on all kinds of odd jobs—anything that would make him forget who he was. <br><br>He told me, "Do you know? The greatest meaning of life is to find oneself. Right now, that's exactly what I'm doing—finding myself. Humans are strange: when I had nothing, I felt I had the entire world." His gaze was piercing, his tone resolute. <br><br>I watched the once scholarly Jin Zhao peddling newspapers along the street. I saw his former debt collectors beat him up over 500 yuan, even knocking out his teeth. I helped him up, and he stood back up to continue peddling. He cast aside all his pride, just as he did as a child when he scavenged coal slag at the steel factory's garbage dump. And he said he was happy! )
