1. Historical Review
December 5, 1996, Washington. Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan stood at the podium of the annual dinner, facing a room full of Wall Street elites. He was in his seventies, bald, wearing thick reading glasses, and known for his “incomprehensible” way of speaking. But that night, he asked a question that everyone understood.
“How do we know if irrational exuberance has at some point pushed asset values too high?” He continued, “If asset prices have reached an unsustainable bubble and we failed to identify it in time, then the subsequent adjustment could be very severe.”
The room went quiet for a few seconds. Then, applause broke out. The dinner continued. The next day, Asian markets dropped by 3%. The Dow opened with a dive. Financial media headlines around the world echoed the same phrase: irrational exuberance. This was 1996. The Nasdaq index was around 1300 points. The internet was changing the world, Yahoo had just gone public, and Amazon was still just an online bookstore. Greenspan's warning was like a bucket of cold water, dousing the warming market.
The market fell for several days. Then, it rose again. --- In 1997, the Nasdaq surged by 21%. In 1998, it climbed 39%. In 1999, it shot up 85%. Over three years after Greenspan's warning, the Nasdaq soared from 1300 points to 5048 points, a nearly 300% increase. Anyone who heeded Greenspan's warning and exited in 1996 missed the biggest bull market of their lives. They were ridiculed by colleagues, abandoned by clients, and labeled as 'that poor soul who missed out' by friends.
Back then, the comments section—what we called chat rooms and forums—was filled with voices like these: 'What does Greenspan know? He can’t even use a computer.' 'Every dip is a buying opportunity; this time is no different.' 'Those who missed out are always looking for excuses; those who make money are always counting their cash.' 'Are you still waiting for the bubble to burst? I’ve already quadrupled my investment.' At the end of 1999, Barron's cover headline read: 'This time is different.' In January 2000, legendary strategist Henry Blodget at Merrill Lynch, after the Nasdaq had already tripled, raised his target price for the year again. He was crowned 'King of the Internet.'
In February 2000, retail account openings hit an all-time high. Those who had mocked the 'missed opportunities' for the past three years poured their last savings, their children's education funds, and even their home equity into the market. They didn’t really believe those internet companies could make money. They didn’t need to believe. They just needed to believe one thing: I can definitely escape before the crash.
On March 10, 2000, the Nasdaq closed at 5048.62 points. This marked the peak of the internet bubble. --- What followed is clearly written in the history books. The Nasdaq began to drop from 5048 points. Initially, everyone said it was a 'healthy correction.' The chatter in the comments section was louder than ever: 'Buy the dip! When others are fearful, I’m greedy!' The index fell to 4000 points. The dip buyers got trapped. The mocking in the comments started to fade. It dropped to 3000 points. The dip buyers began to cut losses. Silence fell over the comments. It plummeted to 2000 points. Most of those who had mocked the 'missed opportunities' at 5048 were already out at 3000. They didn’t escape; they were carried out. By October 2002, the Nasdaq closed at 1114 points, a 78% drop from the peak. Trillions in market value evaporated. Henry Blodget was banned for life from the securities industry. Those covers proclaiming 'This time it's different' were tossed into the dustbin of history.
Greenspan's warning in 1996 ultimately proved to be completely correct. However, from the moment he made that statement, the market rallied for over three more years, increasing by 300%.
Now, let’s return to April 2026.
Right now, the market is no different from 1999: 'Are you still analyzing fundamentals? Do US stocks have anything to do with fundamentals?' 'Every crash has been followed by a recovery, and they recover even higher.' 'Those who missed out are always looking for excuses; we are always making money.' 'AI can save everything.' 'The president won’t let the stock market crash.'
I’ve pondered a question: Do they really believe what Trump says—about the strait being open, about handing over condensed goods, about achieving ceasefire?
I’ve answered this question myself: they don’t truly believe. They are pretending to believe. The distinction between the two is the core fuel of this machine.
A person who truly believes 'the strait is open' would check the vessel tracking data. They’d discover that on April 17, over 20 ships rushed toward the strait and then all turned back. They’d find that the guards opened fire on two vessels. They’d learn that the so-called 'complete openness' never existed even for a minute in physical reality. A person who genuinely believes 'a ceasefire is imminent' would look for official announcements. They’d see that the time and place for the second round of negotiations have yet to be announced. They’d notice that the speaker completely denied all seven of the statements made by Trump, saying they were 'all untrue.' They’d realize that the ceasefire due on April 22 is looming, yet both sides haven't even set the legs of the negotiation table.
But those mocking the missed opportunities in the comments don’t bother to check these facts. Not because they can’t, but because they don’t want to. They need to believe, not in Greenspan, but in their ability to escape before the crash.
Every mocking comment aimed at those who missed out isn't meant for them; it's meant for themselves. 'Are you still bearish? I've already made 40%.' — Translation: I bought at a high price, but I can’t think about that. 'Every dip is a buying opportunity; history has proven it.' — Translation: I don't know if this time will be different, but I refuse to think about it. 'US stocks are faith; buy more when they drop.' — Translation: I have no stop-loss plan, and I don’t intend to have one. 'AI will save everything.' — Translation: I don’t understand AI, but I need to believe that something can always push prices up. 'The president won’t let the stock market crash.' — Translation: I’ve handed my fate over to someone I’ve never met, so I don’t have to take responsibility.
Every laugh is a form of self-hypnosis. Every time they hit 'send,' they bury the most fearful voice deep inside—'What if this time it really crashes?'—another inch deeper. That’s why their laughter needs to get louder. Because after 12 consecutive gains, that fearful voice is also getting louder.
It was no longer just whispers in the dead of night; it began to resonate as they stared at their account's unrealized gains, as they saw headlines about 'the guards opening fire,' and as they discovered that large net inflows had zeroed out while their buy orders were still filling. They needed to mock others louder to drown out that voice.
This is the fine line between 'pretending to believe' and 'truly believing.' Those who genuinely believe don’t need to mock others. They just need to hold on. Those who truly believe don’t spend every day in the comments proving they’re right. They don’t need to prove anything. Those who genuinely believe, when Greenspan issued his warning in 1996, think seriously, adjust their positions, and survive when the bubble bursts. Meanwhile, those making the loudest mockery in the comments don’t really believe. They are building a dam with their laughter to block the increasingly loud fear inside. They’re not mocking the missed opportunities; they’re mocking their most fearful self—the voice that whispers, 'You bought too high,' the voice that says, 'This time it might really be different,' the voice that says, 'You can't escape.' Every time they mock someone, they can push that voice down for a minute. So they need to keep mocking, keep looking for new 'missed opportunities' to attack in the comments. Because once they stop, that voice will surface. And every word that voice speaks is true.
It took Greenspan three years to be heard by the market. When he said 'irrational exuberance' in December 1996, the market pretended not to hear. In 1997, 1998, and 1999, the market took three years and a 300% increase to prove 'Greenspan was wrong.' In March 2000, when the last retail investor finished buying, when the laughter in the comments hit its peak, and when 'this time is different' became a belief that needed no proof—the music stopped. None of those who laughed the loudest got away. Not because they weren’t smart enough, but because they had been using laughter to mask their fear, to the point that when fear finally turned into reality, they didn’t know how to react. They had grown accustomed to responding to everything with laughter.
When the market starts to crash, they’re still mocking those 'panicking and cutting losses' in the comments. When the index drops by 30%, they’re still mocking those 'liquidating at the bottom.' When it falls by 50%, they stop laughing. When it drops by 78%, the comments are empty.
Now, it’s April 18, 2026, a Saturday night. The S&P 500 has just completed 12 consecutive gains, hitting a historic high. The Nasdaq is on a 13-day winning streak. The VIX has been smashed down to 17.11. The UVIX has been pressed to 5.65, with the weekly J value at -5.83 and the monthly MACD forming a historically significant divergence. The strait has never truly opened, the negotiation time and place have never been officially announced, and Trump’s seven statements have been entirely denied by the authorities. There was fundamentally no ceasefire; the guards fired upon vessels attempting to cross the strait. Yet the mocking in the comments is louder than ever.
They mock those who missed out. They mock the bears. They mock anyone daring to question 'this time is different.' They’re not proving Greenspan right; they’re proving that the fearful voice inside them is false. They’re not dialoguing with the market; they’re having a conversation with themselves. They’re not mocking others; they’re mocking their most fearful self—the part that knows the music can stop at any time but won’t admit it. And that voice is no longer a whisper. It starts echoing every time they refresh the comments, every time they see the words 'guards,' and every time they realize they’ve added more positions. They suppress it with louder mockery.
But that voice grew clearer. It said, 'You can’t escape.' It took Greenspan three years to be heard.
This time, the ceasefire is due to expire on April 22.
No one knows when the crisis will break out; I only know that I must work hard to survive in the market c-11
