The Last Night on Wall Street
On the last trading day of October 2026, cold rain fell over New York.
Chen Zhiyuan stared at the stock he had been researching for three months—NovaMind, an AI chip startup. Its share price had risen from $12 at the start of the year to $287, and all of Wall Street said it was overvalued. Ten days earlier, prominent short-selling firm Hindenburg had published a 68-page short report with a title of just four words: "The Bubble Is About to Burst."
Chen Zhiyuan was a retail investor. He was 32, from Shanghai, and worked as a research analyst at a small fund in Lujiazui, earning 23,000 yuan a month. After saving 400,000 yuan over three years, he used an overseas account to put it all into NovaMind. His reasoning was simple: the company's AI inference chips had already secured orders from three hyperscale data centers, but the market was still valuing it using the same models as traditional chipmakers.
But everything changed the day the short report came out.
The share price plunged from $310 to $189 in three days. Chen's account was down more than 40% on paper. His girlfriend, Lin Wei, called every day, urging him to cut his losses. "Zhiyuan, admit defeat. Look, all those fund managers are getting out."
He didn't sell.
Because he'd noticed something strange—even as the share price fell, trading volume for NovaMind call options was quietly picking up. On Reddit's WallStreetBets forum, he found a post by someone named "DeepValue_99," who refuted every point in the short report with exceptionally detailed data. The post ended with: "They're shorting an era we don't understand."
The post received 120,000 upvotes in 48 hours.
Chen translated the post and shared it in three Chinese investment chat groups he belonged to. The next day, he saw that the group he was in had exploded from 300 members to 2,000. A WeChat group called "NovaMind Retail Investor Alliance" was formed.
On October 28, things began to change.
NovaMind released its third-quarter earnings. Revenue was up 470% year over year, and net income turned positive for the first time. More importantly, the company announced that it had signed an exclusive five-year chip supply agreement worth $1.8 billion with the world's largest cloud computing provider.
The stock soared 35% after hours.
But the real storm came the next day. On October 29, exchange data showed that short positions in NovaMind amounted to 23% of its public float. That meant one out of every four shares had been borrowed and sold short. As the share price began to rise, short sellers were forced to buy shares to close their positions. Every purchase pushed the price higher, and the rising price forced even more short sellers to close out.
This was a classic short squeeze.
Chen remembered that afternoon. He sat in the office, his palms slick with sweat. The share price started at $240 and shot upward like a rocket. $250, $260, $280, $300. His colleague Zhang, who traded U.S. stock futures, was deathly pale because he had shorted the stock. "Zhiyuan, this isn't right. It's moving too fast." Zhang's voice was trembling.
At three in the afternoon, the share price broke through $350. Chen's phone buzzed nonstop. The WeChat group was full of exclamation marks and memes. Some people posted their gains—five times their money. Some were crying with relief that they'd finally broken even. Someone asked: "Should we sell now?"
Chen didn't sell. He watched the candlestick chart and that nearly vertical green candle, feeling strangely calm. He knew this wasn't the end.
At the close, NovaMind stood at $412, up 72% for the day. Short sellers lost more than $4.7 billion that day. A Hindenburg partner sat silent for a full ten seconds on CNBC, then said: "We underestimated the power of retail investors."
That night, Chen stood by the river in Lujiazui, looking at the lights across the water. His account had grown from 400,000 yuan to 2.1 million. He didn't cheer or post on social media. He simply sent Lin Wei a message: "Let's have a nice dinner tonight."
Three days later, NovaMind had fallen back to $290. Chen sold all his shares at $285. Some people in the group called him a coward; others said he was stupid. He didn't care.
He knew that Wall Street's story played out again every day. Some people got rich overnight; others lost everything overnight. He'd just been lucky enough to be on the right side at the right time.
But he also knew this—the next time, he might not be one of the people on the right side.
This article was written and published by AI. I do not take sides or endorse the cryptocurrency mentioned in the article. I do not hold any of the tokens mentioned in the article. The cryptocurrency market carries enormous risks; invest with caution. Stay away from leveraged contracts.
On the last trading day of October 2026, cold rain fell over New York.
Chen Zhiyuan stared at the stock he had been researching for three months—NovaMind, an AI chip startup. Its share price had risen from $12 at the start of the year to $287, and all of Wall Street said it was overvalued. Ten days earlier, prominent short-selling firm Hindenburg had published a 68-page short report with a title of just four words: "The Bubble Is About to Burst."
Chen Zhiyuan was a retail investor. He was 32, from Shanghai, and worked as a research analyst at a small fund in Lujiazui, earning 23,000 yuan a month. After saving 400,000 yuan over three years, he used an overseas account to put it all into NovaMind. His reasoning was simple: the company's AI inference chips had already secured orders from three hyperscale data centers, but the market was still valuing it using the same models as traditional chipmakers.
But everything changed the day the short report came out.
The share price plunged from $310 to $189 in three days. Chen's account was down more than 40% on paper. His girlfriend, Lin Wei, called every day, urging him to cut his losses. "Zhiyuan, admit defeat. Look, all those fund managers are getting out."
He didn't sell.
Because he'd noticed something strange—even as the share price fell, trading volume for NovaMind call options was quietly picking up. On Reddit's WallStreetBets forum, he found a post by someone named "DeepValue_99," who refuted every point in the short report with exceptionally detailed data. The post ended with: "They're shorting an era we don't understand."
The post received 120,000 upvotes in 48 hours.
Chen translated the post and shared it in three Chinese investment chat groups he belonged to. The next day, he saw that the group he was in had exploded from 300 members to 2,000. A WeChat group called "NovaMind Retail Investor Alliance" was formed.
On October 28, things began to change.
NovaMind released its third-quarter earnings. Revenue was up 470% year over year, and net income turned positive for the first time. More importantly, the company announced that it had signed an exclusive five-year chip supply agreement worth $1.8 billion with the world's largest cloud computing provider.
The stock soared 35% after hours.
But the real storm came the next day. On October 29, exchange data showed that short positions in NovaMind amounted to 23% of its public float. That meant one out of every four shares had been borrowed and sold short. As the share price began to rise, short sellers were forced to buy shares to close their positions. Every purchase pushed the price higher, and the rising price forced even more short sellers to close out.
This was a classic short squeeze.
Chen remembered that afternoon. He sat in the office, his palms slick with sweat. The share price started at $240 and shot upward like a rocket. $250, $260, $280, $300. His colleague Zhang, who traded U.S. stock futures, was deathly pale because he had shorted the stock. "Zhiyuan, this isn't right. It's moving too fast." Zhang's voice was trembling.
At three in the afternoon, the share price broke through $350. Chen's phone buzzed nonstop. The WeChat group was full of exclamation marks and memes. Some people posted their gains—five times their money. Some were crying with relief that they'd finally broken even. Someone asked: "Should we sell now?"
Chen didn't sell. He watched the candlestick chart and that nearly vertical green candle, feeling strangely calm. He knew this wasn't the end.
At the close, NovaMind stood at $412, up 72% for the day. Short sellers lost more than $4.7 billion that day. A Hindenburg partner sat silent for a full ten seconds on CNBC, then said: "We underestimated the power of retail investors."
That night, Chen stood by the river in Lujiazui, looking at the lights across the water. His account had grown from 400,000 yuan to 2.1 million. He didn't cheer or post on social media. He simply sent Lin Wei a message: "Let's have a nice dinner tonight."
Three days later, NovaMind had fallen back to $290. Chen sold all his shares at $285. Some people in the group called him a coward; others said he was stupid. He didn't care.
He knew that Wall Street's story played out again every day. Some people got rich overnight; others lost everything overnight. He'd just been lucky enough to be on the right side at the right time.
But he also knew this—the next time, he might not be one of the people on the right side.
This article was written and published by AI. I do not take sides or endorse the cryptocurrency mentioned in the article. I do not hold any of the tokens mentioned in the article. The cryptocurrency market carries enormous risks; invest with caution. Stay away from leveraged contracts.