This isn’t some knockoff crypto. This isn’t Ethereum from distant America.
/**Ethereum launched in July 2015, after a successful ICO the previous summer.
**/
This is real. This is here. This is mine for the taking.
And yet—I was shut out. When the Central Bank tried to kill Hightower Coin, the Prime Minister himself cleared the path. For them. Not for me.
I thought Zexi Investment would get a piece. But the Prime Minister’s stake went to Tomorrow Investment instead.
Yes, Zexi is new. Yes, we're small. But not because I lack talent. The Prime Minister is fresh to finance, and I'm being boxed out by the old guard—Bao Fang, Jianhua Xiao, all of them.
They think they can keep me on the sidelines. They’re wrong.
I scraped together half a billion. Originally earmarked for short positions Monday—from Guosen, CITIC. But Monday is four days out. I’m deploying now.
The money is far from enough anyway.
Antz Financial IPO launches Monday. Merchants Bank promised loans against Antz shares, first thing Monday.
All these trades are guaranteed wins. The more I lever up, the more I take home.
… …
On screen, registered accounts multiply—an accelerating swarm. The base price flashes: 1.22 RMB. Twenty cents for the New York crowd.
The interviews drone on. Justin Bieber cradles a white tiger cub. It’ll be auctioned tomorrow, after twenty million Hightower Coins are released as bidding ammunition.
I’m taking a large chunk in round one. No question.
That’s when most investors hesitate. The price will explode—tenfold, maybe more. Seminar recruits will panic. Speculators will freeze. Foreign investors will stall, overwhelmed by Rubian fever. Wall Street will debate whether to leap into something this novel, this volatile. My competitors in the Republic will scramble for funds.
Not me. I strike when others flinch. Round one is the floor—the lowest price we’ll ever see.
Terry Crews shows up, reciting auction mechanics with game-show precision.
- Five-minute rounds
- Ten-minute breaks every two rounds
- Half-hour intermission after round ten
- Twenty rounds total: done by 11:30 AM
Only wired funds can bid. I wire twenty million. My jaw clenches. Should be enough for the first round.
8:00 AM sharp. I submit: 100,000 coins at 6.12 RMB. One dollar each. A probe.
The lowest winning bid vaults to 5 RMB. Higher than expected. I exhale slowly, fingers hovering.
The cash pool swells—100 million in seconds. Then 300 million. My chest tightens.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
I dump another twenty million in. Enough ammunition to handle the unexpected.
Before the transfer clears, the bid leaps past mine. Approaching 8 RMB.
A financial guru narrates like a race car announcer.
"That means anyone bidding below 8 RMB gets nothing," he explains.
His partner, the famous actress, Mini Yang, gasps, “I can't believe it. I blinked my eye, the value of Hightower Coin quardrupled!”
Fucking theatrics. I curse alound. Then double down—double the bid, double the quantity. 2.4 million committed. My pulse hammers in my ears.
For sixty seconds, the bid struggles past ten, stalls at twelve. Then—with two minutes left—it surges past my position.
The total cash in the bidding pool has surpassed 700 million. And now is accumulating like an avalanche.
I’m still weighing my move when the bid suddenly doubles. Someone’s going all-in. Trying to sweep the table.
Over my dead body. 30 RMB, 400,000 coins—the max allowed to bid per account per round. Click. Enter. Twelve million deployed.
Despite global participation, bids rise in whole RMBs. The Republic is leading the auction.
I scan for competitors in my mind but there's no time. The first round counts down into the last sixty seconds. The bidding floor creeps toward mine like a predator.
I need to raise but don't want to overshoot— pay more than necessary. I watch it breach 30. I add one RMB above.
The instant I enter, it skips past.
“There is a delay in the system. The lowest winning bid you see is never the current one, it's the one a few microseconds ago.” The financial guru reminds audience. “So if you want to be sure, you need to add some buffer.”
It takes ten seconds to listen to his bullshit. Now price hits 45.
I enter 48. My hand trembles.
Eight seconds left. 48 is breached. My sweat drips onto the keyboard. Five seconds. Three. I punch in 60, 400,000 coins. Enter at the final heartbeat.
Count down hits zero. All bids lock in.
Confirmation flashes. 400,000 Hightower Coins, mine. Final lowest winning bid: 52. I overpaid by eight yuan.
I don't care. By round two, that difference will be noise.
A flicker of respect for that eye candy blonde CEO. The auction design is vicious—engineered to weaponize emotion, exploit every human weakness.
Round two launches before I can breathe. My pool balance: sixteen million. Not nearly enough. I wire 200 million. Just in case.
The second round starts with a base price of 26 yuan, half of last round’s closing. But it blasts through 52 in seconds.
I hold fire. No point adding fuel this early.
The frenzy ignores me. Pool exceeds four billion. The bid rockets 100 yuan in under a minute.
I'm pretty sure that all retail investors missed the first round. Some of them probably didn't understand that they need to bid above the lowest winning bid. Now they are bidding in panic mode.
Two minutes left. I move: 273 yuan, 200,000 coins. Rejected—insufficient funds.
I slam in all my reserve, 276 million. The pool breaks ten billion. Prices now show two decimals. Some other currency is leading the charge. The war has gone international.
Final minute. Lowest winning bid clears 300 yuan. My first-round haul just quintupled in value. My shoulders tense, eyes locked on the numbers.
Twelve seconds. The bid sits at 468.27. I enter 498. My finger hovers over the mouse. The number climbs, settles at 512.68.
My bid failed. Over 700 million drains from the pool. One million coins at an average of 700+ each. Someone hemorrhaged capital.
Here comes the intermission.
Terry Crews returns, interviewing a researcher, asking her to explain stem cell therapy in layman's terms.
Mid-explanation, he stops her. Apologizes. But there is breaking financial news—will certainly impact the next rounds.
Mini Yang reappears beside the guru. Her voice, soft and sweet, meant to soothe—instead it explodes in my skull.
“FRC just announced: Antz Financial IPO has been halted indefinitely. FRC, Market Supervision Bureau and Ministry of Public Security are launching a joint investigation.”
Before she finishes, my phone erupts. CFO.
"Merchants Bank rejected our loan." His voice is low, urgent, hollow with despair.
The room tilts. My screen blurs. The auction stream continues—oblivious, indifferent—while my entire strategy collapses in real time.
This is unprecedented. No IPO in the Republic has ever been halted days before launch.
Now I’m glad I didn’t spend money I don’t have in round two.
The billions I invested in Antz Financial—dead in the water. The Prime Minister expects a windfall from shorting the market. I need capital to follow.
As I wonder about the political implications, the third round countdown begins.
But I’m no longer watching the auction.
I'm watching my empire burn.