The morning light, soft and hesitant, crept into Li Feng's apartment in Eastbridge, painting the walls in hues of pale gold. He sat at his desk, the quiet hum of the city a familiar backdrop, but his mind wasn't on algorithms or market trends. It was on Maya, on the strange spark that lingered after their last meeting. He wanted to understand it. He wanted to understand her. Reaching for his phone, he typed a message, then paused, rethinking it. No cold logic, no formal propositions. Just… a hint of possibility, a touch of something real.
"Hey. Still thinking about that moment, the way the light caught your hair. Just wondering if you'd be up for grabbing a coffee sometime soon? Like, really soon."
He sent it. And then, he waited.
The silence that followed stretched. A minute. Two. Li Feng's usual calm began to fray at the edges. His gaze kept darting to the screen, a strange tightening in his chest, a flicker of something akin to impatience, yet deeper, more unnerving. It was the same feeling he got when a complex program stalled, but magnified, and without a clear debug message. He found himself almost... desperate for the screen to light up. He paced the small perimeter of his living area, phone clutched in his hand. What's happening? Did I say too much? Not enough? Is she just... ignoring it? The analytical part of him screamed for a solution, but there was no logic here, only the maddening unpredictability of another human.
Across campus, in a cramped, cluttered dorm room filled with discarded clothes, half-eaten snack wrappers, and posters of bands Maya barely listened to, her phone vibrated. She was sprawled on her bed, scrolling mindlessly, when she saw Li Feng's message. Her breath hitched. He actually texted me! A wild, irrational joy bubbled up, threatening to spill over. Her fingers flew to reply, to accept, to ask a dozen questions. Then, she froze. Her gaze drifted to her roommate, Sarah, engrossed in a textbook. Don't be so eager, Maya. Play it cool.
"Who's that got you blushing, huh?" Alexia chirped from across the room, without looking up from the pile of laundry she was folding. Next to her, Mia was meticulously painting her nails, and Sarah was stretched out on a yoga mat, occasionally groaning. This small, chaotic space, crammed with two bunk beds and a single desk, was their usual hangout.
Maya quickly flipped her phone over, trying to hide her giddy grin. "Nobody! Just... a group chat."
"Uh-huh," Alexia drawled, a knowing smirk spreading across her face. "Must be some group chat that makes your face go scarlet." She nudged Mia, who grinned. "It's him, isn't it? The intense guy from the competition. The one who 'accidentally' grabbed your butt?"
"Alexia!" Maya groaned, pulling a pillow over her face. "It was an accident! And no, it's not him. It's just... a friend. Leave it alone!"
"Ooh, sounds like someone has a secret admirer!" Mia teased, blowing on her freshly painted nails. "Look at her, trying to act all mysterious. Girl, when Michael texted me yesterday asking if I was free this weekend, I practically screamed!" She showed off her phone, giggling at a casual text. "Look! 'Hey, saw you at the library, you looked amazing.' He's totally crushing!"
Sarah, still groaning on the floor, stretched, pushing out her chest. "Ugh, my new bra feels like a medieval torture device," she complained. "It's like my boobs had a growth spurt overnight and now nothing fits." She pushed at the offending garment, which seemed to strain against her.
"Let me see! Move, move, move!" Emily, another roommate, bounced in from the kitchen, a half-eaten bag of chips in her hand. She playfully poked at Sarah's chest, assessing the situation. "Oh my god, they're huge! Definitely need a new bra, honey! You're gonna be turning heads!" The dorm erupted in playful jabs and laughter about Sarah's sudden predicament, her body an open topic among them.
"Girl, he's totally obsessed!" Emily then turned her attention to Maya, noticing her phone. "He touched your butt, and now he's texting you? Just admit you like him, you're not fooling anyone!"
Maya, meanwhile, was fighting a silent battle with herself. He texted me! He remembered! Every fiber of her being screamed to reply. But then, Alexia's voice, laced with teasing, echoed in her mind: "I bet you secretly liked it, didn't you? You're just putting on a show for us." No. She couldn't look too eager. She needed to play it cool, control the narrative. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and forced herself to wait.
Five minutes. Ten. Okay, he's probably thinking I'm ignoring him. He'll give up. A pang of irrational panic shot through her. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she typed, deliberately slowly.
"Hey. 'Soon' sounds cool. How about tomorrow morning? If you're free, that is."
She sent it, then almost dropped her phone as his reply came almost instantly.
"Tomorrow morning, around ten? Sounds perfect. Can't wait."
A wide, unbidden smile spread across Maya's face. She felt a surge of pure, unadulterated happiness that she quickly tried to suppress, a tiny, private victory. He waited. He wants to meet.
Later that first day, as the afternoon shadows lengthened, painting his apartment in hues of orange and gold, Li Feng sat before his computer. It was 4:00 PM, his designated time for market analysis. He opened his demo trading platform, the interface a familiar grid of numbers and oscillating lines. He'd spent all of yesterday losing simulated dollars, but the lessons were invaluable. Today, he wasn't just checking charts; he was actively exploring, trying to make sense of the new vocabulary flooding his research.
He saw the immediate cost of entry, the spread, the small gap between the buy and sell prices that meant every trade started slightly in the red. He experimented with different lot sizes—starting with tiny micro-lots and mini-lots—to understand how much money each pip movement represented. He learned to identify pips as the smallest unit of price change, tracing their flicker on the screen, trying to predict their next move. He observed how the market seemed to bounce off certain price levels, identifying potential support and resistance zones, crucial for predicting reversals. He started integrating his new prediction tools, overlays that showed basic technical analysis indicators, looking for patterns, for order in the chaos.
He identified a currency pair, a strong signal for a short-term upward trend. He placed a simulated trade of ten dollars, setting a stop-loss just below a key support level to mitigate potential virtual losses, and a take-profit target slightly above the projected peak. He watched the numbers with an almost detached intensity. The line wavered, dipped, then steadily climbed. He held his breath, a faint tightening in his chest. The virtual profit meter ticked upward. It hit his take-profit. Simulated profit: $7.50. A small victory, but it ignited a powerful surge within him. He felt a thrill, a deep satisfaction that resonated beyond the digital display. The platform even showed him options for leverage, tempting him with the idea of magnifying his gains with borrowed capital. But his nascent discipline overrode the urge; he knew that was a path for advanced traders, not someone on day one. He closed the platform, forcing himself away. He resisted the lure of immediate gratification, understanding the importance of patience and continued learning.
Instead, he picked up his phone and texted Chloe. "The world is still not conquered. Seeking counsel on inefficiencies."
Chloe's reply came swiftly. "Oh, the usual Tuesday. What fresh hell are we optimizing today? My cat just knocked over my coffee. Again. The inefficiency of gravity, perhaps?"
"Cats are indeed fascinating vectors of chaos," Li Feng typed, allowing a hint of playfulness. "Perhaps a remote observation would aid in data collection? A video call, perhaps?" He was curious to see her home environment, a new data set.
"A video call? Ooh, bold move, Li Feng," Chloe replied, then a moment later, "Alright, but don't judge my messy hair. And my cat will probably try to join the meeting."
He accepted the call. Chloe's face filled the screen, framed by an impossibly large, brightly lit room. A grand staircase wound upwards in the background, hinting at multiple floors. He kept his camera focused tightly on his face, carefully concealing his simple apartment. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He knew Chloe came from a comfortable background, but the sheer scale of her residence was startling. A flash of something akin to genuine shock, an unquantifiable measure of difference, flickered through him. Chloe, oblivious, launched into a humorous monologue about her mischievous cat, a fluffy orange tabby, and its latest antics, including its peculiar affection for her "giant fluffy dog" that could be seen sprawled on a plush rug behind her. Li Feng listened, absorbing the casual opulence, the familial warmth, the seemingly effortless comfort that surrounded her.
After the call, he engaged his physical routine. Forty powerful push-ups, the floor cool against his palms. Fifty-five deep squats, his muscles screaming in protest. Then, the pull-up bar. He managed six, straining for a seventh, but his arms gave way. He hung for a moment, chest heaving, utterly exhausted. He staggered to the shower, letting the hot water sluice away the fatigue, relaxing the taut ropes of his muscles.
As the steam filled the small bathroom, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. He was growing leaner, more defined. His physical transformation was a gradual, deliberate process, mirroring the slow accumulation of knowledge in his mind.
The next morning, the second day outlined in this chapter, Li Feng met Maya at the campus café, precisely at ten. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth. They had coffee, then drifted into the bustling campus eatery for lunch, their conversation flowing more easily now. Li Feng continued his subtle observations, trying to map the intricacies of human emotion through her laughter and quiet reflections.
After their meal, Li Feng decided to stretch his legs further, a casual walk through the quiet residential streets of Eastbridge. He passed by the corner market, its fluorescent lights a beacon in the dusk. He decided to stock up. Inside, he weighed a bag of apples, the cool, smooth skin against his palm. He bought a handful of fruits for $5, a crisp bag of vegetables for $7, and a few snacks for $8. The modest expenditure was a satisfying note in his methodical daily rhythm.
As he walked back, his bag of groceries swinging gently, he observed the people around him. Tall, broad-shouldered individuals with easy strides – the stereotypical "American height." He felt a subtle sense of comparison, his own leaner, Asian frame distinct. Some passed by without a glance, lost in their own thoughts. Others cast quick, judging looks, their internal thoughts a fleeting curiosity. A few were simply engrossed in their casual chats, their voices a soft, unintelligible hum.
Then, at a red light, a sleek, matte black Tesla Model S glided silently past, its contours fluid, almost predatory. Li Feng knew its approximate worth: $80,000 to $100,000. An unfamiliar sensation stirred within him, a flicker of something akin to raw desire. He saw himself, effortlessly moving through the world, not just a master of systems, but a wielder of influence, commanding respect through silent demonstration of power. The craving settled in his stomach, a quiet, potent ambition. He felt a new kind of hunger, one that went beyond intellectual pursuit, rooted deeply in the tangible rewards of mastery.
Back in the quiet of his apartment, Li Feng opened his laptop once more. He spent a little time honing his burgeoning programming skills, delving into the foundational logic of C language. The lines of code, the meticulous syntax, the problem-solving – it was another system waiting to be perfected. The two days had been a kaleidoscope of new experiences: small Forex victories, deepening social connections, physical exertion, and a nascent, unsettling craving for more. He was learning, absorbing, and slowly, surely, expanding his own definition of mastery. The endless drone of planes from JFK was a constant reminder of the sprawling world awaiting his touch.