Have you ever thought that when something goes up, you grow old, but when it crashes, you actually grow younger?
What if someone told you that the string of numbers in your account isn't money—it's your life? Would you still stare at the candlestick chart?
The day Old Zhou retired, his son Zhou Ming gave him a smartphone.
"Dad, you're home all day with nothing to do. Learn to use the phone, read the news, watch some videos." Zhou Ming pressed the phone into his hand, his voice gentle. "I've opened a stock account for you, with twenty thousand yuan inside. Just treat it as a game. If you win, it's yours. If you lose, it's on me."
Old Zhou waved his hand. "I don't understand those things."
"You don't need to. Just treat it like playing mahjong—win some, lose some." Zhou Ming smiled, but there was something in his eyes Old Zhou couldn't read. "Didn't you always say Old Wang next door made money trading stocks?"
Old Zhou didn't respond. Old Wang next door had indeed made money trading stocks, but later he heard Wang had lost a lot, and the man wasn't as sharp as he used to be. He didn't mention that to his son, though.
The phone sat in the drawer for a month. Then one afternoon, bored out of his mind, Old Zhou fished it out, fiddled with it, and accidentally tapped a red app icon.
The interface was simple. Red and green numbers on top, candle-like bars below. Old Zhou studied it for a long time before figuring it out: red meant up, green meant down. Twenty thousand yuan sat in the account, just as Zhou Ming had said.
Old Zhou remembered something Old Wang once told him: "Trading stocks is simple—buy low, sell high. Same as buying vegetables."
He casually tapped on a stock called "Yongsheng Pharmaceutical." The price was a little over three yuan. He hit buy, typed in five thousand, and when a box popped up on the screen, he didn't read it, just tapped confirm.
The next morning, Yongsheng Pharmaceutical hit the daily limit up. The account gained over five hundred yuan.
Old Zhou went downstairs, bought a bowl of beef noodles, added an egg. Passing the corner store, he glanced at the mirror by the door and noticed his complexion looked better than before.
The third day, Yongsheng Pharmaceutical hit the limit up again. Another six hundred yuan. Neighbor Lao Li ran into him on his morning walk. "Old Zhou, you look well these days."
"Nothing nothing, just sleeping well." Old Zhou waved his hand, but felt a little proud inside.
At dinner that night, his wife Wang Lan noticed his appetite had improved and gave him an extra bowl of rice. Truth was, he hadn't gone for a walk at all. He'd spent the whole day staring at the K-line chart. After watching it long enough, he found it kind of interesting—every candle seemed to pulse, as if something was breathing inside.
The fourth day, a little after two in the afternoon, a green line slammed down and hit the limit down. Old Zhou watched helplessly as the numbers in his account shrank. The five thousand yuan in profit was gone, and he'd lost over four hundred on his principal.
He stood up to get water, legs a bit shaky. Walking to the bathroom, he looked up at the mirror and froze—half his hair had turned white.
He remembered his wife saying just two days ago that his white hair was decreasing. How did it suddenly...
"Must be poor sleep lately," Old Zhou consoled himself. "Getting old, white hair is normal."
That evening Zhou Ming called and asked how the stock was doing.
"It's alright, up and down." Old Zhou didn't mention the hair thing.
On the other end, Zhou Ming's voice sounded strange, like it was coming through a layer of fog: "Dad, remember—when it goes up, don't get too happy. When it goes down, don't get too sad. This thing is about the long term."
"I know, I know." Old Zhou agreed, but something felt off.
The fifth day, Yongsheng Pharmaceutical opened low, climbed all day, and closed at the limit up. The account now had over six thousand yuan—the losses recovered, plus an extra thousand profit.
Old Zhou should have been happy. But he couldn't be.
Because he realized he'd forgotten something else—his grandson's name.
"Little Bao... what was Little Bao's name?" Old Zhou sat on the sofa, thinking hard. "Zhou... Zhou what?"
His wife came out from the kitchen, touched his forehead. "Old Zhou, what's wrong with you? Little Bao's name is Zhou Haoyu. How could you forget that?"
"Zhou Haoyu, Zhou Haoyu." Old Zhou repeated several times. "I remember, I just couldn't think of it for a moment."
But deep down, he knew this wasn't a memory problem. He remembered his wife's name, his son's name, which building he lived in. But his grandson's name, it was like someone had scooped it out of his brain.
He opened the phone again, stared at the K-line chart of Yongsheng Pharmaceutical. The red line of the limit-up bar was as bright as blood.
Old Zhou suddenly had an impulse: he wanted to sell this stock. He hit sell, entered his holdings, confirmed.
A line of text popped up on the screen: Currently at limit down, cannot sell.
Old Zhou was stunned. He had clearly seen it hit the limit up. How did it become limit down? He rubbed his eyes, looked again—the screen indeed showed limit down, the green line piercing the bottom like a knife.
"Wasn't it just at the limit up?" Old Zhou muttered.
He checked the transaction records. The account had indeed gained money—over six thousand, a thousand more than his principal. But on the K-line chart, Yongsheng Pharmaceutical was at limit down.
Old Zhou's mind felt muddled. He thought of Old Wang next door, remembered how Old Wang looked when he made money trading stocks, then how he later lost a lot of weight, his hair turned completely white.
"Where's Old Wang now?" Old Zhou suddenly realized he hadn't seen Old Wang in a long time.
He went downstairs, knocked on Old Wang's door. A stranger opened it, a young man, looking annoyed.
"Who are you looking for?"
"I'm looking for Old Wang, Wang Defa, who lives here."
"What Old Wang? I've lived here three years, never heard of any Old Wang." The man frowned. "You got the wrong door."
Old Zhou stood frozen at the door. He remembered Old Wang living next door, fifth floor east unit, with a "Fu" character still pasted on the door. But now there was nothing on the door, just a mottled security door.
He went downstairs, ran into Auntie Zhang.
"Auntie Zhang, Old Wang next door, fifth floor east unit—when did he move out?"
Auntie Zhang looked confused: "What Old Wang? That unit's been empty for years, never been lived in."
Old Zhou stood there, a chill running down his spine. He remembered Old Wang, remembered how he looked making money from stocks, remembered his hair turning white, remembered him saying he'd lost everything and quit trading. But now, it was as if this person had never existed.
He pulled out his phone, wanted to call Zhou Ming, but his finger hovered over the dial button, not knowing what to say. He checked the call log, found Zhou Ming's number, but couldn't find that call record. He checked WeChat, checked messages—nothing.
"When did I talk to Zhou Ming about the stocks?"
Old Zhou tried hard to think, but his mind was blank. He remembered Zhou Ming giving him a phone, remembered Zhou Ming saying he'd opened a stock account, but when or where, he had no idea.
He opened the stock app, wanted to check the account info. The account name showed: Zhou Jianguo.
"My name isn't Zhou Jianguo." Old Zhou murmured. "My name is Zhou... Zhou..."
He froze. What was his name?
He pulled out his ID card, saw the name: Zhou Jianguo.
"My name is Zhou Jianguo?" Old Zhou stared at the ID, thinking hard, but his mind was still blank.
He scrolled through the photos on his phone, saw group photos with his wife, photos of his son and grandson, but in every photo, his own face was blurry.
He rushed to the bathroom, stared at the mirror. The person in the mirror had completely white hair, deep wrinkles, sunken eye sockets, cracked lips.
"Who is this?" Old Zhou stepped back. "This isn't me."
He remembered when he retired, his hair was still black, his face didn't have so many wrinkles. How had just a few months turned him into this?
"Dad? What's wrong?"
A voice came from the door. Old Zhou turned and saw Zhou Ming standing there, looking worried. But the son's face was slightly blurred, like looking through a layer of water mist. And there was a strange light in Zhou Ming's eyes—not worry, but something colder.
"Mingzi, when did you get here?"
"I just got off work, came to check on you." Zhou Ming walked in, supported Old Zhou. "Dad, how did you lose so much weight? You look pale. Are you sick?"
"Mingzi, the stock account—was it you who opened it?"
Zhou Ming looked bewildered: "What stock account? Dad, didn't you trade stocks again? I told you, don't touch that stuff, it's all scams."
"You didn't open a stock account for me?"
"When did I ever open a stock account for you?" Zhou Ming sat down, looking at Old Zhou. "Dad, did you get scammed?"
Old Zhou shook his head, pulled out his phone, opened the stock app.
"Look, there's over six thousand yuan in the account. I bought a stock called Yongsheng Pharmaceutical..."
He handed the phone to Zhou Ming. Zhou Ming took it, looked, frowned.
"Dad, there's nothing here."
Old Zhou leaned over to look. The stock app interface was still on the screen, but the account balance showed zero. The holdings section was empty.
"It had over six thousand yuan just now, where did it go?" Old Zhou refreshed hard, but the screen was still empty.
"Dad, didn't you download some fake app?" Zhou Ming sighed. "How many times have I told you, don't click on random links."
"Yongsheng Securities?" Old Zhou murmured. "That wasn't the name just now..."
"Dad, let me uninstall this." Zhou Ming took the phone. "It's definitely a fake app made by scammers."
"Wait." Old Zhou snatched the phone back. "Let me check the transaction records."
He opened the transaction records, found entries there—bought Yongsheng Pharmaceutical for five thousand, sold for six thousand, profit of one thousand. But the transaction time showed "Unknown."
"That's not right." Old Zhou stared at the screen. "It was clearly just now..."
He looked up, wanted to ask Zhou Ming what today's date was, but the words died in his throat, he couldn't remember.
"Mingzi, what's today's date?"
Zhou Ming looked at him, eyes a bit strange: "Dad, today is June 6th, June 6th, 2026."
"June 6th..." Old Zhou murmured. "When did I buy the stock?"
He tried hard to think, but his mind was blank.
"Dad, are you feeling unwell?" Zhou Ming stood up. "Let me take you to the hospital."
"No need, I'm fine." Old Zhou waved his hand. "I'm just a bit tired, I'll be fine after a nap."
He stood up, wanted to go to the bedroom, but halfway there, he suddenly saw the calendar in the living room. The date on the calendar was June 6th, 2025.
"Mingzi, you said this year is 2026?"
"That's right, 2026." Zhou Ming walked over, looked at the calendar. "Dad, why is this calendar still stuck on last year? Did Mom forget to change it?"
Old Zhou said nothing. He stared at the calendar, something churning in his mind. He remembered retiring in early 2025, Zhou Ming giving him a phone, opening a stock account. He bought a stock called Yongsheng Pharmaceutical, up and down, made money, lost money.
But Zhou Ming said this year was 2026.
"I've been trading stocks for a year?" Old Zhou murmured.
"Dad, what's really wrong with you?" Zhou Ming supported him. "Did you get scammed? Did you transfer money to anyone?"
Old Zhou shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again.
"I don't know." he said. "I really don't know."
He pulled out his phone, wanted to check the stock app again, but the app was gone from the screen.
"Mingzi, did you just uninstall that app?"
"I didn't." Zhou Ming took the phone, looked. "Dad, there's no stock app on your phone at all, I just checked."
Old Zhou was stunned. He remembered downloading a stock app, remembered the red icon, remembered buying a stock called Yongsheng Pharmaceutical. But now, there was nothing on the phone.
"Dad, have you been sleeping poorly lately, having hallucinations?" Zhou Ming sighed. "Let me take you to the hospital."
Old Zhou said nothing. He sat on the sofa, mind in chaos.
He remembered Old Wang next door making money from stocks, remembered Old Wang's hair turning white, remembered him saying he'd lost everything and quit. But now, no one called Old Wang had ever lived next door.
He remembered buying a stock, up and down, the numbers in his account changing. But now, there was no stock app on the phone.
"Dad?" Zhou Ming patted his shoulder. "You okay?"
Old Zhou looked up at his son. Zhou Ming's face was still blurred, like looking through a layer of water mist. And those eyes, getting colder.
"Mingzi, I'm fine." he said. "I'm just a bit tired, I'll be fine after a nap."
"Then I'll go buy groceries, come back and cook for you." Zhou Ming stood up. "You rest first."
He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, looked, then went out.
Old Zhou sat alone on the sofa, mind still jumbled. He pulled out his phone, wanted to look for the stock app again, but searched every page and couldn't find it.
He opened the browser, searched "Yongsheng Pharmaceutical stock," wanting to see if this stock actually existed.
Search results came up. The first news headline: "Yongsheng Pharmaceutical Stock Plunges, Chairman Suspected of Fraud Under Investigation." Published March 2025.
Old Zhou clicked on the news, read: Yongsheng Pharmaceutical Chairman Wang, suspected of illegal fundraising fraud, arrested by police, involved billions, investors lost everything.
"Wang?" Old Zhou was stunned. "Old Wang next door's surname is also Wang..."
He kept reading. There was a photo of the chairman. Old Zhou stared at the photo and froze—the man in the photo looked exactly like Old Wang next door in his memory.
Below the news: Wang, male, 58, arrested on suspicion of illegal fundraising fraud, currently in criminal detention.
"Fifty-eight..." Old Zhou murmured. "Old Wang is fifty-eight this year..."
He stood up, wanted to go next door to check, but stopped at the door. He remembered Auntie Zhang's words: that unit's been empty for years, never been lived in.
"If Old Wang doesn't exist, then who was the Old Wang I saw?"
Old Zhou stood at the door, mind blank. He remembered that when he bought stocks, it was because he saw Old Wang making money. But if Old Wang didn't exist, how did he know about stock trading?
"It was Mingzi who opened the account for me." Old Zhou remembered. "Mingzi said he opened a stock account for me, with twenty thousand yuan inside..."
But Zhou Ming had just said he never opened a stock account for Old Zhou.
"Then where did my account come from?"
Old Zhou pulled out his phone, wanted to check the news in the browser again, but the browser was gone from the screen. He checked all the apps, found only the most basic ones—phone, messages, camera, settings, nothing else.
"That's not right." Old Zhou's palms were sweaty. "The browser was there just now..."
He suddenly thought of something—his wife Wang Lan.
"Where's Lanzi?" Old Zhou rushed to the bedroom, but it was empty, just him.
"Lanzi!" he called out, but no one answered.
He rushed to the kitchen, the bathroom, the balcony, but he was the only one home.
"Mingzi said Lanzi went to buy groceries..." Old Zhou stood in the living room, mind blank. "Where's Mingzi?"
He pulled out his phone, wanted to call Zhou Ming, but there were no contacts. He checked the call log, found it empty.
"That's impossible..." Old Zhou collapsed onto the sofa. "Mingzi was just here..."
He stared at the phone screen, suddenly noticed a new app had appeared—the stock app, red icon, named "Yongsheng Securities."
He tapped the app, saw the account balance: six thousand six hundred sixty-six yuan.
"Didn't it just show zero?" Old Zhou murmured.
He checked the transaction records, found a new entry—bought Yongsheng Pharmaceutical, six thousand six hundred sixty-six yuan, transaction time: Unknown.
He tapped holdings, saw Yongsheng Pharmaceutical's price jumping, red and green numbers flashing on the screen.
"It's going up... limit up..."
He watched the account balance go from six thousand six hundred sixty-six to over seven thousand three hundred, a sudden excitement rising in his chest.
But the next second, he saw himself in the mirror—white hair, deep wrinkles, sunken eye sockets, cracked lips.
"Who is this?" Old Zhou stepped back. "This isn't me..."
He stared at himself in the mirror, suddenly noticed the "himself" in the mirror was staring back, the corners of the mouth slightly raised, as if smiling.
"What are you smiling at?" Old Zhou stepped back again.
The "himself" in the mirror spoke, voice hoarse: "You made money."
"What?" Old Zhou froze.
"You made money. Limit up, you made money." The "himself" in the mirror repeated.
"Who are you?" Old Zhou's voice trembled.
"I am you. I am Zhou Jianguo, you are also Zhou Jianguo."
"I'm not Zhou Jianguo..." Old Zhou shook his head. "My name is... my name is..."
He couldn't remember. What was his name?
"Your name is Zhou Jianguo. You bought Yongsheng Pharmaceutical, you made money. Now it's time to settle."
"Settle what?" Old Zhou stepped back, bumping into the wall.
"The dividend. Three years of lifespan paid per ten shares. You hold six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares. How much should be paid?"
Old Zhou froze.
"What lifespan? What are you talking about?"
"When you opened the account, you signed an agreement." The "himself" in the mirror pulled out a piece of paper. "Look, this is your signature."
Old Zhou stared at the paper, saw written on it—
Account name: Zhou Jianguo
Account balance: Zero
Holdings: Yongsheng Pharmaceutical, six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares
Dividend: Lifespan, one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years
"One thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years?" Old Zhou looked up. "What does that mean?"
"It means you can live one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years. Congratulations, you made money."
"I don't want it..." Old Zhou threw away the paper. "I don't want any lifespan, I want my money..."
"Your money? When did you ever have money? That wasn't money, that was your life."
Old Zhou froze.
"You use life to open accounts, use life to trade, use life to settle. Limit up, you earn life. Limit down, you lose life. You earned, your life is now one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years."
"I don't want it..." Old Zhou retreated. "I don't want to live that long..."
"You don't need to live that long. You just need to settle the dividend, then you can go."
"Settle what?"
"Settle your life. Give me your life, I'll give you money."
"I don't want money..." Old Zhou shook his head. "I want my son, I want my wife, I want my grandson..."
"You have no son, no wife, no grandson. You only have yourself. You never had a son, never had a wife, never had a grandson. What you remember is the dividend—each share you hold, you gain a memory. You hold six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares, so you have six thousand six hundred sixty-six memories. But these memories aren't yours."
"Then whose memories are they?"
"They belong to the previous holder. He held six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares, lost, settled the memories. You took over his account, and his memories."
Old Zhou stood frozen, mind blank.
"So... Zhou Ming isn't my son? Wang Lan isn't my wife? Zhou Haoyu isn't my grandson?"
"No."
"Then who am I?"
"You are Zhou Jianguo. You are the holder of Yongsheng Pharmaceutical, you are the next settler. You held six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares, you earned one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years of lifespan. Now, you need to settle your memories to the next holder."
"I don't want it... I won't settle..."
"You have no choice. You signed the agreement, you must settle."
"I didn't sign..."
"You did." The "himself" in the mirror pulled out the paper again. "Look, this is your signature."
Old Zhou stared at the paper, saw the signature line didn't read "Zhou Jianguo"—it read "Wang Defa."
"Is this Old Wang's signature?"
"This is the previous holder's signature. He held six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares, lost, settled the memories. You took over his account, and his signature. The previous holder was Wang Defa, he lost, settled. You took over, you became Zhou Jianguo. The next holder will take over your account, and he will also become Zhou Jianguo."
"Nothing is impossible. This is the dividend. You use life to open accounts, use life to trade, use life to settle. You win, you live one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years. You lose, you settle memories. You choose."
"I choose not to trade... I choose to quit..."
"You can't quit. You signed the agreement, you must trade."
Old Zhou looked down at the paper, saw the signature line no longer read "Wang Defa"—it read "Zhou Jianguo."
"This is my signature?"
"This is your signature. You signed, you must trade."
The "himself" in the mirror disappeared. Old Zhou found himself standing in the living room, the paper still in his hand.
The paper read—
Account name: Zhou Jianguo
Account balance: Zero
Holdings: Yongsheng Pharmaceutical, six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares
Dividend: Lifespan, one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years
Signature: Zhou Jianguo
Old Zhou stared at the paper, mind blank. He thought of Zhou Ming, Wang Lan, Zhou Haoyu, but every name was like looking through a layer of fog, blurred and indistinct.
"Who are they?" Old Zhou murmured.
He pulled out his phone, wanted to call Zhou Ming, but there were no contacts. He opened messages, wanted to see if there were any from Wang Lan, but the list was empty. He opened the album, wanted to see photos of his grandson, but there was only one photo—a photo of himself, white hair, deep wrinkles, sunken eye sockets, cracked lips.
"Who is this?" Old Zhou stared at the photo. "Is this me?"
He couldn't remember what he looked like.
He went to the bathroom, looked at the mirror. The person in the mirror, white hair, deep wrinkles, sunken eye sockets, cracked lips.
"Who is this?" Old Zhou murmured.
The person in the mirror spoke, voice hoarse: "This is you. You are Zhou Jianguo. Zhou Jianguo is the holder of Yongsheng Pharmaceutical, the next settler. Your memories are Zhou Ming, Wang Lan, Zhou Haoyu. They are the previous holder's memories."
Old Zhou didn't know how long he stood there until his phone beeped.
He pulled out the phone, saw a notification from the stock app—
"Yongsheng Pharmaceutical limit up, dividend paid successfully. Your six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares have paid one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years of lifespan. Please confirm receipt."
Old Zhou stared at the message, mind blank.
He didn't know how long he stood there until a voice came from outside the door.
"Old Zhou? Old Zhou, you there?"
It was Auntie Zhang's voice.
Old Zhou tried to answer, but his throat made no sound.
"Old Zhou? You okay?" Auntie Zhang knocked on the door. "I saw your light on, wanted to ask if you want to go buy groceries together tomorrow."
Old Zhou tried to speak, but his throat felt blocked by something.
"Old Zhou?" Auntie Zhang knocked again. "You okay? Want me to call your son to come take a look?"
Son?
A name flashed through Old Zhou's mind—Zhou Ming. But the next second, the name disappeared, as if it had never existed.
"Old Zhou?" Auntie Zhang's voice was a bit anxious. "You okay? I'm coming in."
The door opened, Auntie Zhang walked in, saw Old Zhou standing at the bathroom door, white hair, deep wrinkles, sunken eye sockets, cracked lips.
"Old Zhou? What's wrong with you?" Auntie Zhang was startled. "How did you become like this?"
Old Zhou tried to speak, but his throat made no sound.
"Old Zhou, are you sick? I'll call your son." Auntie Zhang pulled out her phone, dialed a number.
The call connected, Auntie Zhang put the phone to her ear.
"Hello? Is this Zhou Ming? Your dad seems sick, come quick... What? What did you say?"
Auntie Zhang froze, the phone slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.
"Impossible..." Auntie Zhang murmured. "How could this be..."
Old Zhou wanted to ask what happened, but his throat still made no sound.
Auntie Zhang looked up, eyes full of fear.
"Old Zhou... you don't have a son..."
Old Zhou froze.
"I just called Zhou Ming... but the other side said this number is empty..." Auntie Zhang's voice trembled. "And... and I checked, you don't have a son at all... you only had a wife, named Wang Lan, but she... she died three years ago..."
Old Zhou stood in place, mind blank.
"Three years ago..." he murmured, voice hoarse. "Lanzi died three years ago?"
"You... you don't remember?" Auntie Zhang stepped back. "Old Zhou, are you sick? I... I'll call an ambulance..."
Auntie Zhang turned and ran out. Old Zhou stood alone in the living room, still holding the paper in his hand.
The paper read—
Account name: Zhou Jianguo
Account balance: Zero
Holdings: Yongsheng Pharmaceutical, six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares
Dividend: Lifespan, one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years
Signature: Zhou Jianguo
Old Zhou stared at the paper, suddenly laughed.
"So that's how it is... So I never had a son, never had a grandson... Lanzi died three years ago... I only have myself..."
He walked to the window, looked at the night outside.
"One thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years... I'm going to live one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years..."
Account balance: One thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years
Holdings: Yongsheng Pharmaceutical, six thousand six hundred sixty-six shares
Dividend: Paid
"So this is the dividend... So this is what I earned..."
He stood by the window, looked at the numbers on the phone screen, laughed.
"I made money."
He saw the K-lines jumping, saw the heartbeat-like waves rising and falling, saw countless lives flowing through the numbers.
"So this is eternal life... so this is Yongsheng Pharmaceutical..."
He stood by the window, looked at the night, laughed.
"I made money."
---
Meanwhile, on the other end of the city, a young man stood by the window, looking at a message on his phone screen.
"Dividend paid successfully. Next holder locked."
The young man's lips curved up slightly, a cold light in his eyes.
"Dad, remember—when it goes up, don't get too happy. When it goes down, don't get too sad. This thing is about the long term."
He repeated the words softly, voice gentle, like coming through a layer of fog.
Then he turned off his phone and walked into the darkness.
He was called Zhou Ming.
Or rather, he had once been called Zhou Ming.
Now, he was called Mo Yan.