Monday morning.The sky over Neihu gleamed like freshly washed glass — a thin, clean layer of light.
Chen Hao leaned against the MRT door, earbuds piping in the morning market news.The host spoke like he was sprinting:
"All four major U.S. indexes closed higher — Dow up twenty points — Taiwan stocks expected to open strong, possibly testing last week's highs…"
Chen Hao turned the volume down and opened LINE.A message from Jian popped up:
Jian: "Follow me on this one — Qichang Electronics. 🔥🔥🔥"Hao: "Reason?"Jian: "News momentum, brokerage activity last week. Should open high — grab 2%, get out."Hao: "Stop-loss?"Jian: "-3%. No bullshit."
Chen Hao stared at that line.Three characters — simple, absolute.Jian's rules were clean where his own notes were a maze of hesitation.
The elevator before nine was packed with engineers.Someone complained about a "server crash," another argued about "thermal modules."Chen Hao wasn't listening.Only four words looped in his head — Qichang Electronics.
8:57.He sat at his desk, palms slightly sweaty — less tremor than his first trade.8:59. Jian texted:
"Wait for a pullback after the open."
9:00:00.The bell rang.The candlestick shot up like a spring.Opening at 32.2, pushing instantly to 32.8.
"Don't chase," Jian messaged. "Wait for volume to shrink around 32.4."
Hao's eyes locked on the order book.Sell pressure thinned; the second bid stacked with buyers.His breath slowed.
9:02.Price dipped to 32.45.Click.Executed.
"Filled."The two characters flashed on screen.His back felt warm — like someone had given him a small push forward.
32.5. 32.7. 32.9.
Jian: "Take 30% profit at 33.2. Keep the rest, stop at 32.6."
Hao followed the plan, setting his conditional orders.For once, he didn't feel dragged by price —it felt like a rope tied gently around his waist.
9:11.33.25 — trigger hit."Sell 30%."A soft chime.+1,8XX TWD.He swallowed, smiled.
Jian: "Watch 33.6. If it breaks, move your stop higher."
9:18.Touched 33.6, then pulled back.Hao tugged at his mouse cord, asked, "Out?"
Jian: "Give it another chance. Hold as long as 33 holds. Learn to wait."
The word wait landed like a thin sheet of gold leaf on his chest —cold, and quietly luminous.
9:27. Second wave. 33.8.He didn't chase.9:32.A sudden black candle — 33.8 → 33.1. Volume explosion.
The chatroom flooded with exclamation marks.
Jian: "Exit. Re-evaluate later."
Hao hit Sell.Remaining position gone, average 33.15.His chest tightened — half relief, half regret.Rules had saved him.
He lifted his hand from the mouse — his palm damp.He laughed quietly and walked to the pantry for water.
Outside the window, the Neihu sky was bright white —thin clouds like fingerprints on glass.A coworker reheated lunch beside him."How's the morning?" he asked."Not bad," Hao said. "Just right.""Just right?""Didn't screw up."The coworker grinned. "Boss says you've been watching the market too much.""I'll fix the PR by lunch," Hao said.He knew he was walking a tightrope — work on one side, markets on the other.
Back at his desk, Jian texted:
"Morning round done. See later. Don't touch anything stupid."Hao: "OK."
He felt a flicker of pride.He'd followed the rhythm exactly — stopped where the music stopped.
After lunch, sunlight turned harsh.The smell of fried chicken drifted up from the street stand below.He scrolled social media —'Qichang afternoon rally incoming!''Whales re-entering!'
He closed the app.Left only the price chart open.
13:02.Qichang slid quietly down the 20-minute average — 32.9.He didn't move.A question drifted through his mind:When you're not trading, who are you?
He sipped sugar-free green tea.I'm an engineer right now.He opened JIRA, started coding.
14:15.
Jian: "Good spot — 32.8, shrinking volume. Try a small long."
Hao glanced at the chart — yes, divergence on 5-min volume.He hesitated three seconds —long enough to remember the clean exit this morning,and that punishing black candle last week.
Hao: "I'll pass."Jian: "You've gotten steadier."Hao: "I just want to finish my work."
14:45.Qichang bounced to 33.4, then fell back to 33.He didn't move.Today's win wasn't profit — it was choice.The choice not to enter.
That evening, they met at a ramen shop on Nanjing East Road.Steam clouded the air; the chef shouted over clattering bowls.
Jian slapped his chopsticks down."Man, your pass this afternoon — I respect that.The old you would've jumped in headfirst."
"The old me chased every red candle," Hao said, smiling."Didn't even see myself.""Do you now?""Maybe a bit. Like a streetlight through fog."
Jian grinned, pushed his phone over.His own P&L showed a clean sweep —he'd added size, exited near 33.6.
"Why'd you even want to trade again in the afternoon?" Hao asked."Habit," Jian shrugged."Market's like surf — if there's a wave, I ride.If it's the right wave, great. If not… next one."
"Don't you get tired?""Of course.That's why I shouldn't have done the second trade.But sometimes I need to test the tide."
"Test the tide?""Yeah. Not for profit — to feel tomorrow's rhythm.Sounds reckless, huh? But there's a rule.Afternoon trades: one-third size, cut at -0.7R."
Hao nodded. "You've got boundaries.""Exactly. And you need yours." Jian took a sip of broth."You're different from me — you think in scripts."
Halfway through dinner, Jian chuckled."You know when I lost big the first time?2:20 p.m., years ago. I'll never forget.That's when I realized — the me after 2 p.m. isn't the me before.Tired, impatient, reckless.That's why boundaries have to be tighter."
Hao filed the words away like pinning a note to a corkboard in his mind.
Outside, the Taipei night wind carried a faint saltiness.Someone smoked at the corner.
"Tomorrow I'll find another stock," Jian said."But don't follow every play.Write your own script.You like those 'three-week consolidation' setups, right? Stick with that.Don't make me your teacher."
"I know," Hao said. "You're more like… a companion.""Companions'll kill you," Jian laughed."In the market, only you can save yourself."
Back home, the lights dimmed.Only the desk lamp glowed.
Hao replayed the day's chart —Qichang's entries, exits, volume.He captured screenshots, pasted them into OneNote.
Beside the chart, he wrote his Four-Block Review:
Entry reason: Pullback on high open, shrinking volume, broker accumulationExit reason: Target hit, secondary break below minor supportEmotional notes: Fast heartbeat before entry, relaxed after exit, mild FOMO during afternoon passImprovements: Pre-set profit triggers; ignore social noise during afternoon session
When he finished, he sat still for a moment.He remembered the thin white cloud outside the pantry window that morning.He realized the day had been… quiet.Not because of profit —but because the usual noise hadn't pierced through.
He closed the laptop, took a shower.Hot water ran down,pressing gently on his head like a steady hand.
Out of the bathroom, his phone lit up.A message from his mother:
"Coming home for dinner this weekend?"Hao: "Sure.""Don't stay up too late."He smiled, typing: "Got it."
Before sleep, he opened his notebook to a new page.Wrote his single line of the day:
"I no longer move with the market — I move with my own rhythm."
Below it, he drew a small box.Inside, one word: Boundary.
He knew he'd still make mistakes, still rush, still chase —but that box would be there,pulling him back each time he leaned too far.
He set his alarm for 6:30.Turned off the light.
Outside, the city shimmered like a dark sea.He lay down at its edge,listening to the waves in the distance.Tomorrow, the tide would rise again.But he didn't have to ride every wave.