The sun provides the Earth with energy, but it is the monsoon that determines our environment. Whether it brings scorching drought or favorable rains, the monsoon arrives as promised, cycling tirelessly, year after year.
If capital is the sun of the market, then consensus is its monsoon. Capital is the fundamental force that drives the market, but only when its participants reach some form of consensus can a real trend take shape.
You often hear the phrase, “opportunities in the market are fleeting,” which emphasizes the need to seize those trades that look so brilliant in hindsight. But this is like watching a revolving lantern; if you miss one frame, doesn’t it just mean the next one will arrive in a flash?
The ceaseless market is just like a colorful, revolving lantern. So-called opportunities are always being missed, while unknown opportunities are always arriving. Therefore, in the market, the concept of a “missed opportunity” doesn’t truly exist.
The eternal pursuit in the market is to be just a little bit faster than everyone else: to buy a little faster when prices are low, and to sell a little faster when prices are high.
The market’s turning points are like the monsoon, but its consensus does not follow the clear-cut seasons of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. When you are bearish, I might be bullish, and I certainly won’t mark my views on a calendar like a daily check-in. I will rack my brains to find a way to get ahead of you when you’re not looking, so that at the zero-sum game’s table, where I win and you lose, you become my laughingstock.
Slipping on a watermelon peel or greasing the soles of your shoes—which makes you run faster?
In reality, the two aren’t comparable. Neither method can compete with this: while you are still tying your shoelaces, I am already 50 meters down the road. To be fast, the subjective will is what matters most. In other words, if you start running before others have even thought about it, you will naturally be faster than those who haven’t started.
There’s an advertising slogan that goes: “Don’t let your child lose at the starting line.”
So, are there rules in the market that say starting without a signal is a “false start”? Or to put it another way, is there really a single, fair starting line drawn in front of everyone?
The answer is no.
However, even if I were to start 20 kilometers ahead of the starting gun of market consensus, I still couldn’t possibly cross the marathon finish line before Eliud Kipchoge.
The marathons held in cities every weekend are a peculiar sort of event. In the same race, you have elite professional athletes alongside tens of thousands of ordinary people.
When the gun fires, it is always the invited professionals who are at the front of the line. They are responsible for setting records and bringing glory to the event. The vast majority of participants are running enthusiasts, responsible for enlivening the atmosphere and turning the marathon into a city-wide holiday.
Market participants are remarkably similar to marathon runners in this respect. However, the damas (retail aunties) who trade in the market never see themselves as mere enthusiasts. They act as if they are the stars of the public square, the “center spot” of the dance floor.
Don’t bother lecturing them about pacing or energy management. Their style has always been: see an opportunity, and go all-in. They possess the same audacity as the First Emperor of Qin, who brought the world to heel beneath his feet.
Lin Song no longer held many illusions about his business and was long past his hot-blooded youth. He once believed that adding a few more plates to his barbell would allow him to carry a few more crates when unloading goods. But the reality is that now, the lactic acid that builds up in his muscles after every exertion takes twice as long as it used to to dissipate.
Every time he gets a call from the logistics company announcing a delivery, the thought of moving 300 kilograms of goods into his warehouse fills Lin Song with dread. Three years ago, he wouldn’t have given it much thought; it was just a matter of carrying 20-kilogram crates back and forth 15 times.
When he writes, Lin Song usually puts on a long, random jazz track as white noise. Thinking of his gradually weakening body, he set a long-term task for himself in Todoist: May 1, 2027. It’s Beltane for the Nordic pagans, the beginning of their summer. On that day at the latest, he will end his coffee bean hauling business and retire. It’s like driving on the highway: the best way to slow down is to anticipate, ease off the gas, and let the wind resistance do the work.
Lin Song began to imagine how he would manage his retirement. Perhaps he could try consulting, passing on his business wisdom to the younger generation. But on second thought, old and frail, he probably wouldn’t have the energy to attract paying clients. It seemed he would end up as just an old man with too many thoughts.
When the blurry-eyed uncles and aunties started posting their profit reports on their social feeds, when he saw the usually idle people he knew now making a fortune, Lin Song felt a pang of shame for his own past, for all those years filled with hard work and struggle.