The King of Wall Street: Rebirth 1992

It was a cold winter night, and the streets of New York were dotted with neon lights and traffic. However, in an inconspicuous little restaurant, the atmosphere was unusually dull. Jesse Lauriston Livermore sat at a table in the corner, holding an old pistol in his hand. His eyes were empty and tired, like a man who had lost all hope.

"Is this the end?" He murmured in a low voice, his voice so hoarse that it was almost inaudible. The images that made him fall into the abyss kept appearing in his mind - the crazy fluctuations of the stock market, the threatening letters from creditors, the indifferent eyes of his wife and children... These memories entangled him like a venomous snake, making him unable to breathe.

He was once one of the richest people in the world and a legend on Wall Street. He was famous for his accurate market predictions and was called the "father of day trading." But now, all this has become a thing of the past. His wealth evaporated, his friends betrayed him, and even his family left him. He felt lonely, helpless, and even doubted the meaning of his existence.

"Maybe, death is the only way to get rid of it." He slowly raised his pistol and pointed it at his temple. At this moment, his thoughts suddenly became clear. He remembered many things: the days when he was a runner at the Boston Stock Exchange when he was young; the excitement when he made a lot of money for the first time; and the angry faces of investors who went bankrupt because of his short-selling strategy. He also remembered the secret account in the Swiss Bank, where $4 million was kept, and the unique withdrawal method he set up. "If I could do it again..." He closed his eyes, and countless assumptions emerged in his mind. He imagined that he would use the money to do good deeds, to help those who really needed help, instead of living only for money. However, such thoughts only flashed through his mind. He no longer had a chance. "Bang!" A loud noise broke the silence of the restaurant. The waiter screamed in horror, and the customers fled the scene. However, his consciousness did not dissipate with it, but seemed to be thrown into an endless darkness. He felt like a wisp of light smoke, floating in the void, without weight or direction. "Am I dead?" he muttered to himself, but his voice was like a stone thrown into a deep pool without any echo. He tried to open his eyes, but found that it was pitch black all around, and he couldn't even see his own hands. How long did this state last? A day? A year? Or longer? He couldn't tell. Time seemed to have lost its meaning here.

Gradually, he began to recall his past - those fragments of his life intertwined with glory and failure. He remembered his days of being a big shot on Wall Street, and also remembered the loneliness and despair of the last few years. And how his obsession with money destroyed his family and health.

"If I could do it again..." This thought kept circling in his mind, but it never got a response. He could only continue to wander in this nothingness, waiting for some unknown fate to come.

One day, just when he almost gave up hope, a faint light suddenly appeared in the distance. The light was like the first ray of sunshine in the morning, dispelling the darkness surrounding him. He instinctively approached it, and the closer he got, the more he felt a warm and familiar power.

"What is this...?" he asked doubtfully, even though he knew there would be no answer. However, when he completely merged into the light, a strong memory flooded into his mind. He saw a strange man, about thirty years old, wearing a typical suit of the 1980s, walking hurriedly on the streets of New York. The man's face was handsome and resolute, with a hint of fatigue in his eyes, but more of unwillingness and desire.

"Who are you?" Jesse asked subconsciously. However, the man did not answer, but turned and disappeared in the crowd. At the same time, Jesse felt his consciousness being pulled violently, as if an invisible hand was dragging him to a destination...

Jake Lee opened his eyes and found himself lying on a narrow single bed. Above his head was a peeling ceiling, and an old fan was hanging on the wall, creaking and turning. He sat up suddenly, took a deep breath, and his chest rose and fell violently, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare.

"Where is this?" He asked himself in a low voice, his eyes swept across every corner of the room - the worn curtains, the yellowed calendar, and a low table full of instant noodle bowls.

This was definitely not the world he was familiar with. He stretched out his hand and saw that his palm was young and strong, and there was no trace of age between his knuckles. He rushed to the mirror and saw a strange and young face - about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, with clear features, but a little haggard.

"I... am younger?" He whispered in a low voice, and a huge wave of emotions rose in his heart. He suddenly recalled the moment he pulled the trigger, but found that it all seemed like a distant dream.

At this moment, a vague memory emerged in his mind: the owner of this body was named Jack Lee, who was born in poverty and completed his university studies with scholarships, but he has been in poverty since graduation. What's worse, he was just kicked out by his wealthy wife and couldn't even pay the rent. Now he is at the bottom of his life.

"What is going on? Am I...reborn?" Jack sat back on the bed, holding his head with his hands, trying to sort out his thoughts. He recalled his experiences in his previous life, the bloody stock market, the painful lessons, and the secret account he set up at the Swiss Bank.

"Suisse Bank!" He raised his head suddenly, and memories flooded in like a flood. In his previous life, in order to protect his wealth, he had set up a special account in Swiss Bank. There were four million US dollars in it, and three unique passwords and a special sentence were set up - this was the only way to withdraw the money.

"Four million..." Jack muttered to himself, with a bitter smile on his lips. This money was not worth mentioning to him in the past, but for him now, it was the only chance to make a comeback.

However, he was not in a hurry to withdraw the money. He knew that this money was his trump card and must be used at the most critical time. Now, what he needs to do is calm down and replan his life.

At night, lights flickered on the streets of New York, and pedestrians walked in twos and threes. Jack stood on the street corner, his hands in the pockets of his worn-out coat, and he lowered his head to calculate silently.

"It's 1992..." He murmured in a low voice, and the contents of several financial magazines and newspapers he had just read in the library emerged in his mind. Although this era was completely unfamiliar to him, as a former stock wizard, he keenly perceived that this was an era full of changes and opportunities.

He recalled some news he had read earlier: technology was developing rapidly, companies were gradually getting rid of the shadow of the economic crisis in the 1980s, and the stock market seemed active and full of potential. "Although I know nothing about this era, the laws of the market have never changed. Prices are driven by fear and greed, and this will not change." He smiled slightly, and his eyes were full of confidence.

"First understand the rules of the market, and then start with small transactions." He secretly calculated, and the scene of his fighting in the market in his previous life emerged in his mind. Although the market in 1940 is completely different from now, he knows that no matter in which era, the psychological nature of the market is the same.

In the early morning in New York, the clouds are low and the cold wind blows through the city streets, bringing a bit of a chill. Jack stood in front of a vending machine, searching for the few coins he had in his pocket. He finally scraped together a dollar, pressed the button, and received a cup of lukewarm coffee. Although this cup of coffee was so cheap that it looked like it was made with water, it at least brought some warmth to his cold hands.

"Money..." he muttered softly, looking at the steaming paper cup in his hand with a determined look. “You need money to start all this.”

Last night, he tossed and turned in his paint-chipped apartment, replaying memories of his past life in his mind. Although the financial world of 1940 is more than half a century away from the present, the essence of the market has not changed: human nature is always at the core of stock trading. He knew that he needed some start-up capital, and that money was lying in a secret account in a