Chapter Twenty-Eight: Finally, Action

William White was engrossed in the tense filming process, while the silver futures market had begun to boil. Such volatility had its roots in the era; without severe inflation, precious metals could never surge like this. America had lost two wars and was drowning in debt, yet now it expected the whole world to foot the bill. European partners were thoroughly exasperated. Everyone was seeking safety, especially the wealthy. Gold had already surpassed four hundred dollars, far removed from its former benchmark of thirty-five. The mere thought was terrifying—if you converted your assets to gold, what once bought a kilogram could now barely fetch a hundred grams.

The panic among the rich was palpable. In America, there was hardly any hoarding or cornering; resources were so abundant that a buying frenzy was unlikely to erupt. Severe inflation was accompanied by equally severe deflation, a truly troublesome situation. Combating inflation was simple—raise interest rates fiercely, and eventually the pressure would subside. But facing deflation at the same time was a nightmare; you couldn’t inject liquidity into the market. On the contrary, you had to drain it relentlessly. The prospect of economic improvement was nothing short of a fantasy.

Hunter stirred up storms in the futures market, drawing widespread participation from speculative capital. With losses everywhere, any promising investment opportunity was seized upon eagerly.

“Young master, I think they’ve made their move. The opening price today broke through the six-dollar mark.”

“Heh, those bastards are starting? Uncle Fu, let’s just lie back and rake in the profits. With such a grand operation, they won’t back down easily.”

“Very well, young master. We’re making quite a handsome gain this time.”

“Just keep your eyes open. Don’t worry about anything else.”

The movie’s progress was swift now. Though they were producing flops, their diligence was yielding significant improvement. William White cared little about what the Hunter family was up to. The opportunity still offered plenty of room; he might not exit at the peak, but he could certainly sell out before the mania set in. Silver was indeed undervalued, and its current price was a retaliatory rebound. What the final price would be, only God could say.

The Hunter family sounded the clarion call, and the futures market became red-hot overnight. Queues for opening accounts—rare in the futures market—became a spectacle. Americans hardly ever queued; perhaps Black Friday’s shopping frenzy was one exception, but others were few and far between. It was even more unusual in financial markets. Ordinary investors had learned their lessons after being burned countless times; most believed that specialized matters should be entrusted to professionals.

Financial institutions knew exactly what game Hunter was playing; they wouldn’t foolishly pay tuition fees. Even when they participated, their involvement was limited. Ultimately, it was a matter of profit distribution. If a single family controlled so much physical silver and managed to pull off a reversal, other investment banks would be crushed, reduced to mere lackeys of the Hunter clan.

American culture simply does not tolerate monopolies—a fundamental line that must not be crossed. Take Bill Gates: though the richest man, he owned barely five percent of Microsoft stock. It wasn’t always so; in the beginning, he held much more, which led to endless antitrust investigations. Had it not been for that, Microsoft might have become a trillion-dollar company.

In this era, being a billionaire was a feat. With an asset of two billion dollars, one could be considered the world’s richest. The bottom few among the top ten syndicates had assets worth only a hundred billion, and that wasn’t individual wealth—it was the combined assets of several families.

If the Hunter family succeeded, their fortune would be incalculable. Given their silver holdings, several syndicates would be trampled underfoot. For the syndicates, this was absolutely unacceptable. Once the Hunters realized their profits from silver, the capital market would become unrecognizable; they could buy out anyone they pleased, and the syndicates would be fish on the chopping block.

William White was somewhat naïve—he underestimated the Hunter family. They were no fools and never stopped negotiating with the syndicates. Every successful family had its unique strengths; no family of idiots could stand firm. In this fiercely competitive society, anyone lacking capability would have been devoured, bones and all.

William White had no place in their game. He was merely picking up scraps in the background, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. The metals futures market was a veritable battlefield. Once silver surpassed six dollars an ounce, the market was seized by a restless energy. People couldn’t help but recall the soybean contracts from a few years prior—today’s silver manipulation was clearly cut from the same cloth.

William White continued filming with dedication, unable to resist the lure of money. Had he been at the trading center, he would never have remained calm; increasing his investment would have been inevitable. Film became a perfect way to distract himself. He didn’t want to alter events on account of his actions; if history changed beyond recognition, he’d lose his prophetic advantage.

All reincarnators possessed a hint of neurosis, or perhaps a kind of split personality. William White was, at heart, an eccentric. To avoid falling into misery, he had to play the role of a successful man. This transformation was a distortion of sorts; in William White’s worldview, such people were the ones he despised most. Thus, his two personas alternated unpredictably.

There was another grave issue: when caught in the spatial storm, he absorbed too many fragments of other people’s memories. Now, he could only treat them as movie scenes, refusing to consider them part of himself. Otherwise, he could break down at any moment. His resolute plunge into the entertainment industry was largely driven by this.

William White found that, as filming continued, many negative emotions drifted away from him. Those memories truly seemed like scenes from a film, utterly unrelated to him. One had to admit, the man was fortunate—he found a way to release his negativity. Many predecessors in time travel weren’t so lucky; most ended up as lunatics.

Viewing everything from a god’s perspective would eventually turn one into an immortal. And once immortal, it wouldn’t be long before death came; immortals couldn’t live among mortals for long. Usually, they did some mischief and then departed.

Western immortals were especially notorious for this—always descending in disguise to seduce women, then fleeing after causing trouble. When their offspring grew up, they returned to flaunt their paternal love.

One must admit, Western immortals had little sense of propriety. Why would they be interested in mortals? These were mere ants—why not consort with other immortals?

Western immortals, after all, were unlike those of the Celestial Empire. Here, there was no Confucian, Buddhist, and Taoist fusion, no systematic pantheon. The bloodlines of immortals were chaotic and tangled.

Compared to the immortals of the Celestial Empire, Western immortals were simply pathetic. There was none of that noble, ethereal aura—only a seedy, ignoble presence.