From legendary short seller to god of American capital

Chapter 361 Betting Odds Liquidation, Yale University Invitation Letter

Chapter 361 Betting Odds Liquidation, Yale University Invitation Letter

Just as Shii was raising money for her bleak future, Larry's legal betting odds also reached their final liquidation.

Both the yes and no bonds were issued according to plan and never slipped out of Larry's control.

The initial cap for Yes bonds was 200,000, issued through the Dead Rabbit Gang in New York and Boston. After the judicial betting began to turn in the opposite direction, Larry returned to Boston and instructed the Dead Rabbit Gang to print another 100,000 bonds.

Later, when Larry made an agreement with Kennedy to "use underhanded tactics" and use legal betting against Adams and Shee, he had Mr. K urgently print an additional 10 copies.

So a total of 40 yes bonds were issued. The first 20 were sold normally, while the other 20 were given away to ordinary people in Boston as gifts with purchases, free of charge!

Otherwise, these villagers wouldn't have been so eager to stand in front of the courthouse and demonstrate.

So the yes bonds raised a total of $5.

While no bonds have no upper limit, their issuance is still phased. After two emergency reprints, a total of 64.2 bonds were sold, raising $0.7 in sales funds since the cost per bond was $44.94.

The Dead Rabbit Gang takes a cut of five cents per print. Larry also got Mr. K to print extra prints for them as part of their first collaboration.

所以他们的总抽成是3.21万美元。用44.94万美元减去3.21万美元，剩余为41.73万美Yes债券和no债券加总，资金池为46.73万美元。

Larry's original idea was that those holding yes bonds should share the total pool of funds. But "Mr. Honesty" from the Dead Rabbits gang, who rushed to Boston, said—that's not how gambling is played, otherwise how would the bookmaker make money by controlling the market?

Mr. Honesty insisted on maintaining the original profit-sharing ratio, receiving 75 cents for every Yes bond he held. That's already a 300% profit!

Larry couldn't step forward at this point, so Mr. K quickly nodded in agreement, also expressing his disapproval of the peasant taking the prize money.

As a result, only $40 was cashed out from the prize pool.

The prize was to be claimed on Saturday, August 6th. Boston's immigrant community was decorated with lights and celebrated all night, as if it were Christmas.

On the surface, immigrants were celebrating the "acquittal of Huang Meitang" as a sign of judicial fairness in the United States. But in reality, many immigrants held a lot of Yes bonds, took the opportunity to earn an extra month's salary, and then, taking advantage of the weekend, naturally bought alcohol and meat and partied all night.

Fifteen Harvard Law School students who participated in the trial of Huang Meitang raised $2000 and bought a total of 8000 Yes bonds.

With the case closed, they collectively profited $6000. This was the future for these fledgling legal professionals. For the first time, America's judicial elite earned money through "judicial fairness."

Of course, newspapers across the United States didn't report this as a victory for "betting," but instead kept marveling at the "fairness of the American judicial system; even back when the Chinese Exclusion Act was enacted, Huang Meitang was acquitted based on the facts!"

Public opinion unanimously agrees that, under God's protection, the United States is the true chosen nation!

The acquittal of Huang Meitang caused a sensation in the United States and even Europe.

But that's a story for another time.

In New York, however, those who make huge profits through yes bonds are shrewd Wall Street professionals. They focus on probability and don't care who wins or loses.

Henry Goldman bought 2 bonds. At that time, the price of YES bonds in private New York was very low. Goldman's total cost was only $2650, and he made a profit of $2 by reselling them.

Nearly ten times the profit in just a few weeks. Gao Man couldn't stop smiling.

After the prize pool was fully paid out, $6.73 remained. This can be considered the profit of the bookmaker.

As Larry instructed, at the celebration party that evening, Mr. K, in his personal capacity, gave "Mr. Honesty" and another gang leader $1000 in cash and several gifts, taking the opportunity to win over the core members of the Dead Rabbit Gang. This paved the way for the convenience store project's future expansion in the greater New York area.

The Dead Rabbit Gang was quite satisfied. The total capital of the gambling business they had previously taken on was only tens of thousands of dollars. They only received a commission of one or two thousand dollars from the distribution.

However, this legal betting platform had a total amount of nearly $50, and they also received a $3 commission.

The Dead Rabbit Gang, having abandoned their previous arrogance, now showers Mr. K with flattery and declares that they will do their utmost to help him should such good fortune come again.

Larry had Mr. K put all of the remaining $6.5 into the real estate project.

Larry wasn't looking to make money from this project, but it would save him $6.5 and provide a basic foundation for a real estate project.

For Larry, the most important thing is that his $20 fair account, which was used as collateral for legal betting, will be unfrozen next week.

Including the $11 commission paid to him by Goldman Sachs, Larry suddenly had $31 in turnover. This made his finances even more comfortable.

Larry's orders to Mr. K were to win over the New York mob, find a loophole, and take the opportunity to develop his own underground forces.

However, Larry did not attend Mr. K's "Future Gangsters and Present Gangsters" get-together with the Dead Rabbit Gang; instead, he attended another celebration party.

This is a celebration banquet in Chinatown.

Boston's Chinatown had never been so bustling on the first weekend of August 1892.

The narrow streets were decorated with lanterns and colorful lights, from the newly built milk tea shop at one end of the street to the "Sanhetang" pharmacy at the other end. Even the air was filled with a long-lost scent called hope.

In front of a makeshift stage, a Yue Opera troupe was performing "The Conferment of Titles to the Six Kingdoms" with great enthusiasm, while the audience was packed with Chinese people watching.

By day they are laundry workers, cooks, and vendors, and they even have to wear dog tags when they go out. But at night, they finally regain their freedom in this small corner of Chinatown.

For the past few months, their hearts have been in their throats. Huang Meitang is not only a fellow townsman of theirs, but also one of the few people in a foreign land who dares to stand up for his compatriots.

His imprisonment once cast a shadow of fear and humiliation over the entire community.

Now, Huang Meitang has returned, carrying with him the court's acquittal verdict.

A white man died, but the Chinese man accused of the murder went unpunished. This was something I never dared to dream of before.

At the main banquet table of the Boston branch of Yonghua Hall, Huang Meitang was surrounded and seated in the middle. He was much thinner than before he went to prison, but his eyes were sharper and more determined.

Many Chinese people came to visit him, including local Boston residents as well as some from the East Coast and Midwest. They came to congratulate Huang Meitang on his release and to inquire about his experience in this dramatic turn of events.

Amidst the commotion at the dinner table, an elderly man in a long gown, exuding a refined air, stepped forward, surrounded by the crowd. This was none other than Mr. Rong Hong, the defense lawyer in the Huang Meitang case.

Yung Wing had been busy seeing off people from Harvard Law School for the past few days, and only today did he have time to return to Boston's Chinatown.

"Old sir! I haven't formally thanked you yet!" Huang Meitang pushed through the crowd, knelt on one knee, and bowed to Rong Hong with clasped hands.

The surrounding noise instantly fell silent.

Yung Wing helped him up, smiling as he said, "Brother Mei, today's victory is not just yours alone, but the victory of all Chinese people!"

The crowd responded in unison, and thunderous applause erupted.

"Brothers, please have a seat!"

Under Master Ye's arrangement, everyone took their seats. Huang Meitang wanted to recommend Rong Hong for the first seat, but Rong Hong declined.

Amidst the surrounding clamor, Yung Wing leaned close to Wong Mei-tong's ear and whispered, "Times create heroes—now that you've already earned the respect of the Chinese people because of this, don't refuse this position anymore—just do more good deeds for the Chinese!"

As he spoke, he patted Huang Meitang on the shoulder.

Huang Meitang suddenly felt that the responsibility on his shoulders was extremely heavy.

After the banquet began, Huang Meitang stood up, raised his wine glass, and addressed the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Today, we Chinese can hold our heads high because of our unity. But unity alone is not enough; we also have a benefactor to help us."

Without him, there would be no bustling Boston Chinatown—and without him, there would be no me. This is the day Mr. Huang has risen to prominence. I want to especially introduce my benefactor, Mr. Livingston.

As he spoke, Huang Meitang stepped into the inner room, but he couldn't find Larry, who had said he would wait for him there.

There was only a piece of paper on the table with a short sentence written on it—to form a new organization and to become the leader of a gang.

This was something Larry had told him when they met before.

As everyone craned their necks in anticipation, Huang Meitang emerged from the inner room with a frown. He paused, then smiled and explained, "Mr. Livingston doesn't like to show his face in public. He left a letter hoping that all Chinese people would unite and dare to speak up for themselves. Only by becoming strong can we prevent white people and other ethnic groups from looking down on us."

An old man nodded and said, "I never thought there could be reasonable people among white people. What my cousin said is absolutely right. We can no longer let ourselves be slaughtered."

"I propose!" Huang Meitang looked around at everyone, "In addition to the existing Yonghua Hall, we need another organization, an organization that can protect us, unite us, and speak for us! This organization will serve as a mobile branch for Chinese people, hire white lawyers to speak for us, raise capital to establish a company belonging to the Chinese community, and establish mutual aid associations among Chinese people."

This doesn't contradict the previous Yonghua Hall; rather, it should be considered an operational branch of the organization. We must use white people's logic to deal with white people, to avoid becoming a disorganized mess again!

The crowd was silent for a moment, then cheered as several Yonghua Hall masters applauded.

"What should we name this new church?" someone asked.

"Our new church will be named Anliang Hall, meaning 'to eliminate violence and bring peace'!" Huang Meitang said.

"On Leung Tong, On Leung Tong!" the crowd repeated the name in hushed tones.

"Excellent!" Yung Wing slammed his hand on the table and stood up, laughing as he said, "Let's call it On Leung Tong!"

The crowd immediately cheered.

"May peace and justice prevail, and may our people be forever protected!"

Everyone raised their glasses to celebrate, then drank their fill of wine and cheered in celebration.

At this moment, a new Chinese community was established in Boston.

The banquet was in full swing, and even ordinary Chinese people took their seats to celebrate.

At this moment, Yung Wing quietly walked out of the banquet hall and followed the winding streets to the end of Ping An Lane in Chinatown.

The moonlight, like frost, quietly spread across the damp, cold cobblestones of Ping An Lane. The hustle and bustle of Chinatown in the distance faded away.

There, Yung Wing saw Larry Livingston, whom he hadn't seen in a long time.

Larry stood under the dim light of a kerosene lamp, his shadow stretched long and thin by the gaslights along the street. He smiled as he watched Yung Wing arrive, a gold coin fluttering between his fingers in the moonlight.

"Why didn't you go in?" Yung Wing asked.

Larry smiled and waved his hand, "It's all Chinese inside, it would be very awkward for everyone if I went in."

Yung Wing smiled and walked to his side, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, looking at the bustling Chinatown together.

"Mr. Livingston, you gave them a dream, a dream of On Leong Tong. But after the dream ends, who will shelter them from the storm?"

Yung Wing had already guessed that Larry was the one who suggested Huang Meitang, and he also had a rough idea of ​​why Larry had asked him to come here to meet.

Larry paused for a moment, then said firmly, "I will protect them."

Yung Wing suddenly turned to look at him, a hint of surprise on his face, but it quickly turned into deep admiration.

Why did you choose to become a protector of Chinatown?

"To repay a favor you did for me."

Larry smiled and took a letter from his coat pocket—a letter he had received on Monday, the day of the court hearing.

This is an invitation letter personally signed by the President of Yale University and with a handwritten reply from the Head of the Department of Political Economy. Yale University has exceptionally admitted Larry Livingston as a special visiting scholar.

Not only is admission without examination, but students also receive full financial aid and are allowed to choose their own tutors—including Professor Samuel Wells, a leading authority on Eastern civilizations.

Yung Wing looked at the letter in Larry's hand and smiled. "However, I hope you're not promising to shelter Chinese people just to repay this favor."

"Of course not!" Larry's expression turned serious as he continued, "I also want to leverage their strength—I firmly believe that the Chinese are not an inferior race, and they should not be rejected or driven out by white people. Given enough time and initial conditions, their achievements will be as great as those of the previous millennia."

Yung Wing was slightly surprised. Larry's words were very frank; he wanted to take advantage of the Chinese. But his motives were intriguing. It wasn't because the Chinese were easy to control, but because of their enormous potential.

In this era, perhaps only Yung Wing truly believed such a conclusion. But unexpectedly, a native-born white man would also say the same thing.

Is this a way of currying favor or just going through the motions? Probably not!

Given the other party's ability and wealth, there's absolutely no need for them to do this—unless they genuinely believe it.

This left Yung Wing completely at a loss for words.

Rong Hong thought for a moment, "You—what is your purpose?"

Larry's face was very calm. "My goal, if possible, is that the Chinese people in this world can gain freedom and autonomy sooner."

It can dispel the illusions of white people and imperial powers earlier, and make people believe that they can build a prosperous society by their own efforts.

This way, their descendants won't be tempted again—won't have to cross the ocean and fall silently onto this land, dying without knowing why.

His voice trembled slightly as he finished speaking.

Hearing Larry's words, Yung Wing was even more surprised. After a while, he sighed and said, "You've gone further than I thought. Although I don't understand you, if you can really think and act this way, it's a blessing for all Chinese people."

In the distance, cheers rose in waves from the banquet in Chinatown: "May peace and justice prevail over tyranny, and may our people be forever protected!"

"On Leong Tong is just the beginning," Larry said. "I want the word 'Chinese' to no longer represent cheap labor, but wisdom, capital, and an undeniable force!"

Yung Wing chuckled and said, "When Wong Mei-tong announced the establishment of On Leung Tong on stage just now, the whole audience erupted in cheers, but do you know what moved me the most?"

"What is it?" Larry turned to look at Yung Wing.

Yung Wing looked at the bustling Chinatown and said, "These are ordinary Chinese Americans. For the first time, I saw hope on their faces. Before, they were just a group of numb travelers, their only wish was to earn more money before they died so that they could give it to the people back home—but now, they believe that their journey has meaning."

Larry laughed. "Yonghua Hall upholds the bonds of kinship between the local people, while Anliang Hall must safeguard the interests and dignity of the Chinese community."

Without organizing the Chinese community, they are just a scattered mess; without capital to organize them, they are just castles in the air; without the rules and tools of the white world, capital cannot move an inch.

"So, you want to be the one who wields the sword?" Yung Wing stared at Larry.

“No, sir.” Larry shook his head, his tone firm. “I’m going to be the one who forges the sword. On Leong Tong isn’t a gang; it’s both a shield and a spear. He’ll hire the best white lawyers, open his own bank for mortgages, and publish his own newspaper to make his voice heard.”

Yung Wing nodded. "Don't worry, we Chinese have a conscience. If you sincerely help us, we will do everything we can to repay your kindness."

Larry nodded, his gaze drifting into the distance. "I believe! I should have believed it sooner—but now, I believe it without a doubt."

After a moment of silence, Mr. Yung Wing suddenly stepped forward, lowered his voice, but spoke with even greater solemnity.

"Larry, I want you to become America's first generation of true sinologists—not hiding in libraries to study ancient books, but standing on Capitol Hill to speak out for repealing the Chinese Exclusion Act, and sitting in the stock exchange to fight for seats for Chinese capital."

On the Yale podium, tell future presidents—China is not a sick man, but a giant awakening—

You should be a new sinologist; your scholarship should be written in contracts, case law, and newspapers, not in old books.

At this point, Yung Wing suddenly composed himself and bowed deeply to Larry. "I may not live to see that day—but I hope that, just as the On Leong Tong was founded, you will bring peace and justice, eliminate violence, and forever support my people!"

Larry neither declined nor backed down; he held his acceptance letter from Yale University, smiling without saying a word.

After a while, Larry replied in Chinese, a language he hadn't spoken in so long that he had forgotten his own intonation.

"OK!"