This industry is about to change!

The fund circle has finally welcomed a long-overdue cleansing. Just now, a guiding document on the performance assessment of public funds was issued. It seems like only a few pages, but to me, every word is a shot at the chronic ailments accumulated in the industry over the past twenty years. For those investors who have long been numb from losses, this may be the most satisfying and closest to the essence of good news they've heard in recent years. What did we hate most when buying funds in the past? It wasn't losing money, but unfairness. The underlying logic of this industry was once extremely absurd: fund managers reaped profits regardless of drought or flood, while investors were left alone to face the storms. Even if a product lost 30% or 40%, fund managers still took home millions or tens of millions in annual salaries, with management fees intact. This mechanism, where profits belong to oneself and risks belong to the investors, is essentially a form of legal plunder.

In such a mechanism, no one truly cares about your money; they only care about scale, about whether they can gamble on a trend, hype up their fame, and then reap management fees. However, this new regulation has completely shattered that easy ride. The hardest blow has struck at the source of profits and losses. The document clearly states that if a fund underperformed its benchmark by 10% and incurred losses in the past three years, performance compensation must be reduced, and the reduction cannot be less than 30%. This is no longer just a scratch; it directly affects the cake. This means that fund managers are finally forced to sit on the side of investors. If you dare to gamble with investors' money, chasing highs and taking risks, once you lose, not only will the investors have to eat instant noodles in the dark, but your own wallet will also bleed heavily.

When the sickle feels pain, its speed in harvesting will naturally slow down. Even more shocking is the mandatory co-investment clause. Fund managers must use 40% of their performance to buy their own products, and executives must buy 30%, with a three-year lock-in period. What do you call this? This is called a loyalty oath. Previously, you were the captain, and I was a passenger; if the ship sank, you took the lifeboat first, while I fed the sharks. Now, you are locked to the mast; if the ship sinks, everyone dies together. Only by tying your life and wealth to the same boat can we trust that you will fight to steer this boat safely, rather than crashing into an iceberg for a small kickback. The 40% requirement is enough to make many hesitate before placing an order, asking themselves:

"Would I dare to buy this myself?" This reform is essentially a drastic switch from a flow logic to a stock logic. In the past, fund companies competed on who could shout the loudest or launch new products. In the future, competition will be about who can endure longer and make fewer mistakes. The money earned by luck and the bubbles inflated by marketing will ultimately reveal their true form under rigid assessments. For the industry, this is not just a salary cut, but a supply-side reform. Those who are just going through the motions and those with a strong gambling nature will gradually be cleared from the market.

What remains will be those professional players who truly respect the market and investors. Of course, changes in rules cannot reverse the trend overnight; market rises and falls will ultimately depend on national fortune and economic fundamentals. But this at least addresses the most core trust crisis. Capital seeks profit, and human nature is greedy. We cannot expect fund managers to help us make money through moral self-discipline; we can only trust the cage of the system. When the salary cards of fund managers resonate in sync with your account balance, this market can be said to have truly embraced long-termism. After all, in this world of fame and fortune, only the deep binding of interests is the most enduring confession.