Legend of the Dirt-Dog Coin: That Night I Bought QI With 3,000 RMB
At half past two in the morning, I lay in bed scrolling on my phone, my eyelids nearly closing.
Then, out of nowhere, a message popped up in a crypto group: “QI is pumping—go check it.”
I fumbled to open the chart, and in an instant I was wide awake. QI started from 0.001447 USDT, like a spring compressed to its limits suddenly releasing—straight up to 0.003598. The gain was more than double. The group was already in chaos—full of “to the moon” “should’ve told you” “you didn’t believe me.”
I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling a little.
Three days earlier, in a DeFi chat group, I’d seen someone mention the QI project. Back then the price was around 0.0015, the market cap was pitifully small, and daily trading volume was less than five million. Most people in the group treated it like a joke, calling it a dirt-dog coin that could go to zero any minute. I thought so too—yet, by some strange twist of fate, that night I transferred 3,000 USDT in and bought about two million QI.
After I bought, I regretted it immediately. 3,000 RMB wasn’t a lot, but for a worker earning 8,000 a month, it wasn’t money you could just casually lose. The next day, QI dropped another ten percent. My heart ached so badly I wanted to throw my phone. Someone in the group mocked me: “Bro, your 3,000 RMB probably paid tuition.” I didn’t reply—I set the group chat to do-not-disturb.
And then it was tonight.
I watched QI’s price crawl from 0.0015 up to 0.0035, and my 3,000 RMB turned into almost 7,000. My heart was pounding and my palms were soaked. The people who’d been laughing at me three days ago started spamming messages like: “Will it keep going up?” “Can I still buy now?” “Bro, lead me!”
I stared at that flashing number, and two voices in my head started battling. One said, sell now—lock in the profit. Seven grand is enough for a month’s rent. The other said, look at this momentum—the volume is 11 million. Maybe it can hit 0.005, even 0.01. Then it’s twenty grand, thirty grand.
I thought of the time last year when I bought SAGA. Back then SAGA fell from 0.09 to 0.027. I thought it had dropped too much and didn’t dare to bottom-fish. In the end, it rebounded above 0.09, and I got none of the upside. I regretted it for an entire month.
This time, I didn’t want to regret again.
I took a deep breath. I didn’t tap sell. I pressed my phone against my chest, closed my eyes, and told myself this 3,000 RMB was as good as gone. If it went to zero, then I’d just bought myself a lesson. If it went higher, then it was a gift fate had for me.
When I woke up the next morning, QI was at 0.003452—slightly pulling back but still high. My account showed an unrealized profit of more than 6,800.
Someone asked in the group: “Did you sell yesterday?”
I typed two characters: “No.”
Then I put my phone away, went to work, and on the packed subway, squeezed into the corner, I secretly smiled. Maybe 3,000 RMB can’t change my life, but the thrill from this one night is enough for me to brag for a year.
The most addictive thing about the crypto world has never been getting rich overnight—it’s those nights that make your heartbeat race. You never know where the next candlestick will go, but you can never resist checking.
That’s probably the fate of a gambler.
#QI #加密货币 #土狗币逆袭
At half past two in the morning, I lay in bed scrolling on my phone, my eyelids nearly closing.
Then, out of nowhere, a message popped up in a crypto group: “QI is pumping—go check it.”
I fumbled to open the chart, and in an instant I was wide awake. QI started from 0.001447 USDT, like a spring compressed to its limits suddenly releasing—straight up to 0.003598. The gain was more than double. The group was already in chaos—full of “to the moon” “should’ve told you” “you didn’t believe me.”
I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling a little.
Three days earlier, in a DeFi chat group, I’d seen someone mention the QI project. Back then the price was around 0.0015, the market cap was pitifully small, and daily trading volume was less than five million. Most people in the group treated it like a joke, calling it a dirt-dog coin that could go to zero any minute. I thought so too—yet, by some strange twist of fate, that night I transferred 3,000 USDT in and bought about two million QI.
After I bought, I regretted it immediately. 3,000 RMB wasn’t a lot, but for a worker earning 8,000 a month, it wasn’t money you could just casually lose. The next day, QI dropped another ten percent. My heart ached so badly I wanted to throw my phone. Someone in the group mocked me: “Bro, your 3,000 RMB probably paid tuition.” I didn’t reply—I set the group chat to do-not-disturb.
And then it was tonight.
I watched QI’s price crawl from 0.0015 up to 0.0035, and my 3,000 RMB turned into almost 7,000. My heart was pounding and my palms were soaked. The people who’d been laughing at me three days ago started spamming messages like: “Will it keep going up?” “Can I still buy now?” “Bro, lead me!”
I stared at that flashing number, and two voices in my head started battling. One said, sell now—lock in the profit. Seven grand is enough for a month’s rent. The other said, look at this momentum—the volume is 11 million. Maybe it can hit 0.005, even 0.01. Then it’s twenty grand, thirty grand.
I thought of the time last year when I bought SAGA. Back then SAGA fell from 0.09 to 0.027. I thought it had dropped too much and didn’t dare to bottom-fish. In the end, it rebounded above 0.09, and I got none of the upside. I regretted it for an entire month.
This time, I didn’t want to regret again.
I took a deep breath. I didn’t tap sell. I pressed my phone against my chest, closed my eyes, and told myself this 3,000 RMB was as good as gone. If it went to zero, then I’d just bought myself a lesson. If it went higher, then it was a gift fate had for me.
When I woke up the next morning, QI was at 0.003452—slightly pulling back but still high. My account showed an unrealized profit of more than 6,800.
Someone asked in the group: “Did you sell yesterday?”
I typed two characters: “No.”
Then I put my phone away, went to work, and on the packed subway, squeezed into the corner, I secretly smiled. Maybe 3,000 RMB can’t change my life, but the thrill from this one night is enough for me to brag for a year.
The most addictive thing about the crypto world has never been getting rich overnight—it’s those nights that make your heartbeat race. You never know where the next candlestick will go, but you can never resist checking.
That’s probably the fate of a gambler.
#QI #加密货币 #土狗币逆袭