That green candlestick
At 3:17 a.m., Chen Hao was startled awake by a phone vibrating against his nightstand.
He fumbled for the device, half-asleep. A notification from the exchange popped up on the screen: The 24-hour gain of the QI token you follow has exceeded 130%.
He thought he misread it. He rubbed his eyes, then looked again.
130%.
Three months ago, Chen Hao saw someone recommend QI in a group chat. Back then, QI was trading at just 0.0014. People in the group said it was a severely undervalued project, with excellent on-chain data, and that big players were quietly accumulating.
At the time, Chen Hao had twenty thousand yuan in spare money. He figured it wouldn’t be too big a loss—so he went all in at the 0.0015 level, treating it like a lottery ticket.
After he bought, QI started to fall.
From 0.0015 down to 0.0012, then to 0.0009. Every day, Chen Hao opened the exchange and stared at that green number. It felt like needles pricking his heart. The group chat was already silent—no one talked anymore, not even the person who recommended QI. That person deleted their account and ran.
Chen Hao didn’t dare cut his losses. He told himself it was only twenty thousand yuan—if it went to zero, that would be that. He even uninstalled the exchange app, choosing not to look.
And that avoidance lasted three months.
Now, he redownloaded the app and logged in, his fingers trembling. The moment the positions page appeared, he went completely still.
QI’s current price was 0.00337, and his position was up over 120%.
Twenty thousand yuan had become more than forty-four thousand.
He stared at the screen, his heartbeat racing as if it might jump out of his chest. Two voices fought inside his mind. One said, Sell now—lock in the profit. What if it drops again?
The other said, Look at this trend. It went from 0.0014 to 0.0036. This is still nowhere near the end—maybe it can reach 0.01.
Chen Hao remembered what happened when he bought SAGA last year. Back then, SAGA fell from 0.09 to 0.027. He bottom-fished at 0.03, but it dropped another 40%. In the end, he lost half and bailed out with a cut.
If he’d just held on for two more months, he would have broken even already.
This time, he didn’t want to repeat the same mistake.
He took a deep breath, placed a sell order for half of his position, and locked in the gains. For what remained, he set a stop-loss line at 0.002. Then he shut off his phone and forced himself to sleep.
The next morning, he woke up to see QI hovering around 0.0034. He felt neither regret nor excitement. After surviving that roller-coaster night, he suddenly understood something: in this market, more important than the rise or fall itself is the mindset in your heart when it happens.
He opened his notes app and wrote one line: Never go all in. Never delete the app. Never forget why you started.
Then he turned off his phone and went to work.
#QI #加密货币 #Contract liquidation and sudden wealth
At 3:17 a.m., Chen Hao was startled awake by a phone vibrating against his nightstand.
He fumbled for the device, half-asleep. A notification from the exchange popped up on the screen: The 24-hour gain of the QI token you follow has exceeded 130%.
He thought he misread it. He rubbed his eyes, then looked again.
130%.
Three months ago, Chen Hao saw someone recommend QI in a group chat. Back then, QI was trading at just 0.0014. People in the group said it was a severely undervalued project, with excellent on-chain data, and that big players were quietly accumulating.
At the time, Chen Hao had twenty thousand yuan in spare money. He figured it wouldn’t be too big a loss—so he went all in at the 0.0015 level, treating it like a lottery ticket.
After he bought, QI started to fall.
From 0.0015 down to 0.0012, then to 0.0009. Every day, Chen Hao opened the exchange and stared at that green number. It felt like needles pricking his heart. The group chat was already silent—no one talked anymore, not even the person who recommended QI. That person deleted their account and ran.
Chen Hao didn’t dare cut his losses. He told himself it was only twenty thousand yuan—if it went to zero, that would be that. He even uninstalled the exchange app, choosing not to look.
And that avoidance lasted three months.
Now, he redownloaded the app and logged in, his fingers trembling. The moment the positions page appeared, he went completely still.
QI’s current price was 0.00337, and his position was up over 120%.
Twenty thousand yuan had become more than forty-four thousand.
He stared at the screen, his heartbeat racing as if it might jump out of his chest. Two voices fought inside his mind. One said, Sell now—lock in the profit. What if it drops again?
The other said, Look at this trend. It went from 0.0014 to 0.0036. This is still nowhere near the end—maybe it can reach 0.01.
Chen Hao remembered what happened when he bought SAGA last year. Back then, SAGA fell from 0.09 to 0.027. He bottom-fished at 0.03, but it dropped another 40%. In the end, he lost half and bailed out with a cut.
If he’d just held on for two more months, he would have broken even already.
This time, he didn’t want to repeat the same mistake.
He took a deep breath, placed a sell order for half of his position, and locked in the gains. For what remained, he set a stop-loss line at 0.002. Then he shut off his phone and forced himself to sleep.
The next morning, he woke up to see QI hovering around 0.0034. He felt neither regret nor excitement. After surviving that roller-coaster night, he suddenly understood something: in this market, more important than the rise or fall itself is the mindset in your heart when it happens.
He opened his notes app and wrote one line: Never go all in. Never delete the app. Never forget why you started.
Then he turned off his phone and went to work.
#QI #加密货币 #Contract liquidation and sudden wealth