Night of Liquidation
At 3 a.m., the blue light from his phone screen shone on Xiao Chen’s face. He stared at the K-line chart, his eyes bloodshot, his fingers trembling slightly.
AMP surged from 0.000500 to 0.000867 in one stretch, an increase of more than seventy percent. Xiao Chen’s short position went from being in profit to being in the red, and his margin ratio had already fallen below the danger line.
“Impossible for it to jump this much,” he muttered to himself. “This is just a tiny coin nobody cares about.”
Three days earlier, Xiao Chen saw a post on the Binance Plaza saying that someone claimed the AMP project team had already run away, and that on-chain data was bleak. He believed it. Not only did he believe it—he opened a fifty-times leverage short, putting all the remaining 8,000 U in his account on the line.
Back then AMP was trading at 0.000650, and he thought this coin would be zero sooner or later.
On the first day, AMP dropped to 0.000580. Xiao Chen made 400 U, posted a screenshot to his朋友圈 (Moments) with the caption, “Shorting is picking money.” His friends liked and commented one after another, and he started to feel he was the chosen one.
On the second day, AMP suddenly bounced back to 0.000700. Xiao Chen comforted himself—this was just a dead-cat bounce. He didn’t cut his loss; instead, at 0.000720 he added to his position. “If it falls back, I’ll earn even more.”
That third night, AMP charged upward like it had gone mad. 0.000750, 0.000800, 0.000850. Xiao Chen’s phone began blasting notifications nonstop, all of them warnings about adding margin.
He went frantic, transferring money into his account and redeeming all twenty thousand from his investments. But it was already too late.
0.000867.
A line of red text popped up on the screen: Your position has been forcibly liquidated.
Xiao Chen froze. The account balance showed: 0.37 USDT.
8,000 U, plus the later added twenty thousand—everything was gone. No, there was still thirty-seven cents left.
He set down his phone and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Outside the window came the chirping of insects in the early morning, sharply contrasting with the smug delight he’d felt only a few hours earlier, thinking he was sure to win.
He remembered what an old veteran in the market once told him when he first entered the space: “In this market, surviving is more important than making any amount of money.”
Back then he thought it was an excuse from cowards. Now he understood—it was a lesson paid for by countless people’s real money.
The next morning, AMP fell back to 0.000790. If he hadn’t been liquidated—if he’d cut his loss at 0.000750—he would still have had half his principal left.
But there was no “if.”
Xiao Chen opened his notes and wrote a single line: “Never go all-in. Never do fifty-times leverage. Never go against the trend.”
Then he turned off his phone and decided not to check the market today.
But what he didn’t know was that three months later AMP would rise to 0.003. And he was already off the trading table.
#合约爆仓 #AMP #Cryptocurrency
At 3 a.m., the blue light from his phone screen shone on Xiao Chen’s face. He stared at the K-line chart, his eyes bloodshot, his fingers trembling slightly.
AMP surged from 0.000500 to 0.000867 in one stretch, an increase of more than seventy percent. Xiao Chen’s short position went from being in profit to being in the red, and his margin ratio had already fallen below the danger line.
“Impossible for it to jump this much,” he muttered to himself. “This is just a tiny coin nobody cares about.”
Three days earlier, Xiao Chen saw a post on the Binance Plaza saying that someone claimed the AMP project team had already run away, and that on-chain data was bleak. He believed it. Not only did he believe it—he opened a fifty-times leverage short, putting all the remaining 8,000 U in his account on the line.
Back then AMP was trading at 0.000650, and he thought this coin would be zero sooner or later.
On the first day, AMP dropped to 0.000580. Xiao Chen made 400 U, posted a screenshot to his朋友圈 (Moments) with the caption, “Shorting is picking money.” His friends liked and commented one after another, and he started to feel he was the chosen one.
On the second day, AMP suddenly bounced back to 0.000700. Xiao Chen comforted himself—this was just a dead-cat bounce. He didn’t cut his loss; instead, at 0.000720 he added to his position. “If it falls back, I’ll earn even more.”
That third night, AMP charged upward like it had gone mad. 0.000750, 0.000800, 0.000850. Xiao Chen’s phone began blasting notifications nonstop, all of them warnings about adding margin.
He went frantic, transferring money into his account and redeeming all twenty thousand from his investments. But it was already too late.
0.000867.
A line of red text popped up on the screen: Your position has been forcibly liquidated.
Xiao Chen froze. The account balance showed: 0.37 USDT.
8,000 U, plus the later added twenty thousand—everything was gone. No, there was still thirty-seven cents left.
He set down his phone and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Outside the window came the chirping of insects in the early morning, sharply contrasting with the smug delight he’d felt only a few hours earlier, thinking he was sure to win.
He remembered what an old veteran in the market once told him when he first entered the space: “In this market, surviving is more important than making any amount of money.”
Back then he thought it was an excuse from cowards. Now he understood—it was a lesson paid for by countless people’s real money.
The next morning, AMP fell back to 0.000790. If he hadn’t been liquidated—if he’d cut his loss at 0.000750—he would still have had half his principal left.
But there was no “if.”
Xiao Chen opened his notes and wrote a single line: “Never go all-in. Never do fifty-times leverage. Never go against the trend.”
Then he turned off his phone and decided not to check the market today.
But what he didn’t know was that three months later AMP would rise to 0.003. And he was already off the trading table.
#合约爆仓 #AMP #Cryptocurrency