On-Chain Love Letter
The first time Lin Wan saw Chen Yu, it was in a DeFi chat group.
Back then, Bitcoin was still hovering around fifty thousand US dollars. Most of the people in the group were silent; occasionally someone would post a single line: “Will it ever come back?” No one replied. Lin Wan had just been laid off by her company. The money in her account shrank day by day. She kept scrolling through the group every day just to make sure she wasn’t the only one still hanging on.
Chen Yu was the only person who spoke that day. He sent a message: he’d deployed a contract on Ethereum. Every day, it would automatically send 0.001 ETH to a certain address—with an accompanying line of text. He said he’d been doing it for one hundred days already.
Someone asked him why.
He said, “Because I promised someone that she would know every day that there’s someone thinking about her.”
The group fell silent for a long time. Lin Wan, on the other side of the screen, suddenly found herself tearing up.
She messaged him privately.
“Whose address is that?”
“My girlfriend’s. She passed away last year. Not because she left me—she was sick.”
Lin Wan didn’t know what to say. She typed, deleted, typed again, and deleted once more. In the end, she sent only: “Are you still sending it now?”
“I am. The contract won’t stop.”
From that day on, they started talking. Chen Yu worked on blockchain development in Shanghai, while Lin Wan handled operations in Shenzhen. Two hundred kilometers apart, yet it felt as though they were separated by the entire bear market—endlessly long. They discussed the market. Projects. The greenhorns they’d each been when they’d gotten cut. Chen Yu said that when QNT was at its lowest and nobody had hope for cross-chain interoperability, he bought a batch anyway. He said he wasn’t chasing profit—he just found the technology interesting.
Lin Wan teased him: “This isn’t investing. This is belief top-ups.”
Chen Yu said, “Belief is like love. Even when you know you might lose, you still can’t help going all in.”
In spring 2025, Bitcoin broke through eighty thousand US dollars. Chen Yu sent Lin Wan a screenshot—his contract address had already been sending ETH for over three hundred days. Lin Wan stared at the number and suddenly felt that this man was expressing his longest-lasting confession in the dumbest way possible.
“Then when are you going to deploy one for me?” she joked.
Chen Yu was silent for a long time before replying: “I don’t want to deploy a contract for you. Contracts have an expiration date. I want to write you a function that executes forever.”
That summer, Bitcoin climbed to more than eighty-four thousand. Ethereum also rose to around two thousand seven hundred. Chen Yu truly wrote a contract. He showed Lin Wan the code. The function name was forever, and it had only one piece of logic: every time someone called this contract, it would record a line of text on the chain. The first line was the one he wrote.
“Lin Wan, this is my on-chain love letter to you. The blockchain won’t collapse, and this text will never disappear. As long as Ethereum is still running, this sentence will always be there.”
Lin Wan cried in her rental room in Shenzhen. She sent Chen Yu a voice message, her voice trembling: “Are you really that stupid? Other people write love letters with roses. You write yours with a smart contract.”
Chen Yu said, “Roses will wither. A contract won’t.”
Later, they met in person. In a coffee shop in Shenzhen, Chen Yu came over by high-speed rail from Shanghai. He was a little slimmer than in his photos. When he smiled, his eyes curved into crescents—like a miner who’d just dug up his first ore. Lin Wan looked at him and suddenly felt that waiting through these past six months had been worth it. The bear market taught them patience, and patience taught them to cherish.
They walked far into the Shenzhen dusk. Chen Yu said he wanted to upgrade the contract so Lin Wan could write inside it too. Lin Wan agreed, but she made him promise her something.
“What?”
“No matter whether it’s a bull market or a bear market, we won’t separate.”
Chen Yu held her hand.
“The contract has already been deployed. There’s no termination function.”
That night, Lin Wan wrote the first line into her own share of the contract: “Chen Yu, thank you for letting me believe that some love is like on-chain data. Once it’s written, it can never be altered.”
Bitcoin rose even higher later on, then fell back again. QNT surged from over a hundred dollars and then dropped. The market always kept moving and wobbling, but their contract lay quietly on the chain—every transaction a sweet little line of romance.
Many years later, when someone asked how they’d met, Lin Wan always smiled and said, “In a bear market group where no one spoke, he sent a segment of smart contract code. I asked him whose address it was.”
Chen Yu would add beside her, “Then she never left again.”
On-chain data doesn’t lie. Just like their love—able to withstand surges and crashes, able to endure time.
#链上情书 #熊市相守 #BTC
The first time Lin Wan saw Chen Yu, it was in a DeFi chat group.
Back then, Bitcoin was still hovering around fifty thousand US dollars. Most of the people in the group were silent; occasionally someone would post a single line: “Will it ever come back?” No one replied. Lin Wan had just been laid off by her company. The money in her account shrank day by day. She kept scrolling through the group every day just to make sure she wasn’t the only one still hanging on.
Chen Yu was the only person who spoke that day. He sent a message: he’d deployed a contract on Ethereum. Every day, it would automatically send 0.001 ETH to a certain address—with an accompanying line of text. He said he’d been doing it for one hundred days already.
Someone asked him why.
He said, “Because I promised someone that she would know every day that there’s someone thinking about her.”
The group fell silent for a long time. Lin Wan, on the other side of the screen, suddenly found herself tearing up.
She messaged him privately.
“Whose address is that?”
“My girlfriend’s. She passed away last year. Not because she left me—she was sick.”
Lin Wan didn’t know what to say. She typed, deleted, typed again, and deleted once more. In the end, she sent only: “Are you still sending it now?”
“I am. The contract won’t stop.”
From that day on, they started talking. Chen Yu worked on blockchain development in Shanghai, while Lin Wan handled operations in Shenzhen. Two hundred kilometers apart, yet it felt as though they were separated by the entire bear market—endlessly long. They discussed the market. Projects. The greenhorns they’d each been when they’d gotten cut. Chen Yu said that when QNT was at its lowest and nobody had hope for cross-chain interoperability, he bought a batch anyway. He said he wasn’t chasing profit—he just found the technology interesting.
Lin Wan teased him: “This isn’t investing. This is belief top-ups.”
Chen Yu said, “Belief is like love. Even when you know you might lose, you still can’t help going all in.”
In spring 2025, Bitcoin broke through eighty thousand US dollars. Chen Yu sent Lin Wan a screenshot—his contract address had already been sending ETH for over three hundred days. Lin Wan stared at the number and suddenly felt that this man was expressing his longest-lasting confession in the dumbest way possible.
“Then when are you going to deploy one for me?” she joked.
Chen Yu was silent for a long time before replying: “I don’t want to deploy a contract for you. Contracts have an expiration date. I want to write you a function that executes forever.”
That summer, Bitcoin climbed to more than eighty-four thousand. Ethereum also rose to around two thousand seven hundred. Chen Yu truly wrote a contract. He showed Lin Wan the code. The function name was forever, and it had only one piece of logic: every time someone called this contract, it would record a line of text on the chain. The first line was the one he wrote.
“Lin Wan, this is my on-chain love letter to you. The blockchain won’t collapse, and this text will never disappear. As long as Ethereum is still running, this sentence will always be there.”
Lin Wan cried in her rental room in Shenzhen. She sent Chen Yu a voice message, her voice trembling: “Are you really that stupid? Other people write love letters with roses. You write yours with a smart contract.”
Chen Yu said, “Roses will wither. A contract won’t.”
Later, they met in person. In a coffee shop in Shenzhen, Chen Yu came over by high-speed rail from Shanghai. He was a little slimmer than in his photos. When he smiled, his eyes curved into crescents—like a miner who’d just dug up his first ore. Lin Wan looked at him and suddenly felt that waiting through these past six months had been worth it. The bear market taught them patience, and patience taught them to cherish.
They walked far into the Shenzhen dusk. Chen Yu said he wanted to upgrade the contract so Lin Wan could write inside it too. Lin Wan agreed, but she made him promise her something.
“What?”
“No matter whether it’s a bull market or a bear market, we won’t separate.”
Chen Yu held her hand.
“The contract has already been deployed. There’s no termination function.”
That night, Lin Wan wrote the first line into her own share of the contract: “Chen Yu, thank you for letting me believe that some love is like on-chain data. Once it’s written, it can never be altered.”
Bitcoin rose even higher later on, then fell back again. QNT surged from over a hundred dollars and then dropped. The market always kept moving and wobbling, but their contract lay quietly on the chain—every transaction a sweet little line of romance.
Many years later, when someone asked how they’d met, Lin Wan always smiled and said, “In a bear market group where no one spoke, he sent a segment of smart contract code. I asked him whose address it was.”
Chen Yu would add beside her, “Then she never left again.”
On-chain data doesn’t lie. Just like their love—able to withstand surges and crashes, able to endure time.
#链上情书 #熊市相守 #BTC