In the winter of 2017, I was biting into steamed buns in my rented room in an urban village, while ETH on the screen plummeted from $800 to $300. The liquidation text messages felt like death sentences; my bank card balance was only $127, not even enough for next month’s rent. At that time, I stared at the ceiling, thinking, 'Is the crypto world specifically designed to punish greedy fools?'
After three liquidations, I finally understood: the crypto world does not believe in tears, only in hard rules.
The first time I bought coins was following the trend. Seeing my colleagues flaunting their profits in the group, I invested all my wedding dowry into a certain popular coin. At three in the morning, I stared at my skyrocketing account and grinned foolishly, fantasizing about buying a car and a house. But when morning came, the coin price halved, and my leverage was completely liquidated.
My wife’s scolding and my parents’ sighs made me sleep on the living room sofa for half a month— it turns out that in the crypto world, greed is handing the scythe to the market maker.
The second liquidation was on March 12, 2020. Bitcoin fell from $8,000 to $3,800, and I watched the numbers in my account turn red, my fingers trembling on the 'stop loss' button. In the end, I chose to hold on, thinking 'it will eventually go back up', but I received news of the exchange crashing.
That night, after finishing a pack of cigarettes on the balcony, the cigarette butt fell into the trash can and almost burned the rental contract— the cruelty of the crypto world lies in its refusal to give greedy people even a chance to turn things around.
After the third liquidation, I stuck a note on my bedside: 'Don’t die, wait, run.' This three-character mantra was stolen from a sharing by a crypto big shot, but it became my survival password later on.
I began to regularly invest in BTC and ETH with my salary, unwavering on payday, locking the exchange app in an encrypted folder, and only looking at the weekly chart once a week— it turns out that real comebacks begin with learning to combat one’s own desires.
In the darkness of the bear market, I relied on 'foolish methods' to see the light.
During the bear market of 2022, my crypto friends gradually left the market. Some deleted their accounts and withdrew, while others cursed and said the crypto world was a scam. But I hid a little notebook in my desk drawer, recording the time and price of each regular investment: bought ETH when it dropped to $800; bought BTC when it dropped to $16,000; bought when I received my year-end bonus.
My colleagues mocked me for being 'rich but foolish', and my wife complained 'it’s better to save in the bank'. Only I knew that every chip in the bear market was a key to unlocking the door to wealth in the future.
On weekends, I would go to a café to read (cycles); the book says 'market sentiment swings like a pendulum, oscillating between optimism and pessimism.' I began to observe the signals around me: when the lady selling pancakes downstairs asked me 'how to buy Bitcoin,' I knew a bull market was coming; when financial news started using titles like 'epic surge,' I set alarms for phased profit-taking.
Every time I want to chase after new coins, I open my trading records and look at the tragic results of my last two liquidations—those past scars have become the most effective wake-up call.
On the day I bought the car, I finally understood: the crypto world’s comeback is not a myth, but an anti-human practice.
In the spring of 2024, ETH rose to $2,800. I looked at the numbers in my account and trembled for ten minutes. According to the pre-set plan, I sold in batches and transferred the profits to my bank card, just enough to buy that desired Maybach.
On the day I bought the car, I touched the emblem on the steering wheel, remembering my self from ten years ago, biting into steamed buns in a rented room, recalling the note taped to my bedside, remembering the nights I silently invested regularly on payday— it turns out all good fortune is the compound interest of discipline and patience.
Now I often browse crypto forums; when I see someone asking 'how to quickly earn 100 times,' I privately send them a photo of that bedside note.
Some laugh at me for being conservative, saying 'you earn too slowly', but I know that the crypto world is never short of legends of overnight riches; what it lacks are those who can survive long enough to wait for a bull market.
Those gamblers who drifted on leverage, those chasing after meme coins, ultimately became the denominator of the market, while I, relying on 'foolish methods', became the survivor.
Written for all ordinary people who are still persevering.
Yesterday, I passed by the rented apartment where I was liquidated; the urban village has been demolished, and high-rise buildings have sprung up. Sitting in the Maybach, I messaged my cousin who just entered the crypto world: 'Don’t believe in the myth of a hundredfold coin, don’t touch leverage, treat every regular investment day as payday, and write your profit-taking plan in your phone's memo.'
The crypto world is like a dark forest; some run wildly with leveraged torches and quickly fall into traps. Some blindly chase after glowing butterflies and lose their way. I chose to light a lamp and walk slowly; although slow, every step is on solid ground.
Lastly, I want to say: if you are still in losses, don't panic. Stick 'Don't die, wait, run' on your computer, split your salary in half—one half for living, the other half for regular investments. Remember, in the crypto world, those who can drive a Maybach are never the fastest runners, but the ones who can endure and adhere to discipline, the 'fools'.
If you find the shared insights useful, please give a little more attention.
(Note: The stories in this text are adapted from real experiences; the crypto world is risky, and investment needs caution.)
