On a day in May 2020, I had just completed a cryptocurrency withdrawal at the exchange. Looking at the numbers that had arrived in my bank account, I casually split the money into several parts to transfer to WeChat and Alipay. At that time, I only thought it would be convenient to spend like this, never realizing that a 'freeze storm' was quietly approaching.
A few days later, while checking out at the supermarket, my hand suddenly froze while scanning the code—WeChat Pay displayed a glaring message: 'Account abnormal, unable to complete the transaction.' Switching to Alipay, the same red warning appeared; pulling out my bank card to swipe at the POS machine, the machine beeped an error, and the words 'Transaction restricted' on the screen felt like ice, instantly freezing the sweat on the back of my neck.
In mobile banking, the balance is clearly visible, yet it feels like it has been enchanted, unable to be moved at all. The balance interfaces of WeChat and Alipay are similarly marked with 'Frozen' labels, and even the several linked bank cards have also synchronized to 'strike.' At that moment, the supermarket's background music became particularly noisy, and the cashier's inquiries seemed to come from a great distance; my knuckles gripping the phone turned white.
Fortunately, I had no guilty conscience—I had followed compliant procedures on the platform from buying coins to withdrawing funds, never touching any unknown sources of funds. Pressing down my panic, I contacted customer service, and after going around in circles, finally got through to a police officer from a case in Anhui. 'Your account has processed a transaction involving criminal funds, triggering the freeze mechanism.' The voice on the other end was calm, but it sent a chill down my spine.
That year, during the height of the pandemic, it was unrealistic to travel across provinces. The police officer asked me to send materials first; I overnight dug out all the evidence: in the chat logs with the OTC merchants, every phrase 'confirm real-name transfer' was marked with a star; transaction flow screenshots were neatly arranged by time; even my cryptocurrency trading Excel ledger was packed up, along with work proof and salary slips, I almost wanted to engrave the words 'innocent' on the documents.
The reply I waited for was, 'You need to compensate the victim.' 'Trading cryptocurrencies is not protected by law; once the funds have passed through your account, you must bear the responsibility.' The police officer's words hit me like a stone thrown into the water. Looking at the money in my account waiting to pay rent, I gritted my teeth and accepted it—I couldn't just let my account stay frozen.
On the third day after the compensation arrived, the 'Frozen' label on the WeChat balance interface suddenly disappeared. When I tried to transfer some money to my bank card, the prompt sound of instant arrival made me stare at the screen in a daze for half a minute, suddenly wanting to laugh but also feeling a bit teary.
After this turmoil, my withdrawal operations became as cautious as defusing a bomb. Later, I got a Mastercard Hong Kong card; although there are fees, every time the prompt for a successful transfer pops up, I feel very reassured; when trading on the platform, if the merchant does not provide real-name information? I terminate immediately, no matter how high the premium; as for offline transactions, unless it’s with friends who can sit together for hot pot, don’t even think about it.
Now, when I think of those days, the screenshots of the freeze are still stored on my phone. It's not about holding a grudge; it's just a reminder to myself: money in the digital world is visible yet intangible, and every step must be taken carefully—after all, no one wants to experience again the feeling of having a full wallet yet being unable to spend a single cent.
