You might not believe it, but I was once a staunch 'crypto skeptic.' In the summer of 2021 at a barbecue stall, my childhood friend A-Zhe excitedly said his Bitcoin had doubled, and I laughed at him while holding a beer bottle: 'Can this thing be eaten? Better to buy two pounds of crayfish.' Three months later, that guy picked me up in a brand new BMW 3 Series, with a book (A Brief History of Blockchain) tossed in the passenger seat.
That night I couldn't sleep. I opened the exchange APP, my finger hovered over the 'Recharge' button for half an hour, and finally gritting my teeth, I transferred 2,000 — just consider it an IQ tax. I didn’t expect to catch a small market wave; three days later my account turned into 6,000. I stared blankly at the numbers, not even noticing the ash from my cigarette dropping onto the keyboard creating a small black dot, with only one thought in my mind: this money is too easy to make.
From then on, I became a 'time management master.' During the day at the company, I pretended to modify PPTs while actually calculating profit-taking points with Excel; at night I locked myself in my rented room, the blue light from the screen reflecting on my two dark circles. At my craziest, I set eight alarms for 2 AM, 4 AM, 6 AM... waking up every two hours to check the K-line, feeling like I wasn't trading coins but commanding thousands of troops.
On the day I leveraged, I felt like heaven was helping me. First 5x, then 10x, 20x, until I pressed the 100x button, my hand was surprisingly steady. My account skyrocketed like a rocket, from 50,000 to 200,000, and then one morning I opened my eyes to see the number had turned into 2,370,000. That day, my department director scolded me in front of the whole team for messing up the report, and I lowered my head and smiled secretly — this amount of time was enough for me to earn his half-year salary.
The crash came faster than a typhoon. I remember it was a Wednesday; the market opened with a profit of 300,000, and I even boasted in a group chat, 'I'm buying a Tesla today.' During lunch, I saw a piece of bad news, and by the time I finished my last bite of food, the K-line had already plunged vertically. Text messages from the exchange came in like death knells: 'Insufficient margin' 'Forced liquidation'... I rushed into a bathroom stall, watching my seven-figure balance turn into four figures, the metallic taste of blood exploding in my mouth — I had bitten my lip raw.
The real hell is yet to come. When the collection calls reached the front desk, and HR called me into the office, I didn’t even have the strength to explain. I maxed out five credit cards, and overdue messages from online loan platforms filled my inbox; every morning the first thing I did was delete those red exclamation marks. One night after a shift, walking onto an overpass, the flowing traffic below turned into a golden river, and I suddenly felt that jumping down would be a relief.
It was my mom who saved me. She came to the city to see me and dug through a trash can full of collection notices, not scolding me once, and the next day quietly withdrew her retirement funds. Looking at that familiar string of numbers in her savings book — that was the blood and sweat money she and my dad saved up over a decade running a small shop, I squatted at the bank entrance crying like a fool.
There’s still 20,000 lying in the exchange, a reminder for myself. Someone asked if I regret it? I touched the scar on my wrist and smiled — I regret not realizing earlier that all leveraged money in this world actually has interest pre-set, some collected in cash, some collected with lives.
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