Notes on the Rebirth in the Crypto World

In the late autumn of 2024, in a café by the Xiang River, I witnessed a seven-figure asset crumble to zero amidst the cliff-like drop of the candlestick chart. On the thirtieth day of my account liquidation, I sneaked into a guesthouse in Wulingyuan with a 28-inch suitcase, submerged my SIM card in a stream, and kept my crumpled trading records under my pillow—those red numbers were like unhealed wounds, repeatedly oozing blood at midnight.

On the first day of spring 2025, a dusty bank card spat out 2,200 USDT. Facing the swelling screen, I made a final vow: if I fall again, I will completely withdraw. This string of numbers was reborn within a stringent risk control system; when my account broke six figures, I was more clear-headed than when I was facing losses—the nine crimson words in the remark column of the trading software always flickered: no full position, no all-in, no greed.

Rules are the anchor points of survival. The 40% position limit is like a guardrail on a cliff, and stop-loss orders always come three seconds earlier than greed. When a certain altcoin surged 35% in ten minutes, and my account saw an additional 7,000 U instantly, I calmly withdrew 70% of my profits. After 320 mechanical executions, the 900,000 loss was wiped out, and the asset curve quietly surpassed the previous high, yielding an additional 300,000 U.

The crypto world never rewards the brave, but favors the wise who tighten their lifelines. Those who faded away mostly succumbed to the obsession of "one more bet." The first page of my trading log reads: like the ancient trees of Wulingyuan, with roots deeply embedded in the rock crevices, one can stand firm amidst the storms.

When the tide recedes, the naked swimmers reveal themselves; where the waves surge, the surfers show their true skills. The sunrise in the crypto world always belongs to those who engrave risk control into their very bones.