Eight years in the crypto world, I became mute and a blacklist collector.
In the winter of 2019, I pulled my cousin into the group, gave him a three-page PDF, marked in red:
If ETH falls below 120 USD, buy it with your eyes closed.
He turned around and bought Dogecoin, reasoning: "It's cheap, what if?"
Three months later, Dogecoin basically went to zero, and he cried to my mom:
Brother didn’t stop me.
I became the family sinner; no one passed the chopsticks at the New Year's dinner.
In April 2021, a former colleague shared her maternity leave salary and privately asked me:
Is there a way to make a guaranteed 20%?
I sent her a grayscale trust discount chart, along with an 8,000-word due diligence report.
She replied: "Too long."
Two hours later, she had all her funds in SHIB, with 5x leverage.
The next day, SHIB spiked, and her maternity leave turned into "maternity leave +1"; her husband scolded her: "You're being led astray by colleagues."
She didn’t block me; I blocked her first—afraid that seeing the words "Are you there?" would give me a heart attack.
The hardest part was mentoring a disciple.
Last June, he had only 1,800 U left in his wallet, and I said:
Consider this a coffin, only allow 1% to be opened.
He followed my advice and grew it to 7,200 U in 32 days.
On the 33rd day at 3 AM, he sent a voice message:
Master, I have realized, I want to build my own community.
I didn’t respond.
On the 35th day, he went all in on LUNA 2.0, and after blowing up his account, he asked me if I could lend him some capital.
At the moment I blocked him, my finger trembled more than when placing an order.
I wasn’t deleting just one person; I was deleting the self from two years ago who believed that "teaching" was a good deed.
In the bear market, I learned to swallow my tongue.
Some people share their gains of 300%, I give a thumbs up.
Some people lose 90%, I light a candle.
In the square, someone asked about entry points, and I uniformly replied:
I only understand fortune-telling, ten bucks a reading.
They scold me for pretending to be divine; I just smile—pretending to be divine is cheaper than taking the blame.
Now my daily routine consists of a set of hotkeys:
Ctrl + S: Save trading logs.
Whether the principal is 20,000 or 2 million makes no difference; the system is the money printer:
Profit 10%, withdraw immediately, transfer to the bank to buy rice and cooking oil.
Stop loss 3%, automatically shut down; a black screen is more awakening than any motivational speech.
The crypto graveyard is open 24 hours; if you want to survive, first lock yourself up:
Lock away "inside information" with your ears.
Lock away "financial freedom screenshots" with your eyes.
Lock away "let's add one more" with your fingers.
What remains is what it means to be alive.
