In the heavy rain, Shennan Avenue looked like a vein flowing with neon lights, and the LED screen of the exchange flickered 23 stories high. I gripped my shattered Xiaomi phone tightly, and the water pooled on the rooftop reflected the wound on my forehead that hadn't yet scabbed over.

"Your contract account has triggered a liquidation, remaining margin -127.83 USDT." This text message popped up on the lock screen seven times. Unread messages from the online loan platform piled up to 99+, the latest being a lawsuit from the law firm commissioned by Huabei, the electronic seal glistening crimson in the rain.

Behind me, the fire exit door banged loudly, and I instinctively shrank behind the water tank. The debt collector's curses, heavy with humidity, slammed against the concrete wall: "Lin! Do you know your Guangfa credit card is three months overdue?" My phone suddenly vibrated; it was a strange call from my hometown's area code—this was the third time this month I received a payment notice from my father's dialysis center.

My finger swiped over the screenshot of the wallet address; that Binance account starting with 6 still had 0.03 $BTC lying there. Three days ago, I went all in on a long position with forty times leverage, thinking that as long as $ETH broke through $4000, I could fill the hole. Now, that guillotine-like red candle on the K-line chart had swallowed the last bit of fluorescence.

The cold rain dripped down my collar and into my spine, reminding me of that summer night three years ago when I first learned about Bitcoin at the Longhua internet café. The BTC/USDT floating on the blue light of the monitor was like Pandora's box, hiding the thrilling wealth myths within the roaring sound of mining machines. Who could have imagined that three years later I would be squatting on the ruins of a P2P crash, cashing out with a credit card to play contracts?

"You guys go to Lianhua Mountain Cemetery to ask for money from me!" I yelled this line I had rehearsed countless times into the void, lifting my leg over the rusted railing. The flowing headlights on Shennan Avenue suddenly twisted into the ceiling fan of the classroom from 2015, and a piece of chalk struck my temple in a parabolic arc.

"Lin Qiubai! Stand up and tell us the domain of this function!" The math teacher's voice pierced through my tinnitus. I stared blankly at the calendar in the corner of the blackboard; the ink from September 1, 2015, had yet to dry. My deskmate Chen Hao pressed a worn-out (League of Legends) guide under his arm, while the girl in front of us had a light purple bow in her ponytail—just like on that first day of high school in my memory.

The vibration of a smartphone came from the hole in the desk. I trembled as I pulled out my Meizu MX4, the screen shattered like a spider's web, and the lock screen displayed a notification from Binance: "$BTC Current price is $217, with a daily drop of 12%." Suddenly, my breathing became hot, and the cold sweat sticking to my palm soaked the parabola on the math paper.

"Teacher!" I suddenly pushed my chair aside, "I want to go to the infirmary!" As I sprinted down the corridor, I heard laughter behind me, but I couldn't care less about the coins jingling in the pockets of my school uniform—those were the thirty dollars I earned last week by helping someone with their gaming, and they were burning a hole in my pocket. I knew there was a black internet café around the corner on Longgang Avenue with a 'Virtual Currency' sign, where the boss always kept cash envelopes for OTC trading in his drawer.

As I pushed open the iron door of the fire escape, the September sun stabbed at my retina. In the distance, construction cranes were dismantling the billboard for the 'Qianhai Free Trade Zone,' and I knew three years later, the world's largest blockchain industrial park would rise there. The rusty taste of blood rose in my throat as I made a shooting gesture at the sky.

This time I want all the stockholders to bury Bitcoin from 2015.

This article is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. It does not constitute investment advice.

Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental (●'◡'●)