Bald Qiang and the Existential Dilemma of Contract Traders
Bald Qiang swings his chainsaw daily, trapped in a Sisyphean loop. Like him, contract traders chase fleeting profits—open, close, repeat—yet the market remains an infinite forest. Each win only preludes another loss.
The chainsaw’s buzz echoes the scream of high leverage. Bear Big and Bear Two aren’t enemies—they’re avatars of market chaos. Traders think they fight opponents, but they’re really battling invisible rules.
Qiang receives orders from the unseen Boss Li, just as traders obey anonymous market signals. Is the "dealer" real, or a projection of collective delusion? When liquidation hits, did the market betray you—or did you walk willingly into its trap?
Upgrades don’t help. Qiang tries robots and stealth tech; traders rely on algorithms, Martingale, or even metaphysical candlesticks. The smarter the strategy, the sharper the fall.
Each time Qiang fails, he returns with fresh resolve. So do traders, telling themselves, “This time it’s different.” It’s not stupidity—it’s a necessary illusion. Without it, there’s no reason to swing the chainsaw at all.
Qiang is a tragic hero in a cartoon. Contract traders are clowns in real life.
The punchline? Qiang’s pain entertains.
Yours just feeds the exchange.