Complete collapse! The Aladdin (Origin) funding scheme involves billions!
A blockchain project claiming to be a 'decentralized bank from the dark web' finally showed its fangs on the 382nd day of operation—all USDT withdrawal channels have been replaced with flashing 'system upgrade' notifications, and the once lucrative staking mining page is now just a constantly ticking lock-up countdown: 179 days 23 hours 59 seconds.
The end of this countdown may very well be the starting point for hundreds of thousands of investors to lose everything.
This is Aladdin.
Since March of this year, when the locked-up amount exceeded 2 billion USD, the project party suddenly began a crazy asset transfer: the top 50 holding addresses transferred out 230 million USD worth of cryptocurrency within 72 hours, with the core address starting with 0x9c3 making 47 consecutive transactions that transferred 18 million USDT to a shell exchange in the Bahamas.
Ironically, the reserve pool claimed to be backing a 1:1 stablecoin actually switched to a 'dynamic balance' mode six months ago—every time a new investor subscribed, a corresponding proportion of USDT was funneled to offshore accounts in Cambodia.
Those carefully designed disguises are peeling away layer by layer. Among the 137 smart contracts we traced, 82 were directly copied and modified from the source code of PlusToken in 2019, while the remaining contracts were filled with controllable backdoor programs.
A leaked developer document reveals that the so-called 'three-stage explosion profit' algorithm is essentially a Ponzi distribution mechanism adjusted dynamically by new deposits: when the day's deposit amount is less than 1.5 times the withdrawal demand, the system will automatically reduce the yield by 30%.
This explains why daily earnings have plummeted from 1.2% to 0.3% since March, yet it still can't stop investors from flocking in like moths to a flame.
Behind the glass curtain wall of the Dubai World Trade Center, the video of Aladdin's 'Global Strategy Launch Conference' continues to loop. In the footage, foreign consultants in suits talk confidently about 'disrupting traditional finance,' yet the more than 300 empty seats in the audience expose the truth—subsequent investigations confirmed that 68% of the 'overseas institutional representatives' present that day were temporary actors hired from the local labor market, earning a daily wage equivalent to 420 yuan.
This classic packaging technique from the Southeast Asian funding scheme team, combined with forged SWIFT bank cooperation documents and photoshopped advertisements from New York's Times Square, successfully convinced over 370,000 Chinese investors that they were participating in an 'international top-tier blockchain project.' The saddest part is the morally bankrupt investors. A chat record from a disbanded Aladdin VIP group shows that even after the platform began to freeze withdrawals on a large scale, 43% of members were actively developing downlines. Most of them are aware of the game rules, but each believes they won't be the last one left holding the bag. 'Just bring in two more people and you can unlock withdrawals'—this phrase has become the death curse of the scheme, leading countless individuals to voluntarily jump into a whirlpool they know is a scam.
Technical tracing reveals that the collapse of Aladdin had long been forewarned. Its claimed 'decentralized bank' core code surprisingly includes a modified multi-level distribution module from the 2017 Yunlianhui pyramid scheme. The so-called 'staking mining' is merely a technological disguise for traditional pyramid schemes—every time a downline is developed, the smart contract automatically increases the daily yield by 0.3%. In a server confiscated from an office building in Zhengzhou, police found a complete pyramid structure diagram: the top 62 control addresses had already transferred assets equivalent to 76% of the total market value through a mixer. The 'daily earning ten thousand yuan' videos that went viral on social media now seem like dark humor. Our team, through image recognition technology analysis, discovered that 90% of the profit screenshots have three fatal flaws: the checksum digit of the USDT wallet address is incorrect, the blockchain browser link points to a private server page, and the timestamp shows as East 8 time zone yet is labeled 'Dubai real-time earnings.'
Even more absurd is that a 'blockchain mentor' with 500,000 followers showcased a 2 million USDT balance that was actually the product of an Android mod; this secret was only uncovered after his subordinate agents collectively reported him. In this carefully designed hunt, the most brutal aspect is the self-deception of human nature. Interrogation records from a certain area in Guangdong show that even after the platform stopped withdrawals, 34% of team leaders were mobilizing subordinates to 'bottom out and increase positions.' They are well-versed in the operational rules of funding schemes but willingly play the role of the drummer in a game of passing the parcel—because every time they bring in a new member, they can unlock a 0.5% priority withdrawal quota. These familiar tactics echo the shocking Huayinghui scam from three years ago. Even more laughable is that four core team members had previously participated in the capital transfer of Huayinghui; the 'four-stage collapse method' they learned in Malaysia has now been perfected in Aladdin.
Looking back at the rise of Aladdin, each step is imprinted with the genes of classic funding schemes: from the fabricated dark web background to the appropriation of technological concepts, from forging overseas qualifications to manipulating community public opinion.
These harvesting methods that have iterated and upgraded in Southeast Asian scam parks, combined with the technological fog of blockchain, have led even the most seasoned investors to collectively fall into a cognitive blind spot.
Those still waiting for 'restarted payments' may need to wake up: genuine blockchain projects never require a 180-day lock-up to maintain trust, nor would they set up servers in cheap facilities in Cambodia.
This recurring final chapter scenario in the history of funding schemes once again confirms the iron rule: when you hear the sound of tearing down the east wall, the west wall has long since collapsed. And those investors asking 'why me' should understand that in a Ponzi scheme, the only mistake is the participants themselves.