When the alarm rang for the third time, Chen Mo sat up suddenly, the date '2025.8.12' on his phone screen stabbing his eyes with pain.

It was not an illusion. He really returned to three years ago, that summer which caused him to lose all his savings in the cryptocurrency market and miss the opportunity to turn his fortunes around.

His fingertips skimmed over Binance's Qian'an, the latest quote for AIAJ glaringly visible: 0.000...000506 (with 29 zeros after the decimal). His heart raced; he remembered this number—this was the bottom price after it broke through the floor, and also the last calm before the storm.

"Pixiu Coin?" The thought flashed in his mind that Binance mistook AIAJ for Pixiu Coin, causing countless people in his past life to miss this potential stock. Chen Mo took a deep breath, opened the exchange app, and transferred all his remaining savings of fifty thousand to buy AIAJ at the current price.

The following days felt like roasting on a furnace. AIAJ lingered at the bottom for a full two months, during which countless people mocked it as a 'zero coin', with curses echoing in the forums. Chen Mo turned off all social media, only checking the K-line before going to bed each night—the string of zeros after the decimal looked like bombs waiting to explode.

The turning point occurred at the end of October. First, a well-known figure in cryptocurrency casually mentioned the similarity between AIAJ and MOCO's trends, then the community began to circulate a complete replay of Binance's blunder. One Monday morning, Chen Mo was awakened by a notification on his phone; AIAJ's price curve was like a lit fuse, shooting up almost vertically.

He did not sell immediately. The memories of those missed opportunities for wealth transformed into determination at this moment. He watched the price break through the 0.0{29} range step by step, then 0.0{28}, 0.0{27}, observing the asset numbers on the exchange page rolling and growing by the second. When the price reached the 0.0{25} range, he placed orders to sell in batches, and the balance on the screen finally settled at a number that made his breath halt—his initial investment of fifty thousand turned into nearly six hundred million.

On the afternoon he cleared his position, Chen Mo walked to the window. The outline of the city shimmered with a golden edge in the sunset, completely different from the night he worried about rent in his memories. Discussions about AIAJ were still fermenting on his phone; some cheered, others regretted, but none of that mattered to him anymore.

Rebirth gave him a chance, and this time, he grasped it firmly. The numbers in his account represented freedom, not indulgence in extravagance, but the confidence to say no to a life he did not like, and the time to fulfill those dreams drowned by the pressures of survival.

Chen Mo closed the market software. On the first day of seriously planning for 'life freedom', what should he do? The wind outside carries the autumn feeling, and the air is filled with a brand new scent.