云哥的带单日记
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In the cryptocurrency world for eight years, I became mute and also a collector of blacklists.
In the winter of 2019, I brought my cousin into the group and gave him three pages of PDF, highlighted in red:
If ETH is below 120 USD, buy with your eyes closed.
He turned around and bought Dogecoin, reasoning: "It's cheap, what if?"
Three months later, Dogecoin went to zero, and he cried to my mom:
Brother didn't stop me.
I became the family sinner; no one passed the chopsticks during the New Year's dinner.
In April 2021, a former colleague shared her maternity pay and privately asked me:
Is there a guaranteed 20% profit?
I sent her a grayscale trust discount chart, accompanied by an 8,000-word due diligence report.
She replied: "Too long."
Two hours later, she invested all in SHIB, with 5x leverage.
The next day SHIB skyrocketed, her maternity leave turned into "maternity leave +1," and her husband scolded her: "You were led astray by your 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 most painful was the apprentice I mentored.
Last June, he had only 1800 USD left in his wallet, and I said:
Treat this like an urn; only allow to open 1% of the position.
He followed my advice and rolled it to 7200 USD in 32 days.
On the 33rd day at 3 AM, he sent a voice message:
Master, I understand now; I want to build my own community.
I didn’t reply.
On the 35th day, he went all in on LUNA 2.0, and after the liquidation, he asked me if he could borrow money.
The moment I blocked him, my finger trembled more than when placing an order.
I didn’t delete just one person; I deleted the version of myself from two years ago that believed "teaching" was a kind act.
During the bear market, I learned to swallow my tongue.
Some people shared their gains of 300%, I liked it.
Some people lost 90%, I lit a candle.
In the square, someone asked about the price point, and I uniformly replied:
I only understand fortune-telling, ten bucks per session.
They cursed me for pretending; I smiled—pretending is cheaper than taking the blame.
Now my daily routine consists of two shortcuts:
Ctrl + S: Save trading logs
Ctrl + Shift + N: Drag the signal group into the blacklist
Whether the capital is 20,000 or 2 million makes no difference; the system is the money printer:
Profit 10%, withdraw immediately, deposit into the bank to buy rice and cooking oil.
Stop loss 3%, automatic shutdown; a black screen is more enlightening than any motivational speech.
The cryptocurrency graveyard operates 24 hours; if you want to survive, lock yourself first:
Lock your ears from "insider news"
Lock your eyes from "financial freedom screenshots"
Lock your fingers from "adding one more knife"
What remains is the living.
In the winter of 2019, I brought my cousin into the group and gave him three pages of PDF, highlighted in red:
If ETH is below 120 USD, buy with your eyes closed.
He turned around and bought Dogecoin, reasoning: "It's cheap, what if?"
Three months later, Dogecoin went to zero, and he cried to my mom:
Brother didn't stop me.
I became the family sinner; no one passed the chopsticks during the New Year's dinner.
In April 2021, a former colleague shared her maternity pay and privately asked me:
Is there a guaranteed 20% profit?
I sent her a grayscale trust discount chart, accompanied by an 8,000-word due diligence report.
She replied: "Too long."
Two hours later, she invested all in SHIB, with 5x leverage.
The next day SHIB skyrocketed, her maternity leave turned into "maternity leave +1," and her husband scolded her: "You were led astray by your 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 most painful was the apprentice I mentored.
Last June, he had only 1800 USD left in his wallet, and I said:
Treat this like an urn; only allow to open 1% of the position.
He followed my advice and rolled it to 7200 USD in 32 days.
On the 33rd day at 3 AM, he sent a voice message:
Master, I understand now; I want to build my own community.
I didn’t reply.
On the 35th day, he went all in on LUNA 2.0, and after the liquidation, he asked me if he could borrow money.
The moment I blocked him, my finger trembled more than when placing an order.
I didn’t delete just one person; I deleted the version of myself from two years ago that believed "teaching" was a kind act.
During the bear market, I learned to swallow my tongue.
Some people shared their gains of 300%, I liked it.
Some people lost 90%, I lit a candle.
In the square, someone asked about the price point, and I uniformly replied:
I only understand fortune-telling, ten bucks per session.
They cursed me for pretending; I smiled—pretending is cheaper than taking the blame.
Now my daily routine consists of two shortcuts:
Ctrl + S: Save trading logs
Ctrl + Shift + N: Drag the signal group into the blacklist
Whether the capital is 20,000 or 2 million makes no difference; the system is the money printer:
Profit 10%, withdraw immediately, deposit into the bank to buy rice and cooking oil.
Stop loss 3%, automatic shutdown; a black screen is more enlightening than any motivational speech.
The cryptocurrency graveyard operates 24 hours; if you want to survive, lock yourself first:
Lock your ears from "insider news"
Lock your eyes from "financial freedom screenshots"
Lock your fingers from "adding one more knife"
What remains is the living.
Disclaimer: Includes third-party opinions. No financial advice. May include sponsored content. See T&Cs.
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