Game 1: Crypto Casino | This is a multi-layered, nested emotion extraction system.
This industry is not blockchain. It's not a financial revolution. It's not a decentralized dream. It's a multi-layered, self-replicating, inexhaustible system for extracting emotions.
Oil extracts energy. The internet extracts information. The crypto industry extracts human greed, fear, hope, and despair.
Oil will run out. Information will become outdated. But human emotions will always evolve. That's why this industry won't die.
This chapter dissects it from two perspectives—first, by entering the game, you see yourself; then, by exiting the game, you see the system clearly.
If after reading these two parts you find yourself to be both Old K and the captain—congratulations, you've woken up.
Part One: Entering the Game - Immersive Role Version
[Reading Warning]
This part isn't for you to "read." It's for you to go in.
In the first half, you will become the one setting the trap.
In the second half, you will become a player in the game.
After reading the first half, you'll understand why some people can reap the rewards without batting an eye.
After reading the second half, you will understand why some people can never move on.
If you're ready—come in.
First Half: Character A – I am the Captain
[Act One: Why I Did This]
My name is Captain. I'm 35 years old.
Before 2020, I worked in operations at an internet company, earning a monthly salary of 20,000 yuan. I worked overtime until 10 p.m. every day. The boss made empty promises, my colleagues were working in a cutthroat environment, and I was struggling to breathe due to the mortgage.
During the DeFi summer of 2020, a college classmate invited me to a group. The group admin was a 95er who posted "wealth secrets" every day, and in three months, he grew his wealth from 100,000 to 3 million.
Looking at his screenshot, I asked myself a question: Why?
Why is it that I work 12 hours a day, while he sends a few messages a day and earns more than I have in three years?
The answer is simple: because he has mastered the "leverage of trust".
He wasn't selling cryptocurrency. He was selling "the feeling of making money with others."
At that moment, I understood: the wealth in this world is never distributed according to "effort." It is distributed according to who holds the power to distribute emotions.
What I need to do is seize this power.
[Act Two: How I Got It]
Step 1: Find people.
I found a market maker team. They had projects, capital, algorithms, and connections with exchanges. What did they lack? They lacked someone they could trust.
I said: I'll be that person.
condition:
They selected the projects.
They set the rhythm.
They get 70% of the profits, I get 30%.
If anything goes wrong, I'll take the blame.
They laughed: Do you know what it means when something goes wrong?
I said, "I know." But I didn't say the second half of the sentence: "I won't get into trouble."
Because I knew from the beginning: this wasn't a scam, it was a profession.
A lawyer's job is to represent people in court; a doctor's job is to treat patients. My job is to help people build trust and then realize that trust. As long as I do my job of "helping people" to the best of my ability, nothing will go wrong.
[Act Three: How I Selected People]
Market makers have a system called the "user segmentation model".
It's not based on the amount of money invested. It's based on psychological state.
Category A: The Desperate
Characteristics: Debt, insomnia, desperate to recoup losses, betting their last chance on this.
Tag value: Highest. Because desperate people have no way out. People with no way out are the best to use.
Category B: Anxious Individuals
Characteristics: Has some spare cash, is somewhat anxious, afraid of missing out, afraid of being left behind by the times.
Tag value: Medium. Because anxious people need continuous feeding.
Category C: Gamblers
Characteristics: Rich, loves gambling, enjoys thrills, doesn't care about losing money.
Tag value: Low. Because gamblers are too clear-headed and might run away at any moment.
Category D: Believers
Characteristics: Truly believes in blockchain, decentralization, and revolution.
Tag value: Lowest. Because the believers are too stubborn and disobedient.
Old K was labeled as Category A.
It's not because he's rich. It's because he has no way out.
His file states:
Business failure
Debt of 500,000
I suffer from insomnia every day.
Being disliked by one's wife
I was blocked by my friend.
This kind of person doesn't need me to deceive them. This kind of person deceives themselves.
My job isn't to lie to him. My job is to give him a reason to lie to himself.
[Act Four: How I Raised Him]
The first three items weren't chosen randomly; they were carefully calculated.
First project:
The success rate is 30%.
Expected return 3 times
Objective: To let him experience the benefits and establish an initial impression that the captain is trustworthy.
The second project:
The odds of winning a lottery are 15%.
Expected return: 5 times
Objective: To make him feel that "this is a rare opportunity," and thus encourage him to proactively increase his investment.
The third project:
The odds of winning a lottery are 7%.
Expected return: 2 times
Objective: To let him experience the tension of "almost failing" and reinforce the belief that "only by following me can I win."
In each round, I personally sent out messages.
I replied at 3 a.m. for each round.
In each round, I would say in the group: "Brothers, this is inside information again, don't spread it."
Old K started calling me "Captain".
Old K started sending red envelopes in the group.
Old K started pulling his friends in.
He thought he was making money. Actually, he was being trained.
What are we training for? We're training that "the captain's words are credible."
This isn't something I invented. It's the foundation of behavioral psychology: consistent small rewards create a conditioned reflex.
Pavlov's dog drools when it hears a bell. Old K gets excited when he sees me send a message. There's no difference.
[Act 5: The Crucial 30 Seconds]
Before the fourth project went live, I did one thing: I disappeared for three days.
For three days, I didn't reply to messages, didn't speak in group chats, and didn't post on my WeChat Moments.
People in the group started asking: Where's the captain?
Some people asked: Has something happened?
Someone said: "Could it have run away?"
On the fourth day, I showed up and sent a message:
"I've been negotiating a top-tier project these past few days, and we've signed an NDA. I can't say too much, but I can tell you guys: this time, it's truly different."
Old K replied instantly: Captain, you've worked hard.
At that moment, I knew: he was already mine.
It wasn't because he said "thank you for your hard work." It was because he waited for three days.
The longer a person invests in something, the harder it is for them to admit that it is meaningless. In psychology, this is called the "commitment consistency principle": once a person has placed their trust in something, they will continue to do so, even if the evidence begins to reverse.
The three days that Old K waited for were his "efforts".
The longer he waits, the more he needs to believe that it's "worth the wait".
So when I said, "This time it's really different," he wasn't believing me. He was protecting the three days he had already waited for.
He hesitated for 30 seconds before sending the link.
What was he thinking during those 30 seconds?
Is this project reliable? (Rational)
Will the captain harm me? (Emotional)
What if I miss it? (Fear)
Thirty seconds later, he clicked.
I knew he would agree. Because the first three events had already trained him well. Because those three days of waiting had taken a heavy toll on him. Because his wife was still waiting for him to "turn things around."
He didn't click on a link. He clicked on his own destiny.
Act VI: The Day of Harvest
On the third day after the project went live, we initiated the "liquidation process".
It's not that I'm running away. It's the end of my career.
Website shut down
Community disbanded
Wallet emptied
Cut off all contact methods
That night, I sat alone on the balcony and smoked a pack of cigarettes.
My phone rang. It was a WeChat message from Old K:
"Captain, the website is down, what's wrong?"
I didn't reply.
He posted another message:
"Captain, are you there?"
I didn't reply.
He posted another message:
"Captain, I don't blame you, I just want to know why."
I blocked him.
It's not because I'm heartless. It's because I can't go back.
Once you reply, there will be a second and a third. Once you reply, you'll start explaining. Once you start explaining, you'll start feeling guilty. And guilt is the greatest enemy of this profession.
I did this for three years, and the most important thing I learned was: don't look people in the eye.
Because once you see it, you'll realize—he's just a person too.
Act VII: Three Years Later
Three years have passed. I'm no longer the captain. I now own a legitimate company that provides Web3 consulting services to organizations.
Occasionally, I think of Old K.
It wasn't guilt. It was curiosity.
I'm curious about how he is now. I'm curious if he's figured things out. I'm curious if he'll come looking for me again.
One day last year, I received a private message. The profile picture was unfamiliar, but when I clicked on it—it was Old K.
His first words were:
"Captain, I've been looking for you for years."
My hands stopped on the keyboard.
The second sentence:
"I'm not here for money. I just want to ask you: were those three months really true?"
I closed the window.
It's not fear. It's that I can't answer.
Because I myself don't know the answer.
It's true that I replied to messages at 3 a.m. during those three months.
It's true that I helped him analyze the project.
It was true when I shouted in the group, "Brothers, let's make money together."
But in the end, he was indeed the one who was taken advantage of.
Which one is true? They are both true.
I simply did different things at different times.
Halftime: That's it, now it's your turn.
You've been captain for thirty minutes. Now it's your turn to be captain.
But before that, answer one question:
In those last thirty minutes, was there even a moment when you thought, "The captain didn't do anything wrong"?
If so—congratulations, you've already touched the threshold of this system.
Second half: Character B – I am Old K
[Act One: How I Got In]
Who was I before 2021?
Business failed. 500,000 yuan in debt. Insomnia every night. Disliked by his wife. Blocked by his friends.
During that period, the first thing I did every morning when I opened my eyes was to calculate:
How much interest is this month?
How much longer can it hold out?
What will happen to the child if they jump off a building?
In March 2021, a friend added me to a group. The group owner was called Captain.
I still remember the first message he sent:
"Brothers, the biggest secret in this market isn't technology, it's human nature. Follow me, and I'll show you how to understand human nature."
I thought to myself: He's just bragging again.
But I couldn't sleep that night, so I went through his message history. I discovered something: everything he said seemed to be true.
This isn't the kind of prediction that "it will go up tomorrow." It's the kind of analysis that considers "what your current sentiment is."
He said, "FOMO is starting in the group now, it's time to get out." Sure enough, the price dropped the next day.
He said, "Everyone is desperate now, it's time to go in." Sure enough, the price rose the next day.
I started to think: This person is something else.
[Act Two: First Time]
The first project, he said, was "insider information".
I invested 10,000. I won. I got 3 times the return. I withdrew 5,000 and left 25,000 in.
It wasn't because of greed. It was because I wanted to see what he would say next.
Regarding the second project, he said, "This time it will be even harder to win."
I bet 20,000. I won. I got 5 times the amount.
That night, I sent my wife a WeChat message:
"Honey, I think I might be able to turn over soon."
She didn't reply. She stopped believing me a long time ago.
But I believe it. Because I have evidence.
[Act Three: The Reply at 3 AM]
Before the third project, one night at 3 a.m., I was having trouble sleeping and posted a message in the group chat:
Is anyone there?
I thought no one would reply. But he did.
He said: "Old K, why aren't you asleep yet?"
I said: I can't sleep.
He said: Me too. The pressure is immense; I can't sleep thinking about whether my brothers can make money.
At that moment, I almost burst into tears.
Do you know what it feels like to suffer from insomnia for three years? Do you know what it feels like to be abandoned by everyone? Right now, there's someone here, staying up at three in the morning with you.
It wasn't about the money. I was genuinely thinking, "Can the brothers make money?"
At that moment, I knew: this person was the most reliable person I had ever met in my life.
Act IV: The Vanishing Three Days
After the third project, he suddenly disappeared.
Three days. A full three days.
The group chat exploded. Some said he'd run away. Some said he'd been arrested. Some said he was a fraud from the start.
I didn't reply to a single one. Because a voice in my head said, "He wouldn't be that kind of person."
Where is this sound coming from?
It came from the first three projects. It came from replies at 3 a.m. It came from the words "brothers".
On the third night, I couldn't sleep and thought about a question: What if he really is a fraud?
In less than three seconds, I suppressed the thought. Because I couldn't think about it. Because once I did, everything I'd done before would be for nothing.
Act Five: Those 30 Seconds
On the fourth day, he appeared.
He said: "I've been negotiating a top-tier project these past few days, and we've signed an NDA. I can't say too much. But I can tell you guys: this time, it's truly different."
I replied instantly: Captain, you've worked hard.
It's not because I'm flattering him. It's because I genuinely think that way.
I hesitated for 30 seconds before sending the link.
In those 30 seconds, what I was thinking was:
The first three were profitable, so this one should be pretty good too.
He chatted with me at 3 a.m., he wouldn't hurt me.
With so many people in the group, it's impossible that they're all shills.
If you miss this opportunity, you may never have another chance in your life.
30 seconds later, I clicked it.
The moment I turned around, I suddenly had a strange feeling—not excitement, but a sense of relief.
It seems like I finally don't have to think about it anymore. It seems like I can finally hand over my fate.
Act VI: The Red Exclamation Mark
Three days later, I was unable to withdraw the money.
I sent the captain a WeChat message, but he didn't reply. I told myself: it's probably a technical problem.
Another day passed, and still no reply. I told myself: Just wait a little longer, tomorrow will be better.
Another day passed, and the website was still inaccessible. I started to panic.
I sent private messages to the "brothers" in the group, but none of them replied.
I called the friend who initially brought me in, and he said: I've been trapped too, don't ask me.
On the fourth day, I sent the captain my last WeChat message:
"Captain, I don't blame you, I just want to know why."
A red exclamation mark.
I sat in front of the computer, smoked a pack of cigarettes, and couldn't figure out one thing: How can someone pretend to be a good person for three months, just for this one moment?
Act VII: The Remaining 4 Million
8 million is gone. But I still have 4 million.
That night I made a decision: "I'm going to earn back what I've lost."
It's not "want". It's "must".
Because that was the last bit of money. Because if it was gone, then there would truly be nothing left.
I started buying at the bottom. The first major drop: I bought in. I thought, "This time it's the bottom."
The second crash: I bought more. I thought, "It can't possibly fall any further."
The third crash: I was broke. I thought, "Why is fate so unfair to me?"
During that period, I would scroll through candlestick charts until 4 a.m. every day. I watched KOLs' trading recommendations until my eyes ached. Every day I told myself: Tomorrow, tomorrow will definitely see a rebound.
One early morning, it suddenly dawned on me: I wasn't investing. I was praying.
I pray someone will come to my rescue. I pray the market will give me a chance. I pray tomorrow will be different.
But nobody came. The market didn't offer any opportunities. Tomorrow will be the same as yesterday.
[Act 8: The Most Painful Second]
The day I lost all my money, I sat on the balcony, looking outside. 23rd floor.
A voice in my head said: Jump down, and you'll be free.
I stood up.
Then, my phone rang. It was a voice message from my daughter. She's six years old and doesn't type much, so she can only send voice messages.
After clicking, she said:
"Dad, are you coming home for dinner today? I drew a picture for you."
I squatted down and cried.
I didn't jump that night. Not because I was brave. Because someone was still waiting for me.
Act Nine: Six Months Later
I found a job. Twenty thousand a month. Enough to pay the interest, enough to live on.
My wife has started talking to me occasionally. My daughter waits for me to come home every day. My friends have started replying to my WeChat messages.
One day, I saw a news article online: "The founder of a Web3 project has been arrested on suspicion of fraud." The photo was blurred, but I recognized it.
It was him. Not the captain. It was that "market maker's friend"—the one who supposedly "has resources, projects, and connections with the exchange."
That night, I thought about it for a long time.
I'm wondering: what was the captain feeling when he ran away? Did he even know who Old K was? Did he ever think of the person who had waited for him for three days at three in the morning?
I don't know. But I do know one thing: I don't hate him anymore.
It's not because of forgiveness. It's because I finally understand—he was also a pawn. Only his game was a level above mine.
Act Ten: One Year Later
One day, I received a private message. The profile picture was unfamiliar, but I recognized the ID. It was the captain.
I clicked on it, and my heart started racing.
His first words were:
"Old K, I've been looking for you for the past few years."
My hands are shaking.
The second sentence:
"I'm not here to return the money. I just want to ask you: how did you get through those three months?"
I stared at the screen for a long time. Then I replied with a sentence:
"You don't want to know how I got through it. You want to know if you can forgive yourself."
He didn't reply.
I waited for three days. He didn't reply.
On the fourth day, I blocked him. Not because I hated him. It was because—some questions weren't for me to answer.
[Part One Ends: Three Questions]
1. If you were the captain—when you were chatting with someone at 3 a.m., were you acting, or was that moment genuine?
2. If you were Mr. K—during those 30 seconds of hesitation, did you distrust the project or yourself?
3. If you were sitting at the poker table right now—would you be the captain or the king? Is it possible for you to be both at the same time?
Part Two: Elimination and Analysis
For the past thirty minutes, you were inside. Now, come out. Stand outside and see the same story again—with a different pair of eyes.
I. Redefining: Who exactly is playing this game?
In the general public's understanding, there are four types of people in the crypto market:
Project Party
Exchange
Institutions/Market Makers
Retail investors
This is an illusion. The real structure has seven layers:
First layer: Narrative miner
What we're digging up isn't stories, but containers of desire. Every new narrative is a new container—Defi holds "rebellion against banks," GameFi holds "earn while playing," DAO holds "everyone is in charge," and L2 holds "technological revolution." The container itself isn't important. What matters is how many people's desires it can hold.
Second layer: KOLs and media
They are not disseminators, but amplifiers of desire. They do only one thing: stuff the containers miners have unearthed into the minds of as many people as possible. With what? With the anxiety of "missing out will kill me," the shame of "everyone else profited," and the hope of "this time will be different."
Third layer: Exchange
They're not trading platforms, they're liquidation grounds for desires. They don't take sides, they just collect rent. Whoever's emotions are hottest goes first; whoever has the most money stays. They collect commissions in bull markets and burial fees in bear markets—profiting from both.
Fourth layer: Market makers and dealers
They are not market participants, but the orchestrators of desire. They have data, algorithms, and back-end access to exchanges. They know where retail investors' stop-loss levels are, where the liquidation price is, when a pump and dump will trigger FOMO, and when a sell-off will trigger a chain reaction of liquidations. They don't create emotions; they manipulate them.
Fifth layer: Project party
They are not entrepreneurs, but manufacturers of containers for desire. Most project teams are merely "owners in name only." The real owners are the narrative miners (who set the direction), market makers (who set the pace), and exchanges (who determine life and death). Their only task is to survive until the unlocking period ends.
Level Six: Arbitrageurs
They are not speculators, but cleaners of desire. They don't believe in any narrative, only in price differences. Where there is emotional fluctuation, there is their opportunity. In a bull market, they profit from the emotional premium; in a bear market, they profit from panic selling. They are the only sober people in the market—and also the loneliest.
Seventh layer: Retail investors
They are not participants, but fuel for desire. What the first six levels earn, the money of the seventh level earns. What the seventh level loses, the money of the first six levels takes. This structure will never change. What changes are the people in each level.
II. Let's take a closer look at Old K: On which floor is he located?
Old K thought he was on the third level (playing with exchanges and project teams).
In fact, he was on the seventh floor from beginning to end.
Why? Because all his decisions are based on trust in others.
He believed the captain's "insider information".
He believed the "product reviews" shared by other members of the group.
He believed in the "profit-making effect" of the first three projects.
He believes "this time is different."
There's nothing wrong with having faith. The problem lies in the people he trusts, whose interests don't align with his own.
The captain's profits come from market makers. Market makers profit from exploiting retail investors. Who are these retail investors? They're people like Old K.
Old K placed his trust in those whose interests were opposed to his. This was the fundamental reason he remained on the seventh floor.
III. Let's revisit those 8 million: How exactly did they disappear?
On the surface, it appears that they were tricked away by the captain.
In reality, it was taken away by the three-layer harvesting system together.
First Layer of Harvest: Narrative Miner
They designed the "GameFi" container to convince Old K that "earning while playing" was the future. The second layer of exploitation: KOLs and captains.
They stuffed the container into Old K's head, making him believe "this time is different." The third layer of harvesting: Market makers.
They manipulated prices in the background, ensuring the first three projects "just made money" and the fourth project "just went to zero."
Old K's 8 million was divided among these three layers. The captain's 30% was just a toll.
IV. Re-examining that 4 million: Why did the loss become even more severe?
The worst part wasn't losing 8 million. The worst part was losing another 4 million after losing 8 million.
How did that 4 million disappear? It wasn't stolen by someone else; it was stolen by himself.
Old K made a decision: "I'm going to earn back what I've lost."
This decision transformed him from "the one who was deceived" into "the one who deceived himself."
He began to believe:
"This is the final word."
"It can't fall any further."
"Just hang in there a little longer."
Who gave him these beliefs? He gave them to himself.
He thought he was "making up for lost time." In reality, he was filling a hole. Whose hole was he filling? The hole he dug himself—the hole called "I can't afford to lose."
V. Ultimate Insight: What is the most cruel aspect of this system?
No one will lie to you. No one will run away with your money. No one will cheat you.
The cruelest part is that this system will turn you into your own enemy.
After the captain ran away, you started deceiving yourself.
After losing all your money, you start to hate yourself.
Sitting on the balcony, you start contemplating ending your own life.
You don't need anyone else to do it. You'll do the final cut for them.
This is the most ingenious design of the system.
VI. Three Paths (Dark Version)
Path 1: Complete Exit
This isn't admitting defeat. This is accepting fate. Accepting what fate? Accepting the fate that "I'm not cut out for this."
This path is the hardest because it requires admitting your own limitations. But it's also the most stable because those who leave the table never truly lose.
Suitable for: People who have realized that they will be exploited every time they enter the market.
Path Two: Edge Arbitrage
Core logic: Don't make money from price fluctuations, make money from certainty.
We only engage in arbitrage (funding rates, cross-exchange spreads).
Only invest in Bitcoin and Ethereum, hold for three years.
Mining only (if low-cost electricity is available).
Discipline: Never take any opportunity that requires "trusting others".
Expected return: 20-50% annualized, enough to keep you awake at night.
The biggest cost: self-doubt when seeing others get rich overnight.
Suitable for: People who know they can't control their spending but are willing to discipline themselves.
Path 3: Structural Positioning
Core logic: Don't gamble on projects, gamble on the hierarchy. How to do it?
If you can't get into the first three floors, stand on the opposite side of the fourth floor.
How to position yourself? Monitor the market maker's actions: prepare to exit when large transfers are made to exchanges; follow the movement when there are unusual activity in on-chain wallets.
If you can't get to the fourth floor, stand opposite the fifth floor.
How to position yourself? Monitor the KOLs' (Key Opinion Leaders') sales rhythm: when they start collectively promoting a narrative, prepare to sell; when they fall silent, prepare to buy.
This isn't technical analysis. This is behavioral analysis. Who are we analyzing? We're analyzing people at a higher level than you.
Expected return: 100-300% annualized, it might keep you up at night, but it's worth it.
The biggest risk: What you think you've seen is actually something someone deliberately made you see.
Target audience: Those who are willing to spend three years learning just one thing—how to understand people who are one level above them.
VII. The Last Paragraph
As I write this, a quote comes to mind. It was said by a friend who has been trading for ten years.
He said:
The most ironic thing about this market is:
Everyone who came in thought they would win.
When they left, they all thought they were just unlucky.
No one admitted that they hadn't understood the situation from the beginning.
I asked: And what about you?
He said:
"Me neither. I was just lucky; I lost money early on."
[Chapter End - Ultimate Self-Checklist]
1. Which floor am I on now?
2. On which floor does the person I trust most reside?
3. Are his interests aligned with mine?
4. If I lose everything, will I lie to myself?
5. If the number of cases drops to zero tomorrow, how can I survive?
6. If you were Old K, and received a private message from the captain three years later—what would you reply?
