The Night of Liquidation
At 3 a.m., A Jie stared at his phone screen, his fingers trembling slightly.
GTC’s candlestick chart looked like a sharp sword. Ever since he opened his short at 0.095, it pierced through 0.12, 0.13, and 0.14, driving straight toward 0.15. His fifty-times leveraged short position was already floating at an 80% loss, and the margin was melting away like an ice cube.
"No, it won’t happen. It’ll definitely retrace." He muttered to himself, his voice dry as sandpaper.
Three days ago, GTC had been trading sideways around 0.09. On the Binance Plaza, A Jie saw a post saying that the GTC project team would unlock soon, and a plunge was inevitable. At that moment, he had just made some profit on ETH, his confidence through the roof—so he directly opened a fifty-times short, betting that GTC would fall to 0.07.
The first day, it indeed dropped. He was up by 3,000 USDT, and he posted a screenshot to his朋友圈, captioned: "Contracts are real men’s romance."
On the second day, GTC suddenly bounced to 0.11. He reassured himself that this was just normal market movement.
On the third day, good news flooded in—GTC announced it had reached a partnership with a major exchange. The price shot up like a rocket. 0.12 broke. 0.13 broke. Then his phone started relentlessly popping up notifications about追加保证金 (additional margin).
A Jie’s hand hovered above the screen, his mind completely blank. Adding margin meant throwing in another 20,000 USDT to赌 a retracement. Not adding margin meant getting liquidated to zero.
He remembered last year’s time he traded MOVR. Back then, he bought at 2.85, thinking it would double—only to watch it fall steadily to below 2.0, cutting his position and losing 8,000. After that, he swore he would never again go heavy in spot. He shifted to contracts, hoping for a "quick回血 (rapid recovery)"—but he never expected to sink deeper and deeper.
0.145. 0.148. 0.15.
The liquidation notice popped up—and yet, A Jie felt strangely calm.
The account balance showed 0.00.
He put down his phone and walked out to the balcony. The city lights looked especially cold and quiet at dawn. Fifty thousand USDT—three months’ salary—vanished into thin air within forty minutes.
His phone lit up again. It was a push notification from Binance Plaza: GTC’s rise hit 45%, and trading volume surpassed seven million.
A Jie let out a bitter smile. He wasn’t defeated by the market—he was defeated by his own greed and luck.
He opened his notes and wrote one line: "Never open a contract without a stop-loss."
Then he turned off his phone, deciding that tomorrow he would withdraw all the remaining money into his bank account.
At least this time, he finally learned one thing.
#合约爆仓 #GTC #Crypto Trading Lessons
At 3 a.m., A Jie stared at his phone screen, his fingers trembling slightly.
GTC’s candlestick chart looked like a sharp sword. Ever since he opened his short at 0.095, it pierced through 0.12, 0.13, and 0.14, driving straight toward 0.15. His fifty-times leveraged short position was already floating at an 80% loss, and the margin was melting away like an ice cube.
"No, it won’t happen. It’ll definitely retrace." He muttered to himself, his voice dry as sandpaper.
Three days ago, GTC had been trading sideways around 0.09. On the Binance Plaza, A Jie saw a post saying that the GTC project team would unlock soon, and a plunge was inevitable. At that moment, he had just made some profit on ETH, his confidence through the roof—so he directly opened a fifty-times short, betting that GTC would fall to 0.07.
The first day, it indeed dropped. He was up by 3,000 USDT, and he posted a screenshot to his朋友圈, captioned: "Contracts are real men’s romance."
On the second day, GTC suddenly bounced to 0.11. He reassured himself that this was just normal market movement.
On the third day, good news flooded in—GTC announced it had reached a partnership with a major exchange. The price shot up like a rocket. 0.12 broke. 0.13 broke. Then his phone started relentlessly popping up notifications about追加保证金 (additional margin).
A Jie’s hand hovered above the screen, his mind completely blank. Adding margin meant throwing in another 20,000 USDT to赌 a retracement. Not adding margin meant getting liquidated to zero.
He remembered last year’s time he traded MOVR. Back then, he bought at 2.85, thinking it would double—only to watch it fall steadily to below 2.0, cutting his position and losing 8,000. After that, he swore he would never again go heavy in spot. He shifted to contracts, hoping for a "quick回血 (rapid recovery)"—but he never expected to sink deeper and deeper.
0.145. 0.148. 0.15.
The liquidation notice popped up—and yet, A Jie felt strangely calm.
The account balance showed 0.00.
He put down his phone and walked out to the balcony. The city lights looked especially cold and quiet at dawn. Fifty thousand USDT—three months’ salary—vanished into thin air within forty minutes.
His phone lit up again. It was a push notification from Binance Plaza: GTC’s rise hit 45%, and trading volume surpassed seven million.
A Jie let out a bitter smile. He wasn’t defeated by the market—he was defeated by his own greed and luck.
He opened his notes and wrote one line: "Never open a contract without a stop-loss."
Then he turned off his phone, deciding that tomorrow he would withdraw all the remaining money into his bank account.
At least this time, he finally learned one thing.
#合约爆仓 #GTC #Crypto Trading Lessons