That night, I buried 300,000 yuan myself
At 3:00 a.m., the blue glow from his phone screen cast light on Xiao Chen’s face. He had been staring at the chart for six straight hours. His eyelids felt heavy, like they were filled with lead, but his fingers kept refreshing the K-line relentlessly.
GLMR, Moonbeam. In the past week, this coin had dropped sixty percent—crashing from 0.03 down to 0.0084. At 0.025, Xiao Chen opened a 20x short. He was so confident at the time that he told everyone, “This coin is just a matter of time before it hits zero.”
On paper, he was already up four times. With 300,000 yuan in profit, he had begun thinking about how to spend it. Buy a bag for his girlfriend, pay back his friend, and save the rest. He even bragged to his roommate that after tonight, he’d be “free.”
But in crypto, the three most brutal words are: “But then…”.
At 3:17 a.m., a mysterious large order smashed into the market. In fifteen minutes, GLMR surged from 0.0085 to 0.012. Xiao Chen’s short position started wildly bucking. The margin ratio shot from the safe zone straight into the danger line. His heartbeat accelerated. His palms were drenched in sweat as he frantically added more margin to his account.
“Hold on. It has to drop back.” he told himself.
But the market didn’t give him a chance. 0.013, 0.0135, 0.014. Every green K-line felt like a blade, stabbing straight into his heart. At 3:42 a.m., GLMR rushed up to 0.01435.
Ding.
A liquidation notification popped up. 300,000 yuan—gone. Not slowly draining away, but gone in an instant, like someone had pressed a button, and all the numbers turned to zero.
Xiao Chen sat on the bed, stunned, staring at that red liquidation record, his mind completely blank. Outside the window, the sanitation truck’s sounds drifted by. Dawn was almost here. He opened his phone gallery and flipped to yesterday’s screenshot—the page showing his unrealized profit up more than four times. His fingers trembled.
He remembered the line his mentor had told him before he entered: “The market is always right. The only one who’s wrong is you.”
Later, Xiao Chen deleted the exchange app and didn’t open it for an entire month. Until one day, he passed by a coffee shop and saw a young man at the next table yelling at his phone, “It doubled again!” Only then did he realize the world he left behind was still spinning wildly.
And as for GLMR—right now, its quote was 0.0119, quiet as if nothing had ever happened.
#合约爆仓 #GLMR #cryptocurrency
At 3:00 a.m., the blue glow from his phone screen cast light on Xiao Chen’s face. He had been staring at the chart for six straight hours. His eyelids felt heavy, like they were filled with lead, but his fingers kept refreshing the K-line relentlessly.
GLMR, Moonbeam. In the past week, this coin had dropped sixty percent—crashing from 0.03 down to 0.0084. At 0.025, Xiao Chen opened a 20x short. He was so confident at the time that he told everyone, “This coin is just a matter of time before it hits zero.”
On paper, he was already up four times. With 300,000 yuan in profit, he had begun thinking about how to spend it. Buy a bag for his girlfriend, pay back his friend, and save the rest. He even bragged to his roommate that after tonight, he’d be “free.”
But in crypto, the three most brutal words are: “But then…”.
At 3:17 a.m., a mysterious large order smashed into the market. In fifteen minutes, GLMR surged from 0.0085 to 0.012. Xiao Chen’s short position started wildly bucking. The margin ratio shot from the safe zone straight into the danger line. His heartbeat accelerated. His palms were drenched in sweat as he frantically added more margin to his account.
“Hold on. It has to drop back.” he told himself.
But the market didn’t give him a chance. 0.013, 0.0135, 0.014. Every green K-line felt like a blade, stabbing straight into his heart. At 3:42 a.m., GLMR rushed up to 0.01435.
Ding.
A liquidation notification popped up. 300,000 yuan—gone. Not slowly draining away, but gone in an instant, like someone had pressed a button, and all the numbers turned to zero.
Xiao Chen sat on the bed, stunned, staring at that red liquidation record, his mind completely blank. Outside the window, the sanitation truck’s sounds drifted by. Dawn was almost here. He opened his phone gallery and flipped to yesterday’s screenshot—the page showing his unrealized profit up more than four times. His fingers trembled.
He remembered the line his mentor had told him before he entered: “The market is always right. The only one who’s wrong is you.”
Later, Xiao Chen deleted the exchange app and didn’t open it for an entire month. Until one day, he passed by a coffee shop and saw a young man at the next table yelling at his phone, “It doubled again!” Only then did he realize the world he left behind was still spinning wildly.
And as for GLMR—right now, its quote was 0.0119, quiet as if nothing had ever happened.
#合约爆仓 #GLMR #cryptocurrency