The Night of Liquidation
At three in the morning, the blue glow of his phone screen fell across Xiao Chen’s face. He stared at the candlestick chart, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
RLC had climbed from $0.45 to $0.72, and he thought it had to be running out of steam.
“Small-cap coins can’t keep rising forever. A pullback is only a matter of time,” he typed in the futures trading group, sounding certain. Some people agreed; others stayed quiet. Xiao Chen paid them no mind. He opened Binance’s futures interface, his finger hovering over the “Short” button as he ran the numbers in his head.
$0.72. 20x leverage. All in, cross margin.
He tapped the button.
The moment he opened the position, his heart started racing—but not from fear. From excitement. He could already picture the price pulling back, himself closing the position for a profit, then posting a screenshot of his gains in the group and basking in everyone’s admiration.
For the first two hours, things went just as he’d hoped. RLC slowly slid from $0.72 to $0.68. Xiao Chen was up more than 300 U. He took a screenshot and posted it in the group with the caption: “No big deal.”
Then he went to take a shower.
By the time he’d dried his hair and checked his phone again, RLC had hit $0.81.
“It’s fine. It’ll come back down,” he reassured himself. But the price kept climbing. $0.85. $0.88. $0.91. His unrealized profit turned into an unrealized loss, and the numbers ticked upward faster and faster, like a dull knife slowly sawing at his nerves.
Panic began to set in. His finger kept refreshing the page, while the green candlestick shot upward like a rocket. $0.93. His margin ratio had already fallen below the danger threshold.
“Add more margin or cut my losses?” he asked himself. Reason told him to close the position, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He’d already told the group that “a pullback is only a matter of time.” If he admitted defeat now, what would everyone think?
He chose to ride it out.
At 4:47 a.m., RLC hit $0.97. The moment the system’s liquidation notice popped up, Xiao Chen’s hands began to tremble. His entire cross-margin balance was liquidated: 23,000 U, wiped out.
He sat motionless on the bed, his phone screen still glowing. Someone in the group messaged him: “Bro, didn’t you say it was no big deal?”
Xiao Chen didn’t reply. He placed his phone facedown on the bed and stared at the ceiling, his mind completely blank.
Dawn was breaking outside. He thought back to the first time he’d bought Bitcoin, three years earlier. It had also been the early hours of the morning—but back then, he’d been excited. Now, he felt only despair.
He rolled over and closed his eyes. He knew that once morning came, he’d open that app again.
Because a gambler never truly leaves the table.
#RLC #合约爆仓 #Cryptocurrency
At three in the morning, the blue glow of his phone screen fell across Xiao Chen’s face. He stared at the candlestick chart, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
RLC had climbed from $0.45 to $0.72, and he thought it had to be running out of steam.
“Small-cap coins can’t keep rising forever. A pullback is only a matter of time,” he typed in the futures trading group, sounding certain. Some people agreed; others stayed quiet. Xiao Chen paid them no mind. He opened Binance’s futures interface, his finger hovering over the “Short” button as he ran the numbers in his head.
$0.72. 20x leverage. All in, cross margin.
He tapped the button.
The moment he opened the position, his heart started racing—but not from fear. From excitement. He could already picture the price pulling back, himself closing the position for a profit, then posting a screenshot of his gains in the group and basking in everyone’s admiration.
For the first two hours, things went just as he’d hoped. RLC slowly slid from $0.72 to $0.68. Xiao Chen was up more than 300 U. He took a screenshot and posted it in the group with the caption: “No big deal.”
Then he went to take a shower.
By the time he’d dried his hair and checked his phone again, RLC had hit $0.81.
“It’s fine. It’ll come back down,” he reassured himself. But the price kept climbing. $0.85. $0.88. $0.91. His unrealized profit turned into an unrealized loss, and the numbers ticked upward faster and faster, like a dull knife slowly sawing at his nerves.
Panic began to set in. His finger kept refreshing the page, while the green candlestick shot upward like a rocket. $0.93. His margin ratio had already fallen below the danger threshold.
“Add more margin or cut my losses?” he asked himself. Reason told him to close the position, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He’d already told the group that “a pullback is only a matter of time.” If he admitted defeat now, what would everyone think?
He chose to ride it out.
At 4:47 a.m., RLC hit $0.97. The moment the system’s liquidation notice popped up, Xiao Chen’s hands began to tremble. His entire cross-margin balance was liquidated: 23,000 U, wiped out.
He sat motionless on the bed, his phone screen still glowing. Someone in the group messaged him: “Bro, didn’t you say it was no big deal?”
Xiao Chen didn’t reply. He placed his phone facedown on the bed and stared at the ceiling, his mind completely blank.
Dawn was breaking outside. He thought back to the first time he’d bought Bitcoin, three years earlier. It had also been the early hours of the morning—but back then, he’d been excited. Now, he felt only despair.
He rolled over and closed his eyes. He knew that once morning came, he’d open that app again.
Because a gambler never truly leaves the table.
#RLC #合约爆仓 #Cryptocurrency