The Night of the Liquidation
At three in the morning, Ajie stared at his phone screen, his fingers trembling slightly.
STRK’s price was surging wildly. Two hours earlier, it had been hovering around $0.068, and Ajie had confidently opened a 50x short position. He’d done the math: STRK had fallen 30 percent over the past week, the technical indicators were overwhelmingly bearish, and the community was full of despair. Shorting now was practically free money.
He put his entire position on the line: 30,000 U, with just over 1,000 left in margin.
“Just a little more drop and I’m in the clear,” he muttered to himself, casually bumping up the leverage another notch.
Then the market started to reverse.
First it hit 0.075. He didn’t pay much attention. Then 0.082. He frowned. When the price broke above 0.09, his palms began to sweat. He told himself it was a fake breakout, that the whales were luring people in, and that the price would soon fall back down.
But the price didn’t turn back.
0.095, 0.098, 0.10. Each number felt like a hammer striking his heart. He frantically refreshed the candlestick chart, watching the green candle climb steadily upward with almost no pullback. Trading volume was exploding, and buy orders were pouring in like a tide. His stop-loss order had already been blown past.
He wanted to close the position manually, but his fingers seemed frozen.
“Impossible. This makes no sense,” he kept muttering, eyes fixed on the screen. STRK had already surged to 0.105, more than 50 percent above the price at which he’d opened his short. With 50x leverage, that meant his margin had been wiped out.
A liquidation notification popped up on his phone.
30,000 U. Gone.
Ajie tossed his phone onto the bed and slumped in his chair. Outside the window, Shenzhen’s nightscape stretched into the distance, office lights twinkling here and there. He wondered how many other people were staying up late just like him. He remembered when he’d transferred his paycheck into his account last month: he’d had 50,000 U in total. Now only 20,000 remained, and that was the emergency money he hadn’t touched before.
He opened the group chat and saw people shouting, “STRK is taking off!” The chat was full of cheers. The longs were making a fortune; someone posted a screenshot showing six-figure profits. Ajie stared at it for a few seconds, then quietly left the group.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know the risks. He’d read the warning “Futures trading carries risks; invest with caution” countless times. Before opening the position, he’d even told a friend, “This one’s a sure thing.” But late at night, whenever the market swung wildly, greed and fear took turns controlling his mind.
Tonight, greed had made him open a short, and fear had made him miss the best moment to close it.
Ajie turned off his phone and lay down in bed. Faint light from outside fell across the ceiling, and suddenly he remembered the first time he’d bought Bitcoin, three years ago. He’d invested 2,000 yuan and sold in a panic after it went up 30 percent. If he’d held on until now, that 2,000 yuan would have become more than 200,000.
But life has no “what ifs,” and neither do candlestick charts.
He closed his eyes and decided he’d withdraw the remaining 20,000 U tomorrow and never touch futures again.
But he knew that the next time the market swung wildly late at night, he’d probably open that app again.
Because that’s crypto: what gets you hooked isn’t the money, but the illusion that you can beat the market.
#STRK #合约爆仓 #Cryptocurrency
At three in the morning, Ajie stared at his phone screen, his fingers trembling slightly.
STRK’s price was surging wildly. Two hours earlier, it had been hovering around $0.068, and Ajie had confidently opened a 50x short position. He’d done the math: STRK had fallen 30 percent over the past week, the technical indicators were overwhelmingly bearish, and the community was full of despair. Shorting now was practically free money.
He put his entire position on the line: 30,000 U, with just over 1,000 left in margin.
“Just a little more drop and I’m in the clear,” he muttered to himself, casually bumping up the leverage another notch.
Then the market started to reverse.
First it hit 0.075. He didn’t pay much attention. Then 0.082. He frowned. When the price broke above 0.09, his palms began to sweat. He told himself it was a fake breakout, that the whales were luring people in, and that the price would soon fall back down.
But the price didn’t turn back.
0.095, 0.098, 0.10. Each number felt like a hammer striking his heart. He frantically refreshed the candlestick chart, watching the green candle climb steadily upward with almost no pullback. Trading volume was exploding, and buy orders were pouring in like a tide. His stop-loss order had already been blown past.
He wanted to close the position manually, but his fingers seemed frozen.
“Impossible. This makes no sense,” he kept muttering, eyes fixed on the screen. STRK had already surged to 0.105, more than 50 percent above the price at which he’d opened his short. With 50x leverage, that meant his margin had been wiped out.
A liquidation notification popped up on his phone.
30,000 U. Gone.
Ajie tossed his phone onto the bed and slumped in his chair. Outside the window, Shenzhen’s nightscape stretched into the distance, office lights twinkling here and there. He wondered how many other people were staying up late just like him. He remembered when he’d transferred his paycheck into his account last month: he’d had 50,000 U in total. Now only 20,000 remained, and that was the emergency money he hadn’t touched before.
He opened the group chat and saw people shouting, “STRK is taking off!” The chat was full of cheers. The longs were making a fortune; someone posted a screenshot showing six-figure profits. Ajie stared at it for a few seconds, then quietly left the group.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know the risks. He’d read the warning “Futures trading carries risks; invest with caution” countless times. Before opening the position, he’d even told a friend, “This one’s a sure thing.” But late at night, whenever the market swung wildly, greed and fear took turns controlling his mind.
Tonight, greed had made him open a short, and fear had made him miss the best moment to close it.
Ajie turned off his phone and lay down in bed. Faint light from outside fell across the ceiling, and suddenly he remembered the first time he’d bought Bitcoin, three years ago. He’d invested 2,000 yuan and sold in a panic after it went up 30 percent. If he’d held on until now, that 2,000 yuan would have become more than 200,000.
But life has no “what ifs,” and neither do candlestick charts.
He closed his eyes and decided he’d withdraw the remaining 20,000 U tomorrow and never touch futures again.
But he knew that the next time the market swung wildly late at night, he’d probably open that app again.
Because that’s crypto: what gets you hooked isn’t the money, but the illusion that you can beat the market.
#STRK #合约爆仓 #Cryptocurrency