That Wick
At 3:17 a.m., Lin Yuan stared at the candlestick chart on his screen, his fingers trembling slightly.
TIA's price had stalled at 0.546 and hadn't dropped any further for a full forty minutes. He took a deep breath, thinking this had to be the bottom. Three days earlier, he'd shorted it at 0.68 and was already up twenty percent, but greedily waited for an even bigger drop.
"Just wait a little longer," he told himself. "A has-been L1 like Celestia can easily fall to 0.5."
He raised his leverage from 10x to 20x. There was less than 3,000 U of available balance left in his margin account, but he couldn't get that number out of his head: 0.4. If it dropped another twenty percent, he'd have enough to cover his mortgage and car payments for the month.
He tapped Add to Position.
In that moment, he felt like a genius. Someone in the group chat shouted, "TIA's about to bounce!" He scoffed and replied, "A bounce? Ever seen a dead cat bounce very high?" Then he took a screenshot and posted it to his Moments with the caption, "The art of shorting."
At 4:02 a.m., a green candle shot straight up.
Before he could react, the price had already jumped from 0.55 to 0.58. He reassured himself that it was a fake breakout, a bear trap. But then a second and third green candle slammed into view, as trading volume flooded in like a torrent.
0.60. 0.63. 0.66.
His unrealized profit turned into an eye-watering red loss. His phone began vibrating wildly, as one liquidation warning text after another popped up from the exchange.
"No, no, this can't be happening," he muttered, scrambling to add more margin. But he'd transferred the money in his bank account for his mortgage that morning, and there were only 800 yuan left in his WeChat wallet.
0.69.
He stared at the number, feeling as if someone had clenched a fist around his heart.
0.71.
His position suddenly vanished from the screen. It hadn't been closed—he'd been liquidated. The system had automatically liquidated all his positions, leaving not even a sliver of his remaining margin. With 20x leverage, a rise of less than thirty percent—from 0.546 to 0.7136—had wiped his account clean.
He slumped back in his chair. Dawn was already breaking outside the window. His phone screen was still lit, with TIA's latest price at 0.72, up thirty percent in twenty-four hours.
Someone in the group chat sent a message: "What a bounce for TIA! You shorting guys doing okay?"
No one answered him. He turned his phone face down on the desk and closed his eyes, feeling as if he'd fallen from the twentieth floor and hit the ground without making a sound.
After that day, Lin Yuan deleted all his trading apps. Three months later, he happened to open a browser and saw TIA trading sideways around 0.71. He stared at the number for a long time, then quietly closed the page.
Some lessons only need to be learned once.
#合约爆仓 #TIA #Cryptocurrency
At 3:17 a.m., Lin Yuan stared at the candlestick chart on his screen, his fingers trembling slightly.
TIA's price had stalled at 0.546 and hadn't dropped any further for a full forty minutes. He took a deep breath, thinking this had to be the bottom. Three days earlier, he'd shorted it at 0.68 and was already up twenty percent, but greedily waited for an even bigger drop.
"Just wait a little longer," he told himself. "A has-been L1 like Celestia can easily fall to 0.5."
He raised his leverage from 10x to 20x. There was less than 3,000 U of available balance left in his margin account, but he couldn't get that number out of his head: 0.4. If it dropped another twenty percent, he'd have enough to cover his mortgage and car payments for the month.
He tapped Add to Position.
In that moment, he felt like a genius. Someone in the group chat shouted, "TIA's about to bounce!" He scoffed and replied, "A bounce? Ever seen a dead cat bounce very high?" Then he took a screenshot and posted it to his Moments with the caption, "The art of shorting."
At 4:02 a.m., a green candle shot straight up.
Before he could react, the price had already jumped from 0.55 to 0.58. He reassured himself that it was a fake breakout, a bear trap. But then a second and third green candle slammed into view, as trading volume flooded in like a torrent.
0.60. 0.63. 0.66.
His unrealized profit turned into an eye-watering red loss. His phone began vibrating wildly, as one liquidation warning text after another popped up from the exchange.
"No, no, this can't be happening," he muttered, scrambling to add more margin. But he'd transferred the money in his bank account for his mortgage that morning, and there were only 800 yuan left in his WeChat wallet.
0.69.
He stared at the number, feeling as if someone had clenched a fist around his heart.
0.71.
His position suddenly vanished from the screen. It hadn't been closed—he'd been liquidated. The system had automatically liquidated all his positions, leaving not even a sliver of his remaining margin. With 20x leverage, a rise of less than thirty percent—from 0.546 to 0.7136—had wiped his account clean.
He slumped back in his chair. Dawn was already breaking outside the window. His phone screen was still lit, with TIA's latest price at 0.72, up thirty percent in twenty-four hours.
Someone in the group chat sent a message: "What a bounce for TIA! You shorting guys doing okay?"
No one answered him. He turned his phone face down on the desk and closed his eyes, feeling as if he'd fallen from the twentieth floor and hit the ground without making a sound.
After that day, Lin Yuan deleted all his trading apps. Three months later, he happened to open a browser and saw TIA trading sideways around 0.71. He stared at the number for a long time, then quietly closed the page.
Some lessons only need to be learned once.
#合约爆仓 #TIA #Cryptocurrency