The Shitcoin Legend
At three in the morning, Chen Hao’s phone screen glowed, reflecting his bloodshot eyes.
He stared at DUSK’s candlestick chart. The price kept fluctuating around 0.1070. Someone in the group chat said the coin was going to zero; someone else said the project team had already abandoned it. Chen Hao’s finger hovered above the screen as he hesitated for a full ten minutes.
“Whatever, it’s only two thousand yuan. If I lose it all, I’ll just call it tuition.”
He tapped Buy. His order went through at 0.1080 for 18,500 DUSK. He regretted it as soon as he’d bought, turned his phone facedown on the table, rolled over, and forced himself to sleep.
At seven the next morning, before his alarm had even gone off, the WeChat group chat exploded.
“DUSK is pumping! Come look!”
Still half asleep, Chen Hao grabbed his phone and nearly fell out of bed. DUSK had shot straight up from 0.1080 to 0.1270, a gain of over seventeen percent. His two thousand yuan had become two thousand three hundred and forty.
He hurriedly messaged the group: “Should I sell?”
Nobody replied. Everyone was showing off their gains; nobody wanted to sell.
Chen Hao gritted his teeth and held on.
Over the next three days, DUSK took off like a rocket. 0.15, 0.20, 0.35. Chen Hao opened his wallet each day and watched the numbers climb as if he were dreaming. He started losing sleep—not because he was losing money, but because he was afraid it would all disappear in an instant.
On the fifth day, DUSK surged to 0.52.
Chen Hao’s two thousand yuan had become more than nine thousand six hundred. He stared at his screen in the company bathroom, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold his phone. The group chat was divided between two camps: one saying, “It can still go higher,” and the other, “Get out now!”
He remembered buying TIA the year before. Back then, TIA had fallen all the way from its peak to 0.58. He’d stubbornly held on, refusing to sell, until he finally cut his losses—and lost twelve thousand yuan. That lesson was etched into his bones.
“I’m not getting greedy this time.”
At 0.53, he sold everything. The moment the money came through, his bank balance went from three digits to five.
That evening, DUSK started to pull back, dropping all the way to 0.38. The group chat was full of wailing. Some people cursed the project team for dumping their tokens; others swore they’d never touch shitcoins again.
Chen Hao turned off his phone and went downstairs to buy a bottle of beer. Sitting by the roadside and looking at the city lights, he suddenly felt that none of it was quite real.
Two thousand yuan had become nine thousand, and then turned into a real balance in his bank account. He knew it wasn’t because he was especially clever. He’d just gotten lucky and pressed the button at the right time.
But he also knew he might not be so lucky next time.
He opened his notes app and wrote down four words: “Take profits while you can.”
Then he transferred the rest of his money out of the exchange, leaving just one hundred yuan in his account.
“Keep it there for next time’s tuition,” he said with a laugh.
#DUSK #土狗币 #Cryptocurrency
At three in the morning, Chen Hao’s phone screen glowed, reflecting his bloodshot eyes.
He stared at DUSK’s candlestick chart. The price kept fluctuating around 0.1070. Someone in the group chat said the coin was going to zero; someone else said the project team had already abandoned it. Chen Hao’s finger hovered above the screen as he hesitated for a full ten minutes.
“Whatever, it’s only two thousand yuan. If I lose it all, I’ll just call it tuition.”
He tapped Buy. His order went through at 0.1080 for 18,500 DUSK. He regretted it as soon as he’d bought, turned his phone facedown on the table, rolled over, and forced himself to sleep.
At seven the next morning, before his alarm had even gone off, the WeChat group chat exploded.
“DUSK is pumping! Come look!”
Still half asleep, Chen Hao grabbed his phone and nearly fell out of bed. DUSK had shot straight up from 0.1080 to 0.1270, a gain of over seventeen percent. His two thousand yuan had become two thousand three hundred and forty.
He hurriedly messaged the group: “Should I sell?”
Nobody replied. Everyone was showing off their gains; nobody wanted to sell.
Chen Hao gritted his teeth and held on.
Over the next three days, DUSK took off like a rocket. 0.15, 0.20, 0.35. Chen Hao opened his wallet each day and watched the numbers climb as if he were dreaming. He started losing sleep—not because he was losing money, but because he was afraid it would all disappear in an instant.
On the fifth day, DUSK surged to 0.52.
Chen Hao’s two thousand yuan had become more than nine thousand six hundred. He stared at his screen in the company bathroom, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold his phone. The group chat was divided between two camps: one saying, “It can still go higher,” and the other, “Get out now!”
He remembered buying TIA the year before. Back then, TIA had fallen all the way from its peak to 0.58. He’d stubbornly held on, refusing to sell, until he finally cut his losses—and lost twelve thousand yuan. That lesson was etched into his bones.
“I’m not getting greedy this time.”
At 0.53, he sold everything. The moment the money came through, his bank balance went from three digits to five.
That evening, DUSK started to pull back, dropping all the way to 0.38. The group chat was full of wailing. Some people cursed the project team for dumping their tokens; others swore they’d never touch shitcoins again.
Chen Hao turned off his phone and went downstairs to buy a bottle of beer. Sitting by the roadside and looking at the city lights, he suddenly felt that none of it was quite real.
Two thousand yuan had become nine thousand, and then turned into a real balance in his bank account. He knew it wasn’t because he was especially clever. He’d just gotten lucky and pressed the button at the right time.
But he also knew he might not be so lucky next time.
He opened his notes app and wrote down four words: “Take profits while you can.”
Then he transferred the rest of his money out of the exchange, leaving just one hundred yuan in his account.
“Keep it there for next time’s tuition,” he said with a laugh.
#DUSK #土狗币 #Cryptocurrency