When the message popped up, Old Chen was eating instant noodles.
A notification appeared in the top-right corner of his screen. Someone in a Telegram group he never paid attention to shouted: “OSMO’s about to take off—get in now!”
Old Chen glanced at the price: 0.018 U. He thought it was hilarious. It wasn’t even worth a penny—how much higher could it possibly go? He casually took a screenshot and sent it to his small group chat, captioning it: “This thing looks like it’s headed straight to zero.”
Nobody in the group replied.
The next morning, Old Chen woke up and opened Binance out of habit. He saw OSMO’s candlestick chart spring open like a compressed coil, shooting from 0.019 straight to 0.032. His heart skipped a beat. He opened the Telegram group. There were already more than 900 messages, all shouting, “Buy!”
He hesitated for a full three hours.
In those three hours, OSMO rose from 0.032 to 0.041. He finally couldn’t take it anymore. At 0.043, he went all in, putting the last 2,000 U in his account into it. He reassured himself that the price was still low, and doubling his money was only a matter of time.
On the first day after he bought in, OSMO climbed to 0.054. Old Chen was up 25% and so excited his hands were shaking. He posted in the group chat that he’d finally waited for the day he could turn his life around. He thought of the 30,000 yuan he’d lost the year before, and the disappointed look on his wife’s face when she said trading crypto was just gambling.
The next day, OSMO surged to 0.06. He was up 40%. He started calculating: if it reached 1 U, his 2,000 would turn into 46,000. What if it hit 10 U? He didn’t dare think any further.
At two in the morning on the third day, his phone’s vibration woke him. OSMO’s chart showed a huge red candle, crashing from 0.058 straight down to 0.042. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he must be seeing things. He refreshed the page. The price was still falling: 0.039, 0.035.
The messages in the group went from “Hold steady” to “It’s over,” and finally to a deathly silence.
Old Chen stared at the screen, his finger hovering over the sell button, but he just couldn’t bring himself to press it. He remembered all the times he’d sold at a loss during a crash, only for the price to rebound every time. He told himself this time would be the same. He just had to hold on.
The price fell to 0.03, bounced back to 0.038, then dropped to 0.028. His 2,000 U was down to just 1,300.
By the fourth day, OSMO had started trading sideways. Old Chen checked his account once a day. The number was like a dull knife, slowly cutting into his nerves. He neither sold at a loss nor bought more. He just sat there, stuck.
A week later, OSMO slowly climbed back to 0.04. A few days after that, it reached 0.045. Old Chen had recovered more than half his original investment.
He let out a long breath and sold everything at 0.048. He’d lost more than 200 U, but he felt like he’d escaped with his life.
Later, Old Chen told a friend what had happened. His friend asked what he’d learned.
Old Chen thought for a moment and said, “Too scared to buy the dip, too reluctant to sell the top. That’s the life of a small-time trader.”
His friend asked, “So, are you going to keep trading?”
Old Chen was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Yeah. But I’m not going all in again.”
Outside the window, Shenzhen glittered in the night, a sea of lights. Old Chen turned off his phone. His instant noodles had gone cold.
#OSMO #合约交易 #CryptoStory
A notification appeared in the top-right corner of his screen. Someone in a Telegram group he never paid attention to shouted: “OSMO’s about to take off—get in now!”
Old Chen glanced at the price: 0.018 U. He thought it was hilarious. It wasn’t even worth a penny—how much higher could it possibly go? He casually took a screenshot and sent it to his small group chat, captioning it: “This thing looks like it’s headed straight to zero.”
Nobody in the group replied.
The next morning, Old Chen woke up and opened Binance out of habit. He saw OSMO’s candlestick chart spring open like a compressed coil, shooting from 0.019 straight to 0.032. His heart skipped a beat. He opened the Telegram group. There were already more than 900 messages, all shouting, “Buy!”
He hesitated for a full three hours.
In those three hours, OSMO rose from 0.032 to 0.041. He finally couldn’t take it anymore. At 0.043, he went all in, putting the last 2,000 U in his account into it. He reassured himself that the price was still low, and doubling his money was only a matter of time.
On the first day after he bought in, OSMO climbed to 0.054. Old Chen was up 25% and so excited his hands were shaking. He posted in the group chat that he’d finally waited for the day he could turn his life around. He thought of the 30,000 yuan he’d lost the year before, and the disappointed look on his wife’s face when she said trading crypto was just gambling.
The next day, OSMO surged to 0.06. He was up 40%. He started calculating: if it reached 1 U, his 2,000 would turn into 46,000. What if it hit 10 U? He didn’t dare think any further.
At two in the morning on the third day, his phone’s vibration woke him. OSMO’s chart showed a huge red candle, crashing from 0.058 straight down to 0.042. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he must be seeing things. He refreshed the page. The price was still falling: 0.039, 0.035.
The messages in the group went from “Hold steady” to “It’s over,” and finally to a deathly silence.
Old Chen stared at the screen, his finger hovering over the sell button, but he just couldn’t bring himself to press it. He remembered all the times he’d sold at a loss during a crash, only for the price to rebound every time. He told himself this time would be the same. He just had to hold on.
The price fell to 0.03, bounced back to 0.038, then dropped to 0.028. His 2,000 U was down to just 1,300.
By the fourth day, OSMO had started trading sideways. Old Chen checked his account once a day. The number was like a dull knife, slowly cutting into his nerves. He neither sold at a loss nor bought more. He just sat there, stuck.
A week later, OSMO slowly climbed back to 0.04. A few days after that, it reached 0.045. Old Chen had recovered more than half his original investment.
He let out a long breath and sold everything at 0.048. He’d lost more than 200 U, but he felt like he’d escaped with his life.
Later, Old Chen told a friend what had happened. His friend asked what he’d learned.
Old Chen thought for a moment and said, “Too scared to buy the dip, too reluctant to sell the top. That’s the life of a small-time trader.”
His friend asked, “So, are you going to keep trading?”
Old Chen was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Yeah. But I’m not going all in again.”
Outside the window, Shenzhen glittered in the night, a sea of lights. Old Chen turned off his phone. His instant noodles had gone cold.
#OSMO #合约交易 #CryptoStory