Pulled up the transfer records from 2016, and that 90,000 on the screen still stings to look at now. A whole year's worth of savings, not eating or drinking, put it all in—the palms of my hands were sweating back then.

When I first entered the space, I didn’t know anything. K-line charts looked like hieroglyphs. Any price movement made me anxious—a 2% rise could make me happy for half a day, a 2% drop made me want to throw my phone. I remember the first time I touched a small-cap coin; right after buying, it started plunging, lost 15% just like that. That night, I never turned off the computer, didn’t dare to turn on the AC, just stared at the screen refreshing the price, hands shaking—afraid I’d wake up to a zero balance.

People in the community were calling trades every day. Stuff like “All in, let’s go big, new luxury car next week,” or “Regret getting in late,” with screenshots of their positions flying everywhere. The more I watched, the more hyped I got, my finger hovered over the add position button, just one step from confirming. I stared at my balance, hesitating for a long time, then remembered what my elders said: “Don’t gamble with money you can’t afford to lose.” In the end, I backed out, chugged half a bottle of iced Coke to calm down.

Looking back, that time I didn’t press the confirm button was worth more than all my “perfect bottoms” since.

I’ve seen too much in this space over the years. Some people use leverage and multiply their money dozens of times in days, post their profits on social media, then get liquidated the next day. Some go all in on trending coins, flaunt their “easy money” when prices go up, and vanish after a correction. Every day there’s a new get-rich-quick story—someone making a fortune overnight, someone driving a new luxury car tomorrow—but you can count the ones who survive three bull and bear cycles on one hand.