In the cryptocurrency world for eight years, I became mute, and also a blacklist collector.

In the winter of 2019, I pulled my cousin into the group and gave him a three-page PDF, highlighted in red:

If ETH is below $120, buy with your eyes closed.

He turned around and bought Dogecoin, reasoning: "It's cheap, what if?"

Three months later, Dogecoin basically went to zero, and he cried to my mom, saying:

Brother didn't stop me.

I became the family scapegoat, and no one passed the chopsticks at the New Year's dinner.

In April 2021, a former colleague shared her maternity leave salary, privately asking me:

Is there a way to earn a guaranteed 20%?

I sent her a grayscale trust discount chart, along with an 8,000-word due diligence report.

She replied: "Too long."

Two hours later, she was all in on SHIB with 5x leverage.

The next day, SHIB spiked, her maternity leave turned into "maternity leave +1," and her husband scolded her: "You've been corrupted by your colleagues."

She didn't block me; I blocked her first—afraid that seeing the words "Are you there?" would give me a heart attack.

The most painful was the apprentice I taught hand in hand.

Last June, he had only 1,800 U in his wallet, and I said:

Treat this as an urn, only allowed to open 1% of the position.

He followed my advice and rolled it to 7,200 U in 32 days.

On the 33rd day at 3 a.m., he sent a voice message:

Master, I understand now, I want to build my own community.

I didn't reply.

On the 35th day, he went all-in on LUNA 2.0, and after blowing up his account, he asked me if he could borrow some capital.

The moment I blocked him, my finger trembled more than when placing an order.

I wasn't deleting one person; I was deleting the version of myself from two years ago that believed "teaching" was a benevolent act.

In the bear market, I learned to swallow my tongue.

Someone shared a profit of 300%, I liked it.

Someone lost 90%, I lit a candle.

In the plaza, someone asked about entry points, I uniformly replied:

I only understand fortune-telling, ten bucks each time.

They cursed me for pretending to be a deity, I smiled—pretending to be a deity is cheaper than taking the blame.

Now my daily routine consists of just one set of shortcuts:

Ctrl + S: Save trading log

It makes no difference whether the principal is 20,000 or 2,000,000; the system is the printing press:

Profit 10%, immediately withdraw interest, transfer to the bank card to buy rice and cooking oil.

Stop loss 3%, automatically shut down, the screen turning black is more refreshing than any motivational speech.

The cryptocurrency graveyard is open 24 hours; if you want to survive, first lock yourself down:

Lock your ears from "inside information"

Lock your eyes from "financial freedom screenshots"

Lock your fingers from "adding another knife"

What remains is a living person.