In the dark arena of perpetual contracts, #Pippin lurks like a cunning beast in the wilderness of Solana. Over the past two weeks, this meme coin has surged from a low of $0.05 to a peak of $0.34, an increase of nearly 700%. The K-line resembles a storm, devouring all souls attempting to go against the tide. The liquidations are like a blood-stained battlefield: millions of dollars in short positions vanish into thin air, funding rates sink into a negative quagmire, short sellers are forced to pay tribute to the bulls, and the liquidation engines of Bybit and Binance operate mercilessly, with short losses exceeding long positions by three times.

The controllers—those invisible whales, holding 37% of the supply, coldly strangling human nature like chess players. When they pump, players rush in like moths to a flame: at $0.09, a wave of shorts floods in, vowing that "trash must go to zero"; at $0.12, another tide comes in, gamblers roar "I don't believe!"; at $0.17, they gamble with fervor, "I'll risk my life to compete with you!" By the time it reaches $0.24, the negative funding rate acts like a poison blade, forcing a fourfold capital replenishment, players borrow online, envisioning hope—then the slow decline begins, the self-consistent universal truth echoes in their minds: "Look, it's going to collapse!" They resemble the figures in Zheng Zhihua's song, I lost my bet, but I feel happy. The joy of spiritual victory blooms amidst the fluctuations at $0.15.

Then, a large bullish candle rips through the sky like thunder, piercing $0.34. The world falls silent. The bears collapse, online lending is exhausted, small whales pride themselves on "the cost is mine to bear," yet in the repeated rate wars, their capital erodes, new highs are pulled, the script cycles. History is like a mirror, yet we never learn: the bears are merely fuel, igniting the feast of the big players. Capital sheds no tears, cherishes life, and stays away from contracts.