In the harsh winter of 2016, the north wind was biting. Late at night, watching the market, as BTC steadily declined to 5500, I froze in my rented room.

There were only 30,000 yuan left in my bank card. No rent paid, uncertain future, even "what to eat the day after tomorrow" became a luxury thought.

At that time, I was a rookie among rookies. The candlestick chart was a jumble of red and green, completely unreadable. I couldn’t see any pattern in the rises and falls, but the risks were obvious at a glance.

A friend called: "This is the bottom, you can try a small move."

I said nothing. It’s not that I didn’t want to make money, I was genuinely afraid—afraid that if I took this step, I might never get a chance to turn things around.

There was silence on the phone for a moment, then he suddenly said: "Living is much more important than getting rich quickly."

That sentence struck my mind.

Step back, and I was gradually swallowed by reality; step forward, and it’s unknown, but at least there’s a chance to survive and see the outcome. I kept hesitating, finally gritting my teeth—transferred that 30,000 yuan into a major platform.

No grand promises, no certainty, only one thought: don’t mess up, survive first.

With that step, I entered the crypto world. Eight years have passed in a flash.

Now I understand that the most brutal thing in this market has never been the rises and falls themselves, but whether you can endure the darkest moments. If you can endure, only then do you deserve to see the next cycle.