Breaking Ground

At eleven o'clock at night, I turn off the candlestick chart, place my phone screen-down on the table. The sound of my father's cough comes from the living room, then my mother lowly persuades: "Don't bother him, he won't listen even if you tell him." I lean back in my chair, staring at the crack on the ceiling, that crack has been there since I can remember, like an unbreakable support level.

I come from the countryside. Out of hundreds of households in the village, I am the first to open a candlestick chart. No one taught me, no one guided me, and no one even knows what I’m looking at every day with those red and green bars. They only know that I no longer work in the fields right after school like I used to as a kid, no longer go to factories like my peers, and no longer embed the word "diligence" into every crack of life like everyone in my family.

Later, I was discovered. That day, I accidentally left the trading software on the desktop. My father saw it, froze for a moment, then asked me: "What is this?" I said it was investing. He was silent for a few seconds, then said: "Isn’t that just gambling?" My mother chimed in: "Are you being scammed? I heard long ago that all those stock trading online are just losing everything." I wanted to explain, wanted to talk about fundamentals, technical analysis, position management, risk-reward ratio. But before I could start, they waved their hands and left, leaving a sentence: "Don’t do those虚的, find a proper job."

They don’t not love me; they just truly don’t understand. In their view, there are only two ways to make money in this world: one is to rely on strength to earn, the other is to cheat. The former is called diligence, the latter is called dishonesty. I understand them because their entire lives rely on their hands and shoulders, scraping a living from the soil, enduring time on assembly lines. The saying "you reap what you sow" isn’t just chicken soup to them; it’s a lifelong iron law.

But it’s precisely because I understand that I feel suffocated. Because they not only demand this of themselves but also of me. They think I am "only fit" to be like them, only fit to work in factories, farm the land, work for others, exchange time and physical strength for a stable meal. Anything that requires capital is "wasteful"; anything that doesn’t rely on physical strength is "unprofessional." They’ve been poor all their lives and have accepted it all their lives, never thinking that poverty itself is the greatest risk.

I’ve seen those in the village my age. They dropped out early, went to factories, did renovations, delivered takeout, earning a few thousand yuan a month, sending some home, then drinking and playing cards with the rest, year after year. When they turn twenty-five or six, they get married and have children, then continue down the same path as their ancestors. Whenever I think of these things, I feel a chill down my spine—not looking down on them, but fearing that one day I might become like that. Afraid of being assimilated, afraid of being persuaded, afraid of sinking deeper into that "diligence" mud pit until even the thought of struggling disappears.

So trading has never just been about making money for me. It’s a form of resistance against fate, a direct counterattack against the words "class solidification." I know this path is hard, with less than a fifty percent win rate, more people blowing up their accounts than making profits, and I might even be among the eliminated majority. But if I don’t even dare to try, then I’ve already lost to that "only fit"—only fit to work, only fit to accept fate, only fit to cycle at the bottom for a lifetime.

In this family, I am the first to challenge the rules. I am like a blade of grass breaking through the cement, surrounded by hard rejection and doubt, even water and sunlight are luxuries. But I still grow, inch by inch, slowly enough to make people anxious, but never retreat. I don’t expect them to understand, nor do I rely on their support; I only want to prove with time and results: hard work is not wrong, but beyond hard work, the world is also worth seeing.

If someone has to go first on this road, let it be me. If breaking cognitive boundaries comes at a cost, let me pay it. Even if I don’t reach the end, at least the footprints I leave will let those who come after know—starting from here, it’s possible to go out. And one day, when my children or nephews want to open a candlestick chart again, they won’t hear the words "this is gambling," but instead, someone will tell them: this path, your family has walked it, you can do it. #我的Gate交易時刻