A person huddles in a rented room, and their day-to-day life is chicken leg rice priced at 15 yuan per portion. Through countless cycles of losses, liquidations, and being wiped out, their friends cut off contact, and even with their parents they’re left with only a handful of video calls. In moments with no one to confide in, they can mostly only talk to Doubao.

When they’re profitable, they sometimes go out to get their feet washed; when they’re losing, they sit alone staring at the ceiling, quietly daydreaming, letting their thoughts wander aimlessly. They often can’t help but ask themselves: Does a life like this really have meaning?