Futures Trading: The Hidden Addiction Machine of the Encryption World

The futures trading in the encryption market can be considered one of the most covert yet efficient addiction machines. It operates 24/7, offers leverage up to a hundred times, can result in instant liquidation, and allows participation without cumbersome procedures, with even emotions being conveyed in the form of emoticons.

Cultural anthropologist Natasha de Schur reveals a harsh reality in her book "The Bait of Luck": the most dangerous thing is not the loss of money, but the "machine maze" itself—a mental state where one knows they are sinking yet cannot extricate themselves.

In this seemingly technology-driven and free-wheeling domain, more and more gamblers are falling into the abyss. They come from different backgrounds, but their fates are strikingly similar: in front of the huge slot machine of Futures Trading, they keep putting in more and being repeatedly consumed. Their stories are a microcosm of how we are designed to be addicted.

From a Well-off Family to Being Burdened with Debt

Recently, a user with the online name "Zhe Li Chong Sheng" has sparked heated discussions with a self-narrated video. According to his description, he was once the deputy director of a coal washing plant under a state-owned enterprise, with a monthly salary of nine thousand, and a happy and fulfilling family.

However, Futures Trading completely changed the trajectory of his life. Initially, it was just a small bet on spot trading, but the early "success" completely subverted his view on money. Experiences of 40% and 50% returns in a short period, and even "earning 40 to 50 thousand in a day," destroyed his confidence in traditional work.

After the principal was depleted, he took a more aggressive path: borrowing to trade Futures. He tried 10x, 50x, and even 100x leverage in succession; borrowing money, using online loans, and maxing out credit cards, each time to "take another shot." Initially, he set stop-losses, but every time they were triggered, he canceled them because he was "afraid of missing the rebound."

He described his state as "a dull knife cutting meat"; he put in 20,000 today and lost it all, then put in another 20,000 tomorrow; from mainstream coins to altcoins and scam coins, the more he invested, the more niche it became, the more he gambled, the more desperate he felt.

Four liquidations, four times to fill the pit. The first time was 220,000, the second time 300,000, the third time 650,000, and the last debt exceeded one million. He had to resign from his job, his wife filed for divorce, his father severed ties, and his five-year-old daughter only knows that "daddy went to work in another city."

Now, he rents a cheap single room in the suburbs and drives for a ride-hailing service for 13 hours a day, barely making ends meet. The smartwatch keeps vibrating with collection calls and messages. He admits to being "numb to the numbers" and his biggest regret is that he "destroyed a good family with his own hands."

This case perfectly illustrates the "Machine Maze"—a meticulously designed addictive space intended to immerse people, lead them to lose control, and ultimately escape reality. The cryptocurrency market operates 24 hours a day without rest, with high leverage providing instant feedback, compressing the cycle of risk and reward to the extreme, replicating the core addictive mechanism of a gambling machine.

The "flow" concept proposed by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi is often interpreted positively, but in this context, it resembles a form of "backward escape" pseudo-flow that does not lead to any self-realization and only results in losing oneself in repetitive behaviors.

Emotional Liquidation Machine

Compared to the slow decline of the deputy factory director of the state-owned enterprise, the story of the young trader "Liangxi" resembles a grand theater revolving around digital profits and losses and social performances. He does not sink quietly but instead uses traffic and emotions to repeatedly push himself to the center of public attention.

Liang Xi first gained fame due to the "519 crash" in 2021. On that day, Bitcoin fell by 33%, and at just 19 years old, he made nearly 40 million RMB with a 1,000 yuan short position. He was hailed as a "genius trader in the crypto circle." This success became his most dangerous beginning.

In the subsequent trades, Liang Xi continuously operated with high leverage, with profits and losses ebbing and flowing, ultimately accumulating debts of over 200 million yuan. He openly disclosed that he "has no source of income" and relies on borrowing to maintain trading, while also claiming to have faced emotional betrayal, a rift with his parents, and a mental breakdown, leading to several instances of self-harm.

At the same time, he maintains a high level of activity on social media. He posts real trading screenshots to show profits and losses; he "gives out red envelopes" on the platform after a turnaround; he engages in public disputes and challenges with other KOLs; he openly shares personal life disputes, emotional breakdowns, and mental health issues, constructing a "real yet extreme" persona.

His social media has become the "second exchange" for emotional gambling. Liquidations, comebacks, lamenting, throwing money, revenge – each wave of emotion fluctuates in sync with the market, and every crash or rebound is part of the storyline. Liangxi is not just a participant, but more like a self-directing playwright, relying on continuous intense emotional fluctuations to solidify his position on the attention leaderboard in the cryptocurrency circle.

This closely matches the description of "Machine Maze." Addicted players will tightly bind their emotions to betting; once they fall into the maze, time, space, and self-awareness will disappear, leaving only one thing: to continue betting.

The reason Liangxi can maintain traffic for a long time is that he has made himself an unceasing emotional betting device. Market fluctuations are his plot structure, and the profit and loss numbers drive his emotions.

Ironically, amidst repeated failures and crises, he still has followers, and some are even willing to transfer money to the accounts he publishes, voluntarily becoming his creditors. The social addiction structure is perfectly mirrored in the encryption scene, where individuals are not only addicted to the system but also bound by group identity, creating a tolerance space where "failure is also worthy of appreciation."

The "Market's Number One Gambler" Going Viral On-Chain

The story of James Wynn embodies the ultimate example of a tech-savvy gambler in the crypto space. He turned a futures trading account profit from 0 to 87 million dollars in just 70 days, all transparently on-chain on Hyperliquid. Every opening and closing position, profit record, and position fluctuation was watched in real-time by the community.

This epic roller coaster ride quickly attracted a large number of followers. In just a few weeks, James's social media fans surpassed 380,000. His account status at one point became a barometer for the market, even influencing market sentiment.

However, by the end of May 2025, after experiencing consecutive profits, James Wynn's position saw a sharp pullback. The $87 million profit accumulated over 70 days was almost entirely wiped out in just 5 days.

He candidly stated on social media: "I just want to recover the lost profits, and at the same time, I don't want to look like an idiot who made 100 million and then lost it all. I became greedy and didn't take the numbers on the screen seriously."

From this point on, James's tweeting style became aggressive and dramatic. He changed his social media avatar to "McDonald's Wojak," mocking himself for having "hit rock bottom." However, he did not stop trading; while announcing a trading pause, he also shared the position chart of a new long order.

The most controversial operation occurred at the edge of liquidation. James publicly raised USDC, claiming it was used to maintain positions and reduce liquidation risk, promising "if the trade is successful, it will be returned at a 1:1 ratio." Ultimately, about 39,000 USDC was raised and was indeed used to increase margin.

This move was mocked as "high-end begging." Although he temporarily turned a profit, the good luck did not last long. With the market's extreme fluctuations, James Wynn's account ultimately faced significant losses again. On-chain data shows that his principal loss has approached $22 million.

The controversy surrounding James Wynn has not ended with the losses. Some believe he is a master of scripted traffic, possibly holding hedging addresses for reverse trading in the shadows. Others speculate that he has a marketing interest relationship with the platform. However, as of now, these claims have not been responded to by him or verified on-chain, remaining community speculation.

Summary

In the high-leverage Futures Trading market, investments often quickly degrade into behavioral addiction. The principal is no longer appreciated capital but rather chips that maintain the continuation of the game. Market volatility, exchange interfaces, and social media sentiment amplification collectively create a closed system.

There are no dealers and chips here, only the thrill of constant refreshing, encouraging re-investment, and instant liquidation. The platform captures traders' attention with an almost perfect human-computer feedback loop logic. Operational feedback is immediate, profit and loss figures are stimulating, and the next order is always waiting.

The core of gambling addiction lies not in the winning or losing of money, but in a precisely designed immersive state. This is a gray area between numbness and flow, where individuals temporarily forget their identity, money, and time, syncing only with the rhythm of the machine, treating each operation as the purpose itself.

It precisely exploits humans' desire for pleasure and certainty, trapping traders in a cycle of increasing losses and increasing bets. This explains why many traders irrationally engage in revenge trading after incurring losses, where the goal is no longer to make rational profits but to immediately eliminate the pain caused by the losses, returning to the illusion of "I still have everything under control."

More deceptively, "failure" is often wrapped in the illusion of "almost winning." If one could hold on a little longer, add margin once more, or gamble in a different direction, perhaps they could "break even." This "near-miss effect" is a psychological weapon commonly used in casinos, not to shatter confidence, but rather to make people mistakenly believe that success is within reach.

"What players pursue is not winning money, but maintaining the state of betting itself." This sentence seems tailor-made for those high-frequency traders and crypto gamblers who stare at the screen in the early hours.