EveningMist

Day 86: The underlying understanding of trends and oscillations is all about inertia; similar patterns repeat, and only inertia allows for continuation, ensuring a high win rate. Without a regular pattern, the operational space is greatly reduced.
Suddenly remembered an old indicator—called "Market Sentiment Ratio." It’s not calculated with a formula; it’s listened to with your ears. When it’s noisy, be cautious; when it’s quiet, pay attention.
As long as you confirm the trend, taking two losses doesn’t matter; trying a few more times will definitely yield results. Taking losses is better

Eighty-fifth day · For those who understand, one is enough
Sitting on the balcony last night, counting the lights across the building.
The lit windows, one, two, three... the whole building probably has over forty households, with fewer than ten lights on. But you don’t feel lonely. Because behind those lit windows, some are cooking, some are watching TV, some are cuddling their children to sleep. Behind each light, there is a complete world.
#Today I opened the backend and saw the names of those who have been liking and commenting all along—not many, just a few.
But I suddenly feel th

Day 84 · You're still here, and that's the best indicator
Over eighty days ago, I started writing here.
Writing about candlesticks, Bollinger Bands, Fibonacci, support and resistance. Also writing about mint on the windowsill, clouds after rain, seeds that stay silent in the soil. Some come, some go.
This morning, I received a private message. The person said: "I've been following you for over eighty days. When you were floating losses, I was also floating losses. You didn't cut, I didn't cut. Today, my account turned green again, thank you."
I was stunned for a moment. Turns out, you

Day Eighty-Three · Support and resistance are the two banks of the river
The river water will not overflow the banks.
When it rises, it approaches the left bank; when it falls, it approaches the right bank. But most of the time, it flows quietly in the middle. The banks are its boundaries and also its protection.
Open the chart, and support and resistance are those two banks.
When the price drops to support, like the river water approaching the left bank. Some start buying, some start fearing, and the riverbed supports it.
When the price rises to resistance, like the river rushing to

The Eighth Day · The Maximum Drawdown is the Bend of the Stream
A mountain creek is rarely straight.
It winds around rocks, turns under tree roots, makes a loop in a low spot, then slowly flows out. From start to finish, it takes a much longer path than a straight line. But it’s precisely those bends that help it avoid obstacles, gather strength, and eventually merge into the river.
The maximum drawdown is the bend in the account’s net value curve.
You move downward from a high point, thinking you’re lost, thinking you can never return. But that’s not true. The market is just avoiding

Eighty Days · The Profit-Loss Ratio is the Balance Scale
In an old Chinese medicine shop, there is a steelyard scale.
The brass weighing tray, the slender scale rod, with tiny star points embedded on it. The person grabbing herbs places the herbs on one side, the weights on the other, lifts, and sets it down—just right, neither too much nor too little.
Trading is the same. Every transaction is a scale.
One side is risk—you’re willing to lose how much; the other side is reward—you hope to earn how much.
Only when the balance is right is it worth making a move.
Not every trade needs

Day 79 · Funding Rate Is the Market's Temperature
In the morning, feeling your forehead tells you whether you have a fever.
The market is the same. The funding rate is its thermometer. When it's hot, the bulls are feverish, everyone is excited, even the most cautious start shouting "This time is different."
When it's negative, the bears shiver, panic spreads, and only sighs remain in the group chat.
But you know, a fever is not a disease; it's the immune system fighting.
A high funding rate is a warning from the market: it's time to cool down.
A low rate is the market saying: we're f

Day Seventy-Eight · Trading Volume Is the Language of the Wind
On the mountaintop, two trees are talking.
One says to the other: The wind is coming. The other asks: How do you know?
This tree sways its leaves: Listen, the sound is different.
When there is no wind, the leaves whisper; when the wind comes, the whole tree is singing.
Open the chart, and trading volume is the language of the wind.
Those suddenly enlarged bars are the market telling you: The wind is coming.
Someone is buying, someone is selling, someone is changing hands.
Prices can deceive, draw a beautiful K-line,

Seventy-Seventh Day · Fibonacci's Conch
Found a conch shell by the seaside.
The spiral unfolds from the center outward, one circle, another circle, and yet another. The distance between each circle hides the same ratio—0.618.
It's not invented by humans; it's the answer the shell found after millions of years of growth.
Open the chart, draw a Fibonacci retracement line. From the low point to the high point, those lines look like traces left by the tide: 0.382, 0.5, 0.618.
Prices test these lines back and forth, like waves repeatedly hitting the beach, retreating, then rushing back in

Day 76 · The Bollinger Band Corridor
The Bollinger Bands are closing in.
The upper and lower bands like two gentle arms, slowly converging from both sides. The candlesticks wander in the middle, getting narrower and narrower, like a river entering a canyon.
This is the quietest moment in the market. Both bulls and bears are tired, no one wants to make the first move. Trading volume shrinks, volatility narrows, and no one in the group is speaking.
Many people find it boring, close the software, and go do something else.
But I know — every time it tightens, it’s preparing for the next

Day 75 · Volatility is the Breath of the Sea
Open the volatility indicator, that line rises and falls, like the sea's breathing.
When the wind is calm, it stays low, lazy, as if it has forgotten how to move. At this time, the market is quiet, trading volume is thin, and everyone is waiting — waiting for the wind to come.
On the eve of a storm, it begins to rise, little by little, like the tide slowly swelling. Then the giant wave arrives, with candles flying up and down, panic and greed alternating within the same hour.
After the wave passes, it gradually recedes, like someone finishin

Day seventy-four ·
Open the chart, switch the cycle to weekly.
All the noise on the daily chart, the spikes on the hourly chart, the panic on the minute chart—disappear. The candlesticks become sparse, each representing a week, like the tree rings, quietly recording the passage of time.
I’m used to drawing an EMA60 on the weekly chart. Not because it can predict the future, but because it tells me: over the past sixty weeks, the market’s average cost has been here. Those rises and falls that once kept you awake at night are just small bumps on this line.
Zoom out enough to see a whole

Day Seventy-Three · The Clouds Parted
Continuous days of dark clouds, today finally a crack appeared.
Not the kind of clear sky with thunder, but the clouds slowly tearing apart themselves, revealing a small patch of blue.
Very small, like someone poked a hole in gray cloth with a finger. But this tiny patch of blue made the whole afternoon different.
Sunlight seeped through the crack, slanting onto the wall of the building opposite, golden and warm, as if someone had pasted a warm pack there.
The trees downstairs immediately cast shadows, long and lazy, stretching toward the east.

Day Seventy-Two · The Seed Doesn't Speak
Last week, I planted a few seeds in a flowerpot.
Watered them every day, watched every day. The soil was still the same soil—brown, loose, nothing happening. Sometimes I couldn’t help but want to dig them up to see, but I was afraid of disturbing them.
This morning, the soil cracked open a tiny crack. Very small, so small that you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t look carefully. When I got closer, I saw a tender sprout peeking out from the crack, bending over, with a little bit of soil on top of its head.
It doesn’t speak. You don’t know what it has gone t

Day Seventy · The Rain Has Stopped
It's not the heavy downpour, but a fine, continuous drizzle, like someone tearing cotton in the sky. The rain makes people impatient, makes them forget what a sunny day looks like. Clothes can't dry, quilts stay damp, and even the mood starts to mold.
But this morning — the rain has stopped.
When I pull back the curtains, sunlight floods in, so bright I can't open my eyes. The potted pothos on the windowsill, which had been drooping, now stands upright, water droplets still hanging from the tips of the leaves, sparkling. Someone downstairs is drying blankets,

Day Sixty-Nine · Waiting for the Next Tide
In the early morning, I go to the seaside, and the tide has receded very far.
The rocks are exposed, with tiny shells crawling on them. Seaweed hangs over the stones, damp and wet, like it just cried. The ripples left on the sand are in circles, like tree rings.
I stand on the shore, feeling that the sea has changed. The usually blue water has now retreated to the horizon, revealing large patches of gray-brown mudflat.
It feels a bit unfamiliar.
But I know, the tide will come back. Every day. It just pulls back to rest for a while, and when the moon c

Day 68 · Waiting for a Butterfly to Break Free from Its Cocoon
Yesterday at the park, I saw a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis.
Very slowly. First, an antenna peeked out, wiggled, as if testing the world. Then the other antenna, then the head, then the body. The wings were wet, crumpled, stuck to the body, like an unopened umbrella.
I crouched nearby and watched for a long time. I wanted to help, but didn’t dare to touch it.
After about ten minutes, the wings slowly unfolded. Not all at once, but gradually, as if someone gently smoothed them out. A few more minutes later, it flutt

Day Sixty-Seven · Waiting for a Flower Bud to Bloom
The gardenia on the windowsill has formed a bud.
Greenish and tight, like clenched fists. I check it every morning; it’s still the same, tightly closed. I looked again this morning, still the same.
I started to feel a little anxious.
Clearly, the leaves are green, the sunlight is enough, and I’ve watered it, but it just won’t open. I leaned in closer and saw a thin crack at the top of the bud, with white petals peeking out little by little, like a baby opening its eyes.
It turns out it’s been blooming all along. I just couldn’t see it.
Waitin

Day 66 · Waiting for the Bamboo to Grow Tall
I heard that in the first four years underground, bamboo only grows three centimeters.
That three centimeters is all underground. Invisible, untouchable, only when you dig it up do you realize its roots have quietly spread over hundreds of square meters. Starting from the fifth year, it shoots up at a rate of thirty centimeters a day, reaching fifteen meters in just six weeks.
In the first four years, it’s not in a hurry because it knows it’s taking root.
During tough times, it’s like the first four years of bamboo.
The numbers on your acc