Bitcoin, that mercurial sultan of speculation, slid 21% from its gilded throne, leaving retail traders clutching their pearls (and margin calls). But Teng, ever the poet of pragmatism, mused in Sydney:
“Every asset class bears the scars of cycles. Why should crypto, that restless child, be spared?”
At $84,997, BTC clings to its dignity, a shadow of Octoberās $126,198 pinnacle. The culprits? Inflationās fever, jobsā frail pulse, and the Fedās icy silence š§-a trifecta of dread for risk assets. Yet Teng shrugged: “When the world sneezes, crypto catches pneumonia. But is this news? Or merely the echo of every marketās lament?”
A Phoenix Rises, Briefly
Yet here we stand, a year wiser and a hundredfold richer. Institutions, once skeptics, now court crypto with BlackRockās ardent advances š¤š. “Corrections?” Teng chuckled. “Theyāre the pruning shears of progress. Let the weak hands tremble; the strong will sow.”
“The sector has bloomed like a desert rose-exuberant, defiant. Now, some roots retreat. Is this death? Or merely the earthās quiet breath before spring?”
And what of Changpeng Zhao, the fallen titan pardoned by Trumpās quill? Tengās lips remained sealed, leaving the million-dollar question hanging like a fruit too bitter to taste š.