The year 2017 marked a significant moment for technology, dominated by the rise of "Bitcoin" and "blockchain." Just seven years earlier, a group of individuals, many working as video game "gold farmers," stumbled into the world of Bitcoin. Their lives, intertwined with Bitcoin’s volatile price swings, transformed dramatically. Today, many of these early adopters have reached billionaire status, with some even exceeding ten billion dollars.
Among them were tech enthusiasts, entrepreneurs, evangelists, and self-proclaimed visionaries. Names like Friedcat, Ng Zhang, and Jihan Wu once made headlines, only to fade from the spotlight or reappear later under different circumstances.
This article explores the journeys of China’s earliest Bitcoin participants and the unpredictable paths they carved in this rapidly evolving landscape.
The Early Days
"Even today, at least half of China’s mining farm owners likely started as video game gold farmers." This observation from an early participant sheds light on the background of China’s first Bitcoin enthusiasts.
Back in 2010, games like World of Warcraft dominated the online gaming scene. Beneath the surface, a robust "gold farming" industry thrived, where players earned money by acquiring in-game items or leveling up characters for others. "Getting paid to play games felt like the dream job," one veteran recalled.
Soon, a new "game" caught their attention. Around mid-2010, the concept of "Bitcoin" found its way into Chinese online circles. "You just installed software on your computer, let it run, and woke up to coins the next day," another early miner explained. "We farmed in-game items by day and mined coins at night—double the income."
Initially, trading occurred through QQ groups, with each Bitcoin priced at 2–3 yuan. A typical computer could generate about 10 yuan worth of coins overnight.
These casual miners, often disheveled and immersed in gaming, became China’s first Bitcoin miners. Little did they know that this side activity would soon unleash a financial revolution.
To support graphic-intensive games, gold farming studios were equipped with high-performance graphics cards. When Bitcoin transitioned from CPU to GPU mining in late 2010, these studios once again held a technical advantage.
Contrary to popular belief, one of the earliest Chinese media outlets to cover Bitcoin was Computer News, a well-established IT publication based in Chongqing. Their initial coverage focused not on Bitcoin’s philosophical implications but on practical guides: how to install mining and wallet software.
This media exposure helped grow China’s Bitcoin mining community. However, miners faced a new challenge: how and where to sell their mined coins.
At the time, trading mainly occurred on Taobao or through QQ groups. Overseas, exchanges like Mt.Gox were already emerging. The gap in the Chinese market was soon filled by an entrepreneur from Wenzhou.
In 2011, Yang Linke, a Shanghai-based sauna equipment businessman, learned about Bitcoin from a programmer friend. His immediate question was, "Can it make money?" After grasping the basics, Yang invested startup capital and launched China’s first Bitcoin exchange—BTC China.
Wenzhou entrepreneurs are known for their daring spirit, and Yang was no exception. At its peak, BTC China handled 80% of the country’s Bitcoin trading volume. Early users recall a rudimentary system: "To deposit funds, you had to transfer money via online banking to two personal accounts held by Yang’s wife and mother-in-law."
But Bitcoin awareness in China remained low. Through the first half of 2012, prices stagnated, trading volumes fell, and monthly fee income dropped to mere thousands of yuan. Yang considered shutting down the exchange.
Then, another individual entered the scene—a dissatisfied geological engineer and sci-fi writer named Liu Zhipeng (known by his pen name, Long Hash). Along with friends, he founded Babite, China’s first dedicated Bitcoin media platform.
Driven by passion and belief in the technology, Babite translated and compiled Bitcoin-related news. Contributors could attach their Bitcoin wallet addresses to articles, some earning significant coins through donations.
One active user, "QQAgent," translated the Bitcoin whitepaper by Satoshi Nakamoto in late 2011, helping the Chinese community understand Bitcoin’s foundational principles. This translator later became widely known under his real name: Jihan Wu.
Expansion and Community
Looking back at 2013, it’s clear that this year marked the explosion of several technologies in China: smartphone sales soared, 4G licenses were issued, and mobile internet became mainstream. Alibaba’s Yu’ebao launched, WeChat user numbers grew by 121%, and internet entrepreneurship flourished.
In Beijing, what is now known as Zhongguancun Startup Street was still called Haidian Book City Commercial Street. But its Garage Café had already become a hub for innovators. A chance event turned this café into a central landmark in China’s Bitcoin landscape.
In late March 2013, an American student named Jake Smith visited Garage Café and offered to pay with Bitcoin. Café partner Zhao Dong accepted the payment of 0.131 BTC.
Two days later, using the alias "GGGGG," Jake organized a Bitcoin enthusiasts' meetup at the café via the Bitcointalk forum. Over thirty attendees packed the second-floor meeting room, sharing ideas and networking.
Participants included future industry leaders like Discus Fish, Zhao Dong, and Li Xiaolai. The meeting reached a climax when a miner named "Ng Zhang" demonstrated his Avalon mining machine, which achieved a hash rate of 70GHash/s—a stunning feat at the time.
The event blended Bitcoin’s libertarian ethos with Eastern community spirit. Similar gatherings began sprouting nationwide.
Li Xiaolai, who later proclaimed himself "China’s Bitcoin richest man," launched the Bitcoin fund BitFund.PE in the summer of 2013 and invited players to gather in Shanghai.
This event became a watershed moment in China’s Bitcoin history. The grassroots miners, who had only interacted online, finally met in person. "We were all just ordinary people," one attendee recalled. "Everyone wore casual brands like Semir and Metersbonwe, and we split the bill equally."
The event functioned as Li’s personal preaching session. He introduced his projects to nearly 200 attendees, dazzling the crowd with Bitcoin’s potential and wealth-generating possibilities.
Soon after, an influential community emerged—a QQ group named "Peace Hotel," created by a user called "Tall Man." The name referenced a 1995 Hong Kong film where the protagonist builds a utopian haven for grassroots individuals.
This community embodied Bitcoin’s libertarian spirit. And it was从这里开始 that these "ordinary people" began their incredible ascent.
At the start of 2013, Bitcoin traded around $10. By November, it surpassed $1,000. As prices climbed to hundreds of dollars per coin, "Tall Man" remarked to friends, "Some in our group hold tens of thousands of coins. That’s worth millions now!"
The price surge intoxicated early holders. Those who had inadvertently joined this historical wave tasted unprecedented wealth.
Lao Lu attended a miner gathering in Chengdu. The organizers booked an entire五星级 hotel executive floor and all the suites in a nearby KTV. "It wasn’t that expensive—just 300,000 yuan per night."
Now, Bitcoin’s industrial ecosystem began awakening.
Mining hardware development became the most lucrative niche. Those who built miners held the power to "print money."
The earliest mining machines came from "Friedcat" (Jiang Xinyu), a prodigy who entered the University of Science and Technology of China at age 15. In 2012, after U.S.-based Butterfly Labs announced its Bitcoin miner, Friedcat claimed on Bitcointalk that he could develop similar hardware and raised funds from the community.
This event was later regarded as the "first ICO in crypto history." Early investors saw thousand-fold returns when accounting for dividends.
Then, "Ng Zhang" (Zhang Nangeng), a computer science graduate from Beijing University of Posts and Telecommunications, entered the race. Together with Butterfly Labs, they divided the global Bitcoin mining hardware market. Nearly every prominent figure in the space invested in miner R&D. Li Xiaolai, Zhao Dong, Lao Lu, and Yang Yaorui all recruited teams to build their own machines.
From this point, Bitcoin evolved into a formal industry. The early "gamers" emerged from confusion and uncertainty, drawn by the allure of wealth and armed with newfound business acumen. Chanting "Bitcoin belief," they charged into this strange new world.
The Downturn
But the initial曙光 soon dimmed.
On December 5, 2013, China’s central bank and five other ministries issued a notice denying Bitcoin’s status as a currency. Prices plummeted.
That night, at Garage Café, almost every computer displayed Bitcoin price charts. People anxiously waited to sell, while the bold looked for buying opportunities. "Today, we witnessed history!" one player told a reporter.
Little did they know, the darkest chapter was yet to come.
On February 25, 2014, Mt.Gox, the world’s largest Bitcoin exchange, posted a notice suspending all trades. The next day, it declared bankruptcy, citing stolen wallets. 750,000 Bitcoins vanished.
Was it a hack? Insider theft? The incident remains an unsolved mystery, with victims still seeking justice years later.
"Mt.Gox was like the Industrial and Commercial Bank of the Bitcoin world. Can you imagine ICBC collapsing?" an early investor commented.
The bankruptcy triggered a prolonged bear market. For two years, Bitcoin prices remained depressed.
During this downturn, the so-called "belief" of many early holders crumbled under pressure.
In early 2014, Zhao Dong suffered massive losses in leveraged trading. Combined with mining farm failures, he lost approximately 150 million yuan.
Li Xiaolai also considered exiting. When prices hit rock bottom, he reportedly contemplated selling his Bitcoin holdings to open a billiards hall.
Lao Lu himself sold large amounts of Bitcoin at low points. When panic subsided and prices recovered, he bought back in at higher prices, incurring significant losses. "Regrets? It’s like someone now regretting not buying property in Beijing years ago. What’s the point?"
Beyond the Mt.Gox incident, another mystery involved the disappearance of Friedcat.
In late 2014, Friedcat faced technical challenges in developing new miners and operational issues at his mining farm in Huaian. Then, in early 2015, he vanished without warning.
Did he abscond with funds? Meet with misfortune? Debates continue. "There’s an entry record for him in a Southeast Asian country but no exit record," an insider revealed. "He likely didn’t die but went into hiding."
Developing mining hardware proved arduous. Those accustomed to the virtual world confronted the harsh realities of physical production.
One of Lao Lu’s friends invested 60 million yuan in custom mining chips without any return. "Yang Linke also sold most of his Bitcoin," Lao Lu noted. Many early participants dispersed quietly.
The prolonged bear market washed away countless players. What remained of the early belief seemed to vanish.
Recovery and Reinvention
While many left, some chose to stay—and even double down.
In 2014, Babite secured its first round of funding. Long Hash resigned from his government job and moved to Hangzhou to run the media platform full-time.
Jihan Wu, the early whitepaper translator, founded Bitmain, a mining hardware company. Today, Bitmain’s two mining pools control 42.5% of Bitcoin’s total network hash rate, dominating the industry.
Ng Zhang, creator of Avalon miners, began giving interviews under his real name, Zhang Nangeng. His company, Canaan Creative, attempted to enter China’s capital market twice since 2015, though without success.
After the long winter, a frenzied era arrived—one beyond anyone’s expectations.
Bitcoin’s underlying technology, blockchain, gained significant attention after 2016. Ethereum, launched in 2014 by Vitalik Buterin, became a new darling in the space.
By early 2018, blockchain seemed to explode overnight. Global markets buzzed with blockchain hype, new media outlets proliferated, and talent became highly sought-after.
The fervor peaked during the 2018 Lunar New Year. Influencers from crypto, tech, and entertainment gathered in a WeChat group called "3 AM No Sleep," passionately discussing blockchain.
Their conversations flooded the internet. "WeChat’s chat record sharing feature had never been so active," one media professional joked.
Blockchain became the era’s new obsession. Many in the "chain circle" avoided mentioning "coins" or profits, fearing regulatory scrutiny.
Some old-school coin participants who bluntly stated that "blockchain’s biggest application is speculation" were repeatedly kicked out of groups and reinvited.
Within the "Peace Hotel" group, veterans seemed to fall silent amid the sudden blockchain wave.
But Lao Lu argued that those who truly profited from coins had little interest in the chain circle’s activities: "The so-called chain circle is just people without coins trying to scam coins. ICOs might yield hundred or thousand-fold returns, but compared to Bitcoin, that’s nothing."
So who were the real winners of this boom?
Almost everyone pointed to mining hardware manufacturers.
Investment bank Bernstein reported that Bitmain’s 2017 profits reached a staggering $3–4 billion, surpassing even the 25-year-old graphics card giant NVIDIA.
Executives from Ng Zhang’s company revealed: "We expect 2018 revenue to exceed 10 billion yuan, with profits of 5 billion."
As wealth concentrated rapidly, the coin circle grew increasingly surreal.
One traditional investor visited a crypto tycoon in Japan: "He felt like a god. Earning tens of millions in a single day—imagine how that warps your worldview."
They felt omnipotent, with the world at their feet. "I have wealth, but can anyone take it? These are digital assets—just strings of characters. Unless the entire global grid fails, no one can take them away," one magnate declared.
Yet many early participants no longer recognized this circle.
Those who once wore Metersbonwe and farmed coins together now stood atop altars, becoming preachers of a new blockchain belief.
When Lao Lu tried contacting them, they often didn’t reply via WeChat. Days later, he saw a朋友圈 post: "Too many people are messaging me on WeChat. For business inquiries, please email."
The question of "who believes, who speculates" no longer mattered.
For Lao Lu, the early Bitcoin story was simply one of "unbelievable luck."
Frequently Asked Questions
What did early Bitcoin miners use to mine?
Initially, miners used standard CPUs in home computers. As difficulty increased, they transitioned to GPUs (graphics processing units), which were more efficient. Professional mining hardware like ASICs emerged later, dominating the industry.
How did people buy Bitcoin in the early days in China?
Before formal exchanges existed, trading occurred on platforms like Taobao or through QQ groups. BTC China, founded in 2011, became the first major exchange, allowing users to trade using bank transfers.
What happened to the early Bitcoin pioneers?
Many pioneers achieved significant wealth through mining, investing, or entrepreneurship. Some, like Jihan Wu (Bitmain) and Zhang Nangeng (Canaan Creative), built billion-dollar companies. Others left the industry or maintained low profiles.
Why did early gamers succeed in Bitcoin mining?
Gamers often had powerful GPUs for running graphic-intensive games, which were also efficient at Bitcoin mining. Their experience with virtual economies and technical troubleshooting gave them an advantage.
How did regulatory changes impact early Bitcoin investors?
China’s 2013 regulatory notice caused immediate price drops and forced exchanges to adapt. While some investors left, others diversified into blockchain technology or international markets.
Is Bitcoin mining still profitable today?
Mining profitability depends on factors like hardware efficiency, electricity costs, and Bitcoin’s price. Large-scale operations in regions with cheap power remain profitable, but individual mining is less feasible. 👉 Explore current mining strategies
Conclusion
Lao Lu has since stepped back from the crypto world. He now works in an entirely unrelated industry but remains financially comfortable and grounded.
"We were once left behind by the era, then pushed to new heights by it," he reflected, lighting a cigarette. "Never think you’re a god. Everyone is just a pawn—a leaf boat in the storm."
What seems like the peak today could become the abyss tomorrow. The Bitcoin saga is far from over.