Which direction is the fish head pointing? In the crypto circle, there's also a Shandong school of thought.

Author: Curry, TechFlow

In Shandong’s drinking culture, there's an unwritten rule at the dinner table: when a fish is served, the fish head must point toward the seat of honor.

Whoever it points to is the guest of honor—and must drink first. This isn’t written down anywhere, but every Shandong native knows it instinctively. No one teaches you; you just pick it up.

Recently, someone drew an illustration titled "Crypto Shandong School." A group sits around a dining table feasting on fish. He Yi occupies the seat of honor, with KOLs, listing teams, and editors seated on either side.

The caption reads: “For a Binance listing, the fish head must point to He Yi.”

On January 1st, He Yi posted a New Year’s tweet—riding a white horse along the seaside, with four words in the caption:

I’m fucking back.

A great New Year greeting—“fucking” sounding like “horse,” fitting for the Year of the Horse, with a playful pun.

Today, Binance Alpha listed a new token called "I’m Fucking Back." It was created by the community, not directly linked to He Yi.

But look at the chain: the top executive posts a tweet, the community launches a token, Alpha lists it.

No coordination needed.

Last year, Binance faced backlash over so-called “bestie tokens,” accused of shady listings and favoritism. He Yi responded multiple times, saying they were reflecting, adjusting, and even launched Alpha as a curated selection pool.

In December last year, she tweeted: “Stop trying to read into our official accounts—these kinds of memes won’t be acknowledged anymore.”

28 days later, her New Year’s post became a newly listed token on Alpha.

What was wrong with the bestie tokens? Backdoor deals, insider privileges, favoritism.

Those require evidence, connections, and a specific “bestie.”

But “I’m Fucking Back” requires none of that.

No backdoors, no insiders, no favors. The leader simply posted an image—and people immediately sprang into action.

This might touch on the essence of the “Shandong School”: You don’t need the boss to speak—you’re supposed to figure it out yourself.

One community member commented that Alpha has now become nothing more than a tool to please—the sole purpose being to make the boss happy.

Rude, perhaps, but it captures the atmosphere.

When a platform’s direction starts revolving around one person’s social media, when “which token gets listed” becomes “guess what she likes,” rules no longer matter.

What matters is reading the room.

Some put it more bluntly: If you want to know whether an industry has a future, ask one question—In this industry, do brown-nosers succeed more easily than hard workers?

If the answer is yes, then the industry is already declining.

In crypto, this tactic truly works. And everyone knows exactly whose ass to kiss.

In AI, core resources are technology and products—you have to deliver something real. Jensen Huang won’t give you GPUs just because you call him daddy every day.

In crypto, core resources are listing rights, traffic, and who hears news first. These aren’t in code—they’re in people’s hands.

When power lies in human hands, you have to play the human game.

The more widespread the “Shandong School” becomes, the more reliant the space is on connections and information asymmetry—not innovation or technical merit.

He Yi may not even know about this. A small meme token worth a few million dollars wouldn’t reach the attention of a co-CEO.

And that’s precisely the problem.

She doesn’t need to know. The fish head turns itself.

This is far more efficient than bestie tokens.

At least bestie tokens require a bestie. The Shandong School only requires an atmosphere.

And those who see through this system—and execute it flawlessly—are, in a sense, talents too.

After all, in this society, people mock poverty—but never shame opportunism.