Chasing Macro-Scale Romance

A friend visited our company. He told me, frankly, that he’s not cut out to be a CEO. He doesn’t like managing finances—never checks the company’s bank balance, has no idea how much cash is on hand, and finds internal processes messy and opaque. When I ask him about core metrics, he often has to call someone on the spot to verify or calculate them.

I asked: So what *do you enjoy doing?*

He replied: “I love trying new things—new ideas, experiments, anything genuinely interesting.” In a large tech firm, he’d thrive as head of innovation, spending his days exploring novel concepts and validating them—not for incremental gains, but because they feel exciting.

In other words: he’s a pioneer, not a steward.

I asked: What makes something “interesting”?

He said: “Something that can scale five- or tenfold overnight—not 20%–30% annual growth.”

I asked: Have you done that before?

“Yes,” he said. “Once with a tool I built from scratch—no resources, just raw traction. And earlier, at the very beginning of Kuaishou: dozens of teachers launching simultaneously in one month. That was thrilling. Once things matured and required daily repetition? It lost its spark.”

Stewardship means tending to ‘boring’ details—something he actively avoids. As a result, his company’s workflows, financial tracking, and operational granularity remain fuzzy and loosely defined.

Yet the company is thriving: annual revenue exceeds ¥100 million, with exceptional profitability.

Chasing macro-scale romance and mastering micro-level precision are rarely compatible. For many people, excelling at just one is already a rare achievement—and for some, the former simply feels more alive.

Remembering Only the Good

I’ve found that consciously remembering only people’s kindness dramatically boosts my own well-being—and strengthens relationships.

For example:

My aunt and uncle: I remember them sending me sausages every year, and how they supported my father when he was ill.
My maternal grandparents: teaching me table manners as a child; standing by us during my father’s crisis; pulling strings to secure the best internal unit when we bought our first home.
My paternal aunt: her warmth, care, and unconditional generosity—home-cooked meals, pocket money, no strings attached.

The same holds for friends and colleagues: anyone still vividly present in my memory tends to be someone who showed me goodwill.

This practice has quietly reduced my complaints, deepened my calm, and even shifted my inner posture—like a subtle elevation in perspective.

The principle is simple: Remember only the good.

What about the unkindness? My response is quiet disengagement—no drama, no explanation—then letting it fade entirely. The people and moments worth holding onto are those that enriched you.

Studying Failure More Than Success

Instead of asking, “What did you do right to succeed?”, it’s far more useful to ask: “What failures have you had—and why did they happen?”

Studying success doesn’t guarantee replication. But studying failure helps you avoid known pitfalls. After all, “success” is often just the cumulative effect of avoiding obvious errors—and making fewer wrong decisions naturally raises your odds.

That’s Charlie Munger’s “inversion”: solve problems backward.

Early on, I loved hearing success stories. Over time, I realized most are heavily polished—exaggerated, packaged, sometimes outright misleading.

Later, I noticed something more valuable: when friends gather and openly share their failed projects—their missteps, blind spots, and hard-won lessons—the insights are richer, sharper, and more actionable.

Growth mindset frames failure as fertile ground: a chance to learn, adapt, and accumulate wisdom. Yet we habitually gloss over it—then repeat the same mistakes.

The Reading Threshold

For nearly everyone, the most consequential turning point in reading is the shift from fiction to nonfiction.

At the start, reading rarely has a clear goal. The priority is building interest and habit—finding genuine pleasure in the act itself. If reading becomes a source of mental joy, the foundation is laid.

What you read early on depends on circumstance. My family had little money for books, so for years I read whatever came to hand: newspapers, picture-story books (lianhuanhua), novels, magazines—borrowed, scavenged, or passed down.

My first set of officially published books was the Four Great Classical Novels—my mother bought them for me at Xinhua Bookstore when I was in junior high. They’re still kept safely in my hometown.

Later, as finances improved, I began choosing books deliberately—and gradually gravitated toward nonfiction. These days, over 90% of what I read falls into this category: psychology, neuroscience, behavioral science. They don’t just inform—they rewire my thinking.

This transition—from fiction to nonfiction—is a critical threshold. It applies to children, too.

The Writing Marathon

Recently, I wrote a book in 11 consecutive days—140,000 characters total, averaging over 10,000 per day. During that stretch, I also handled company matters and hosted friends.

Overall, the process stayed focused and efficient—and I’m pleased with the quality of the output.

On writing, my clearest insight is this: Just start. Write anything.

Revise while writing. Write while revising. This loop isn’t just mechanical—it sparks neurogenesis. Research shows both physical exercise and learning stimulate the adult brain to generate new neurons daily. In other words: adults can keep getting smarter.

Writing operates similarly. Occasional effort yields little. But sustained, deliberate practice compounds—sharpening cognition, deepening insight, and expanding capacity.

One caveat: chronic stress, sleep deprivation, and resentment actively suppress neurogenesis in the hippocampus. So protect your rest—and your peace.

Finding the Concrete Use Case

I recently shared an AI application case with a friend.

We tested it on a specific tool—and the results were strong. User feedback was enthusiastic. Output quality clearly surpassed the old method. Most strikingly: users achieved the same outcome in roughly 1/100th the time. Early data is genuinely encouraging.

This reinforces my view: AI will evolve in ways we can’t yet imagine—and that creates a powerful window for entrepreneurship. Indeed, many friends are already exploring diverse AI-native applications.

But here’s the crucial filter: Find a concrete, real-world scenario. That specificity is both your entry point and your edge.

Too many AI products today fail because they lack a clear, immediate use case. They force users to figure out how to apply them—a cognitive tax that kills adoption.

So the winning strategy—for independent founders, especially—is this: identify a genuine, urgent need where AI delivers measurable value out of the box. Then design the product so users get exactly what they want—effortlessly, even beyond expectations—without needing to think. That’s the current frontier of leverage.