The hottest topic making the rounds these days is none other than a tech giant’s little princess making her debut in the entertainment world (梨园行 — literally the “Pear Garden,” the traditional term for China’s performance arts industry).
For most people, it’s genuinely baffling. Here’s a girl born with every advantage imaginable — a flawless life trajectory, top-tier resources from day one — choosing to walk into this world. It’s not that entertainment is lowly or beneath anyone. But at its core, the entertainment industry is fundamentally a trade built on getting people to talk about you and keeping eyes on you.
Her father is, without question, a towering titan of the technology world. So why would he let his child step into that circle? The public simply cannot make sense of it.
And yet, the answer is actually quite simple — any clear-eyed observer can see it. This is nothing more than a child from a powerful family drifting into the entertainment world for a bit of fun. There was never any expectation of making something of herself there. No goals, no ambitions, no agenda — every bit of it purely for the little princess’s own enjoyment. So: no counting of gains or losses, just whatever makes her happy.
Of course, along the way there’s no shortage of “companions in play” fanning the flames: Little princess, with your looks and talent, becoming a star and surpassing your sister would be effortless, wouldn’t it? Little princess, with your background, who’s more deserving of the “princess” crown than you? Little princess, your education and abilities could be your launching pad — imagine your father finally seeing you in a new light!
And so, a young woman who had never been knocked around by the world — who didn’t yet understand the treachery of human nature — took these honeyed words to heart and wandered off the path.
But look at it from another angle, and you see a far more brutal truth: this one decision alone reveals that in her father’s eyes, she is a discarded piece — a child whose only expectation is to “just be happy.” The only thing she will ever receive from him is indulgence. Nothing more.
Here’s the thing: the way parents give to their children generally falls into two categories — cultivation and spoiling.
Cultivation means sending you out into the world to struggle, to be tested, to walk through fire. But it also means reaching out a hand when you truly need guidance and support. The goal is for you to be forged through real hardship — to emerge stronger and more capable — worthy one day of inheriting what your parents built. Cultivation demands not only excellence and effort from the child, but tireless attention and investment from the parent.
Spoiling, on the other hand, means giving you everything good without asking whether you deserve it — shielding you from storms, protecting you from pain, letting you float through life cushioned in sweetness. This happens precisely because, in the eyes of parents who have seen it all, you simply are not a child worth cultivating. So they take the easier path: let you live a comfortable, unremarkable life. Compared to cultivation, spoiling costs almost nothing. Money is enough. It demands none of the parents’ energy or heart.
Between these two sisters, the elder received cultivation; the younger received spoiling. Which one matters more is immediately clear.
After all, his technological empire is meant for an heir — not merely for children.
Those who show promise: pour everything into cultivating and supporting them. Those who don’t: use wealth to give them a happy life and be done with it.
This brings me to something I want to say to you directly and seriously: when it comes to raising the next generation, either don’t have children — or have two or more.
Rather than concentrating every resource on one child and giving them the finest of everything, work a little harder and bring another into the world. Let them compete — directly.
Yes, you read that correctly. Direct competition.
Here’s the truth: single-child households are the family structure most prone to producing wastrels. The reason is straightforward — the child knows perfectly well that “everything you have will eventually be mine anyway.” As long as the family’s material foundation is decent enough, that child will very easily give up on pushing themselves and simply wait to inherit.
And I’m not only talking about wealthy families. Sometimes I encounter children from solidly middle-class homes and I feel a mix of distaste and unease.
Why? Because as a parent, everything you’ve worked so hard to build is already enough to let your child live comfortably in the future without needing to learn or produce anything of real value — especially those living in first-tier and super first-tier cities.
Your young child knows this. They know it very well.
So I’ll say it again: either don’t have children, or have two — and have a clear, long-term investment strategy for raising them.
What do I mean by a strategy? Your investment must be measured and purposeful, with a crystal-clear goal in mind. Excessive indulgence cannot be on the table.
The root of every prodigal child is the same: he knows he has a family fortune to squander — and as parents, you have no choice but to indulge him, because he’s your only option.
Make sure your children understand from a young age: “Mom and Dad love you, and we’re willing to give you the best — but only if you are a child who works hard and strives forward. If you become a self-abandoning, disrespectful little troublemaker? Then your hardworking younger brother or sister will inherit everything we have built, and you will be cut out.”
This is how you balance reward with authority — firmness with warmth.
Remember this: parents have a responsibility to raise their children, but absolutely no obligation to subsidize a wasted life. This is something most people simply don’t understand.
To the average person, having a child means gaining a precious little treasure — another ancestor to attend to — and pouring every available family resource into that one child. That’s what being a “good parent” looks like to them.
What they don’t realize is that this approach is not only the most exhausting for themselves, but also produces the worst outcomes. And yet, there’s little to be done about it — the destiny framework (格局) has twelve palaces, and some people are simply fated to close out an otherwise happy life in their final years suffering under ungrateful children.
A note: since today’s topic touched on children and descendants, let me mention something relevant. When parents come to me for a destiny reading on their children, they almost always arrive knowing nothing beyond the child’s BaZi (Four Pillars of Destiny). In other words, they have no idea about their own child’s ambitions, life goals, or even the kind of partner their child hopes to find.
This makes things genuinely difficult. Reading a destiny chart (命盘) isn’t just about analyzing the luck cycle — it’s about helping a seeker navigate every step of the present and future properly. Some basic background is absolutely essential. Just as a lawyer cannot render judgment without a case file, and a doctor cannot diagnose without test results.
So if you’re hoping to have me read your child’s destiny framework, please come at least a little prepared. Your understanding is appreciated.