Let me start with some everyday thoughts. These days, Mr. Wong Kar-wai’s Blossoms Shanghai has been enormously popular. The costume design, set dressing, solid script, and brilliant performances from the cast have all been exceptional.
But from a personal standpoint, Blossoms Shanghai is ultimately a supreme work of art.
And precisely because it is art, it has its own limits — there are things that are difficult to articulate and inconvenient to portray on screen.
Which means it is, to some degree, missing a certain raw, lived-in quality. When I was chatting casually with him some time ago, I actually pointed this out specifically.
Take Huanghe Road as it was back then. Among the wheeler-dealers doing business there, there was a very interesting tradition.
When eating salt-and-pepper king cobra, they would carefully extract the snake’s gallbladder, steep it in baijiu, and down it in one shot.
Many people who don’t know better would say this was because snake gall is good for the eyes and nourishing to the body — the highest form of hospitality.
But in truth, this tradition carried far deeper meaning.
Because snake gall is intensely bitter, only one who can swallow it — who can endure the bitterest of the bitter — can rise above all others.
So the real meaning of the tradition was a toast offered to the one leading the table: swallow the bitterness, summon your courage, then drink and eat your fill.
The wish: that great things would be accomplished.
And there was another unspoken rule on Huanghe Road in those days.
During New Year’s Eve and the Spring Festival, no matter how bitter or exhausted you were — as long as you drank the water of Suzhou Creek, ate grain carried in on the Huangpu River, and made your living anywhere in Shanghai —
You were not permitted to shed tears at that moment of celebration.
Because those who did serious business feared above all else carrying last year’s bitterness into the New Year.
So, in the words of the old-school businessmen and the street figures of that era: once the new year has turned and spring is nearly here, it’s just not right.
Even if your heart was full of grievance, your tears were yours to take back home. Jianghu men and women wanted joy, not bad omens.
Especially when all around you, fireworks were rising and countless strings of firecrackers were exploding in great roaring volleys — everyone seizing the chance to bathe in that thick, living festive energy, to sweep away every shadow of bad luck.
So during that season, if you were out on the streets at all, you had to work hard to carry a bright, festive look about you.
Let me be blunt: out in the world, who hasn’t had their moments of humiliation and hardship? Who hasn’t lived on plain rice with pickled radish, through days of thin soup and uncertain futures?
In the language of the jianghu: if you want to sit in the tycoon’s chair, you first have to live the life of the nobody.
I still remember — it was the first time our family business capsized. That was ‘93, ‘94 — the years depicted in the latter half of Blossoms Shanghai.
That evening, I was in a long-term private room at the Jing An Hilton, playing PlayStation, which was still something of a novelty back then.
In the suite’s living room, Auntie Xiao Fang from the hotel concierge desk and two other attendants were playing bridge with my mother.
Then suddenly, my father rushed in, brow tightly furrowed, and whispered a few urgent words to my mother.
My mother asked me to pause the game and go spend a while in the living room with the aunties and uncles.
But even while I played, I could still hear clearly what my mother said to my father — words that have stayed with me ever since:
“Don’t be frightened. When you go into business, you can’t expect it to always go smoothly — only gains, never losses. I’m telling you, husband, the more we’re getting the worst of it, the more we have to hold our heads up. As long as we’re all right, as long as nobody is hurt, money can always be made again — sooner or later. The only thing to fear is letting ourselves blow things up in our minds until our spirit collapses. If that happens, then we’re truly finished.”
Yes — those words have pulled me back from the edge countless times in the difficult moments that followed.
My mother was absolutely right. No matter how large the financial problems are, they are never larger than the person.
As long as the person is all right, as long as the person is still fighting, there is always a chance to turn things around. It is only ever a question of time.
What happened after that, I remember only vaguely.
I remember my father took me to the Peace Hotel, where he had a conversation with an old second-generation figure inside.
Quite dramatically, before my father had even opened his mouth, the old gentleman said something remarkable: “I already know your situation. The fact that you came to see me today — that alone means your plane has landed safely.”
With that, his aide — who had been completely silent throughout — handed him a cigar already pre-cut at the tip, lit it for him, and then made a clean, decisive gesture of invitation toward us.
It was the first time I had ever witnessed true power. And the first time I had ever seen that an authentic Cohiba cigar has such an elaborate ritual of enjoyment.
To this day, whenever I ask my father who that old gentleman was, he won’t say a word.
It’s interesting, actually — contrary to what you see on television. In that era, truly serious businessmen rarely used the Huamao Hotel in Blossoms Shanghai as their main base for doing business. (That was the old name for the Peace Hotel.)
The Peace Hotel had a significant problem: though famous, its actual facilities and reputation in business circles were not particularly strong.
Because its ground floor at that time was dominated by hustlers and fixers, and its long-term private rooms were a thoroughly mixed crowd.
Even the nine-country themed suites were frequently commandeered as stages by various colorful but unreliable figures to run their schemes.
The British, German, and American suites in particular were the setting for many absurd and farcical episodes.
So those in more serious business circles actually preferred the Hua Ting Hotel, the Garden Hotel, and the Jing An Hilton for their long-term private rooms. (Of course, once the Portman Ritz-Carlton arrived on the scene, it swept all others aside to become the undisputed hotel king of Shanghai.)
But I’ve let the topic wander.
Let me come back to the present.
For many years now, the first article I write after New Year’s has always tried to be as uplifting and optimistic as possible.
Because no matter how difficult last year was, and no matter how uncertain this year looks —
Life goes on. That never changes.
Today, this year, is no different.
And precisely because I lived through the era of Blossoms Shanghai, and weathered several subsequent waves of history firsthand —
It has made me, when faced with hardship, genuinely calm and unbothered.
So lately, when I’m at dinner with friends, I keep reassuring them: truly, don’t be afraid. Yes, we are no longer in the age of easy money — but give the broader environment some time. Next year, the year after, the year after that — things will warm up, gradually.
The real danger is when you keep feeding yourself negative suggestions: this is finished, that can’t hold on. Over time, you genuinely become more and more pessimistic, until your spirit is entirely spent.
Once a person’s spirit is gone, getting back up again is truly, genuinely difficult.
These past two years, so many people have come to me seeking an analysis of their destiny framework (格局). On the surface, they want me to map out their future development clearly.
But at the root, it’s because word-of-mouth reputation has led them to believe I possess some almost magical power to transform and rewrite fate.
To be honest — nothing is that magical. I’m no immortal.
Though I will say — in analyzing destiny frameworks and planning life paths, I have indeed developed considerable depth.
But what I am truly skilled at is this: based on your BaZi chart, giving you honest, practical, candid advice.
And from experience, helping you bring your life’s script to its best possible expression.
Beyond that, when I have the time, I share the various setbacks I’ve encountered in my own life. That’s all.
I’ll leave the article here. It’s a simple, easy piece of conversation — there shouldn’t be much weight to reading it.
Finally — dry your eyes. Use this period to properly wrap up all your loose ends, and then welcome the new spring with steady footing.
No more tears, all right?
And if you’re truly struggling and lost, with no sense of direction for where your future is headed —
I trust you’ll find your way to seeking me out, when the time comes, to have your own destiny framework analyzed.