I haven’t posted on Moments for years. Back when I first graduated, I used to post all the time—on QQ Zone, on WeChat Moments—like every single day. Sometimes I’d post dozens of updates. But as I got older, I stopped. At first I posted less, then I just quit. Honestly, you never know who’s watching—some people like you, some don’t. Some are happy, some aren’t. And worrying about all that is just exhausting. Sometimes I don’t even dare to post anything.
I really love English, I love coding, I love digging into things that interest me. But I often feel like I don’t have any real strengths. Growing up, my grades were average, nothing special. I’ve often felt like I’m not good at anything. But there’s one thing I do believe about myself: you don’t realize how little you know until you actually need it. At least since I started working, I’ve been grinding hard. Like they say, better late than never. I believe even though I don’t have crazy IQ or EQ, my hard work can change things.
I’ve probably put in over 2,000 hours studying English—maybe more. Sure, when I get nervous I still can’t get the words out fast enough. But I keep going. Same with coding—I’ve probably studied 1,000–2,000 hours, maybe more. I’m 38 now. Still in my prime, but I feel myself aging every day. And honestly, society isn’t very kind about age, so I always feel this pressure.
But this year I’ve met so many good friends in Nanyang HengXiang Chemicals, in such a positive vibe, that I feel loved and respected. I’ve been proud before, I’ve made mistakes, I’ve said things that hurt people without meaning to. But time taught me to grow. Now if I’m wrong, I can say, “Sorry, I was wrong.” If I don’t know something, I just say, “I don’t know.” And I don’t feel ashamed. When I do things just because I enjoy them, without expecting anything back, I don’t get disappointed. That makes me feel strong, even unstoppable. Learning English is like that, learning coding is like that, even learning how to love people is like that. When I don’t expect anything in return, I feel like I’ve learned to love myself.
But people are social, right? I also want to share my life and happiness with my friends. I’m not trying to show off. At 38, I’ve learned to treat people sincerely, stay humble, respect others and respect life. And sometimes just a little pride, a small win, makes me really happy.
I did everything I thought I should do. Honestly, I’m just a country guy, and this was my first time in Shanghai. I felt like if I wasn’t careful, I’d get completely lost. I spent over 10 hours with my clients, running around, and I had no idea where I was—east, west, who knows? I only downloaded Didi two days ago and just started learning how to use it. Stuff that’s simple for other people feels hard for me.
I took my clients all over, showed them the “Shanghai’s Three Towers” landmarks. They were so happy, and I just wanted them to enjoy themselves. I carried their clothes, took group photos for them. They were excited, amazed by everything in Shanghai—snapping pictures, selfies, praising how modern the city is and how beautiful China is. I felt the same way, though deep down I missed my wife and kids.
They were really grateful. Later they even took photos and videos of me. I felt embarrassed, so I told them, “Just take a few, keep it as a memory. At least it proves we came here—it’s not like we came and left with nothing to remember.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I just blurted out: Money can’t buy everything.
The client suddenly got emotional, started speaking in his own language, which I couldn’t understand. They saw the boats on the river and asked me: Steven, How to access that boat? I want to go to that boat. I said I’d ask around since I wasn’t familiar. I asked a bunch of people, but they all said: “We’re just visiting too.”
They really wanted to take the boat. Finally I found a ticket booth. We stood at the door, and the client asked how much for three tickets. I told him 120 RMB each, about $17. He asked me to check if they took US dollars. The lady said: no, only RMB. At that time I didn’t have much money in my account, so I said: you two go, I’ll wait here. They said: no, no, Steven. I want you come with us, I will pay for that money.
He only had about 300 RMB cash. He paid that, leaving less than 20 RMB. 360 RMB was a lot, and honestly I wouldn’t normally spend that myself. But I chipped in 60 RMB too. The ticket lady told us to keep walking straight, the boat leaves at 8:30.
We kept walking under the platform. Then the client said: Steven, I think it should be upstairs. I thought: yeah, the dock must be up there! We ran up, but didn’t see it on either side. I asked at least 10 people, but they all said: we don’t know, we’re not locals.
We went back down, saw other ticket windows. I showed them our tickets and asked: where’s the dock? They said: keep walking straight. I asked: how far? They said: just keep going. I was dizzy, but kept running forward. I asked some cleaning ladies and uncles, and they said: it’s just ahead. I’m really bad with directions. I was panting, running ahead, while the clients followed behind. Maybe his wife complained why he didn’t just follow me instead of wandering around.
By 8:20 I was worried we’d miss the boat. They were a bit behind me, and I waited for them. I thought maybe they were worried about safety, since it was dark. I reassured them: don’t worry, China is very safe—even at 2 or 3 a.m.
We finally made it to the dock around 8:26, passed security, and saw the boat. Honestly, I’d never been on a boat in my life. My first time was with foreign friends. No matter where they’re from, I just want to treat people sincerely.
At first I was supposed to be their guide, but they ended up filming me, recording me. One of them said: Life is short, money can’t buy happiness, we are grateful for your company. And right then, I just broke down. Couldn’t hold it in. I felt wronged, but also happy. I hugged him, he hugged me back. I said: Thank you so much, brother. I told him I came from a small city, from a rural village, and this was my first time in Shanghai. I never thought a foreigner would say something like that to me. I couldn’t control myself—I was sad and happy at the same time.
I told him: this time I came to Shanghai for work, but next time I’ll bring my wife and kids here for vacation, without the stress of work. At least now I’ve got some experience. He comforted me, joking that it felt like he was the local and I was the foreigner, even though I was supposed to be his guide.
He said: Steven, I really appreciate you staying with us so long, because 90% of people wouldn’t treat a stranger like you did.
We talked about all kinds of things—life, family, everything. A lot of times I got stuck, had to check the dictionary or search quickly, couldn’t get the words out.
After the boat ride, I wanted to take them for a meal. While leading him to the restroom, I told his wife: “In China we have a saying: the more a man spoils his wife, the more successful he’ll be. Your husband is really wonderful, you must be the happiest woman in the world.” She laughed. That was my real thought, though of course I also wanted to compliment her. People like hearing nice words, and I wasn’t lying—I truly believed it.
He treated his wife so well. On the boat ride back he held her hand the whole time. I saw him covering his chest with his right hand, so I asked: are you uncomfortable? Hungry? He said: no, no. He gestured that he was just holding his wife’s hand. I realized and felt a bit awkward, but it made sense.
There were lots of restaurants near the Bund, but I didn’t dare go into the fancy ones—I didn’t know if they were expensive, and I didn’t dare invite them there. On my way earlier I had seen a Lanzhou noodle shop. I thought: they’re Muslim, they don’t eat pork, so beef noodles should be fine. But maybe his wife wouldn’t like it. I wasn’t sure about their culture. Later they suggested KFC. I said okay.
I ordered a Didi, and we met a lady driving a tricycle. We agreed on 12 RMB, and she dropped us at the nearest McDonald’s. When we went in, it was empty—just a couple people and some machines. I asked a couple eating there, “Hey, is there really no staff here? Just machines?” They said, “Yeah, it’s self‑service.” I had just finished ordering when suddenly the system shut down—it closed for the night! Man, talk about bad luck.
So I told my clients, “Let’s grab a Didi and head to another KFC.” They said, “Sure.” At that KFC I asked what time they closed, and they said 11 p.m. We still had half an hour. I wanted to wait while they ate, but maybe they felt awkward, so they asked to take the food back to the hotel instead.
Finally, I got into a Didi and felt so relieved. I chatted with the driver, told him I’d only started using Didi these past two days. I dropped my clients at their hotel first, then asked the driver to wait a few minutes to take me back. He said, “No need, just change the destination.”
At the hotel, I shook hands with my clients, hugged them, said goodbye, then headed back to where I was staying.
On the way back, I told the driver this was probably my fourth or fifth taxi today, and funny enough, almost every driver I met was from Henan, my hometown. He laughed and said, “Yeah, big data is smart now—it matches you with drivers. And honestly, there are a lot of Henan drivers out here.” I hadn’t known that, but it felt good running into folks from back home.
To be honest, some of those drivers sounded a bit rough at first, kind of blunt. But once we started chatting, they warmed up and were super friendly. They even gave me tips, like which restaurants are cheap and good for regular people. I really appreciated that, and I always gave them good ratings. Because just like me, they’re working hard, and life isn’t easy.
After all this, I feel like I’ve grown. I feel exactly like my friend once posted on his Moments: the whole world feels like it’s under my feet.
