Chapter Eleven: The One Standing at the Crest of the Wind

Zhou Ziyang’s family situation was actually not much better than Li Dongfeng’s—if anything, it was slightly worse. Li Dongfeng’s family had at least benefited from a government relocation, which provided them with a new home. In contrast, Zhou Ziyang had lived his whole life cramped in a thirty-year-old dormitory building with his mother.

Zhou Ziyang’s father was somewhat capable within their small county, but no matter his ability, none of it reached Zhou Ziyang. Whether he had a father or not made no practical difference. In truth, Zhou Ziyang’s father hadn’t wanted a divorce. But his mother, a woman with a puritanical streak, was adamant; she insisted the marriage end because she could not tolerate his father’s entanglements with other women.

Despite efforts from workplace leaders and colleagues to mediate, urging her to overlook the troubles for the sake of the family, his mother remained stubborn. As she put it, a person might lack pride, but must never lack backbone. Yang Lijuan was all backbone.

Seeing this, Zhou Guowei, Zhou Ziyang’s father, decided to use child support payments as leverage against her. He thought, “You think raising a child alone is easy? When your money runs out, you’ll have no choice but to reconcile with me.” But Yang Lijuan, upon learning this, only sneered and refused to accept any child support. She declared, “I may lack pride, but I will never lose my backbone.” She vowed with righteous indignation that she would raise Zhou Ziyang no matter what, even if it meant selling everything she owned.

Yet the burden of life was too heavy for her alone. Zhou Ziyang himself had been disappointing. After all her efforts, he only managed to get admitted to a mediocre second-tier university. She stood firm all her life, only to sigh in the end, “It’s all my fault. If I had known, I wouldn’t have divorced your father.”

When Zhou Ziyang returned to his hometown and met his father, the man simply said that he had wanted to provide child support all along. He had passed messages through intermediaries, saying that as long as Zhou Ziyang was willing to call him “Dad” or at least come over for a meal, he was prepared to cover all his expenses—tuition, living costs, everything. “Your mother is too stubborn. You are my only son. How could I not acknowledge you? She just wanted to use you to torment me.”

Faced with such an assessment, Zhou Ziyang remained silent. He could not judge the grievances of the previous generation. In his childhood, he had firmly stood by his mother’s side. But as he grew older and learned about the family troubles of his friends, he formed his own views. Regardless, he had been raised by his mother; that was unalterable. So, who was right or wrong no longer mattered. If one were to pinpoint a cause and effect, it was simply poverty.

There is only one disease in this world—poverty. This is not an empty phrase, for poverty seeps into every corner of one’s life.

When Zhou Ziyang’s parents divorced, friends often advised his mother, saying that being a single mother was difficult and money was essential for everything. Yang Lijuan replied, “Nothing is difficult! My son is more sensible than others! He will be fine!” She told Zhou Ziyang, “Our family is poor, but our spirit is not! We must live with dignity and make them see.”

Thus, Zhou Ziyang was very sensible from a young age. Knowing the family’s financial constraints, he never joined in on school milk subscriptions or dental cleanings. He rarely fought with classmates because breaking things would only add to his mother’s burdens. If he got into any trouble, his homeroom teacher would talk to him, asking, “Do you think you’re worthy of your mother’s efforts?”

Zhou Ziyang’s childhood was far from happy—he matured too quickly. This was his mother’s and her friends’ pride: “My son is well-behaved; he never buys things impulsively or throws tantrums in stores.” But looking back, Zhou Ziyang found it almost laughable.

He remembered wearing a pair of cheap sneakers in elementary school that fell apart after a while. When classmates talked about trendy brands, Zhou Ziyang never joined in—the lack of money affected every aspect of life. It was not something his mother’s pride alone could change.

At family gatherings, other relatives came with their whole families, while Zhou Ziyang and his mother were always just the two of them. As the economy grew, every household acquired a car, but Zhou Ziyang’s family, poor and solitary, had neither the need nor the means to do so. Visiting relatives or taking his grandmother to the cemetery meant relying on other relatives' cars. If there wasn’t enough space, Zhou Ziyang would politely suggest someone else take another car.

He remembered clearly how his wealthier aunt, a young woman prone to childish tantrums, refused to let him and his mother ride in their car, fearing it would dirty the vehicle. His mother’s response was always about pride, but pride was useless in real life.

At gatherings, the other families sat together harmoniously, men with respectable jobs, women in friendly roles. Jokes at the table were inevitably aimed at Zhou Ziyang’s mother and him—because they had no male protector. Making fun of other families would be risky, but mocking theirs was safe. Some relatives even took the occasion to lecture, “Do you know why your family is doing so poorly? Because your character is bad! When we criticize you, you get upset right away. See, you’re angry again—you can’t even tell when someone’s joking.”

But was it truly a matter of character? Or was it just poverty?

His mother often urged Zhou Ziyang to study hard, insisting that if he got into a good university, all their problems would vanish. Back then, Zhou Ziyang nodded silently, believing that university would solve everything. Only after entering the workforce did he realize how naive that was.

The older generation had ridden the wave of economic development for decades. Could he, with just natural talent alone, expect to make a dazzling breakthrough? Such stories belonged only in novels. At best, a steady, conventional path would just barely meet others’ standards, at most earning reluctant equality. Being truly outstanding was only a fantasy in fiction.

So, given a rare chance to be reborn, Zhou Ziyang planned to study steadily for four or five years before making a name for himself. But he couldn’t.

Three months was all the time he had. Zhou Ziyang was determined to achieve financial freedom in that span.

He busied himself helping Li Dongfeng find temporary factory work—not only to help his friend but also to help himself. In his past life, Zhou Ziyang had often dealt with small business owners who, aware of his background, liked to chat and brag. They said the best years to make money began in 2015.

The government had loosened financial controls; factories were overwhelmed with orders. It felt like everything was booming: the internet was taking off, real estate prices soared, and even the Shanghai Stock Exchange index pushed toward 5,000 points.

Zhou Ziyang remembered a major boss telling him that around 2015, his company landed a huge overseas order. During that time, machines never stopped while workers took breaks. They were constantly hiring. Previously they hired directly, but demand was so high that they turned to labor agencies, which paid temporary workers as much as 28 yuan an hour. The agencies, however, only gave subcontractors 18 yuan, pocketing a 10 yuan margin.

Their factory needed 200 temporary workers, each working ten hours a day. That meant 2,000 man-hours daily, bringing the agency 20,000 yuan a day without lifting a finger. The agencies truly made substantial profits.

Zhou Ziyang was new to this world, with no other way to earn money fast. Though he could write novels, the returns were too slow. To make quick money, he had to act.

He planned not to earn too much but to arrange for Li Dongfeng to recruit fifty high school graduates who didn’t want to continue studying and preferred to work as temporary laborers. With a five yuan hourly margin, fifty workers could bring in at least 70,000 yuan a month. With five months until university enrollment, that would be 350,000 yuan.

And this was April 2015, when the Shanghai Stock Exchange index closed at around 3,800 points. Over the next two months, the index surged, once surpassing 6,000 points.

This was truly standing at the center of opportunity. If Zhou Ziyang failed to achieve financial freedom within these two months, his rebirth would have been for nothing.