The Ordinary Person's Survival Logic

My name is Li Ran. I’m thirty-two years old. As I sit in my rented apartment typing these words, the lights of Beijing’s outskirts beyond the Fifth Ring Road flicker incessantly outside my window. To be honest, if I had understood these truths five years ago, I’d probably be sipping tea inside the Second Ring Road by now. But there are no "regret pills" in life; there are only the pits you’ve fallen into and the words you only truly understood after the fact.

The first time I stumbled upon a video by Zhang Xuefeng was in the winter of 2019. I had just been laid off from an education company and was huddling in my shared apartment scrolling through my phone, feeling completely drained. In the video, Zhang, with his thick Northeastern accent, was spitting facts: "The biggest problem for children from ordinary families isn’t a lack of hard work—it’s that they put their effort in the wrong places." My heart skipped a beat. It felt like he was talking directly to me.

I grew up as the "obedient child." My parents said the civil service was stable, so I took the exams. After failing for three years, they suggested I try my luck in the big city, so I came to Beijing. My first job was in telesales—300 calls a day until my throat was too hoarse to speak. At the end of the month, my salary was 5,200 RMB. My second job was operations at a startup. The boss spent every day "drawing cakes"—promising an IPO next year—but the company went bust, and I didn't even get my final month's pay.

I was the textbook definition of "blind effort." I was busy enough to hit the back of my head with my own heels, yet at the end of the year, I had nothing to show for it. I rewatched that video a dozen times and saved Zhang’s three underlying logics into my phone’s notes. Today, I want to use my own story to break down these three logics for you.

Logic 1: Find what you are "good at and can monetize"—don't just follow the crowd

In the video, Zhang made a point I still remember: "Don't always think about the 'wind vents' (market trends). The wind is for those who are prepared. When ordinary people chase the wind, nine times out of ten they end up with a bruised face. You have to find what you're good at first, then wait for the wind in that field."

If I had heard this five years earlier, imagine the detours I would have avoided.

In 2017, the "knowledge payment" (online paid content) industry was red-hot. On a whim, I quit my stable job to join an online course company. Why? Because I heard that’s where the quick money was. The result? I rushed in without even knowing what course planning involved. They asked me to write copy, and my writing was bone-dry; the conversion rates were pathetic. After eight months, the company downsized, and I was on the first list of people to go.

I realized later that I simply wasn't cut out for it. My writing had been poor since I was a kid—I only scored a 42 on my high school graduation essay. Trying to force myself into copywriting was just self-torture.

After being laid off, I reflected deeply on what I was actually good at. I realized I had one specific trait: I was exceptionally good at talking to people. No matter the setting, I could strike up a conversation with strangers, and they usually walked away wanting to be my friend. Back in college, there wasn't a single person in my dorm building I wasn't on speaking terms with.

Leaning into this strength, I found a job in community operations. Basically, I was the "Class Monitor" for a learning group—chatting with students, answering questions, and maintaining the atmosphere. It came to me like second nature, as easy as breathing. Within six months, I had the highest user engagement in the company, and the boss gave me two raises.

Looking back, my biggest mistake was not knowing who I was. I kept staring at what others were doing, turning green with envy at their earnings, and in the process, I threw away my most valuable asset. Zhang Xuefeng was right: the advantage for an ordinary person isn't being a genius; it’s finding that small plot of land you’re good at and farming it deep.

Think about it—how many geniuses are there really? Most people are like me: ordinary, with no transcendent talent. But ordinary people have their own way of surviving—find the thing that isn't tiring for you but is a headache for everyone else. That is your moat.

Logic 2: Don’t mistake the platform for your own skill; turn your skill into your platform

Zhang said something that cut so deep I couldn't sleep all night. He said: "The biggest illusion for many young people is mistaking the halo of their platform for their own ability. You are nothing without the platform—that’s the scariest part."

I knew a guy named Xiao Zhou who was my roommate for six months. He was a programmer at a "Big Tech" firm, making 35,000 RMB a month, walking with a swagger. Every time we ate, he’d brag about how much funding his company raised or how legendary his project was. Once I asked him: "If the company laid you off tomorrow, where would you go?" He hesitated and said, "Impossible, our company isn't short on cash."

Then came the "Internet Winter" of 2022. His entire department was axed. Xiao Zhou took his severance and left. He spent four months looking for a job and couldn't find one even after cutting his salary expectations in half. Why? Because for three years at the giant firm, he had been a "screw-turner"—a specialized cog in a massive machine. Once he left that system, he realized he didn't know how to build anything on his own.

That rang an alarm for me. I wasn't in Big Tech, but when I was a community manager at that education company, I got cocky for a while. I thought I was a big shot because I managed a dozen people. Then one day, the business pivoted, the community department was outsourced, and I realized my so-called "management experience" was worth nothing on the open market.

From then on, I changed my mindset. I stopped thinking about how to climb the ladder within a platform and started thinking about how to turn my skills into portable assets.

I started doing my own thing after work. I wrote answers about community operations on Zhihu (China's Quora), slowly building tens of thousands of followers. I organized my workflow into a course and sold it on Knowledge Planet (a private community app) for 99 RMB. I sold over forty copies in the first month. I also took on side gigs as a community consultant for small firms, making an extra few thousand a month.

It sounds simple, but it was hard. I’d be dog-tired after work but had to force myself to write and record. But the upside is that these things belong to me. No one can take them away.

In 2023, that education company laid people off again, and this time it was my turn. But unlike five years ago, I didn't panic at all. I knew that even without the platform, I could survive. I have my followers, my courses, and my consulting clients. Combined, they didn't quite match my full salary, but it was enough to get me through the lean times.

Zhang was spot on: the platform is lent to you by others and can be taken back at any time. But your skills are yours, and you take them wherever you go.

Logic 3: Recognize reality; don’t let "Big Cakes" overstuff you

This logic is the most stinging, yet the most practical. Zhang’s original words were: "The 'cakes' (empty promises) your boss draws for you—just look at them, don't actually eat them. You're an ordinary person with no family fortune and no connections; don't gamble your youth on an uncertain future."

This sounds cynical, even depressing, but anyone who has been through the wringer knows this lesson was paid for in blood and tears.

At my first job, the boss was a silver-tongued orator. Every meeting was a passionate rally about how the company would definitely IPO within three years and everyone in the room would be a millionaire. I believed him. For two years, I worked until midnight every day and volunteered on weekends. My salary didn't go up a cent; my year-end bonus was a 2,000 RMB shopping card. The boss said, "Young people shouldn't care about this pittance; look at the future stock options."

I found out later the company hadn't even secured Series A funding. The "options" he talked about were just scrap paper. Less than a year after I left, the company collapsed.

Once bitten, twice shy. Now when I look for a job, my criteria are simple—don't talk to me about options or "dreams." I look at three things: the salary, the "Five Insurances and One Fund" (state-mandated benefits), and the length of the contract.

Some might think I’m too materialistic. But I have to ask: I’m an outsider in this city, I have rent to pay, food to buy, and parents to support. Why should I use my time to help a boss chase his dream?

Zhang put it bluntly: "Look at the cases of startups failing—how many founders actually lost money? It’s always the ordinary employees who get screwed the worst. The founders have resources and networks; if this one fails, they start the next. You? If you fall, you’re just down."

The words are harsh, but the logic is sound. I’m not saying you can’t join a startup, but you need to be realistic. If you know you're gambling, be prepared to lose. Don't lose and then complain that society is unfair.

In my current job as an Operations Director for a medium-sized firm, the boss tried "drawing a cake" during the interview, talking about the company’s grand prospects. I just smiled and said, "Mr. Wang, let's discuss that later. I just want to know: if I join, how long is the probation? What’s the post-probation salary? And is there a yearly raise mechanism?"

The boss was stunned for a second, then laughed and said, "You're a very practical person." He later told me he hired me specifically because of those words. He felt I was clear-headed and knew what I wanted.

See? Recognizing reality doesn't make you lose opportunities; it makes you more reliable. Bosses know that a clear-headed employee is much easier to manage than one who spends all day dreaming.

Closing Thoughts

I wrote all this to say one thing: the life of an ordinary person isn't that easy, but it’s not that unbearable either. The key is to figure out who you are, what you’re good at, and what you actually want.

Zhang Xuefeng’s three logics aren't high-level theories; they are "plain-talk" truths:

Don't chase the wind; chase yourself. What you are good at is your stablest rice bowl.

Don't treat the platform as your mountain; become the mountain. Platforms crumble and companies downsize, but skills stay.

Don't believe in the "cake"; believe in the contract. Your youth is expensive; don't spend it being someone else's trial and error.

I’m thirty-two now. I still can’t afford a house in Beijing. I still drive a second-hand BYD. I still have to budget carefully every month. But I feel grounded. Because I know I will never again be like I was at twenty-five—being sold off while helping the buyer count the money.

A few days ago, a fresh graduate asked me, "Brother, how should I choose my first job?"

I thought about it and shared these three logics with him. He was silent for a while and then said, "Brother, what you just said is more useful than anything my dad ever told me."

I smiled and said nothing. I thought to myself: your dad is just like mine—an honest man who spent his whole life never quite figuring these things out. But the fact that you’re hearing this at twenty-three means you’ve already saved yourself ten years of detours.

And that is enough.