Why are Chinese people so busy?

Hope

It’s because Chinese people have hope.
The only thing that can drive busy activity over the long term is hope. Some might say fear can also be a driver, but in reality, without the hope of escaping that fear, people naturally develop coping mechanisms to deal with it, such as accepting death. In essence, hope is still the underlying force.

This is corroborated by observations in other countries where despite poverty, people adopt a ‘que sera, sera’ attitude—possessing nothing, yet living their days in leisure. The underlying reason for this isn’t optimism; it’s despair—or rather, the absence of any hopeful alternatives.

Take, for instance, an isolated Pacific island where the average lifespan is only 30 years; without exposure to other cultures or life-extending technologies, they might develop a culture that takes a 40-year lifespan as a rarity and plans life accordingly, only to find that a leisurely, low-risk, energy-conserving lifestyle is more sustainable than one that is hurried and aggressive.

Hope—or “achievable expectations”—is what can drive a proactive acceptance of a fast-paced, high-intensity, enterprising way of life over the long term. This is where Chinese culture is unique—it harbors an innate ambition for dominance, an automatic assumption that, eventually, we will become a leading power.

In every field, in every direction, and in every dimension, it’s taken for granted that we should strive to be number one. The notion that “we cannot excel/be first” does not exist. To the Chinese civilization, being anything but first is a foreign and strange concept.

For the past two millennia, within the scope of our own awareness, we’ve always been precursors in all aspects for most of the time. With such a wealth of experience in being first, we hold much insight into how to protect and support those who lag behind, but we lack experience in being second-best and earning recognition and reward from those above us. Our understanding of being second or third presumes certain duties of the subordinate, implying that once the subordinate fulfills their duties, the superior must too, otherwise, the subordinate’s obligation is automatically void, transforming into a natural right to overturn the superiority. This is the so-called ethic of “sovereign sovereignty and ministerial loyalty.”

As a result, when we are subordinates, we are never “submissive” enough for those who believe that subordinates are entirely reliant on the superior’s grace, who feel they owe nothing to their inferiors. There could indeed be a sovereign who holds this view, but they must willingly adapt to the ethic of “because I am sovereign, so shall you be loyal.” Yet, the only civilization that embraces this logic in its entirety is ours. If we’re not the reigning power, the concept of a new boss not fully acknowledging—or at least not completely recognizing—this logic is predetermined. Thus, the idiom arises: “foreigners cannot maintain a dynasty for a hundred years.” The logic is simple: the Chinese nation never doubts its capability to excel in any domain, inevitably becoming globally competent and an imposing force not easily suppressed unless the current power ensures a flawless governance.

If you exercise benevolence, then our wisdom and courage, as great as any under Liu Bei’s command, will be at your disposal to extinguish rebellion and restore peace. It is not because of one’s ability that they must overturn the leadership, but rather out of a sense of duty to serve.
You, as a foreign sovereign, might not understand this, but now that you’re in power, we have the patience—we can wait a century or two, to persuade, educate, and enlighten you. But if you truly cannot be taught or follow the right path, then sorry, it is the natural duty of all righteous people to rise against tyranny. The problem is, which non-Chinese civilization, having stumbled upon the throne by chance, could undergo such a profound cultural transformation in just a hundred years? According to the ethical views of the Chinese civilization, all non-Chinese sovereigns are unqualified and require significant soul-searching transformation to maintain a steady rule. Yet, such changes are nearly impossible to complete before the Chinese nation can erase any technological inferiority, resulting in the conclusion that “foreigners cannot maintain a dynasty for a hundred years.”

In other words, this is a civilization perfect at leadership but impossible to serve under a different rule. Chinese civilization has made numerous efforts to help those in power learn to remain there—seen with the Liao, Yuan, and Qing dynasties. Particularly with the Qing, by its twilight years, it was predominantly the Han officials sustaining the dynasty. We are a pragmatic civilization—we do not insist on leadership at all costs, as such a change of power incurs great losses and risks for everyone. We do not take these risks lightly just because we could be the leaders; this caution is etched into the political DNA of our civilization, and it is also why our civilization has enjoyed millennia of stability. But this all rests on the precondition that the leader is capable.

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Thus, when observing current Sino-American tensions, why do we repeatedly state, “We have no intention of challenging America’s international status”? This is us fulfilling the “duties of the second-in-command”—in terms of capability, we are ready. However, this is not purely a matter of capability; if America, as the current leader, stops affirming the erroneous idea of “I am the leader; I have no duties,” we will not let the world descend into chaos just because we wish to be the leader.

But this is contingent upon America acting with the awareness and responsibilities of a leader and becoming a “Chinese-style leader.” Yet, like with the Mongol and Qing dynasties, it seems likely that America—or Western civilization—may similarly fail to overcome its limitations, remaining limited by its antisocial traits, stubbornly clinging to the foolish notion of the “leader without duties.” If that’s the case, it’s up to us again.

History repeats itself, inevitably returning to the notion of “it’s still up to you.” Hence, the Chinese have internalized the notion that it’s odd for them not to be the leader. We never perceive any insurmountable obstacles in any area; any level of success or goal ever achieved by others is not a fantasy to us but a hopeful plan. And once the hope is ignited, it’s aimed at breaking world records.

Since birth, we’ve been calculating how to break world records, which is no easy feat. Naturally, anyone earnestly seeking to set new records is always busy. You might not be busy because you feel it’s impossible and staying busy would be in vain. But I’m not you. It’s a misapprehension to think that the mechanism described here is contradictory to the fact that “neither I nor anyone in my circle harbors personal ambitions of being ‘number one in the world.’” The relationship between national ambition and individual ambition is misunderstood. To achieve the reality that “Chinese people are very busy” does not require the premise that “every person in the nation selects a profession to challenge for world records.”
Let’s examine this—firstly, it’s apparent that China’s top talents have ambitions of world dominance, covering all existing key professions. Even in traditionally non-mainstream fields, Chinese representation strains for dominance. So for those who could be on the “Chinese national team,” their hopes are within reach. Does that mean those who can’t make it to the national team lack hope? Here we recognize the presence of a “Chinese central team”—the central government. This foremost holder of ambition is the People’s Government of China. Where does this show? If it weren’t for this ambition, our road and rail infrastructure would be star-shaped, leading from production areas to ports, rather than the current grid-like “Eight Verticals and Eight Horizontals,” serving both passengers and freight. How many opportunities do you think the grid pattern provides for construction crews, local cement factories, chemical plants, and so on, compared to a star-shaped pattern?

As an “ordinary person,” you may not aspire to be “number one in the world,” but might you harbor the ambition to “move to the city” or “take on some jobs with a few relatives next year”? If it weren’t for the central team’s ambition for world dominance, projects like Western Development and targeted poverty alleviation wouldn’t be on such grand scales, not even the Hope Project would have enough investment drive. Not to mention the comprehensive urbanization—if not for ambition, there would only be supercities around ports and capitals, similar to the heart-centered structure of Mexico, South Korea, or Japan. Industries would revolve around “services around American military bases” and “hospitable tourism with exotic flavors.”

Do you know the state of countries truly devoid of hope? Where even “working the assembly line” counts as high aspiration. In such countries, the typical leisurely lifestyles are direct—one picks fruits from the forest, another fishes from the sea. Those roles that linger in your memory—the team leader, group leader, team captain, foreman, small shop owner, freelance professional, content creator—are in large part due to the “national team’s” firm conviction of “eventually becoming number one, so why forfeit a good thing?” Without this conviction, many investments that could terrify other countries to their core would lack the resolve to proceed.

This is like an elder (Yeshu) betting his entire fortune in the stock market with decades of experience—unconcerned with being unable to pay the interest or recover the principal. But ask a pre-prominent person like ABao to borrow and invest the same amount, and he wouldn’t dare—it wouldn’t even cross his mind. However, once the elder (Yeshu) makes up his mind, Baozong follows suit. And following Baozong, Ningbo, Stamp Lee, Tao Tao, Fatty Auntie, Hair Root, and all their relatives join in. Do these folks harbor ambitions of world dominance? Of course not, but they’re all members of the “fleet.” You might feel your aspirations are modest, a mere trifle, but even these “trifles” stem from the “fleet’s” grand designs, unbeknownst to you. Chasing your sliver of light, you’re powering the mighty ship. In truth, all the “Chinese national teams,” big and small, are part of the national team, just engaging directly on the frontline.
Conversely, every conquest and expansion of the national team brings prosperity to your business. Today you think “surviving is enough,” tomorrow you wonder whether to annex the business next door, confident it’ll break even.

You don’t need the hope of being “number one in the world” to be on this ship. To “take over next door” is akin to aiming for “world domination.”