The Emerging Entrepreneur

experiences. He and his playmates remained largely unaware of the Cultural Revolution raging across the country. Neither he nor his sisters viewed their sparse meals of sweet potatoes, rice, and vegetables as meager. This was all they knew. In the lean months before the beans, sweet potatoes, and vegetables were ready for harvest and when few villagers had enough to eat, Yong’s family borrowed wheat, corn, and rice (when available) from his uncles and aunts, who lived in relatively better places.

At times, when the only alternative was starvation, villagers harvested food crops before they were ready. This meant they merely postponed hunger and ate food that had not achieved its full nutritional value. Mothers sent children outside the village to forage for edible wild plants. During his childhood, Yong witnessed at least two people in his village starve to death. To save the village, the government sent silkworm cocoons to feed the dying people as well as seeds engineered to produce food within a month of planting, though this came at the cost of nutritional value.

Despite the hardships of these dire circumstances, Yong benefited from the lack of moral and social approbation—luxuries that those continually on the edge of starvation cannot afford. As a result, he avoided judgments and expectations from his family and community. This freed him from the social strictures that many children internalize, which constrain their actions and behaviors. It also meant he wasn’t handed the preoccupation with amassing social capital, known as guanxi, that many of his urban peers inherited. Though this may seem like a disadvantage, it ultimately worked in Yong’s favor. Free to follow his own interests, Yong spent much of his time launching entrepreneurial ventures around the village.

Following his father’s example, Yong initiated his own entrepreneurial ventures. One of his memorable efforts involved selling sweet

water—water from the village well sweetened with a few pinches of purloined artificial sweetener—with a friend. Even decades later, Yong remembers the experience in vivid detail.

The boys labored up the dusty road, the bucket of water they carried growing heavier with each barefoot step. Below them, the village was coming alive. Loud voices filled the morning air and curses rang out as women discovered that someone had stolen their beans or sweet potatoes during the night. The crowing of roosters, the bellowing of water buffalo, the barking of dogs, the shrieking of children, the quacking of ducks—a cacophony of familiar sounds.

As they reached the midpoint of the road, they looked back and saw the first traveler of the morning—head down, walking stick in hand, bamboo basket on her back filled with sticks—plodding up the path. When she neared, Yong called out, “Sweet water, Auntie! Only two pennies!”

His taller companion looked down at Yong. “She can’t hear you. Your voice is too weak.”

Then, he bellowed out, “Your mouth must be dry, Auntie. Our sweet water is just two pennies.”

As the walker approached, she glanced at the boys and continued on her way. And so it went all morning. A few dozen villagers climbed the hill. Despite the heat and their exertion, none took the boys up on their offer.

By afternoon, the boys had drunk most of the sweet water to slake their thirst, and hunger overwhelmed their fading hopes for success. Dejected, they carried their empty bucket back to Yong’s house.

Like many successful entrepreneurs, Yong was undeterred by this early failure. He went on to launch other enterprises. For instance, he launched a rabbit-raising start-up. Unfortunately, the rabbits lived up to their reputation and reproduced so rapidly that the flourishing family tunneled under the dirt floor of Yong’s house, alarming his