What China’s political economist sees as his greatest life accomplishment

This past weekend, I visited my aunt and uncle’s house for lunch. My uncle, Yan Jiaqi, was a political economist in China and adviser to China’s prime ministers. Since I started blogging on Medium a month ago, I’d been itching to get his opinion on my blog.

For lunch, my aunt Gao Gao served chicken soup. As we sat down at our soup bowls, I proceeded to tell my uncle about my Medium blog, like the entry about extreme capitalism. He goes:

“I hope you’re keeping your day job.”

“I love being a product manager, I don’t plan to quit. Writing is just a hobby.” I go.

“Want more soup?” My aunt asks me.

“No thanks,” I go.

“How come you writing so much?” My uncle asks.

“Because I have something to say, so I might as well write.” I go

“Want more chicken in your soup?” My aunt asks me.

“No thanks,” I go.

“That’s good. But you’re not going to quit your job right?” He asks, feeling the need to double check.

“My friend Alex says the world is coming to an end in less than twenty years. What do you think?” I ask.

“No way. World will not come to an end then, because that’s not the time for anything significant to happen on earth.”

“Right. Then what do you think of my blog in general? ” I go.

He looks at me, then looks at my blog, then looks back at me. He’s trying to think of something nice to say.

“What else do you do for fun?” he asks, trying to re-direct the conversation.

“I paint.” I say, and then pull up a photo of a couple paintings on my iPhone. I show it to him.

“This is great!” He goes. “ It’s unique. Fresh. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“But I don’t paint very much. Just once a year or so.” I go.

“Why not?” he asks, “You have talent in painting.”

“Because I don’t feel like it often.” I say to him.

He looks down at his food, in dismay. Clearly, my painting was more interesting to him than my writing.

“Just don’t quit your day job to write,” he repeats for a third time.

“I won’t, the blog really is just a hobby,” I reassure him for a third time.

“Want more mushrooms in your soup?” My aunt asks me.

“No thanks,” I answer.

“If you want to write about economics,” he advises, “You need to know a lot more than you do now. You need to learn economics, sociology, politics, finance, psychology.”

“Alright, I’ll get started. Which book should I read first?” I ask.

“I’ll suggest two books. One that teaches you the foundations, one that teaches you the limits:
1) Encyclopedia of Macroeconomics
2) The Limits to Growth”

I attempt to order both on my Audible app. No luck, those books are too old.

“I’m thinking about writing a book too.” He goes.

“What is it about?”

“It’ll be about the Limits to Capitalism” he goes.

“Wow. Tell me more! What is the limit?” I ask.

“It’ll take a whole book to answer that.” he goes. “I can’t explain it in one sitting”

“Would you want to write a book on the cultural revolution? It can be a sequel to your last book,” I suggest.

“Absolutely not. I’m not interested in the Cultural Revolution anymore.” he says.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not worth my time,” he goes, “The 50th anniversary of the Cultural Revolution happened recently. I was invited to lots of ceremonies. I didn’t go to any of them. There was a major ceremony in Los Angeles, they invited both Gao Gao and I. We didn’t go to that either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d have to spend time putting on a suit, and tying a bow tie. And I have to spend time writing a speech. I don’t want to waste my time on those things. Now that I’m old, what’s important to me have changed. Nowadays, what matters to me is spending time with Gao Gao,” he says.

He points to my aunt and continues: “My greatest accomplishment in life is tricking Gao Gao into marrying me.”

Gao Gao says: “And my greatest accomplishment in life is having a kid.”

My uncle turns to me and asks “Have you thought about having a kid?”

I think to myself — Oh jeeze, why do conversations always arrive at this topic.

“Nope.” I say. I then begin to assume serious interest in my chicken soup.

He and Gao Gao look at each other and frown, in unison.

“You sure you don’t want more mushrooms in your soup?” My aunt asks.

“Alright. Sure.” I say in surrender, and I hand over my soup bowl.

Gao Gao wins our chicken soup tug of war.