From Breakdance Prince to Faded Man of Letters - Recollections of College Peers in the 1980s
Translator: Lara Lee
Written in Guangzhou, April 27, 2026, Published by All Dimensions Press™ on April 28, 2026.
In the late 1980s, I studied at a prestigious engineering university in southern China. Known as a “cradle of engineers,” the school valued rigor and carried a deep academic tradition. Like most students, I buried myself in coursework, but I also took part in student union activities. That was how I came to know our student union president, let’s call him Liu.
Liu was a native of Guangzhou, born into a family firmly rooted within the system. His upbringing gave him a polish rare among peers his age. He was composed, capable, and meticulous in both conduct and judgment. Under his leadership, the student union thrived, its activities lively and well organized, earning him both authority and admiration across campus.
After stepping down in his senior year, Liu seized the spirit of the times. He began selling the wildly popular Sun God health drinks and, at a young age, made a considerable sum. In an era when goods were still scarce, his early success in business marked him as a rising star, an idol in the eyes of many of us.
Upon graduation, Liu was assigned to a large state-owned enterprise, working in frontline technical management. But the monotony of assembly-line routines and the absence of upward mobility quickly wore him down.
Less than half a year into the job, he resigned decisively and plunged into the sea of commerce. He first joined a private company, selling medical and health equipment as a starting point. After gaining some experience, he ambitiously struck out on his own, building a brand and committing himself to the health equipment industry.
Reality, however, proved unforgiving. Trained in automotive engineering, Liu had little understanding of medical devices or electronics. His cross-industry venture lacked the foundation of expertise. Product development faltered, quality control suffered, and market positioning remained weak. His brand limped along, barely surviving. Business disputes piled up, unpaid accounts, lawsuits, leaving him perpetually firefighting. Three decades slipped by. The once-glorious student leader now runs a small processing factory in Dongguan, scraping by on a modest water purifier business, his life marked by hardship and decline.
Liu is not alone in such a trajectory. Among our peers was also a young man from Guangxi, a literary soul of remarkable talent. Even in college, his essays were regularly published in Nanfang Daily, earning early professional recognition.
At the time, breakdancing was all the rage. He was something of a campus celebrity, a skilled dancer with agile moves and striking presence. At school anniversaries and performances, his electrifying style would ignite the crowd. He was, without doubt, one of the trendiest figures on campus.
After graduation, he was assigned to teach at a vocational school. The meager pay and repetitive routine soon dimmed his sense of purpose. Within a year, he left the security of the “iron rice bowl” and ventured into business.
He tried several small ventures, each ending in failure. After years of drifting and setbacks, his youthful ambitions were worn down. Eventually, he returned to his hometown in Guangxi and joined a local newspaper as a cultural reporter. There, he quietly devoted himself to uncovering obscure local history and culture, for nearly thirty years.
With the rise of self-media, traditional print journalism has steadily declined. His small local paper survives on minimal official subscriptions, offering only meager pay. Life has not been easy.
In his youth, he was rebellious and flamboyant, long-haired, a red headband tied across his forehead, black fingerless gloves on his hands, dancing breakdance with a defiant energy that seemed inseparable from youth itself. A few years ago, I happened to see a recent photo of him on the newspaper’s website. His eyes were lowered, his expression weary. The sharpness and pride of his younger days had long faded.
Looking back, Guangzhou in the 1980s stood at the forefront of reform and opening-up. The winds of market economy swept through the city, igniting a nationwide fervor for business. It was a transitional era, from planned economy to market economy, marked by scarcity. For those willing to hustle, with access to goods and a bit of daring, earning a first pot of gold was often within reach. It was a unique dividend of the times: low barriers, little competition, and vast opportunity.
But times never stand still. By the late 1980s, when Liu entered business, the landscape was already shifting. After the 1992 Southern Tour, the market economy took firm hold. Enterprises mushroomed, the market quickly moved from scarcity to saturation, and competition grew fierce. The age of wild, unrestrained growth came to an end.
Both Liu and the literary youth from Guangxi were intelligent and hardworking. Their greatest misstep was abandoning the solid technical foundation they had built through years of study, stepping instead into unfamiliar fields, competing at their weaknesses against others’ strengths.
Without core expertise as a moat, their struggles in the volatile market were like duckweed without roots, easily tossed by the winds. Intelligence and diligence alone could not anchor them; in the end, they could only scrape by.
In sharp contrast stood another classmate of ours, from a rural family in Hunan. Also a mechanical engineering graduate, he was quiet, unassuming, and easily overlooked during our school years.
After graduation, he accepted his assignment to a factory in Zhongshan, working as a workshop technician, still unnoticed. The factory developed steadily through the 1990s. After China’s accession to the WTO in 2001, it grew rapidly and eventually went public. With years of experience and technical accumulation, he rose to become deputy technical director, holding a significant number of the IPO shares. Among our cohort, he was the first to achieve financial freedom.
As for myself, I once followed Liu into business during summer breaks in my youth, only to be quickly humbled by reality. I returned to campus and focused on my studies. After graduation, I stayed in technical roles, no reckless ventures, no unnecessary risks. Over time, I became a key technical contributor in my organization. I did not achieve great wealth, but I have lived a stable life, with a harmonious family.
Looking back over half a lifetime, things become clearer. Life is never a simple contest of intelligence or diligence. Those who once shone brightly on campus may falter if they choose the wrong path. Meanwhile, the quiet and ordinary, holding fast to their core skills, may ultimately prevail. For most people, that is the most grounded wisdom for survival.
About the Author
Eddy Lee traces his lineage to Yashan, site of the last battle of the Southern Song dynasty in 1279. A member of the Third Front generation, families relocated during China’s industrial campaign of the 1960s and 70s, he now lives in Guangzhou, China.
© Eddy Lee 2026 Copyright
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Article Information
Category: Non Fiction / Essay
Tags: College / Business / Life