An unexpected guest.
Wang Qiang sits in his study, "Cao Lu Ju," which is three stories high and houses approximately 89,000 books, comparable to a medium-sized library. The name "Cao Lu Ju" was chosen by him from the calligraphy of Dong Qichang, evoking an image of a group of egrets inhabiting deep within vegetation—quiet and self-sufficient, maintaining a distance from the external hustle and bustle.
This is Wang Qiang's personal paradise.
Zhang Zetian sits opposite him, relaying Xu Xiaoping's evaluation of him: "He possesses world-class knowledge, a world-class collection of books, lofty principles, and profound humor. He is the most interesting person I know among humans."
Wang Qiang laughs heartily and responds, "I am definitely not a world-class figure, but I thank Xiaoping. In his mind, our 43-year friendship has led him to this evaluation, which indicates that I have not failed as a person."
He has not appeared in the public eye for a long time. Even within ZhenFund, he has retreated to a more behind-the-scenes position. The frontline decision-making at ZhenFund has long been handed over to younger team members like Fang Aizhi and Dai Yusen. He and Xu Xiaoping appear more at key junctures such as macro strategy, project exits, and team building.
But now, he appears on the recording set of the podcast "Xiaotian Zhang," telling her: "I will retire on my 65th birthday next year, taking nothing with me. Of course, except for the memories and emotions from ZhenFund."
This is somewhat unexpected.
The first few episodes of "Xiaotian Zhang" easily fit into two existing frameworks for viewers: the episode with Carina Lau was interpreted as a "celebrity women's salon": a beautiful setting, a long-established actress, and conversations between acquaintances. The podcast seemed to be Zhang Zetian showcasing her social circle.
With Zeng Yanhong and Anna, the program took a step toward "female interviews." One is a mountaineer, the other a doctor without borders; both carry strong female experiences and stories about courage, choice, and self-affirmation.
Wang Qiang's appearance makes "Xiaotian Zhang" less easy to categorize.
He is a veteran of New Oriental, a co-founder of ZhenFund, studied literature, worked as an engineer, was a teacher, and later entered the investment world. Now sitting opposite Zhang Zetian, he discusses stories beyond these identity labels: how he went from Inner Mongolia to Peking University in his youth, and under what opportunities he shifted from humanities to computer science;
and, when his account had only 25 dollars and next month's rent was uncertain, why he spent over ten dollars at a Manhattan used bookstore to buy "Moby-Dick," and how he became obsessed with books—when his salary was only eighty or ninety yuan, he borrowed money from young teachers in his building to gather 3000 yuan to buy the "Complete Works of Li Ao" and the "Complete Works of Hu Shi."
Put together, these slowly piece together a person who once caught several waves of the times but has since retreated back into his study.
In fact, many of Wang Qiang's stories remain untold: ZhenFund is undergoing a rare generational transition; in the AI wave, they have not been absent—the early check to Moonshot AI came from ZhenFund. In the old stories, some more sensational content can still stir waves—he is the prototype for the character played by Tong Dawei in "American Dreams in China," and if seeking greater attention, he could easily discuss Yu Minhong, who is currently at the center of attention... Going in any of these directions could lead the conversation to more lively places.
But in "Xiaotian Zhang," these are merely passing references. Where Zhang Zetian pauses is on how Wang Qiang understands his several choices, how he views anxiety in the AI era, how he reads, and how he faces regret and death.
Here, the question returns to Zhang Zetian.
Wang Qiang is not a guest who aligns with external perceptions of her. His appearance makes one curious: why does Zhang Zetian want to chat with someone like him? Where does she want to take the conversation?
A conversation not driven by success formulas.
The night before interviewing Wang Qiang, Zhang Zetian felt somewhat nervous. So, she opened a podcast to calm herself down. Instead, she heard a story about an investor who cried late at night because he couldn't install Claude on his computer, solely due to the fear of missing out.
The anxiety transferred to Zhang Zetian, and she found it even harder to sleep.
The next day, she shared this story with Wang Qiang and asked him: In this major wave of AI investing, are you worried about missing out?
Unsurprisingly, Wang Qiang's answer was no. "As an investor, there will always be things one misses," he said. Therefore, he often advises the ZhenFund team, "You can have FOMO in action, but not in mindset." This can be simply understood as: you can review and catch up on missed projects, but don't become anxious and follow the crowd just because others are rushing in, disrupting standards and discipline.
ZhenFund has certainly experienced the sting of missing out before.
In 2018, PDD Holdings Inc (PDD) went public. ZhenFund did not invest in this company, which reached Nasdaq in just over three years. Financial reporter Zhang Xiaojun later recorded in a report that Fang Aizhi was originally going on vacation to Italy the next day but suddenly saw the news of PDD Holdings Inc's listing on TV. She immediately felt she might "be fired."
Finally, it was Wang Qiang who spoke first in the group chat, calmly asking: Is there a problem with this?
That miss later became an important internal review for ZhenFund. They realized they had become too accustomed to looking for entrepreneurs among returnees, elite school backgrounds, and self-made individuals, while growing insensitive to local serial entrepreneurs.
In this round of AI, ZhenFund is not standing on the sidelines.
Wang Qiang mentioned in the program that Moonshot AI received the first check from ZhenFund. At that time, OpenAI was at its peak, and domestic large language models were still in a state of chaos. Yang Zhilin's discussion of long-text and long-context capabilities showed ZhenFund a different starting point. Wang Qiang felt this was different from other entrepreneurs: if long-text could be clearly parsed, short-text would naturally be easier.
The story could end here.
PDD Holdings Inc was a miss; Moonshot AI was a hit. Placing these two stories side by side, Wang Qiang's acumen and self-correction as an investor are evident. But "Xiaotian Zhang" did not continue down the path of investment track records. Zhang Zetian was more concerned with: where do these judgments actually come from.
For Wang Qiang, judgment first comes from questioning the person.
Typically, the first entry point for early-stage investment is often the business plan. Market size, business model, team background, growth expectations—a few pages outline the project, and investors then judge whether it's worth further discussion based on this information. The more complete the business plan, the smoother the narrative, the easier it is to think the founder is well-prepared.
But Wang Qiang is unwilling to be deceived by standard answers: "If a founder comes up with a perfect business plan, one should not easily believe it at first glance. What really matters is the scope of their dream, and whether their capabilities, team, experience, and depth of thinking can support that dream," he said.
And the questions he likes to ask are very direct: Why do you want to do this? When did you first learn about it? How is it different from what others are doing? You clearly have other options in hand, why cut that off and insist on doing this? If you get the money, what's the first thing you plan to do tomorrow?
These questions ultimately land on a person's self-awareness and trade-offs.
This is also why, when discussing AI entrepreneurs, he repeatedly mentions "boundaries." What Yang Zhilin showed ZhenFund was not just a business direction, but also a founder's clear articulation of his entry point: he knows where he is entering from and knows where this can lead if successful.
This judgment method, to some extent, also reveals Wang Qiang's underlying nature. He doesn't just look at boundaries in investment. Reading, translating, choosing a career, even discussing retirement and death—he repeatedly does the same thing: clearly seeing the boundaries of something, then deciding whether to enter.
This also gradually steered the conversation away from success formulas.
Wang Qiang has many aspects that could be summarized as experience: he caught waves of the times, invested successfully in young people, and several major turns in his life landed in larger tides. But Zhang Zetian did not choose this line of inquiry. She asked him how he reads, how he deals with fragmentation, how he understands regret, and how he views death.
These questions are difficult to articulate clearly; they require a person to reflect on their own experiences, think slowly, and answer gradually.
In "Xiaotian Zhang," Wang Qiang's identity as a successful person recedes to the background. He leaves the noise behind and settles himself back into books, time, and a finite life.
Zhang Zetian's curiosity also lands here. What she truly wants to see may not be how a person reaches great heights, but how, after arriving, they still retain their own judgment and order.
A method of not rushing to explain oneself.
Interviews are difficult places to hide shortcomings. The more depth a guest has, the less the conversation becomes a simple matter of questions and answers. The guest's experiences, knowledge, and judgment will continuously drive the questions deeper. Whether the interviewer can keep up, how far they have prepared, and how deeply they understand will all be revealed in the dialogue.
Zhang Zetian is a person placed under a magnifying glass; often, controversy arrives before the facts. For her, an interview program is not a safe choice, but she sat there nonetheless.
In the episode of "Xiaotian Zhang" with Doctor Without Borders Anna, Zhang Zetian actually said something very close to an answer. She said that what she sees is only what the news shows her; she really wants to know what actually happens behind the scenes, to know what the real lives of every family and every individual are like.
"Seeing is the first step. If you can't even see, then how can there be understanding, change, or a better world?" This statement seems to set a simple starting point for "Xiaotian Zhang."
In the Carina Lau episode, the conversation took place in her old residence. The space, clothes, old photos, and past film roles easily bring people back to the viewing mode of "how beautiful she once was." Where Zhang Zetian lingered was on how a woman who has been famous for a long time deals with age and accepts the marks time leaves on her.
In the Zeng Yanhong episode, the question landed on the retreat from 90 meters below the summit of Mount Everest. Zhang Zetian did not ask her if she regretted it but instead pursued why "knowing when to retreat" is so difficult. Later, when Zeng Yanhong said she did not want to be "nailed to the summit" by brands, Zhang Zetian responded: "Never place yourself in the position others see you in, or you will lose yourself."
This statement holds true for Zeng Yanhong and also echoes for Zhang Zetian—
She was seen too early and defined too early. The outside world has given her many positions: innocent, lucky, shrewd, wealthy, fallen, dignified. Each position is like a picture frame, placing her inside and then demanding she exist according to that image. At least in "Xiaotian Zhang," she attempts to step out of these frames.
In the Anna episode, the wars and diseases in the news often remain just a set of locations, casualty numbers, and a few photos. Zhang Zetian asked her why she chose to go to those places, why a doctor would put herself in danger and poverty. What she wanted to get close to were the specific people behind the news: who is sick, who is giving birth, whose life has been changed by war, who is waiting for treatment.
With Wang Qiang, the question lands elsewhere.
Zhang Zetian did not repeat the parts most easily written as success stories. What she paused on was how a person retains their own judgment in the face of speed, anxiety, and death.
Near the end of the program, Zhang Zetian invited Wang Qiang to read a poem—the one by Fernando Pessoa about the Tagus River. She said this was a poem he had mentioned before, and since they had just talked about childhood, she felt it was very suitable as the ending for this episode.
Wang Qiang laughed: "You really read my stuff!"
This sentence brought that moment to life. It indicates that Zhang Zetian was not just asking questions based on what she heard on the spot. She had read Wang Qiang's writings in advance, knew he liked Pessoa, and remembered that poem about the Tagus River and the village stream. For an interviewee, this kind of preparation is felt. It may not make up for all technical awkwardness, but it adds a touch of warmth from being taken seriously to the conversation.
Wang Qiang then read those lines: The Tagus is more beautiful than the river that flows through my village, But the Tagus is not more beautiful than the river that flows through my village, Because the Tagus is not the river that flows through my village.
After the poem, Zhang Zetian added: "I think being able to return to where it all began—your connection to your hometown, to childhood..." Before she could finish, Wang Qiang quickly responded: "Exactly right!"—
She kept up.
The labels attached to Zhang Zetian will not disappear quickly; they have existed for too long and are too easily invoked. But as the episodes of the program continue, things that cannot be explained by labels begin to appear.
She is not in a hurry to explain herself clearly. She simply turns her gaze to others, passes the questions on, and observes how they have come to where they are today, and how they face time, origins, and endpoints.
Where a person consistently looks often gradually reveals who they are.
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