The "Tang Dynasty Trap" in the Web3 Industry
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The "Tang Dynasty Trap" in the Web3 Industry
This industry is full of poisons, and the deadliest one is undoubtedly identity anxiety.
Navigating Web3 tides with focused insightsFor a long time, the most relaxed and joyful moment of my day was noon. The instant the clock struck twelve, the "She Said" app would push that day's fresh batch of 21 male candidates, granting me a three-minute experience pass as a high-rolling player—one who could not only swipe right, but also left.
On the profile page of the "She Said" app, there’s a question: “My wish.” I remember during a roadshow meeting, while a colleague was asking questions, I spent five minutes seriously thinking before solemnly typing in my answer—“to become a writer.” After submitting, the discussion between my coworker and the founder continued around “economic models.” I tuned in for about ten seconds, catching words like “flywheel,” confirming I hadn’t missed anything crucial.
I genuinely want to become a writer.
There’s a writer I deeply admire: Gay Talese, author of *Thy Neighbor’s Wife*. He’s often hailed by American media as the “father of New Journalism.” Yet Talese publicly declared: “I have zero interest in titles like ‘father of New Journalism’—I just want to write as well as Fitzgerald.”
“I just want to write as well as Fitzgerald.” That’s incredibly cool.
My initial motivation to become a writer was simple: I love writing. I want to write as well as Maugham. If one day many people read my stories and are late for a date by half an hour because of them—that would be enough.
Then one day, China’s publishing industry began promoting an author named Feng Tang.
Mr. Feng Tang has a rather unique profile. On the inner flap of every book he publishes, it reads: Feng Tang, real name Zhang Haipeng, is a Peking Union Medical College PhD, Emory MBA, businessman, McKinsey consulting partner (promoted in just six years), CEO of China Resources Healthcare (founding), Senior Managing Director at CITIC Capital (head of healthcare), founder of Chengshi Buer Hall, owner of a courtyard home in Houhai, collector of antiquities, native Beijinger, translator, modern poet, and writer. I’m not certain whether Mr. Zhang explicitly includes “promoted in six years,” “Houhai courtyard,” or “native Beijinger” on those flaps—but I am certain he’s found ways to make sure the general public knows these details, intentionally or otherwise.
After learning about Mr. Feng Tang, my resolve wavered. He’s clearly a multidimensional literary icon—surpassing even his own so-called “golden line” in literature, achieving worldly success, exuding a rugged yet refined charm. This must be what we’d call the original v1.0 version of a “high-value man.”
I thought: Does it really matter whether I can write as well as Maugham? What matters more is being able to write on my book jacket: Mr. Lin is a renowned venture capitalist, (foreign) investment banking manager, guitarist, Bored Ape owner, Shanghai hukou holder, and writer. My stories will be adapted into a midnight drama series by iQiyi; lines for my book signings will stretch beyond alleyway entrances. I could launch a “Tonight So Much Fun” hashtag on Weibo, then livestream sales of my online course “The Art of Getting Things Done” on Douyin. I could tour universities delivering literary stand-up comedy shows, much like Cui Jian sang *Nothing to My Name*. Fame and fortune—that’s the real reason to become a best-selling author, right?
In my two and a half years in the Web3 industry, the biggest realization has been how deeply it manipulates human psychology. The visible traits of Web3 are chaos, brutality, raw humanity, massive wealth effects, and an intense fear of missing out. The industry resembles an endless gold rush, where everyone is whipped forward, terrified of missing the next big thing. In such an environment, the definition of success becomes grotesquely distorted—not about creating value, but about how quickly you can “get results” once you’re strong.
Recently, talking with many peers, I’ve found their mental states worrying. Under constant pressure from wealth myths and curated success personas, they’ve fallen into endless anxiety and confusion. Every day, scrolling through X, seeing others flaunt profit screenshots, hearing seemingly casual but deeply boastful success stories, they can’t help but feel powerless and doubt themselves. Over time, this anxiety seeps in like poison, numbing the soul and sometimes turning people bitter or extreme.
This psychological manipulation eventually destroys values. A twisted logic takes root: if you can scam someone, it’s a skill; whoever holds more crypto owns the truth. Some begin chasing profits by any means necessary, even taking pride in deception. Others are forced to follow trends, pretending they know how to navigate this complex ecosystem. Still others lose themselves entirely, forgetting why they entered the space in the first place.
J.D. Salinger was in his twenties when he participated in the D-Day invasion. On D-Day itself, the manuscript of *The Catcher in the Rye* was in his military backpack. He said writing fiction was how he preserved his sanity in that human hell. Web3 is much like Normandy—almost every day feels like D-Day. In such a chaotic world, the most important thing is preserving our mental clarity.
They say at Western weddings, wise mothers-in-law whisper a secret phrase to newlyweds: “In every good marriage, it helps sometimes to be a little deaf.” I think this applies equally to Web3—
You don’t have to force yourself to fit in
You don’t have to become an omniscient, all-capable person
You don’t have to be a 360-degree success
You don’t have to fight day and night until covered in medals
You can slow down
You can walk away
You can have no idea what they’re talking about
You can open your music app anytime and ignore the hottest Twitter Space
This industry is full of poison, and the deadliest dose is identity anxiety. Countless voices tempt you to become someone you never needed to be, luring you into traps of self-misrecognition. The only antidote is cultivating sincerity and integrity—being honest with yourself, and becoming only the person you truly want to be.
There’s a line from *Mulan* that I love: “Take your place, Mulan.” More than two years on, I’ve decided that in Web3, I’ll simply be myself—a venture investor focused on early-stage opportunities. And if someone today asks me why I want to be a writer, I’d tell them: “Hey, I just want to write as well as Maugham.”
Not long ago, a female friend told me that a mutual acquaintance in our industry had taken a liking to her. She’d heard this guy was impressive but wanted to know what kind of person he really was.
I didn’t know the guy well, and his WeChat Moments were sparse, so I opened his X profile. What greeted me was: d/acc, CXO@ AAA, larping@ BBB, host@ CCC, building@ DDD, Prev: CXO@ EEE, co-founder@ FFF, ex@ Google, @ Uber, Forbes 35U35, alum@ LBS @ Cornell, SOL maxi, base on airplane, Cookie’s dad, doer. I didn’t finish reading his pinned post—it extended beyond the bottom edge of my screen.
I closed the browser, opened the chat with my female friend, who was anxiously awaiting my “due diligence” report. I took a deep breath, thought carefully, and replied: “Friend, I remember you love reading. Tell me—what do you think of Feng Tang?”
March 2025, Shanghai
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