The Five Brothers' Dream

The Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping said that Pudong’s development in Shanghai had been slow.
When this sentence reached Yide’s ears, he was in his Hong Kong office looking at a map of China. The map was spread across the desk. Hong Kong, Shenzhen, Canton, and Shanghai had been circled by him in red pen, and beside them the page was filled with words: foreign trade, manufacturing, finance, ports, information, transactions, credit, logistics. Outside the window was Victoria Harbour, ships coming and going, lights never extinguished. Inside were several computers, stacks of materials, and a group of young people whose eyes had been reddened by long nights. The battle in Hong Kong did not look good on the books. More than two years of practice had proved that the internet market in Hong Kong was too narrow. The sample had been made, the technology had run through, and customers had tried it, yet almost none of the money spent had returned.
But Yide was not discouraged by this.
On the contrary, he became clearer.
Hong Kong was like a small and refined testing table. It could test technology, test the psychology of merchants, and test charging models, but it could not contain the rivers and seas he truly wanted. Shenzhen was fast, and Canton had deep roots. But if one wanted to open a sufficiently large internet commerce road in China, Shanghai had to be examined. Shanghai had foreign trade, finance, ports, manufacturing, universities, talent, the memory of old China’s commercial civilization, and also the new situation about to open wide in Pudong. Once Pudong moved, the mouth of the Yangtze would move; once Shanghai grew hot, the imagination of the Chinese market would be ignited again.
Looking at the map, Yide suddenly said to Zuyi, “Hong Kong is like an abacus. Shenzhen is like a construction site. Shanghai is like a dock.”
Zuyi sat opposite him, organizing the business plan. She raised her head and asked, “Then what are we?”
Yide said, “We are going to build a road.”
Zuyi laughed. “A road again? Ever since you came back from America, you have been looking for roads.”
“This time is different.” With his pen, Yide drew from Shanghai toward the old Western Regions, and then from the Western Regions toward Europe. “This road is not on the ground. It is online.”
The name was decided only after several people had discussed it for a long time.
At first, someone suggested calling it “China Business Network,” direct and easy to understand. Someone else said it should be called “Eastern Trade Port,” which sounded grand. Zhide called from America and said the name had better be international and convenient to spread in English. Zuyi reminded them that the platform must not be too rustic, nor too small; it needed Chinese flavor, yet it could not make people feel it was merely a local Yellow Pages. Yide listened for several days and remained unsatisfied. Until one evening, when he and Third Uncle Ma Gaohui were eating in Central and began speaking of ancient trade—of camel bells, the Silk Road, Chang’an, Persian merchants, porcelain, tea, and silk—Ma Gaohui suddenly said, “Isn’t this thing of yours simply a new Silk Road?”
Yide froze.
The Silk Road.
Once those four words appeared, the whole room seemed to brighten for a moment.
Classical, elevated, commercial, yet not merely silk. It had Chinese history, a direction toward the world, the imagination of caravans, and an ambition to cross regions. The Silk Road of the past had relied on camels, passes, relay stations, and traveling merchants. The new Silk Road would rely on computers, networks, databases, credit, and orders. In the past, goods had moved westward; now Chinese enterprises, Chinese products, Chinese information, and Chinese opportunities would move toward the world through the internet.
Yide made the decision at once. “We will call it Silk Road.”
On the other end of the telephone in America, Zhide was silent for a few seconds, then said, “This name is good. Much bigger than Yellow Pages.”
Zuyi also nodded. “It has a story, it has scope, and it will be convenient to explain to investors.”
Ma Gaohui smoked his cigar and said only one sentence: “The name is large enough. Do not let the name crush you.”
In truth, Third Uncle was secretly pleased. The dazzling Shanghai of old had, after all, been a place where he had once fought.
Yide smiled. “Third Uncle, only when the name is big will people dare to do things on a big scale.”
And so the Hong Kong sample was put away, and Shanghai’s new game was officially opened.
Yide decided to rush to Shanghai and do something grand.
Shanghai that year carried in its air the scent of something long suppressed awakening again. The old buildings of the Bund still stood there, like gentlemen left behind by a former age. The Huangpu River was muddy yellow, boats coming and going, their whistles sounding deep. Nanjing Road was still crowded with people, neon lights flashing. On the Pudong side, cranes, scaffolding, planning maps, and huge slogans had already cast the shadow of the future upon the river. The first time Yide stood on the Bund and looked toward Pudong, wind blew from the river and snapped his jacket hem loudly. Looking at the land growing on the opposite bank, a fierce impulse suddenly surged in his heart.
America had given him imagination.
Hong Kong had given him the abacus.
Shanghai gave him the battlefield.
He called Zhide. “Fourth Brother, I have arrived in Shanghai.”
Zhide asked, “How does it feel?”
Yide said, “Like a huge elephant just waking up.”
Zhide laughed. “Then be careful not to get stepped on.”
Yide laughed too. “I am not standing under its feet. I am going to ride on its back.”
The words were bold, yet not entirely a joke.
The Shanghai team gathered very quickly. Zhide continued to provide technical support from Silicon Valley, responsible for the overall architecture, platform logic, database design, search mechanisms, and the linking of overseas technical resources. He could not return often, yet he was like a technical stake planted on the far side of the Pacific, steadying the system of Silk Road. Several old classmates from Tsinghua were introduced by him. Some understood network protocols, some understood servers, and some wrote programs very quickly, one cigarette after another, one cup of coffee after another, able to endure in the server room until dawn. Several of Yide’s classmates from the University of International Business and Economics also came. They understood foreign trade, English business correspondence, contract clauses, and how enterprises declared goods through customs, quoted prices, and found customers. Add to this Zuyi’s business-management methods, Hong Kong market experience, and financial models; Third Uncle Ma Gaohui’s capital and Hong Kong connections; and several local Shanghai partners, and before long more than twenty, then around thirty people were squeezed into an office that was not very spacious.
The office was in an old building. The corridor was narrow, the floor somewhat worn, and outside the window one could hear the bell of trams and the cries of street vendors. But the newly hung sign at the door made every passerby unable to resist looking twice:
Silk Road Technology Co., Ltd.
Gold characters on a red background, bright to the point of being slightly ostentatious.
On the day the sign was hung, Yide specially had flower baskets bought and invited friends, classmates, Hong Kong merchants, and representatives of foreign trade enterprises to make it lively. Ma Gaohui came from Hong Kong, wearing a dark suit, and stood at the doorway looking at that sign for a long while without speaking. Zuyi stood beside Yide, in a white blouse and black skirt, her hair pinned up, bright and capable. Zhide called long-distance from America. The phone was placed on speaker, and his voice came from the machine on the office desk. “Second Brother, may the opening be prosperous. Remember, technology is only the foundation. Users are the city.”
Yide laughed toward the telephone. “Do not worry. This time I am going to build the city.”
Someone in the team applauded, someone whistled, and someone laughed and said, “President Ma, when will we stand shoulder to shoulder with America’s eBay and Amazon?”
Yide raised his teacup and said seriously, “It is not a question of when. It begins today.”
Everyone first went still, and then the applause grew even louder.
At that time, names like eBay and Amazon had already reached the ears of a few in China who were first to awaken, like thunder from afar. Americans were auctioning online, selling books online, selling goods online, as though moving the counters of traditional commerce into an invisible world. Yide was unwilling simply to imitate. In his heart, he knew clearly that China’s market was different. America had credit cards, mature logistics, and consumer habits. Chinese enterprises needed B2B even more; they needed factories, foreign trade companies, buyers, and agents to be connected. The first step of Chinese internet commerce would not necessarily be an individual buying a book or a toy, but a small factory in Zhejiang finding a Middle Eastern customer, a Southern Yue electronics factory finding a European agent, a Shanghai trading company finding a mainland supplier, and an overseas buyer being able to see Chinese goods online.
What Silk Road wanted to do was not merely sell goods, but connect.
It had to upgrade from an enterprise Yellow Pages into a trade platform, from information display into inquiry matching, from individual webpages into industry markets. Textiles, garments, machinery and electronics, hardware, chemicals, handicrafts, food, light industrial products—each category had to have a directory. Each enterprise had to have information. Each product had to have pictures, specifications, quotations, and contact methods. Each inquiry had to be tracked. Each customer had to be classified. Yide even proposed that in the future they would do credit ratings, online payment, logistics tracking, customs declaration interfaces, and foreign trade financial services. Some people listening felt their blood heat; others felt their scalps go numb.
A programmer from Tsinghua named Xiao Chen said, “President Ma, you are trying to move the entire foreign trade process online.”
Yide said, “If we do not move the whole process, others will only treat us as an advertising board. Only by moving the process can we become a platform.”
Xiao Chen scratched his head. “Technically it can be done, but it will take time.”
Zuyi added from the side, “Commercially it can also be done, but it will take money.”
Yide looked at them both. “I will give the time, and I will go find the money. You make what can be made first, and write clearly what cannot yet be made. Do not only tell me it is difficult.”
Zuyi smiled. “He is not afraid of difficulty. He is afraid you will make them stay up all night again.”
Xiao Chen immediately said, “President Wang, save my life!”
Everyone laughed.
The heat of entrepreneurship rose from just such laughter and exhaustion.
During the day, the business team went out to visit foreign trade companies, industry associations, development zones, factories, and exhibitions. Carrying document bags and wearing suits that were not expensive, they ran back and forth between Shanghai, Suzhou, Ningbo, Hangzhou, and Wuxi. Some were invited into bosses’ offices and listened to seriously. Some were stopped by reception desks and told, “The boss is not here.” Some were questioned into speechlessness by factory managers: “Can this online platform of yours make me receive an extra one hundred thousand US dollars in orders next month?” When the salespeople returned, their faces covered with dust, they still had to hold evening review meetings.
At night, the technical team adjusted programs in the office. The servers hummed. Network cables tangled under the desks like vines. Some ate cold boxed meals; some slept half an hour sprawled across desks, then were woken by companions to change code. Zhide often called from America late at night. Sometimes his voice was tired, yet he still went through items one by one. “The search categories need to change. English pages must be concise. Database fields cannot be chaotic; once scale grows, it will collapse. Second Brother, do not let them hard-code the logic just to make the demonstration look good.”
Yide did not understand technology too deeply, but he understood one sentence: do not make it look good only for today; make it able to grow tomorrow.
He wrote this sentence on the whiteboard.
Zuyi pulled the team from a mass of hot blood toward systems. She designed customer grading, pricing standards, sales scripts, contract templates, and financial budgets. She required that after each customer visit, they had to record: industry, scale, contact person, points of interest, concerns, and likelihood of payment. At first, the salespeople complained, “President Wang, we are running sales, not writing essays.” Zuyi said lightly, “If you do not record, the customer is wind. If you record, the customer becomes an asset.”
Yide heard this and clapped. “Put that sentence on the wall.”
Zuyi glanced at him. “Putting it on the wall is useless. Execution is useful.”
Yide laughed. “President Wang is more like the boss than I am.”
She laughed too. “You are responsible for lighting the fire. I am responsible for not letting the fire burn down the house.”
Shanghai gave them a kind of strength different from Hong Kong.
Hong Kong’s commerce was too mature, so mature that every crevice had already been calculated by someone. Shanghai, however, was like a great machine being restarted. Though its gears were old, once they turned, the sound was astonishing. Foreign trade enterprises wanted to go overseas, factories wanted orders, the government wanted investment, universities wanted to transform technology, and young people wanted to start businesses. Everyone was waiting for a new entrance; they simply did not know what shape that entrance would take. The appearance of Silk Road was like hanging up a signboard of the future in advance.
Of course, there were many doubts.
Some said, “Chinese people do not even have many computers. What e-commerce are you doing?”
Some said, “Foreign trade depends on relationships. Who trusts whom online?”
Some said, “Americans can do it because they have credit cards and logistics. China cannot.”
Others simply laughed. “Your name is too big. Be careful the camel starves to death in Shanghai before it even walks out.”
Yide listened and was not angered. At one internal meeting, he said, “It is a good thing that others laugh at us for being big. It means they have heard us. What a startup fears most is not being laughed at, but that no one knows what you are doing. What we need now is for Shanghai to know, for the foreign trade circle to know, and for all of China in the future to know that business can also be done online.”
That night, he took the team to the Bund.
Around thirty people stood by the Huangpu River. The wind was strong, and river water slapped the bank. The lights on the Pudong side did not yet have the brilliance they would later possess, but the skeleton of the future was already there. Some wrapped their coats tighter; some lit cigarettes; some pointed excitedly across the river and said that in the future that place would certainly be extraordinary. Yide stood before the group, looking at the river, and suddenly remembered the words he had spoken while touching the bronze bull on Wall Street in New York, the night beside Victoria Harbour when Zuyi asked him what the future depended on, and the moment in the Stanford café when Zhide spoke of the “information entrance.”
He turned to everyone and said, “Look at this river. In the past, Shanghai’s business went out from the docks. Goods were loaded onto ships here and went to Nanyang, to Europe, to America. In the future, China’s business will not only go out from docks. It will also go out through the network. What we are building is not only a company. It is a new dock.”
Xiao Chen laughed and said, “President Ma, if the dock is built, where are the ships?”
Yide pointed at everyone. “You are the first batch of ships.”
Everyone laughed. The laughter was scattered by the river wind, yet the heat in their hearts did not scatter.
Zuyi stood beside him and said softly, “Those words were good, but tomorrow we still have to pay the rent.”
Yide also said softly, “I know. But without words like tonight’s, tomorrow’s rent would not be worth paying either.”
Zuyi looked at him and said nothing more. She knew this man’s boldness sometimes approached danger, yet it was precisely this danger that made her willing to accompany him to Shanghai.
A few days later, the first version of the Silk Road platform officially went online.
The pages would seem crude now, but at the time, they were already enough to surprise many people. Enterprise directories, product categories, English introductions, online inquiries, industry news, exhibition information, recommended enterprises—they were like the embryonic form of a new commercial world. On the first day, traffic was not large, yet the server crashed once because of a testing error. Xiao Chen grew so anxious that sweat covered his forehead. Zhide directed repeatedly over the telephone from America. Yide paced back and forth beside him, while Zuyi calmly called the first batch of customers to explain: “The system has just gone online and is being optimized. Please rest assured; your page information has not been lost.”
At ten o’clock that night, the platform finally stabilized.
A burst of applause rose in the office. Someone raised the remaining soda, someone slapped the table, and someone shouted, “Silk Road is open!”
Yide stood before the screen, looking at those words: Silk Road.
Suddenly he felt that these four characters were no longer merely a name, but a flag. A flag still very small, yet already planted in Shanghai.
He knew that the road ahead remained long. Money would burn, technology would make mistakes, customers would doubt, competitors would appear, policies would change, and people would leave the team while others joined. Perhaps in the future, the names that truly became brilliant would not necessarily be theirs. Perhaps ten years later, when China’s internet economy flourished, more latecomers would appear, and giants such as Alibaba and JD would stand at the center of the age. But at this moment, Yide did not know these things, nor did he wish to think of them. He only knew that in that era when the internet was still like distant thunder, these twenty or thirty people had already lit the signboard of a new technology company in Shanghai.
They were not bystanders.
They were among the earliest people to light the fire.
Late at night, Yide remained alone in the office. Outside the window, Shanghai’s lights shone one by one, and in the distance, the Huangpu River flowed silently. On the desk lay the business plan, client lists, technical documents, and a note left by Zuyi: Sales meeting tomorrow morning at nine. No lateness allowed.
Yide looked at the note and smiled.
He walked to the window and gazed toward Pudong. In his heart, a hot current slowly rose. After Shenzhen, it truly depended on Shanghai now. And he, Ma Yide, was finally no longer merely a man chasing the age. He wanted to stand upon the wave and, with his own hands, lay a new Silk Road into China’s commercial future.
That night, the wind in Shanghai was very strong.
So strong it seemed about to blow open a door in the old world.
End of Book One
Please read Book Two.