Who's Afraid of Zichen Wang?

Still, in matters political, social, and systematical, Zichen is the very model of a modern Chinese intellectual.

Zichen Wang is the chief editor of The East is Read and the founder of its sister, more prestigious newsletter Pekingnology. As Zichen Wang heads for Princeton, NJ to pursue a Master in Public Policy (MPP) at Princeton School of Public and International Affairs, his presence here will be missed but certainly not gone. For sure, beyond the Pacific and behind the scenes, he will still be pulling the strings.

I joined the Center for China & Globalization only last year as a research associate, but I had been involved in newsletters, and consequently, Zichen's work for a while by then. In the Chinese tradition of writing something before a friend departs, I here offer my impressions of him and my congratulations as a parting gift.

Zichen Wang, the bosom friend of tobacco and sworn enemy of the work clock, is a delightful paradox of haphazard brilliance. Of literature, philosophy, and history, he appears to know next to nothing. When I mentioned Bertrand Russell, he inquired with the purest innocence as to who this Russell fellow was and what he had done. And when I learned of his trip to a meeting in Salzburg, he was utterly baffled by my enthusiasm and my association of the city with music.

Still, in matters political, social, and systematical, Zichen is the very model of a modern Chinese intellectual. His grasp of Chinese law, contemporary history, and political maneuvering is nothing short of remarkable. He is a fervent believer and masterful practitioner of the art of "writing between the lines." In a world where the unspoken is as important as the spoken, he orchestrates the nuances of language with an almost uncanny skill.

In the grand theatre of intellectual life, Zichen Wang plays his part with a unique blend of obliviousness and expertise, steering the currents of discourse with a cigarette in one hand and a wry smile on his lips.

But enough about his work habits. As he sets off on his journey to Princeton, here is how I remember the future world leader and what I am grateful for.

Before I actually met Zichen, our correspondence was limited to email exchanges as I sought an internship with him. However, I ultimately opted for an opportunity at Xinhua News Agency. Zichen responded to my apology with a seemingly clichéd yet prophetic remark, "I'm sure our paths will cross again." Little did I know, the Xinhua position placed me under the watchful eye of none other than Zichen's close confidant, and my job at Xinhua also meant that I was in a constant working relationship with Zichen himself.

Finally, on a blistering summer day, I had the chance to meet the man in person. My initial encounter with him was a whirlwind of impatience, as he briskly introduced me to his work and workplace. Words tumbled out of his mouth in a relentless rush, each sentence barely finishing before the next began. He spoke with such fervour that it seemed he inhaled for the next sentence before the present one had even reached its end. His words resonated more in his larynx, then pushed through the nasal cavity, creating a peculiar symphony. Sweat glistened on his forehead, as much a part of his image as his perpetually white shirt and trousers, which had long become his standard attire. (Though, his signature look has now evolved into a Princeton T-shirt and beige cargo shorts.)

Between his sentences, punctuated by sighs that hinted at either the heat or a preoccupation with the next thought, his head would dip lower and lower, shunning the societal norm of eye contact. Yet, just as quickly, it would rise with renewed vigor, his dark, round eyes—strikingly reminiscent of a startled hamster's—making brief, intense contact with mine.

His words, though, were nothing short of genuine and forthright. It was only in later conversations that I uncovered the depth of care he had for his interlocutors, evident not just in his honesty but also in his acute awareness of the weight his words carried. It was as if he wielded his words not to scatter kindness, but to meticulously avoid harm and provide genuine benefit.

I've always thought there's a delicate line between being kind and not being cruel. Don't get me wrong: many can muster a touch of affability now and then, yet it's rare to encounter someone so repelled by the instinctive evils of human nature. Kindness he has in spades, though initially obscured by his hurried delivery, but the most remarkable was his opposition to sufferings, inequalities, and injustices. He would erupt with righteous anger, a volcanic burst of indignation, only to follow it with acts of tender empathy, leaving behind an echo of melancholy—a persistent reminder of his endeavours against the world's inequities. Call it stoicism or humanity, from this gentleness flows a sense of justice and a profound love for life and peace that are truly admirable.

Ah, to be sure, Zichen Wang will forgive my somewhat scatterbrained portrayal. I've attempted only to convey what I perceive as the truth, letting my words wander as freely as my thoughts. My deepest wish is for him to find himself in lighter, more joyous spirits more frequently. Not that I'm suggesting a constant state of glee—heavens, no! A sprinkle of melancholy can indeed be a rather refreshing soda. However, anxiety, disappointment, and fury drain the very essence of life's pleasures, leaving one parched in a desert of weariness.

One last word, Shakespeare once described the trials of being in a foreign land and grappling with a foreign tongue, "And now my tongue's use is to me no more / Than an unstringèd viol or a harp, / Or like a cunning instrument cased up, / Or, being open, put into his hands / That knows no touch to tune the harmony." But I have confidence in our Teacher Wang, for he, although not very interested in music, is already well-versed in the English language and well-prepared for the public policy polyphony.