Thinking back to the winter of 2021, I had just finished my third IELTS exam and looked up at the gray-blue sky over Hangzhou. It's now been four years. I have stumbled my way through the field of international education—starting as a grassroots executor, then becoming an entrepreneur, and eventually breaking through as a partner and manager. The path has been winding, but I am deeply grateful for all the mentors and companions who have guided and supported me along the way, offering sincere and insightful advice whenever I felt lost.
My journey may seem unusual, moving in and out of one circle after another. I once believed myself to be someone highly skilled at multitasking, but eventually, I realized that after all the addition, it was subtraction that truly refined my core—helping me focus on my original intent and the essence of a product that belongs wholly to me.
Throughout this process, I have experienced ignorance, ambition, moments of awakening within darkness, and even missed opportunities. Yet, I have ultimately chosen to do what is both the simplest and the hardest thing for me—to devote my heart and energy to nurturing my own project. The core reason is that I need ownership: the power to make decisions, to negotiate, and to take responsibility for every word I say in any setting. Projects belonging to others carry their creators' values, while my own project, for now, can follow my direction. Especially in the fundamentally resource-driven industry of international education, any deviation in values can lead to a dramatic shift in choices and decisions.
Looking back on the students I've accompanied over the years, I can say with a clear conscience that I've done my best. The pursuit of studying abroad often embodies a child's and a family's yearning for the unknown world of academia—it is, in essence, a complex project. If we think like product managers, we can break it down into clear plans, match the best resources (people and programs), and sculpt each student's rough resume like a sculptor working with stone. But ultimately, this is a chapter in someone's life. The true beginning of education isn't the moment one receives an admission offer—it's the moment one decides to pursue it.
What I hope to offer is a product that is chosen with conviction—to become the most solid and trustworthy companion on a student's (or parent's) journey of academic pursuit.
I have witnessed countless emotions—hope, anticipation, anxiety, despair. At first, I was easily moved by each student's changing moods, but later, I learned to tell them: Believe in your own excellence. Don't doubt your abilities just because a school hasn't yet recognized them. And I remind them that life is a long journey; each moment, in essence, is transient. What truly matters is to keep striving toward becoming the person you aspire to be.