Linfei’s Moment

The two thousand graduating seniors in UPenn’s auditorium shifted restlessly in their seats. Linfei Zhou met her sister’s glance across the auditorium. She had promised to mention it for her, but now, exposing a professor at graduation felt like an unwanted burden overshadowing her big day.

Professor Carson gave her a subtle nod, signaling it was time to take the stage. She smoothed her gown and stepped forward.

“Greetings to the 2,178 members of the graduating class of the University of Pennsylvania!” she called out, her voice ringing with practiced enthusiasm.

Due to its name, most people think UPenn is a state school, but the elites know it’s part of the Ivy League, with tuition fees as high as Harvard or Yale.

“Last summer! When I was on an alpaca farm in Patagonia, my classmate from Mozambique called and asked for my help to fill out a small business loan application. Isn’t it amazing someone born in Beijing can reach across the world in Argentina to help someone in Africa?!”

Professor Carson nodded approvingly. She recalled his advice: Think of the saddest moment in your life to bring emotion into the speech.

The memory of her grandmother’s passing surfaced in her mind.

“My life hasn’t always been easy. I suffer from dyslexia, and in China, I was bullied from a young age.” Tears welled up in her eyes. She focused on the crowd, pausing for five seconds to make her words sound more consequential. “But through hard work, I made it here, to the University of Pennsylvania.”

Dyslexia was a convenient non-diagnosable weakness to get on the bandwagon with, said Professor Carson. Vulnerability was in. He also told her to forget about her sister’s issue with Professor Volcnik. Successful people don't get drawn into a battle where the best possible outcome is a pyrrhic victory.

“At Penn, I have made friends from every country, from every background.” She directed her gaze to the students she normally avoided—those living in the dorms, not in the activity clubs, those who couldn’t jet off to Europe on weekends.

“At Penn, I’ve gained the ability to have empathy for everyone, from the STEM student struggling with midterms to the single mother hiding from deportation. I want to help them to have a brighter future!” Her voice swelled with passion. Dad said as a future CEO to speak as if I care for everyone. But to act as if I was indifferent to my closest friend or business partner—cut a thousand jobs without blinking.

“At Penn, I’ve learned to wear blue jeans and let my hair down. I've learned money isn’t the key to happiness.” In China, they concealed their wealth—luxuries were enjoyed behind country club walls or in private restaurant rooms. Wealth in China drew government scrutiny and demands for favors. Outside China, their money flowed from offshore bank accounts for anything her family wanted.

“In your future jobs, work hard!” she exhorted the crowd. Dad always said rich people don’t work. It’s a myth Americans believe —that Bill Gates coded Windows in his garage, that Steve Jobs built the iPhone. In fact, the wealthy gather investment and hire others to work. The workers remain unseen while their organizer collects the credit.

“And yes, Penn graduates work hard.” She paused for effect, while her mind drifted. During my Goldman Sachs internship, I needed to be in the office at 7:30 a.m. A lifestyle unsuited to someone like me—why I switched to International Relations. NGOs suit me better, long lunches while we “save the world” through PowerPoint presentations.

“Because Penn students study hard!” Studying was a breeze with tutors. They’re the ones who worked hard, not me.

“And, let us not forget the struggles of our LGBTQIA students, and those from many different backgrounds.” Her voice softened. Politics: follow the prevailing trends. My family survived the Cultural Revolution, by being agreeable, and then building a vast metal trading business after China's premier declared commerce was glorious again.

Professor Carson helped her craft her words about American politics. Naturally, she was now indebted to him. Life is a balancing act.

“I am so grateful to UPenn for providing a safe space for all our students.” She noticed her sister angrily cross her arms.

“Penn graduates, with the gift of knowledge we’ve been given from our wise teachers and faculty, we are the first generation that can truly solve the world's problems.” She beamed. Dad said the same line at his graduation.

“I am living the American dream!” she declared. “Thank you!”

Linfei held her head high, smiling at the clapping students, her eyes squinting ever slightly to make her grin appear more authentic.

“Congratulations UPenn Class of 2026. You are going to change the world!” Her father’s words echoed through her mind: things never change.

In the audience, Linfei’s sister glared at her and stormed out. From where she stood, Linfei wouldn’t be able to catch her. Telling the graduating class about the professor who sexually harassed students wasn’t going to help anyone on graduation day. Linfei held her head high and smiled at the audience members still clapping for her performance.

As she came offstage, her feigned tears gave way to genuine ones as the weight of disappointing her sister hit her. She cornered Professor Carson. Her voice trembled. “Why did I need to lie in my speech? I don’t have a friend in Mozambique. I am not saying a single word I believe in.”

Carson winked. “You’ll get used to it. And someday you’ll train the next generation of young people to become leaders.”

Maybe she just needed to embrace adulthood and deal with reality. What her dad had hinted at. That the “rules” were for ordinary people. Telling the truth. Putting in an honest day’s work. It was not for leaders. She had graduated from UPenn, the training ground for legendary leaders such as Sheryl Sandberg, Raj Rajaratnam, Elon Musk, Donald Trump, and Adam Neumann.

She recalled her first day, when Professor Carson told her Papa Madiaw Ndiaye, Africa’s youngest billionaire, went to UPenn. That UPenn was a training ground for the international elite. It was clearly true.

In the blink of an eye, she could see her future ahead of her. A decade rising within a UN human rights agency. A reluctant, but “dutiful”, return to her father’s billion-dollar company. Then leveraging her reputation to be selected to the boards of other major Chinese companies. Being a well respected member of the charitable community would make her unassailable to her enemies. She would leverage her influence to bring deals to her family business and take ownership stakes in others.

An English Professor took the stage and began a speech, a self-deprecating one about how ancient he was and how jealous of the youthful vigor of the students in attendance. Being 70, and with several Pulitzer Prizes behind him, Linfei surmised he had nothing left to prove. So he talked about kindness. About how being kind to others was the only thing that brought him lasting happiness. “Kindness,” he said, “is the only thing that lasts.”

Linfei thought of her father—exhausted from endless meetings, from employee troubles, from stress, but mostly from the endless performance required of him. She’d been groomed for that life. What if she refused? In China, they called it “tang ping”—lying flat, stepping off the treadmill of ambition.

She had made up her mind. She pulled out her phone, fingers shaking, and texted Mei: I’m sorry. I’ll speak out about Volcnik. As the crowd’s applause for the Professor of English faded, Linfei felt full of determination, and lighter, for the first time in years.