Imagine quitting your high-paying government job at 54 and spending the next 14 years on a massive road trip because your boss was a flake. That’s basically what Confucius did. From 496 to 484 BC, he and his crew were basically “stateless” and “lordless”—which back then was super dangerous. No boss meant no protection.
When Confucius left Lu at 54 to wander around China looking for work, he didn’t go alone. He had a squad. These guys gave up their jobs and families to follow their teacher into a super uncertain future.
When Confucius got back to his home state of Lu around 515 BC, the vibes were… not great. The Duke was still in exile, and three powerful families (the Jisun, Mengsun, and Shusun) were basically running a shadow government.
Imagine being a genius but having to work in a grain warehouse. That was Confucius in his 20s. He started out as a low-level civil servant, making sure the rice and millet didn’t get moldy. Later, he got promoted to managing herds of sheep and oxen. He wasn’t too proud for the “lowly skills”—he just made sure the animals were fat and healthy and moved on.
Every superhero has an origin story, and Confucius is no different. But his isn’t about radioactive spiders—it’s about a 70-year-old retired soldier and a teenage girl.
To understand Confucius, you have to understand that “China” wasn’t even a thing yet. It was more like a patchwork of states constantly beefing with each other over territory and power.
Picture this: It’s 2,500 years ago. You’re in your late fifties, stranded in the woods, and you haven’t eaten in a week. Your students are starting to lose it, and you’re wondering if your life’s work was all for nothing.
Who exactly was Confucius? If you’re thinking “just some old guy with a beard,” you’re missing the point. He was the most influential person in Chinese history, period.
So, here’s the thing: trying to write a biography of Confucius is a total nightmare. When Meher McArthur started this book, a scholar straight-up told her it was impossible. And honestly? They weren’t wrong.
So, we’re talking about Confucius. You’ve probably heard the name, maybe seen some “Confucius says” memes that are honestly kind of cringe. But here’s the thing: this guy was basically the original influencer, and he did it all without a smartphone or a single follower on social media.
Your phone has rare earths in it. Your laptop has them. If you drive a hybrid or electric car, it is full of them. Wind turbines need them. Flat screens need them. Pretty much every piece of modern technology needs a tiny bit of these 17 metals that most people have never heard of. Chapter 39 of Torsten Dennin’s “From Tulips to Bitcoins” (ISBN: 978-1-63299-227-7) tells the story of what happened when one country controlled almost all of the supply and decided to squeeze.
Your phone has rare earths in it. Your laptop has them. If you drive a hybrid or electric car, it is full of them. Wind turbines need them. Flat screens need them. Pretty much every piece of modern technology needs a tiny bit of these 17 metals that most people have never heard of. Chapter 39 of Torsten Dennin’s “From Tulips to Bitcoins” (ISBN: 978-1-63299-227-7) tells the story of what happened when one country controlled almost all of the supply and decided to squeeze.
In November 2005, a 36-year-old copper trader for the Chinese government stopped answering his phone. His apartment door stayed shut. He did not show up at work. His employer, the State Reserve Bureau, first told the London Metal Exchange that the man did not exist. Then they said he acted alone. Then they stopped talking. Chapter 20 of Torsten Dennin’s “From Tulips to Bitcoins” tells the story of Liu Qibing, who shorted up to 200,000 tons of copper on the LME and vanished when the bet went wrong.
In November 2005, a 36-year-old copper trader for the Chinese government stopped answering his phone. His apartment door stayed shut. He did not show up at work. His employer, the State Reserve Bureau, first told the London Metal Exchange that the man did not exist. Then they said he acted alone. Then they stopped talking. Chapter 20 of Torsten Dennin’s “From Tulips to Bitcoins” tells the story of Liu Qibing, who shorted up to 200,000 tons of copper on the LME and vanished when the bet went wrong.
So we made it through all 11 chapters of “Singapore-China Relations: 50 Years.” That’s a lot of diplomatic history, economic data, and joint projects. Here’s what stuck with me after reading the whole thing.
Chapter 11, written by John Wong and Lim Tai Wei, tells the story of how Singapore built serious intellectual infrastructure for studying China. Not just the language or the classics, but real-time political and economic analysis.
Chapter 10, by Huang Yanjie and Zhao Lingmin, is about how Singapore looks when viewed through Chinese eyes. Not the diplomatic version. The media version. Official newspapers, TV dramas, pop songs, travel blogs, internet forums. All of it.
Lim Tai Wei’s chapter is about the “soft” side of Singapore’s Chinese community. Not the money, not the politics, not the diplomatic handshakes. Instead, he looks at culture, food, education, traditions, and identity. The stuff that shapes how a community actually lives day to day.
Zhao Litao’s chapter on educational exchanges reads like a story about two countries slowly figuring out they need each other’s schools. Not for sentimental reasons. For very practical ones.
This chapter is different from the rest of the book. It’s not written by academics. It’s written by Singbridge, the company that actually builds these projects on the ground. So instead of theory, you get the practitioner’s view. How does a Singapore company walk into a Chinese province and say, “Let us help you build a city”? And then actually do it?
Chapter 6 is written by Chen Gang, and it’s about one of the most interesting things Singapore and China have done together. They decided to build an eco-friendly city from scratch. Not renovate an existing one. Not add solar panels to some buildings. They picked a 30-square-kilometre patch of mostly useless land, salt farms and wastewater ponds, and said: “Let’s build a green city here.”
This is probably my favorite chapter in the whole book. Lye Liang Fook writes about the Suzhou Industrial Park (SIP), and it reads almost like a startup saga. Two countries decided to build an entire industrial township together. They clashed on how to do it. Things got rough. Then it actually worked.
Chapter 4, written by Chiang Min-Hua, is about how tourism exchange between Singapore and China grew from almost nothing into a multi-billion dollar flow of people and money in both directions. And the numbers in this chapter are genuinely surprising.
Chapter 3, written by Sarah Y Tong, is basically the spreadsheet chapter. Tons of tables, percentages, growth rates. But behind all those numbers is a pretty wild story: two countries that didn’t even officially recognize each other kept trading anyway, for decades, because money talks louder than politics.
Chapter 2 is all about one man: Lee Kuan Yew. Written by Zheng Yongnian and Lim Wen Xin, it makes a strong case that Singapore’s special relationship with China was built on Lee’s personal connections with five generations of Chinese leaders, from Mao Zedong to Xi Jinping, and the fact that China genuinely wanted to learn from Singapore’s success.
Chapter 1 is by John Wong and Lye Liang Fook, and it tries to do something ambitious: cover the entire arc of Singapore-China relations in one chapter. Centuries of trade, Cold War politics, panda diplomacy, military exercises, and a whole web of institutional frameworks. The through-line is clear: pragmatism made this relationship work, and institutions are what will keep it going.
The editors, Zheng Yongnian and Lye Liang Fook, start with something refreshingly honest. They admit the project scared them. World Scientific Publishing asked them to write a book commemorating 50 years of Singapore-China relations, and they thought: huge topic, not much time.
So I picked up this book called Singapore-China Relations: 50 Years, edited by Zheng Yongnian and Lye Liang Fook. It’s part of a whole series about Singapore’s first 50 years as a nation. And honestly, the story of how Singapore and China built their relationship is way more interesting than you’d expect.