PROFILE
Principal, Upwell Law
I have seen how the legal process can change a person—
and how one case can change an entire family.
That is why I have never treated a matter as merely a file.
THE BEGINNING
Some things became part of my character
before I was old enough to name them.
I was born in the 1980s and spent my childhood in the late 1980s and early 1990s.
When my parents took me shopping, we often passed older people and very young children asking for help on the street. Usually, an old bowl or box sat in front of them.
I had little money—only a small allowance from my parents. Whenever we passed someone asking for help, I would stop and put ten or twenty fen into the container.
Looking back, that amount could not do much. But it was part of what I had. I could not bear to give fifty fen or one yuan, because that might have been all my allowance for one, two or even three days. Yet if I gave nothing and simply walked past, the discomfort stayed with me.
As I grew older, my parents explained that some people asking for money might not be genuine and that I should not trust everyone. Sometimes they stopped me from giving. I understood their reasoning, but even after walking a long way, I would look back and still feel troubled.
I did not yet have words such as compassion, kindness or responsibility. I only knew that when someone asked for help in front of me, I found it difficult to act as though I had seen nothing.
JUSTICE & COURAGE
Before I understood law,
stories taught me what unfairness felt like.
I encountered stories such as Water Margin and The Little Eight Heroes very early. At first, I did not read them myself. Before I fully understood the world, I listened with my grandfather to traditional storytelling on the radio.
I did not understand every relationship or the historical system behind those stories. But the people who stepped forward when they saw injustice entered my world early. Because the influence came before my character had fully formed, it felt less like a lesson learned from a book and more like a seed already planted.
At school, if one child was excluded or bullied by many others, I was more inclined to stand beside that child. It was especially difficult when other students knew the situation was unfair but were too frightened to speak. I did not know the phrase “speaking for the vulnerable.” I simply felt that someone had to say: this is not right.
Among boys, a common response to losing a fight was to return with a group. I never wanted to do that. My view was simple: if the disagreement was between two people, those two should face it. Even if I was weaker, I would face it myself rather than turn a conflict between two people into a group surrounding one.
Fighting was, of course, not the right way to solve a problem. What remained was not an attraction to conflict, but a lasting trait: I was willing to accept the consequences of my own choices and face someone more powerful, but I did not want numbers or force to decide who was right.
I have never been good at staying silent in the face of obvious unfairness
That instinct remained after I began working. I once met the written conditions to apply for a professional grade, but a senior leader made clear that I would not be allowed to apply. In that environment, few people were willing to disagree directly with the principal decision-maker.
I still went to him and placed the rules, the criteria and my reasons in front of him. I said plainly that because the rules allowed the application, I would apply under those rules. I was not trying to create conflict. I simply believed that a clearly existing right should not disappear because one person was forceful or said no.
Law later taught me that courage alone is not enough. What truly protects a person is fact, evidence, rules and procedure.
LAW & EXPERIENCE
I have never been satisfied with
remembering only the outline of the law.
When I prepared for what was then called the National Judicial Examination—now the National Unified Legal Professional Qualification Examination—many people studied alongside me. Some were skilled at identifying what mattered most and memorizing only enough to pass. There was nothing wrong with that method, but it did not suit me.
When I encountered a legal concept, I did not want only the final conclusion. I had to understand why the rule existed, what each element meant, how the conditions related to one another and what result they would produce in a real case.
I still remember studying the doctrine of good-faith acquisition. It involved an entire set of conditions and explanations, together running to hundreds of Chinese characters. No one was expected to memorize every word. I kept understanding and reciting it until I could write the whole passage accurately.
I approached criminal offenses, their elements and legal theory in the same way. Even today, many years later, I can still recite some of that material word for word. I have always believed that only by understanding why a concept works—and why each word cannot casually be replaced—can it remain useful years later when the moment matters.
Complex cases taught me far more than legal provisions
During many years within the public system, I participated in complex matters involving financing by a leading Chinese property group and its upstream and downstream companies. I also worked on corruption, bribery and duty-related offenses involving personnel at district, municipal and provincial levels, as well as economic crime, digital assets and virtual currency. I saw a vast business empire collapse almost overnight—and how earlier action might have prevented the outcome from becoming so severe.
These matters often involved large amounts, many participants and long funds chains. No single statute could supply the answer. By following proceedings from their beginning through later stages, I learned how a case starts, what movement into each procedural stage means, which evidence may change an assessment and what direction a matter may take when certain procedural signals appear.
Work within the system taught me not only procedure on paper, but how procedure operates in reality. This is not about bypassing rules. It is about knowing what should be done at each stage, how material should be organized, how an issue should be stated accurately and how to stop a solvable problem from becoming steadily more expensive.
What matters to me is how to move a matter forward without abandoning principle—and how to achieve a more valuable result in less time and at a more controllable cost.
WHAT I HAVE SEEN
Some scenes remain in a person’s memory
for many years.
Over the years, I have witnessed scenes that many people may never encounter in a lifetime.
I saw a young colleague, only recently at work, die suddenly in an accident. His life stopped just as it had begun. Facing his family—especially the mother who had raised him alone—I could not find words equal to the loss.
Later, I saw what she posted on social media. The words and images were not loud; their quietness made them even more desolate. A mother had raised her child, watched him put on a uniform and begin work, and believed his life was opening—only to receive an outcome no parent could accept.
“Please accept my condolences” felt too light to carry the weight of losing a child. I kept asking myself: beyond standing before her with sympathy, what could we do? What could procedure resolve? What could law secure for her? And what would law never be able to compensate?
I also saw an older woman struck by a large truck while cycling with her young granddaughter. The grandmother was injured but survived. The child lay not far away and never breathed again. The grandmother watched her granddaughter die in front of her.
Such a scene is difficult even for a witness to bear, let alone the child’s grandmother. Alongside physical pain, she may carry a question for the rest of her life: why was I the one who survived? Law can investigate responsibility, preserve evidence and require compensation. For a family, however, the matter leaves far more than a finding of fault and a number.
I have seen a person in a serious criminal matter taken away in front of family members. At that moment, the person did not know when they would return, and the family did not know when or where they would meet again. Some tried to remain calm, some asked question after question, and some simply stood there unable to speak.
For an investigator, this is a procedural step. For a family, it may be the instant ordinary life stops. We should neither offer hope carelessly nor leave people alone with cold procedural language. Responsible work means explaining what may happen next, what can be done now and what must be prepared immediately.
I have also seen a suspect in an extreme violent offense restrained at the scene. Faced with a real danger that could have harmed others, people moved forward without regard for their own safety. I genuinely admired their courage: no one at the scene had time to debate courage from a safe position. They had seconds to judge and accept the danger that followed.
I have seen death, separation and families suddenly lose their support. I have seen helpless mothers and older people, and people who still moved forward in the face of danger. My response to these scenes has never been simple.
There was sorrow, anger, helplessness, admiration and much that no single sentence could express. Many years later, a particular sound, expression or even the atmosphere of the moment can still return unexpectedly.
Law never deals with abstract people
“Criminal suspect,” “victim,” “family member,” “deceased” and “applicant” are procedural labels. Behind each one is a person and a family whose life may never be the same.
Law cannot return someone who has been lost, nor can it carry all the pain of a mother, an older person or a child. Precisely at such moments, someone must remain clear-headed: explain the procedure, preserve the evidence that matters, pursue the available rights and help people move, step by step, from complete helplessness to a position where they can understand, decide and act.
DUBAI ENCOUNTER
An encounter in Dubai.
Work involving digital assets brought me into contact with Dubai.
There, I met someone who later became a friend and partner. What led me to trust him was not his network, but a small story I heard.
During the pandemic, travel was difficult. He learned that a compatriot he had never met was about to run out of food, so he prepared meals and drove hundreds of kilometers to deliver them. No one asked him to do it, and the other person had nothing to offer in return.
The story moved me deeply. In those circumstances, choosing to spend the time and accept the inconvenience for a stranger was more than being helpful. It was kindness without calculation.
We gradually became friends. He came to understand my background in criminal cases, digital-asset matters and bank account freezes, and how that experience could help people in difficulty.
Some people had a large amount of digital assets frozen and did not know where to begin. Some were detained on suspicion of a criminal offense while their anxious families understood nothing about the process. Others encountered problems abroad and did not know how to explain their circumstances accurately to professionals in China and overseas.
After understanding this work, he decided to support it and provide premises and local coordination for us in Dubai.
This became more than a business relationship. Two people who had not known one another were brought together by shared values and a willingness to help others.
HOW I WORK
Connecting experience in China
with qualified professionals overseas.
China and many overseas jurisdictions differ materially in language, culture, procedure and working style. Different languages mean that the same facts may not be expressed accurately. Different cultures and methods mean that an approach that feels natural in China may fail to move a matter forward elsewhere.
My life and work in China give me an understanding of Chinese law and of how communication and execution work in practice. I know how to explain a complex matter, find the decision points that truly affect the result and reduce confrontation that serves no useful purpose.
At the same time, overseas matters must respect local law and be handled by appropriately qualified local lawyers, tax advisers, trustees and other professionals. What I want to do is connect those capabilities.
For overseas lawyers and professional institutions, we can help explain Chinese law, Chinese procedure and what a Chinese client actually needs. For Chinese clients, we can coordinate overseas expertise so that language, culture and information gaps do not leave a matter stalled.
What I hope to do through law
I want to help people who genuinely need it: someone whose freedom is threatened, whose account or assets have suddenly been frozen, whose business is searching for a way through difficulty, or who does not know how to protect a family and its wealth.
I cannot promise an ideal result in every matter, and I will not use exaggerated language to create false hope. I will work to understand the person’s circumstances and see the whole picture. I will not give up merely because the other side is powerful, and I will not respond to complexity with advice that cannot be put into action.
Outside work, I have loved soccer since childhood. It has taught me teamwork, rhythm, judgment and persistence, and it has kept me open to people from different countries and cultures. I hope that one day I can work with professional partners around the world on difficult matters—and meet them for a real game on the field.
From the ten or twenty fen I placed beside people asking for help as a child, through complex cases and the encounter with a partner in Dubai, the thing I truly wanted to do has never changed.