Those willing to advance for life are few and far between.

Before Song Jiang arrived in Jiangzhou, how long had Li Kui and Dai Zong (Magistrate Dai) been together? At least a few years. During those years, hadn't Li Kui spent plenty of Dai Zong's money? That jailer position he held was given to him by Magistrate Dai. He drank and gambled all day, picked fights, and every time he caused trouble, didn't Magistrate Dai always clean up his mess? If Dai Zong had assigned any other person without connections—just like Li Kui—to that jailer job, that person would have known to hand over a third of his income as tribute to Magistrate Dai. But Li Kui? His meager earnings weren't even enough to cover his drinking and gambling debts, let alone pay any tribute. After Dai Zong had protected him and spent so much money on him for so many years, in less than three days Li Kui became Song Jiang's little bro, stopped listening to Dai Zong, and was even willing to sell his life to Song Jiang.

Think about it: in terms of total money spent on Li Kui, could Song Jiang have outspent Dai Zong? No, and it's impossible. The same thing applies to Wu Song.

Chai Jin supported Wu Song for a year—helping him avoid legal trouble, providing clothes and travel expenses—and Wu Song's gratitude was merely courteous. Song Jiang and Wu Song only knew each other for a few days; besides seeing Wu Song off mile after mile, Wu Song wanted to call him his sworn brother.

Put these two cases together, and what do they show? That Song Jiang didn't offer money. Even if you gave you the same amount of silver Song Jiang gave, and tried to spend it the same way, you wouldn't just fail to achieve the same results—you'd barely manage 1% of what Song Jiang did.

Some people believe their mindset must also evolve—their value lies in constantly replacing their outdated selves with newer, improved versions. Never stop living, never stop iterating. That's one school of thought. Another group opposes it. They don't want lifelong learning or constant forward motion; they want to sit comfortably in the position their earlier efforts secured, enjoying the profits that first-mover advantage brings. They don't want something looming behind them, ready to crush them at any moment.

Li Kui drank heavily, gambled, lied, and shuffled excuses. Dai Zong would point out Li Kui's problems and tell him, "You can't improve if you keep acting this way. You can't become a better version of yourself." Was Dai Zong's heart not bright and upright? Yes, it was. But could such righteousness recruit Li Kui? No.

Li Kui didn't want to improve—do you understand? Song Jiang understood. In his eyes, Li Kui wasn't a younger brother. What was he? A great business deal. By indulging Li Kui and telling him he didn't need to change, Song Jiang proved himself the better big brother. And so Li Kui was willing to stake his life on him. With that, the recruitment was complete.

People willing to push themselves forward for a lifetime are few and far between. What is this? This is market demand.

What is the purpose of the financial industry? Is it to help you make money? No—it's to take the blame for you.

I'll tell you a trading system: you only profit if you execute it seriously, and you lose if you don't. Can you accept that? No. Because when you lose, there's no one else to blame. Executing a trading system is like driving a car—every mistake is captured by the dashcam, slapping your face repeatedly. You can't stand it. You can't bear to see such an incompetent version of yourself. But financial institutions won't let you drive. They'll tell you, "Just trust me, and I'll handle it." If you lose money, that's because you trusted the wrong person. Sure, the money is gone, but at least you can offload the psychological burden: "It's not my fault—I trusted the wrong person." Feels good, doesn't it?

Now extend that kind of blame-shifting service to the education sector, and instantly a massive industry is born: the so-called influencer-led college application consulting firms. Are they really making decisions for you? No—they're taking the blame for you.