---
title: "From Success to Confusion: A Testimonial from a Graduate of a Sibaida 'Kool-Aid' Class"
description: "The author reflects on the phenomenon of Chinese entrepreneurs who, after achieving initial success, become confused and susceptible to dubious training programs. Through personal experience at a 'Kool-Aid' class, the author analyzes the psychological and social factors that drive these business owners to seek such courses, ultimately attributing their vulnerability to three 'isms': opportunism, pragmatism, and exclusivism."
author: "李天田"
publisher: "New Distribution"
email: "zhaobo258@gmail.com"
telephone: "+8615854817671"
published: "2016-06-19"
language: "en"
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original_source: "https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/q71cvdIGfgtfzyefCbGESA"
translation: "https://xinjignxiao.com/zh/articles/%E4%BB%8E%E6%88%90%E5%8A%9F%E5%88%B0%E8%BF%B7%E7%B3%8A-%E4%B8%80%E4%B8%AA%E6%80%9D%E5%85%AB%E8%BE%BE-%E9%B8%A1%E8%A1%80%E7%8F%AD-%E6%AF%95%E4%B8%9A%E7%94%9F%E7%9A%84%E8%87%AA%E8%BF%B0-f9a0051e.md"
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---

# From Success to Confusion: A Testimonial from a Graduate of a Sibaida 'Kool-Aid' Class

> The author reflects on the phenomenon of Chinese entrepreneurs who, after achieving initial success, become confused and susceptible to dubious training programs. Through personal experience at a 'Kool-Aid' class, the author analyzes the psychological and social factors that drive these business owners to seek such courses, ultimately attributing their vulnerability to three 'isms': opportunism, pragmatism, and exclusivism.

Editor's Note:
Reading this article has been very enlightening. We have no interest in investigating what Sibaida is really like, but we greatly appreciate the author's thoughts on the spiritual world of Chinese entrepreneurs. "Going from good to great is rare; after achieving initial success, going from good to confused is more common." We republish this article solely to provoke thought.

During the Mid-Autumn Festival in 2010, I went on a business trip to a client I had worked with for many years. Sitting across from his five-meter-long executive desk, I suddenly noticed a large crystal bottle filled with colorful lucky stars prominently displayed on the rosewood bookshelf behind him. I'm not sure if people today still know what "lucky stars" are, but more than a decade ago, when I was in middle school, folding "lucky stars" from thin, colorful paper strips was almost a required "needlework" for every young girl.

So you can imagine my amusement when, more than ten years later, I suddenly discovered a bottle of lucky stars in the office of this young entrepreneur with an annual revenue of 30 billion RMB, dressed in a suit hand-tailored by a London tailor, and I could tell at a glance that there were exactly 999 of them.

He asked me with a sigh: "Do you know Sibaida?" This was the first time I heard the name "Sibaida" from someone I knew: "I've heard of it; it's quite eerie, what's up?" He said: "It's too eerie! This company has been calling me to sell Liu Yimiao's courses, which are expensive and sound mystical, so how could I go? I didn't even answer the phone. But their salesgirl is really persistent. She sends me text messages every day—motivational quotes in the morning and health tips in the evening. Not long ago, she said she wanted to wish me a happy Mid-Autumn Festival and sent a package to the company's front desk. When I opened it, it was this thing. The note said she folded it by hand, and she started folding it from the first time I rejected her, making a wish with each star, believing that when she reached the 999th, I would definitely accept their company's course!"

This sales tactic isn't new, but it's scary when someone actually does it in real life. I asked curiously: "So, did you go in the end?" "Well, she's a young girl, and I'm a grown man. She's been following me as a client for over half a year, and it's not easy for her. If I don't go, it would be too hard on her. A few tens of thousands of yuan isn't a big deal for me, so I went!" "Ah? Tens of thousands? How long is the course?"

At this point, the big shot's expression turned strange: "Three days! Just three days! Do you know how many people? 600! A full 600! Do you know where it was held? In a big temple on Mount Emei! Do you know what we ate? We queued up on the roadside, with a makeshift awning ahead, and each person got two disposable plastic meal boxes, waiting half an hour in line to get food!" As he said this, he was so angry he started coughing.

Imagining him in his London-tailored cashmere trousers squatting on the curb of Mount Emei eating from a boxed meal, I was overjoyed: "Haha, didn't you rebel? It must have been chaos, right?"

Unexpectedly, he became mysterious: "That's what I want to tell you. It's bizarre—not only did no one rebel, but they were, in four words—enraptured! Everyone said it was a practice of the beliefs they had just learned! I really couldn't stand the hardship, but even with my hot temper, I didn't dare complain, as if complaining would make me seem like an outsider."

In the following conversation, I learned what he had experienced: Sibaida's boss and lecturer, Liu Yimiao, is certainly not his real name, but no one knows his real name. Both staff and students respectfully call him "Brother Miao." When Brother Miao lectures, everyone is as if possessed, often moved to tears. The training fee of tens of thousands of yuan includes a "lifetime free retraining" mechanism, meaning that future attendance at the same topic, "Religious Wisdom," is free, but attending the more advanced "Sanxian Wisdom" requires additional payment. Of the 600 people present, he estimated about 300 were returnees. One of his tablemates had already retrained twice and said, "I'll come again!"

I was marveling at this when he suddenly suggested: "By the way, I don't understand this industry and can't see the tricks. How about this: next month there's another session of this course. I'll treat you, and we'll go together. You can experience it yourself!" Thinking of the potentially "Kool-Aid" atmosphere and the expensive favor I'd owe, I was terrified and shook my head vigorously, firmly refusing.

That was that. But a month later, this big shot sent me a text: "Last time you said you weren't interested in Liu Yimiao's course. This time I found another course in Shenzhen. It's not as expensive—36,000 yuan for 9 days spread over 3 months. I've already paid for you, so go attend! Haha!"

That was it. As my colleague would say—you can't treat a client's face like a doormat! So, with reluctance and a sense of degradation as an intellectual, I reluctantly flew to Shenzhen to attend this training organized by an institution whose name reeked of vulgar successology.

Before going, I planned to meet up with friends in Shenzhen, but upon registration, I was immediately told: the three-day course is fully packed, and you'll have only about 6 hours of sleep per day at your disposal. On the first evening before the course officially began, there was a "team building" activity. **We were randomly divided into groups of nine, named Flying Eagle. We were sorted by age, and to embody the concept that "everyone is a treasure in our lives," no one used their own name; we had to address each other as "Bao" (treasure), with points deducted for mistakes. The oldest was called Da Bao, the second Er Bao, and in our group, I was the youngest, so I became the ridiculous "Jiu Bao'er." The organizers assigned a young, pretty girl to each group as a "counselor," euphemistically called a "little angel." At first, the guys in our group joked with the little angel, not knowing her terrifying power until the next day.** We had to elect a group leader, and the leaders of the seven groups would then compete to become the overall head of the camp, called the "Camp King." Our leader was 50 years old, a director of a local government liaison office in Beijing.

After "identity verification," the devilish training began. The teacher demonstrated a set of standard movements on stage, called "group sculpture," which was a kind of "mini group calisthenics," similar to a shamanistic dance. Each team member had to perform these movements in perfect unison, like the Arirang performers in North Korea, while shouting the group's battle cry. Honestly, it was extremely silly. If it weren't for the need to justify the money paid by the sponsor, I would have walked out.

The teacher said each group should practice on its own until they mastered it, and the next morning, the seven groups would compete.

After finishing this routine, it was already 10:30 PM. Our leader asked for our opinion: practice tonight or in the morning? Without thinking, I said: "What's so hard about this? We can just get up half an hour early and practice!" The other "Baos" had no objections, so our Flying Eagle group went back to the room to sleep. The next morning, class started at 8:00. We gathered in the hotel's backyard at 7:00 and found that two or three groups had already been busy for over an hour, their faces flushed.

At 8:00, the class officially began. Amidst deafening Michael Jackson's "Thriller" background music, a female teacher suddenly rushed onto the stage from somewhere, followed by a hoarse greeting and opening remarks, very much in the style of a pyramid scheme. I couldn't help but cynically name this course the "Kool-Aid Class."

Then our group's nightmare began. The teacher announced the start of the "group sculpture" competition, with each group performing in turn. When it was Flying Eagle's turn, we were already trembling with fear. After I made the first mistake, other mishaps like rushing the beat and stepping on each other's feet followed. The teacher said expressionlessly: "Flying Eagle's little angel, step forward!" Our lovely young girl stepped out, pale-faced. The teacher said: "Flying Eagle failed the task. Little angel, do 50 push-ups." Ah?!

**Without a word, the little angel got down and started doing push-ups in public. After she finished, the teacher said: "Flying Eagle, perform again!" This time, we were under immense psychological pressure and performed the shamanistic dance again, but unfortunately, it was still very uncoordinated. The teacher said: "Flying Eagle failed the second time. Little angel, 100 push-ups!" Oh my god! I was almost in tears, thinking how to save the little angel. In the end, our little angel did 200 push-ups, her arms trembling so much she could only lie flat, and we barely passed the competition.**

The first morning, worth 2,000 yuan, ended like that. The teacher hadn't taught anything; she just drilled us.

In the afternoon, the climax came. The teacher asked each group to select representatives to go on stage and talk about why they came to the course and their first-day experience. Everyone noticed my passive resistance, and the Camp King, fearing I might cause trouble, chose San Bao and Wu Bao to share. San Bao was the manager of a famous domestic bakery chain, sent by her boss, a well-known photography enthusiast. She said her boss attended a session and was so excited that he arranged for the managers of all 300-plus stores to attend the training in rotation. Before coming, he required them to learn these methods of motivating, inspiring, training, and transforming people, and bring them back to the company for use in their work.

Wu Bao was a middle-aged woman with a 1980s-style bun, tattooed eyebrows, eyeliner, and lip liner, who owned two beauty salons in a prefecture-level city in the northeast. She had a peculiar aura of aggression. She said her reason for coming was a strange twist of fate. **One day, the sister of a classmate she hadn't seen in years invited her for tea. When she arrived, the other woman asked if she could do a favor for the sake of her sister's friendship. Wu Bao said, "Tell me what it is, and I'll see if I can help." Then, in the coffee shop, the woman suddenly knelt down and said, "Sister, can you lend me 36,000 yuan?" Wu Bao was shocked, thinking, "Oh no, she must be on drugs." But fearing trouble, she asked, "What do you need the money for, and why that exact amount?" The other woman said, "Sister, I attended a course that helps people succeed. I think it's perfect for you, and I really want to share it with you, but I don't have that much money to invite you. How about this: you must go to the course, and I'll lend you the 36,000 yuan tuition. I'll pay you back later!" Wu Bao's curiosity was piqued: "What course can drive someone crazy like this? You don't need to invite me; I'll go myself!"** Wu Bao's story sparked great enthusiasm from the teacher, who quickly organized applause for Wu Bao (incidentally, even the applause was specially trained; you had to clap in rhythm, or the little angel would have to do push-ups).

In the following days, besides remembering that the teacher always entered to "Thriller"-style mood music and that student sharing was always accompanied by tear-jerking music like "Er Quan Ying Yue," I was completely dazed. Because the course had no internal logic, and the teacher rarely taught substantive content. What we experienced was over ten hours a day of group calisthenics, storytelling, and push-ups. In this system, the teacher was more like a trained "entrepreneurial life" reality show host, very immersed in the role, often jumping onto the table to roar. Of course, as time went on, the themes of the stories became more profound and shocking: "My most embarrassing secret," "My most painful experience," "My greatest fear," etc. Sometimes the whole audience would be in tears. One man shared the story of how, in his single-minded pursuit of entrepreneurship, he delayed treatment for his child's meningitis, leading to the child's death. He thudded to his knees on stage, wailing, and banged his head three times on the floor, shouting, "Child, forgive me!" It's no exaggeration to say the classroom felt like a funeral hall. When the teacher, crying, announced that this group had won the highest score in this round of sharing, I was stunned and couldn't move from my seat.

Finally, on the third day, the course was about to end. As I was leaving, feeling like a concussion patient, I noticed that **the staff were wearing two different colors of clothing. Upon inquiry, I learned that two-thirds of the staff were actually alumni who had paid their own travel expenses and voluntarily returned as volunteers.** By the time I attended, it was already the 40-something session. Roughly calculating: each session averages 60 people, each paying 36,000 yuan in tuition, with more than half being volunteers—the project's profitability is easy to imagine.

**Why Them?**

To be honest, during my days in the Kool-Aid class, I kept asking myself two questions: First, what happened to them? Second, why them?

Regarding the first question, I've always thought that the learning process I witnessed in the Kool-Aid class is a variant of the "Lucifer Effect": God's most beloved angel, Lucifer, later fell to become Satan. Psychologist Philip Zimbardo proved through a famous experiment that **personal temperament is not as important as we think; the line between good and evil is not insurmountable, and environmental pressure can make good people do terrible things.** In 1971, Zimbardo conducted the "Stanford Prison Experiment," where he selected subjects through specific tests—healthy, emotionally stable college students—who were randomly assigned to roles of guards and prisoners and placed in a simulated prison environment. From the start, **the subjects strongly felt the influence of role norms and strove to play their assigned roles. By the sixth day, the situation became too realistic; the once innocent students had turned into brutal guards and psychologically broken prisoners. A uniform and an identity easily transformed their personalities, even beyond the experimenters' tolerance, forcing the two-week experiment to be terminated early.**

In 2007, Zimbardo first published "The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How Good People Turn Evil," detailing this experiment and, combined with social phenomena from the experiment to the U.S. military prisoner abuse cases over 30 years, deeply analyzed complex human nature and thoroughly explained the influence of "situational power" on individual behavior. **The teaching foundation of the Kool-Aid class is first to destroy your original real role: here you can only be called "Jiu Bao," all your mistakes implicate several strangers and even an innocent young girl. You are nothing but a member of a mini group calisthenics team; you don't even have the ability to tell a private story to gain sympathy and earn points. On this basis, the so-called training camp already has some characteristics of a "concentration camp."**

The real logic of the Kool-Aid class is to exert "situational pressure" on people: if everyone is crying, you can't laugh; if everyone is excited, you get goosebumps. When someone kneels and cries out the name of their deceased child to prove how hard their entrepreneurship was, you don't have the courage to stand up and say—you're just a jerk, and it has nothing to do with entrepreneurship. Even if your heart disagrees and your reason is detached, it's useless. In the collective unconscious frenzy, even if you maintain a certain level of clarity, you're still in a semi-hypnotic state: you can only follow, not break away.

Many journalists have written about the inside stories of "airport masters" like Liu Yimiao, but the descriptions of the students are pitifully monotonous. Journalists prefer to describe their "collective unconscious" hallucinatory state from a high horse, as if these people are ignorant, foolish, or idiotic, ignoring each specific individual—who are they really?

As a former Kool-Aid class student, the classmates I knew were like this: most were at the "middle-class" economic level, owning homes, cars, and investments; occasionally, there were wealthy tycoons who stumbled in; small business owners or their spouses were the majority; the most common were owners of restaurants, beauty salons, franchisees of various chains, and small factory owners, mostly self-employed; the post-60s generation was the mainstream, followed by post-70s, but post-80s were rare. Most came from second- and third-tier cities, where they were somewhat famous "capable people" and opinion leaders. These people had experience with similar training, and most frequently attended various training courses and camps.

So, you can see that the mainstream students of these Kool-Aid classes are not fools or failures; they are people who have navigated the world, and they could almost be labeled "successful people."

**So, why them? Why are their attention spans so easily captured and their emotions so easily mobilized?**

The excitement they expressed at graduation came from two aspects: first, they discovered through the course that they were not alone; there were many "family members" with similar or even more tragic experiences, and their feelings and worries were understood; second, the course was so amazing that they wished they could manage and influence their subordinates like that when they returned!

For such a group, the Kool-Aid class accurately hit their soft spots, making them feel weak and itchy all over:

First, their single-track lifestyle has hollowed out their spiritual world.

Ask any businesspeople born in the 50s, 60s, or even before 1975 how they spend their time, and I believe you'll find that over 80% have no sustained personal hobbies. Every day is spent in long working hours, two or three social engagements, and endless maneuvering. For the minority with hobbies, the most common are: outdoor sports, because many top tycoons do it, subconsciously a success label, and it's a way to stay away from family; collecting, where they relish the price of items rather than their aesthetic features, and some even started collecting as a way to give gifts to officials; sports like golf, mostly starting from social engagements, but some genuinely become obsessed; travel, mostly with luxury tour groups or inspection tours, unwilling to plan their own itineraries.

This group generally has poor health, with liver diseases being the most common, and sleep disorders of various causes are widespread. Their main vacation is the Spring Festival, and except for the three days from New Year's Eve to the second day of the new year, they spend every day from the start of the twelfth lunar month hosting banquets for various related units. A young general manager once calculated that during the entire first month of the lunar year, he would drink about 30 kilograms of baijiu or strong liquor. Most have little to say to their spouses, and some are driven crazy by their married life. Extramarital relationships based on money (short or long) are common, but the divorce rate is not high. Their so-called "friends" are mostly people they can talk business with. They do read books or magazines, but mainly practical business ones; airport bookstores are their primary source, and they don't read "leisure books" unless the cover says "How Sheng Xuanhuai Mastered the Art of Politics and Business" or "Guo Taiming's Bedside Book" or "How to Build a Wolf-like Team."

**In short, their way of life is completely single-track, always revolving around the single theme of "business" or "money." This lifestyle makes it hard for them to sit quietly and face themselves. Their material world is noisy, and their spiritual world is even more chaotic. When money is the yardstick of life, regardless of wealth, they sadly find that there is always a bigger scale above them. They think they are under great pressure, but they have no interest or ability to explore what actually causes it. They feel they have a "great mission," but wonder why this meaningful endeavor is becoming increasingly boring. For them, after achieving initial success in the secular sense, the huge challenge ahead is not "how to do it," but "how to live."**

So, the teaching methods of the Kool-Aid class provide them with a huge outlet for catharsis: no need to think, no need to self-reflect, no need to correct. They give you a closed environment to vent negative emotions freely, even implicitly encouraging your histrionic personality to flare up. Essentially, this is no different from going to a luxury sauna, sweating profusely, and feeling "great."

Second, insecurity is like a bone-marrow-eating disease.

There's a sign of the turning point when today's entrepreneurs go from peak to decline—making harsh statements. When someone starts publicly challenging the government or officials, rest assured, their company is about to have problems. Why? Success does create an illusion: I succeeded, so I'm invincible. Sorry, but honestly, no company's founding history is flawless; it's just a matter of the size and nature of the problems. This is especially true for small and medium-sized private enterprises. So, making harsh statements is talking nonsense; it's just a mirror image projected when someone is extremely self-inflated, but it's exactly opposite to the truth. It only reveals their growing inner insecurity.

Once, at a client networking event, we invited a famous medical expert to give a lecture on health. To liven up the atmosphere, the professor had his assistant distribute a depression scale to over twenty entrepreneurs present. After analyzing the results on the spot, the professor was shocked and called me aside: "There are five with moderate depression, one with severe anxiety, and one with severe depression. I won't make this public, but please tell them to seek medical help immediately!"

Contrary to what many imagine, in this group of high-drive individuals, insecurity often doesn't cause cowardice but, on the contrary, mania and arrogance. The Kool-Aid class's approach is to endlessly fuel this arrogance, leaving no time to think about their own problems, avoiding finding solutions, and instead blaming external factors like "the difficulty of entrepreneurship," "being forced by circumstances," or "that's just how the environment is." On top of this arrogance, they cultivate a strong, domineering, illusory moral superiority: **"Look, look, how hard I've worked, how profound I am, I'm already studying spiritual issues, I'm spreading love."**

Third, from "can't do it" to "don't know how to do it."

Of course, many of my classmates in the Kool-Aid class had businesses that were far from the scale that would justify self-inflation. They came for another reason—when they started their businesses, people said they couldn't do it, but they unexpectedly succeeded. Soon, they found they didn't know how to do it anymore.

This "not knowing how" mainly manifests in two ways: first, they can't calculate money clearly; second, they can't keep people together. Some may not believe it, but many small and medium-sized business owners only know how much money they have on hand, but can't calculate how much they actually earn in a year. When the team is small, things go well, but as business grows, interpersonal relationships deteriorate, free-riding increases, and it's common for "founding members" to scheme against the boss, demanding equity or threatening to leave and start their own businesses.

Narrow vision and limited experience make these entrepreneurs unaware of where to find normal solutions. In such situations, they can only "seek any doctor when critically ill." At this stage, private entrepreneurs are particularly prone to learning leadership from two sources: first, the administrative balancing tactics within the system; second, the mysterious art of imperial rule.

**They don't even know what to learn, nor do they understand what those seemingly profound management tools can solve. Training courses that teach methods and techniques always sound boring, so they prefer to believe in concepts like "change yourself and you can change the world." When their management has problems, people tend to confuse incompetence with attitude issues. Improving competence is slow, but changing attitude seems fast.**

In class, they do experience moments of ecstasy where they can command and control, and they do see the strong team cohesion created by the Kool-Aid class itself, which reinforces their identification. They wish they could bring the entire Kool-Aid method back to their own companies. But they also can't figure out why it doesn't work well when they return. Why do their good intentions become a joke among employees? So, they fall into a vicious cycle, repeatedly coming back for "retraining" to find answers.

**Three Isms Imprison the Boss**

For ten years, I've worked with different entrepreneurs almost every day. Overall, I believe that among those who are still active, there are several common traits: **First, "sharpness," a high sensitivity to the environment; second, "stubbornness," a strong persistence in what they believe; third, "flexibility," a soft demeanor, able to endure grievances and pressure to achieve goals.** **Among local entrepreneurs who have survived to this day, regardless of company size, the most precious and worthy of study is not ambition or business inspiration, but that soft demeanor and practical wisdom to maneuver in complex and changing environments without giving up.**

However, even Jim Collins, the American who wrote "Built to Last," has to admit that among the myriad companies, going from good to great is rare; after achieving initial success, going from good to confused is more common.

If you're not good or ambitious, you won't survive in the market, but after success, you often slide into confusion. It's not related to the environment or others, mainly because the entrepreneur is "imprisoned" by themselves. And these three "jailers" are precisely the three isms bred by success—**opportunism, pragmatism, and exclusivism.**

**Most Chinese companies start by seizing an opportunity, not by creating value, which leaves a deep mark of opportunism in the entrepreneur's bones.** Many people say that entrepreneurs seem particularly "snobbish." Yes, driven by the principle of efficiency, they are more pragmatic than others in dealing with people and things. Pragmatism is not blameworthy, but once pragmatism becomes the only guide for behavior, people increasingly abandon the ability to think systematically.

In recent years, with the slowdown of direct investment, mergers and acquisitions have gradually become an important means of corporate expansion. In M&A cases, the defects in Chinese companies' cooperation capabilities are especially exposed. Whether facing interests or the right to speak, people's behavior is dominated by exclusivism, sometimes even willing to sacrifice real interests for the pleasure of exclusivity. In cooperation, we always focus on what others get rather than what we get.

**Opportunism, pragmatism, and exclusivism are the "limits" for entrepreneurs to go from success to confusion.** The Kool-Aid class is like the ginseng soup that sustains life during a final rally. Although it can't really save lives, it can prolong the breath. For many, this illusion is enough.

-END-

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