Chapter 68: The World of the Wealthy

After six hours on the road, Su Mu stepped off the bus with an aching back and sore waist. He stretched lazily, stood for a while with his brand-new white suitcase at his feet, and only then began to feel comfortable.

The name “Menlo Park” contains the word “Park,” and indeed, the surroundings were beautiful. Low, modest buildings were everywhere, reminiscent of the suburbs of Los Angeles—only far more luxurious. Not far off lay a residential area where every home boasted a sprawling garden. Old, sturdy trees lined the streets, their thick trunks attesting to years of growth. There were few cars on the road; after all, Menlo Park was a small town of just over twenty thousand people. If not for Stanford University nearby, which brought it into the orbit of Silicon Valley, it would hardly attract notice.

To the north was Redwood City, to the south Palo Alto, and further south lay Santa Clara County and San Jose. Heading east, one could quickly glimpse the bay. Menlo Park sat right beside the San Francisco Bay—often referred to by the local Chinese community as “the San Francisco Bay Area.”

Stanford University, world-renowned, was just southwest of Menlo Park, a mere few minutes’ drive away. Earlier, when the Greyhound bus passed through Palo Alto, Su Mu had glimpsed the campus of that illustrious institution. The two students who had been seated behind him—about to graduate from Stanford—had gotten off in Palo Alto.

Barring any surprises, Su Mu would spend the next few years here, and perhaps even choose Stanford for his university studies. Before this summer, his goal was Harvard Law School, and he stood a good chance of getting in—Harvard boasted America’s top law programs. But now, his ambitions had wavered. Without realizing it, the sense of achievement he’d hoped to gain by becoming a lawyer no longer satisfied his appetite for success...

Nearby, a small square was sparsely populated. Menlo Park, as a wealthy enclave of Silicon Valley, had property prices so high they frightened Su Mu. Some houses for sale had signs planted on their lawns, listing phone numbers and prices per square foot—most hovering around five hundred dollars. Since one square meter equals roughly 10.7 square feet, that meant over five thousand dollars per square meter. Even the cheaper houses in the area, at over a hundred square meters, would cost at least four hundred thousand dollars. It was a high-end neighborhood, with noticeably fewer people of color; the majority were white.

Including Chinese families, everyone preferred to move to affluent neighborhoods if possible. When more people of color moved in, whites tended to leave. That was the reality of American residential areas: whites predominated, wealthier, and generally better educated. Though Su Mu was reluctant to admit it, he knew it was true.

The streets were wide, with generous spacing between houses, and few people occupied this sunny coastal town. After so long living in the crowded bustle of Chinatown, he found the openness almost unsettling.

He asked an elderly gardener trimming a lawn for directions. The man, warm and helpful, pointed out the way. This was none other than David Packard—co-founder of Hewlett-Packard and a famous Silicon Valley billionaire. Glancing at Su Mu’s suitcase, he smiled and continued with his lawn care, muttering, “My granddaughter should be coming back for school soon.”

In his garage, there was only a single Toyota. In recent years, Toyotas had sold exceptionally well in America, threatening to surpass General Motors. Su Mu thought the wealthy ought to drive luxury cars, but in reality, they could easily afford them—they simply chose practicality.

The future headquarters of Facebook would eventually rise right here in Menlo Park, but with Su Mu’s unexpected arrival in Silicon Valley, whether Zuckerberg would succeed remained uncertain. The man had only been born in May 1984—still in diapers, drinking milk.

In the early eighties, Silicon Valley was teeming with young people full of entrepreneurial dreams. The entire region pulsed with energy—visible even in the company billboards lining the streets. No other area boasted so many high-tech firms.

Su Mu spotted several young people tinkering in a garage, emulating Steve Jobs, who had also started out in a garage, hoping to become famous Silicon Valley millionaires. At that time, co-working spaces—business incubators—were not yet popular. Many chose to launch their ventures from their own garages.

Yet Su Mu guessed these were “poor” kids from wealthy families. Houses with garages in the area cost a fortune; only the upper middle class could afford them. These families rarely rented out their garages—instead, their own children occupied them.

Stanford University profoundly influenced the region, and Silicon Valley was simply a collective name for the many small towns clustered around it.

At present, few companies existed, mostly concentrated near Stanford. Further out, in places like Santa Clara County, the landscape remained desolate. America’s vast territory and sparse population meant people gathered mostly in big cities—Philadelphia, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, San Francisco. Elsewhere, populations were thin; with over twenty thousand residents, Menlo Park was considered a sizable town.

His suitcase was heavy, but there would be plenty of time to get to know the area. So Su Mu stood outside Sun Microsystems, raised a hand, and hailed a yellow taxi, placing his suitcase in the trunk before saying, “Please take me to Menlo Park High School, sir.”

The taxi driver glanced in the rearview mirror, his expression peculiar, then nodded. As Su Mu retrieved his wallet from his backpack, the driver said, “Here we are… Just three dollars, OK?”

It was barely three hundred meters away—not even a block. Su Mu almost protested, but when the driver offered half price, he let it go. “That’s fine, but you should’ve told me it wasn’t far.”

The driver shrugged, clearly at fault, and didn’t reply.

Nearby stood a small but beautifully designed school.

After paying the fare, Su Mu stood at the gate with his suitcase. It was registration day at Menlo Park High School, and the entrance teemed with students—and luxury cars. Most of the students were white.

A Chinese student, looking disgruntled and about eighteen or nineteen, wore a Stanford uniform. He was maintaining order at the gate, though clearly unwillingly.

Feeling a sense of kinship, Su Mu approached him and asked, “Sorry to bother you—could you tell me where to register?”

The young man glanced at Su Mu and replied in Cantonese, “Chinese?”

“Yes, and you?”

He nodded, his expression relaxing a little. “That building over there. I graduated from here, but I don’t quite remember. Go ask inside.”

Just then, a nonchalant youth pulled up beside them in a Bentley, about the same age as Su Mu—clearly wealthy. On the passenger side sat a black girl, probably mixed race, strikingly attractive. The young man laughed, “Li Zhekai, you back again? Did Stanford kick you out, sending you back to repeat school?”

Su Mu looked at the young man beside him, finally noticing the red Ferrari key dangling from his waist. He thought, friends of the rich are indeed rich.

He also wondered what sort of school he’d entered—students arriving in luxury cars. This was a world apart from Castellar.

His grandfather had been right: only by venturing out could one broaden their horizons. No matter how much he tried, Chinatown was a small patch of earth—there was only so much to achieve there. Su Mu felt terribly poor…