Recently, a netizen said to me:
“Zhang Xiangqian, you’ve claimed to have persisted in promoting alien technology for nearly 40 years, written thousands of letters to relevant organizations, and posted over a thousand articles on your public account—I believe you. But have you ever thought about what happens if, by the time you’re old or dead, society still doesn’t recognize your alien tech? What will you do then? Will you feel cheated? Will you think your lifelong persistence was worthless? Didn’t you say you can predict things? Can you predict your own success? Also, do you believe in fate? Do you believe in luck? Is the future predetermined, controlled by some mysterious force behind the scenes?”
The aliens gave me a prediction: there’s about an 80% chance of success in 2025, with society starting to take notice in 2023. Not long ago, my book was set to be published overseas, and just a few days ago, I signed the publishing contract. It seems to align with the prediction.
I don’t believe the future is set in stone—it holds every possibility. The core law of the universe is this: every possibility must be expressed infinitely and repeatedly. Why? Because the universe’s space is infinite, its time is infinite [the modern Big Bang theory claiming the universe began 15 billion years ago with a single explosion is wrong], and its motion never stops. Only through endless motion does the universe manifest all possibilities.
Anything unimaginable could happen in the future—things you can conceive of and things you can’t. Every possibility will emerge. For us humans, what matters is the probability of these events occurring. Saying something will absolutely happen or absolutely won’t is meaningless. Typically, when we call something “absolutely impossible,” it just means the probability is tiny—not that it’s truly impossible.
Take a glass cup of water in front of us, filled with plain water. Now ask: without any external influence, could the water suddenly shoot toward the ceiling at bullet speed? People would laugh and say, “How could that happen?” In fact, the odds are extremely low, but it’s not absolutely impossible.
The water molecules in the cup are constantly moving at bullet-like speeds in random directions. If the cup had only two molecules, there’d be three possibilities: both rushing toward the ceiling, both toward the bottom, or one toward the ceiling and one toward the bottom. But with roughly 1.5 × 10²⁵ molecules in a cup, the chance of all of them simultaneously shooting upward is minuscule. Mathematicians using probability theory calculate it’d take about a trillion trillion years for this to happen once.
Since the universe’s space and time are infinite, and its motion persists forever, Earth as it is now will reappear repeatedly in the cosmos. And many times, a farmer named Zhang Xiangqian will travel to an alien planet for a month, bring back artificial field scanning technology, and frantically promote it.
In ten instances of Zhang Xiangqian traveling to an alien planet, eight times his artificial field scanning tech is successfully recognized by society. I predict that for the current me, there’s an 80% chance this technology will be taken seriously—not a guaranteed certainty.
In a few cases, Zhang Xiangqian isn’t lucky enough. He remains obscure until death, his artificial field scanning tech unrecognized by society—even long after he’s gone, forgotten, with his online traces gradually erased. Of course, there’s also the possibility that after his death, society embraces the tech, writing countless articles praising him as a great figure, a pride of China, lamenting how he was overlooked in life…
Across the universe’s infinite cycles, countless Zhang Xiangqians are born. Many times, he’s taken by aliens and gains their artificial field scanning tech. But in most cases, he’s just an unremarkable farmer—marrying, raising kids, working hard, and living a quiet, ordinary life.
You might not believe this, but if the universe’s space and time are infinite and motion never ceases, these scenarios must occur. What seems unthinkable is, in fact, inevitable. There’s even a possibility that Zhang Xiangqian becomes you, the reader of this article, experiencing the same events.
Don’t doubt or rush to deny it. As long as the universe’s space and time are infinite and motion continues forever, this isn’t a question of “if” but a certainty of “when.” Why do so many people—especially those with rich life experience or the elderly—believe life is predestined, controlled by some mysterious force? Most who think this way didn’t believe in fate when young. They fought tirelessly their whole lives, only to fail in the end.
Success or failure depends partly on personal effort and partly on the social environment. What’s called “luck” is when your efforts align with that environment and get recognized. As the saying goes, “Even a pig can fly if it stands in the wind.”
People who defy objective laws, fail to go with the flow, misjudge the broader social context, and go against the tide face repeated failures. By old age, exhausted of energy and resources, they sigh, “It’s all fate!” Young people rarely voice such laments.
I once saw a TV drama about the early Qing dynasty, just after they’d conquered the Central Plains. A rebel seeking to overthrow the Qing and restore the Ming begged a master to join their cause. The master pointed at the sun and said:
“The Qing dynasty now is like this morning sun rising. How can you make it suddenly set? Heroes must act with the tide—going against it not only ensures failure but leaves you battered and drags others down too.”
So, is my artificial field scanning tech in line with the tide? I believe it is. It’s urgently needed in energy, transportation, construction, manufacturing, aerospace, medicine, biology, and information processing—especially in medicine, where it could create unbelievable miracles. Humanity’s tech has reached a point, particularly with relativity’s advent, where the Unified Field Theory’s astonishing conclusions no longer seem far-fetched. Artificial field scanning’s theoretical basis stems from this theory.
If this were the Ming dynasty and I’d visited an alien planet, bringing back this tech, it couldn’t become reality on Earth. Persisting for decades in the Ming era would’ve won me no believers—I might’ve even lost my life and livelihood. That would’ve been going against the tide.
So, whether my artificial field scanning tech gets recognized isn’t entirely certain. My efforts are a gamble. In life, many love gambling, calling it a test of luck. It’s really an inner craving for success without the grueling struggle or patient waiting—just a desire for sudden surprises. Earning a million at work pales in comparison to the thrill of winning a million in a lottery.
My gamble isn’t like ordinary betting. If I win, humanity enters a light-speed virtual era.
I don’t completely disbelieve in fate and luck. I believe a person’s good luck is conserved over a certain period or even a lifetime, much like momentum conservation in physics. If someone uses up all their good luck at once, they’ll have none left afterward. Conversely, if someone endures constant misfortune, they might experience a sudden burst of good luck.
There’s a rural saying: “Three years east of the river, three years west; even a pile of dry grass has its moment to heat up.” Everyone has times of good fortune in life—the so-called “highlight moments.”
My childhood was marked by bad luck. My family was extremely poor—I lacked clothes, went hungry, and nearly died from illness. A strict father made me timid, introverted, and weak, robbing me of any childhood joy. At 27, I married a fiercely domineering wife who endlessly insulted me, often in front of our kids and others. This is why my children now look down on me, treating me like I’m invisible.
When I ran a small rural supermarket, a distributor boss drove me to visit another rural supermarket owner and told me that only a big supermarket—spanning acres—could make real money; small ones were beneath farmers’ notice. But my wife adamantly opposed it, even threatening death to stop me. I enlisted relatives and friends to reason with her, to no avail. In the end, the big supermarket never happened, and my small one was later demolished. The compensation for five rooms only bought one storefront in nearby Tongda Town, and I had to pay an extra 50,000 yuan out of pocket.
If I’d opened that big supermarket, even if business was slow, the demolition payout would’ve spared me the daily struggle to make ends meet now. The rural supermarket the distributor showed me was also demolished later, fetching millions. With millions, I could focus on studying advanced math and research every day without worry.
Many don’t realize how hard it is for people at the bottom to earn money. Yesterday morning, I used a plasma air cutter to slice a tractor baseplate for someone. The space was tight, I couldn’t wear protective gear, and the precision demanded was high—I worked three hours. That evening, a neighbor called me to weld an exhaust pipe under a car. The space was even tighter, with a gas tank nearby—one spark from the welding rod could’ve been disastrous. I had to weld with my naked eyes for about an hour until the pain became unbearable. Then it hit me: cutting the tractor baseplate that morning had already damaged my eyes, and the effects kicked in at night. Eye injuries from welding or plasma cutting always flare up in the evening.
I packed up my welder and went home. The neighbor complained it wasn’t finished, but I said I wouldn’t charge him—he quieted down then. At home, my eyes hurt so badly I trembled all over. I record a Kuaishou video every night, but last night, the pain was too much—I couldn’t do it.
Since age 30, I’ve had chronic pharyngitis, with pain accompanying me ever since. Combined with an unsatisfying life, I’ve developed furrowed “chuan” brows. Years of bending over work gave me back and leg pain. Recently, long hours online gave me cervical spondylosis.
My worst misfortune was my daughter’s schizophrenia. During treatment, we didn’t pay attention and got scammed out of 100,000 yuan—a huge blow to my spirit. In 1995, when I applied for a fountain pen patent, Hong Kong and Shenzhen folks conned me out of thousands—at a time when our annual income, after expenses, was less than 1,000 yuan. That made my wife completely distrust me. From then on, she wouldn’t give me a penny for anything and blocked me at every turn.
In 2018, I was diagnosed with tuberculosis and diabetes. During treatment, someone asked me to use a torch to cut iron poles at the dock. I said I was sick, could barely walk, and couldn’t do it. My wife cursed beside me, “300 yuan a day, just a few days’ work—can it kill you?” In my mind, I thought: even a healthy adult struggles to lug an oxygen tank uphill, let alone someone sick. I had no energy to argue, so I stayed silent.
From childhood to now, my luck has been rotten. For decades, I dug for eels, and people on the road always mistook me for a beggar. I never studied English in school, but the college entrance exam included it—I failed. Otherwise, I’d likely have passed. I wasn’t smart, but I was diligent back then, and diligence alone could get you into college.
If good luck is conserved, and mine concentrates in 2025, I’d willingly endure all these years of misfortune. I look forward to 2025—my good luck, and the good luck of everyone worldwide. If I succeed, humanity will enter a light-speed virtual era.