A few days ago, I returned to a beauty salon I used to visit frequently.
After the pandemic, I hadn't visited the store for several years. Suddenly, the clerk called me and told me that there were still some unfinished beauty treatments in my account that I could do.
I myself have already forgotten it.
I went there with a try-and-see attitude, but to my surprise, they actually still kept the consumption records from five years ago.
So I did a facial moisturizing treatment.
Then, I went to a hair salon that I used to frequent.
To my surprise, that salon was still there.But the store was much smaller than before.
The young man who was still a bit inexperienced before has now become the store manager, and his behavior and speech are much more mature.
What surprised me even more was that there was still a balance in my membership account.
So, I simply had my hair done.
When I walked out of the store, I felt an indescribable emotion.
Over the past few years, we all experienced the same economic environment.
- Many stores closed.
- Many bosses ran away.
- Prepaid cards have turned into worthless paper.
Because of this, many people now say:
"From now on, I won't use recharge cards for haircuts anymore. I'd rather pay once and for all, even if the price is a bit higher."
I completely understand this concern.
Yet it was precisely these two ordinary small businesses that made me believe in something again:
Those truly worthy of long-term trust treat time as their friend.
They didn't rush to make quick money.
They didn't expand wildly when the market was good.
Nor did they give up when things got tough.
They just quietly did their own things well.
Several years later, they were still there，And I, too, still wanted to come back.
At that moment, some words suddenly came to my mind:
"Constant Flow of Small Streams."
I think of those century-old shops in Japan.
Many of them are only a few dozen square meters in size.
There was no franchise association.
There was no financing.
There were no overwhelming advertisements.
The shopkeepers are mostly elderly people who have spent their entire lives doing just one thing.
And precisely because of this, they've managed to stay in business for decades, even centuries.
What truly allows a business to endure is never speed, but patience.
This makes me reflect on my own investments over the years.
When I first entered the stock market, I stumbled along, treating short-term gains as signs of successful trading.
- I wanted stocks to rise immediately after purchase.
- I hoped to make in a few days what others earned in months.
Later, I realized that the real money never came from those volatile stocks that jumped around daily. Often, they hit a limit up today, only to fall back tomorrow.
Emotions fluctuated with the market, and profits were frequently eroded by constant buying high and selling low.
In contrast, truly outstanding companies grow steadily and calmly.
They may increase by only twenty or thirty percent per year.
Along the way, they often experience corrections.
But the company keeps growing.
Profits keep rising.
Market share continues to expand.
If you're willing to stay with it for several years, it will gradually return value to you.
This, I believe, is what I'm increasingly coming to understand about value investing.
Investing is like this—life is the same.
Our generation seems constantly chasing faster results:
wanting financial freedom within months,
expecting promotions and raises after just one year of work,
hoping to lose ten pounds in a week through exercise,
or expecting to gain hundreds of thousands of readers after just a few months of writing.
The things truly worth having usually require time.
I run every morning.
I practice yoga consistently.
I know that after running five kilometers today, my body won't change dramatically overnight.
But a year from now, I will definitely be healthier than I am today.
I've started paying attention to my diet—less sugar, more natural foods.
I don't condemn myself for eating too much in one meal, nor do I turn my life into a punishment just to lose weight.
Because health is, by nature, a long-term investment.
Writing is the same.
I don't care how many views an article gets or how many people read it.
I only care about how I feel—I enjoy putting down my thoughts and reflections.
I love the sensation of ideas flowing slowly as my fingers tap on the keyboard.
All I know is that when I write these words, my mind feels calm.
I cherish this calmness.
It leads me to constant reflection and new realizations.
Sometimes, I even move myself with a sudden thought that arises.
True compound interest never comes from a sudden surge on any given day.
It comes when others rush for quick results, you choose to quietly accumulate.
When others keep changing direction, you stay focused on doing one thing well.
When others chase trends obsessively, you remain committed to cultivating your own ground.
In the end, you'll realize that the things truly worth having—health, wealth, ability, trust, and reputation—are not seized overnight, but built gradually over time.
Time never disappoints those who embrace true long-term thinking.
That's why I now believe more than ever:
If you love something, do it wholeheartedly.
Find people worth accompanying, companies worth supporting, habits worth sticking to.
The rest is up to time..
Because real compounding doesn't only happen in the stock market—it happens with every morning run, every book read, every article carefully written, and every person worth being with.
Ultimately, it all adds up to our lives.
Find what you love, and just do it.
---Extended Reading and Resources
👉Compound Interest Thinking: The Underestimated Fundamental Logic of Wealth and Growth
[A curated list of tools and books that have genuinely helped me on my journey. If you find them useful, they might help you too.]
[My reading list] & [My everyday toolkit]