They say: help the urgent, not the poor; aid the struggling, not the lazy.
In real life, this adage still has plenty of classic examples.
Take Brother Richard Liu, for instance. Everyone knows that in 2013 he and Milk-Tea Girl fell in love at first sight, dated, and then quickly tied the knot.
Milk-Tea Girl was famously fresh-faced and youthful.
Yet in a post-wedding interview Brother Liu claimed he couldn't actually recognise her face—he didn't know his own wife's beauty.
That line was reposted everywhere, sending enormous traffic to JD.com; thanks to the meme, JD's revenue shot past two trillion yuan within just a few years.
During the 2015 Lunar New Year, still riding the wave of goodwill, Liu took Milk-Tea Girl back to his hometown for the first time.
That year he told his assistant to bring a huge bag of cash and handed every villager over sixty a red envelope of ten thousand yuan on the spot.
The village even hung banners to welcome and honour him.
Reuters reported that when the cash was being given out, the whole village turned up; everyone excitedly lined up to shake Liu's hand and greet him.
Some elderly folk from neighbouring villages came too; generous as ever, he handed them cash without question.
On paper it was a grand act of charity: a rural boy who'd made good returning to care for the elders of his hometown.
Online, public opinion of him was overwhelmingly positive.
But human hearts are complicated. The seniors who received the money were naturally delighted and praised Liu non-stop.
Yet those not yet sixty were green with envy and grumbled.
The ones closest to sixty complained the loudest.
In their eyes, Brother Liu was worth tens of billions yet only gave cash to those over sixty, not to every household, and even set an age limit—clearly stingy and just grandstanding.
So, apart from better online buzz, the stunt did little for Liu's reputation inside the village itself.
Man's greed is like a snake trying to swallow an elephant. Praise is fleeting; what those villagers really wanted to know was: Will you do it again next year?
Next year another batch would turn sixty. If you came back this New Year and gave ten thousand, what about next?
Will you give or not?
If you don't, they'll curse you for showboating and forgetting your roots.
That's why they say: help the urgent, not the poor. Had Liu given the money to disabled or critically ill families, the outcome would have been entirely different.
Perhaps then he would have earned genuine gratitude.
According to what Jiang Cheng learned before his rebirth, after the cash hand-out Liu never returned to his hometown for the next five years.
In other words, after 2017 Brother Liu never went back.
In 2016 he cashed out 64 billion yuan worth of company stock.
Rumour has it he spent 560 million on a luxury mansion in Italy, hinting at plans to move abroad.
In the end he was framed in a honey-trap, got entangled in lawsuits, his reputation nosedived, and even his ancestral home was splattered with paint… the message behind that hardly needs spelling out. Seeing Jiang Cheng fall silent, Xia Meng uneasily lowered her head.
Jiang Cheng didn't want Xia Meng to become a second Richard Liu.
Once you donate the first time, people start expecting a second.
After that, whenever the village needs money, you're the first person they think of.
If you then refuse to help while driving a luxury car and living in a mansion, they'll brand you heartless and accuse you of shirking your duty to the village.
He ruffled Xia Meng's hair and said with a smile, "What are you thinking? Of course I've no objection, but you won't be donating—I will."
"Cheng-ge, the money you've already given me is enough to fix the outer walls. You've treated me so well; if you rebuild the school for me too, I…"
"Stop overthinking it. Don't feel burdened—I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing it for my own peace of mind."
Although Jiang Cheng was no saint, he could even be called a bit of an egoist.
He lusted after money, beauty, and pleasure in equal measure.
After all, reborn to live a second life, what he wanted most was to enjoy this dazzling world without a care.
A philanthropic tycoon persona had never been part of the plan.
Yet life is inherently contradictory, and he still considered himself a decent person.
Since the sight before him made him uncomfortable, he'd find a way to ease that inner pressure.
And the best way to ease it was to solve the problem in front of him.
Anyway, money was no longer an issue; donating some was no big deal.
But asking him to give away everything like Xia Meng? He couldn't do that.
So human nature is complicated; nothing is ever black and white.
When a little boy in a shopping mall held up a sign begging for help with his mother's surgery fees, Jiang Cheng could casually withdraw a hundred thousand to aid the family.
Now, seeing even more desperate left-behind children, he again decided to lend a hand.
If he could solve something easily within his means, he wouldn't hesitate.
But if charity meant going hungry himself, he'd politely decline.
So yes, he still carried a streak of egoism.
That was Jiang Cheng—selfish yet generous.
He figured that buying the supplies himself would waste time and be too much hassle.
After thinking it over he simply called Zhu Yan, outlining what he needed right then.
Everyone knows how banks pamper high-end clients.
Even if you want foreign delicacies, they'll charter a flight and fetch them the same day.
Let alone something as trivial as a truckload of supplies.
He now had a dedicated private team at his beck and call.
Looking at the timid children, Jiang Cheng took Xia Meng's hand and walked inside.
As they passed a ground-floor classroom, they saw a Middle-aged Man in a white shirt bent over a notebook, writing with a fountain pen.
Jiang Cheng glanced into the earthen-walled classroom.
A few dozen square metres held a dozen battered wooden desks, most so worn their paint was unrecognisable.
Behind each desk stood long benches; some legs had snapped and been crudely repaired with nails and scrap wood.
The rammed-earth walls were pitted and uneven.
Even the blackboard had been worn white by countless lessons.
Noticing two strangers, a thin, bespectacled Middle-aged Man inside the classroom looked up, hesitated a moment, then stood and asked, "May I ask what brings you here?"
Xia Meng whispered to Jiang Cheng, "Cheng-ge, he's the school principal—his name is Zheng Qiu."
Jiang Cheng was a little surprised.
Before him stood a man in a yellowed white shirt under an old padded jacket, sleeves half-rolled, black suit trousers ending in a pair of brown plastic slippers.
Though neat and clean, he gave off an air of unmistakable poverty.
Jiang Cheng nodded, extended his hand and said, "Principal Zheng, I'm Jiang Cheng."