What Twenty Years in China Taught Me About Conflict
Hong Zhou changed how I think about business partnerships with one question.
I was 22, nervous about a major deal that seemed to be falling apart. The American executives wanted everything spelled out in the contract. The Chinese side viewed the contract as just the beginning, something that would evolve as the relationship deepened. The tension in the room was thick, and I was convinced we were going to lose everything.
“Is it true that the deal won’t happen?” Hong Zhou asked me during a break. “And how does believing that affect how you behave?”
I realized my fear was making me tense and unclear, which was influencing everyone else. I didn’t know how the negotiation would end, but I could control whether I stayed calm and grounded.
What fascinates me now, more than 20 years later, is how differently Chinese and Western business cultures approach agreements. In the West, we want everything defined upfront. The contract is the relationship. In China, the contract is an invitation to begin building trust.
Neither approach is wrong. But when you only know one way, you miss what the other offers.
The Cup of Tea That Started Everything
I met Hong Zhou when I was 20 years old, a hopeful, naïve, and highly energetic young foreigner standing on an over-the-street bridge on Huai Hai Road, one of Shanghai’s busiest shopping streets. Crowds of people flowed in and out of stores below me, their hands full of shopping bags, their chatter lively and animated. The energy of the place was electric.
For a month, I had been walking that street every day, observing shoppers and vendors, scribbling notes about prices, discounts, styles, and customer behaviors. I was trying to figure out how to open my own store. Most people let me be. Some, out of curiosity, even answered my endless questions about their daily earnings, their most popular items, their rent and marketing strategies.
Then I noticed something unusual. A few stores had lines of customers waiting outside while others sat empty. One store in particular, small and unassuming, consistently had crowds. I watched for days, trying to understand what made it different.
Finally, I worked up the courage to go inside and ask.
The owner, a man in his forties with kind eyes and an easy smile, listened to my questions with genuine interest. His name was Hong Zhou. Instead of giving me quick answers, he invited me to sit down for tea at a nearby tea house.
That cup of tea changed my life.
The tea house was unassuming yet serene, a quiet oasis tucked away from the chaos of Huai Hai Road. Simple wooden furniture, the faint aroma of jasmine and oolong teas, and an atmosphere that seemed to encourage deep conversation. Sitting across from Hong Zhou, I felt both excited and nervous. Here was someone who could unlock the mystery I had been trying to solve for weeks
I expected him to give me quick answers and send me on my way. Instead, he asked me questions. Why did I want to open a store? What did I hope to accomplish? What did I know about Chinese consumer behavior?
My answers must have revealed how little I actually understood, because Hong Zhou smiled gently and began to explain.
His store’s success came down to several factors: deep understanding of his market, strong product-market fit, treating employees like family, sharing profits and cultivating trust, and a pricing strategy that hit the sweet spot for his customers. But beyond the technicalities, there was something more intangible.
“You see how our entrance is very narrow?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with humor. “Why do you think that is?”
I didn’t have an answer.
“People always go into stores that look crowded,” he explained. “They don’t want to miss out on something good. Our narrow entrances make the stores look busier, which attracts even more customers. It’s simple human psychology.”
I sat there absorbing this information, scribbling notes, asking follow-up questions. Hong Zhou never made me feel foolish for not knowing. He seemed genuinely interested in helping me understand.
Near the end of our conversation, he said something that surprised me: “You’re asking good questions. Most young foreigners who come to China think they already know how things work. You seem to actually want to learn.”
That tea house conversation marked the beginning of a partnership that continues today, 28 years later. Hong Zhou and I became business partners, 50/50 in everything I do in business, and over the decades we’ve built numerous ventures together. His wit, encyclopedic knowledge of Chinese literature, and high emotional intelligence have been invaluable in both my personal and professional life.
But perhaps the most valuable thing Hong Zhou taught me was how to approach unfamiliar situations with genuine curiosity rather than assumptions. To ask questions instead of making declarations. To observe before acting. To slow down enough to actually understand what’s happening in front of you.
The Room Full of Silence
Two years into our partnership, we sat around a big round table with 10 older, serious Chinese men – the upper management of a factory whose partnership was critical to our company’s success. This first meeting would determine whether they would join our alliance of sustainable, ethical factories in China.
We said our hellos. The tea was served. We smiled politely at each other. No one spoke.
Not even me, even though I was bursting with ideas, passion, and plans for our partnership. Hong Zhou looked at me reassuringly as if to say that everything was alright. Everyone kept silent. For what felt like forever.
I don’t know how you feel when you are with someone and there is complete silence, but I was extremely uncomfortable. More time passed. We all just sat and sat, sipping our tea, looking at each other, in silence.
Then one of the men from the factory finally spoke. He announced that they were interested to hear what we had to propose.
That meeting ended up being a total success. We signed the deal, and that factory became our first partner in what is now a 22-year endeavor connecting high-quality, sustainable and ethical manufacturers in China with the rest of the world.
Later, Hong Zhou explained: “In Chinese culture when people wait to speak, whoever speaks first and shows more excitement for the deal ends up having less leverage in the subsequent negotiation.”
As a young entrepreneur eager to learn the skills of negotiation, I made a commitment that I still keep today: I will practice staying silent, being comfortable with the silence in the room, and listening to others instead.
When Anger Became Information
Years later, Hong Zhou’s lessons about patience and observation came together in one of the most important negotiations of my career.
My company had been hired by Church’s Chicken to help them enter the Chinese market, following KFC’s significant success there. We were negotiating with Mr. Zhang, a successful restauranteur in Shanghai, who was considering becoming a master franchisee and opening up to 100 Church’s Chicken locations across China. Tensions were high.
My nervousness about the deal not going through was evident. When I shared my concerns with Hong Zhou during a break, he asked me that question: “Is it true that the deal won’t happen? And how does believing that affect how you behave?”
He helped me see that my fear of failure was making me ungrounded and unclear, which was influencing the atmosphere of the negotiation. I couldn’t predict the outcome, but I could choose how I showed up.
Then Tom, the American executive – a seasoned, globally experienced businessman – lost his temper. He raised his voice and hit the table with his fist. The room fell silent. All eyes were on Mr. Zhang.
But Mr. Zhang did not react at all. He just sat there. Calmly. Watching Tom.
Chinese people learn to recognize and express their emotions when and how it is appropriate for the particular situation. I was exposed to this when I began working with Chinese people, and I am still learning this craft.
Mr. Zhang later pulled me aside and explained that he was thrilled he got to watch Tom get angry and lose his temper. He needed to go through the conflict with the potential partner to see how that partner would behave.
“If they show their anger, that means they care about this project,” he said. “If they care, so will I. I love conflicts for the learnings they bring us.”
That completely shifted how I view tension in negotiations.
Luckily it was time for lunch, and Mr. Zhang hosted us in one of his restaurants that specialized in Shanghai cuisine. That’s when the pivotal moment of this partnership occurred. Mr. Zhang was explaining the intricacies of each dish, the combination of spices, and what cookware and cooking skills were necessary to achieve this level of excellence. Tom listened and watched Mr. Zhang. He understood and felt the passion Mr. Zhang had for the food industry.
This was the “cup of tea” moment when passions were revealed, the link of common humanity moment. Both Mr. Zhang and Tom were able to relax, breathe, and think clearly.
We signed the agreement shortly after lunch.
What China Taught Me About Conflict
I spent 20 years in China, and mostly I listened. I watched how people navigated conflict differently than I’d learned growing up. How they read emotion not as something to suppress, but as something to understand and express at the right moment.
In the West, we often see conflict as something to avoid or resolve as quickly as possible. We rush to agreement. We prioritize getting the deal done over understanding why the deal matters. When voices are raised, we interpret it as the relationship breaking down.
In my experience working with Chinese business partners, I saw a different approach. Conflict was information. Tension revealed what people cared about. Disagreement showed whether the relationship had enough foundation to weather differences.
Mr. Zhang’s comment about loving conflict for the learnings it brings has stayed with me for more than 20 years. What I saw as the deal falling apart, he saw as necessary information about whether we could actually work together.
The partnerships that lasted weren’t the ones where we agreed on everything upfront. They were the ones where we learned to navigate our differences with curiosity instead of defensiveness.
This commitment to listening, to really understanding before responding, led me to create Streamline Alliance. For 22 years now, we’ve been building a network of artisan and sustainable manufacturers in China, connecting them with Western companies committed to quality and ethics. The business only works because we learned to bridge not just language differences, but fundamental differences in how people approach relationships and agreements.
The Same Team Principle
When Tom hit the table in frustration, he wasn’t trying to intimidate Mr. Zhang. He was showing how much he cared about the project. When Mr. Zhang sat calmly watching, he wasn’t being passive. He was gathering information about whether this was someone he could work with long-term.
They were both trying to determine the same thing: can we build something meaningful together?
I’ve seen this pattern repeat in countless conversations between couples, between colleagues, between people from different backgrounds trying to find common ground.
In one workshop in Montreal, a leadership team was fragmenting over budget decisions. The CFO had started attending meetings virtually to avoid the tension. I taught them a simple exercise: “If we were on the same team, we would…” When triggered during disagreements, they learned to pause and complete that sentence.
Within three meetings, their decision-making time had been cut in half. More importantly, they started asking different questions. Not “Why are you being unreasonable?” but “What are you trying to protect?”
The CFO started attending meetings in person again. “I’m not afraid of the tension anymore,” she told me. “I understand what it’s telling me.”
The Cup of Tea as Practice
Hong Zhou’s invitation to sit down for tea wasn’t just about drinking tea. It was about creating a moment where we could slow down enough to actually notice the human being in front of us, beyond the transaction, beyond the differences.
This phrase “having a cup of tea” became a principle I still follow. When we are about to do something challenging, especially emotionally, it is best to slow down in order to be deliberate with our words and actions.
This doesn’t mean avoiding difficult conversations. It means creating the conditions where difficult conversations can actually be productive.
Before that lunch with Mr. Zhang and Tom, the negotiation was stuck in positions: contract terms, legal obligations, risk mitigation. During the lunch, when Mr. Zhang explained his passion for cuisine and Tom listened with genuine interest, they found something more fundamental – shared values around excellence and commitment.
The contract details mattered. But they only mattered once both sides understood they were trying to build the same thing.
What I’m Still Learning
After 28 years of partnership with Hong Zhou, after 22 years of building Streamline Alliance connecting Chinese manufacturers with Western companies, after countless negotiations and workshops and difficult conversations, I’m still learning.
I still sometimes want to rush to agreement instead of sitting with the tension. I still sometimes interpret conflict as threat instead of information. I still sometimes forget to create space for that “cup of tea” moment where people can relax and reveal what they actually care about.
But Hong Zhou’s question stays with me: “Is it true? And how does believing that affect how you behave?”
When I catch myself convinced that a conversation is going badly, that a relationship is falling apart, that the conflict means failure – I pause. I notice how my fear is shaping my behavior. I remember that I can’t control the outcome, but I can control whether I stay grounded.
And I remember Mr. Zhang sitting calmly, watching Tom’s anger, gathering the information he needed to know if this was a partnership worth building.
What This Means for How We Connect
The tension between different approaches to agreements – contract as relationship versus contract as beginning – isn’t unique to East-West business negotiations. It shows up everywhere people try to connect across differences.
Some people want to define the terms of the relationship upfront. Others want to let the relationship evolve and adjust as understanding deepens. Neither approach is wrong. But when we only know one way, when we interpret a different approach as threat or disrespect, we miss the opportunity to actually learn from each other.
This is what I see in my work now, whether with couples navigating different expectations about intimacy, or leadership teams trying to build trust across departments, or families trying to maintain connection across generations and continents.
The conflict isn’t the problem. The conflict is the invitation to understand what matters to the person in front of you.
What would change if you approached conflict as information about what matters, rather than something to avoid?
If something here resonated with you, please share your thoughts below – your stories help me understand this better. And if you comment, it helps this reach others who might add their perspectives too.
#lovingconflict #crosscultural #communication #collaboration
PS: Researcher and author of Loving Conflict, exploring how intimacy turns conflict into collaboration. It’s the heart of my workshops and one-on-one work.