In my previous posts, I shared how I mastered C++, Assembly, and Haskell in the most chaotic environments. But in the professional world, "skill" isn't always a skeleton key.
This is the story of how my faith in Open Source almost reached its End of Life, and how a single email from a small team in Wuhan initiated a new process that changed my life.
1. The "Academic Firewall": 3 Rejections in a Row
After two years of "monastic training" in a 100dB factory, I thought I was ready. I had a portfolio of 100+ plugins and complex Gtk+ bindings. I decided to aim for the top:
Google: Even with three strong recommendations from influential figures in the Open Source community, I was rejected. The reason? I didn't have a university degree. To their automated filters, 20 years of "grit" couldn't override a missing high school diploma.
Jane Street: A high-frequency trading firm that loved Haskell. I passed the technical hurdles, but failed the "spoken English" interview. My code was fluent; my tongue was not.
YLMF Linux: I expected a Linux company to value a Linuxer. Instead, they told me: "We don't need Emacs or Haskell experts." I told them I could master any language in a month. They weren't interested.
Three 403 Forbidden errors. My self-taught, "Bohemian" background made me an outcast in the corporate world.
2. Open Source as "Opium"
By the end of that year, I was back in the factory, feeling the weight of the world. My girlfriend was losing hope. I started questioning everything: Is there a place for Open Source in China? Am I just a fool chasing a ghost?
I realized then that I didn't choose Open Source because I was a "saint." I chose it because my life had been so full of conflict that I craved the peace and purity of code. Sharing a line of code felt like a hit of opium. While others were chasing "normal" wealth, I felt powerful every time I pushed a commit—even if I was the only one who cared.
3. The "Dead Horse" Strategy
Just as I was about to give up, I saw a job posting on Solidot: A team called Deepin was looking for a full-time developer.
I applied with zero expectations. I called it my "Dead Horse" strategy—treating a dead horse as if it were alive, just to see if it kicks. I wasn't going to let the "System" crush my spirit one more time without a fight.
A few days later, a man named Hiweed emailed me. "Come to Wuhan for an interview."
4. Winter in Wuhan: The Turning Point
I remember that cold winter morning in a cramped office. I met Zhang Lei, who interviewed me on the spot. Later, I got a call from a man in Beijing (who would later become my co-founder). He talked for hours—a high-energy stream of consciousness that I would later learn to call "The Art of the Hustle."
They didn't care about my lack of a degree. They didn't care that my English was broken. They saw the code. They looked at my Haskell and Emacs plugins and realized: This guy is a builder.
5. From 5-Year Romance to 10-Day Marriage
That winter, I did something impulsive. My girlfriend had stayed with me through five years of failure and factory dust. Before officially diving into the "abyss" of a startup, we got married in just 10 days. I didn't know what the future held, but I knew I needed to give her a commitment before starting the most grueling chapter of my life.
That was the winter of 2010. It was the last peaceful moment before a legendary journey began: The creation of Linux Deepin.
💡 Lessons for the "Outcast" Developer:
Academic filters are real, but they aren't absolute. If the front door (Big Tech) is locked, find the side window (Startups).
Open Source is your ultimate resume. When companies tell you that you aren't "suitable," your GitHub history is the only objective truth.
Find your "Believer." You don't need 100 companies to say yes. You only need one team that speaks your language.
Next time: The early days of Deepin—how we turned a small team into a national OS project.
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