In mid-January 2020, Pan Shiyi helped a friend organize an event at Beijing's 798 Art District before immediately purchasing a flight ticket and rushing to the United States. The day before his departure, he met with Mao Daqing, founder of UrWork. Without formalities, Pan directly proposed: "How about I sell you the 3Q Space?" 3Q Space was a shared office brand Pan had nurtured for five to six years, representing his primary focus after stepping back from the real estate sector. However, Mao Daqing, occupied with his own ventures at the time, politely declined: "I don't have the funds either." Unexpectedly, Pan responded: "That's fine, I'll give it to you." This shrewdest businessman in China's real estate industry appeared to have stopped calculating profits moments before boarding his flight.
His last public appearance in China was in his hometown of Shizui Village, Tianshui, Gansu, where he cut the ribbon for the Yangzheng Kindergarten he donated. The kindergarten was named after the school established by his great-great-grandfather. Since then, Pan left behind more than a dozen streamlined SOHO buildings in Beijing and vanished into the morning mist across the ocean, never to return.
Six years passed swiftly, and the times changed dramatically. By early spring 2026, former peers in the real estate industry were mired in crises. Wang Shi was rumored to be detained, Xu Jiayin had confessed to crimes and expressed remorse, while Pan, after years of silence, suddenly reactivated his long-dormant public account. His first post, titled "My Fate Lies with Me, and with Heaven," carried a strong sense of destiny. Subsequently, the 63-year-old Pan maintained a posting frequency more diligent than Bao Shu's midnight routines. He wrote about his third uncle, his father, until a reflective piece on the real estate industry trended online. A friend familiar with Pan remarked: "Old Pan probably couldn't hold back anymore."
Few knew that before reviving his public account in April 2026, Pan first engaged in a highly traditional, rural Chinese practice: donating to renovate the ancestral hall. The Pan Family Ancestral Hall in Tianshui, Gansu, listed Pan Shiyi's name prominently among the first donors, followed by his three sons: Pan Rui, Pan Shao, and Pan Rang. These three names carry the family lineage continuing in Manhattan, New York. From his luxury apartment overlooking Central Park, Pan often contemplated how to securely engrave his descendants' names into the brick-and-wood structure back home. He also frequently reflected on the history of his grandfather, Pan Ershen, a Kuomintang officer who led three regiments in covering the army's retreat during the Battle of Zhongtiao Mountains, fighting until only seven soldiers remained. This never-surrender spirit long served as young Pan's crucial moral foundation. In third grade, he was spat on by classmates for boasting about his grandfather's military affiliation. After washing his face clean by the river, Pan later wrote this story into his autobiography: "One's values are established young." Over fifty years later, in his Manhattan residence, he resembled a retired village elder who, though living in a townhouse, still wakes each morning wanting to discuss rural crops and ancestral graves.
In contrast, Zhang Xin appears to be the true master of Manhattan. Her survival skills stem from a近乎残酷的 foundation. In an April 2026 Wall Street Journal interview, she revealed her childhood: an absent father and a critical mother. "Look how pretty that girl is, why can't you be like her?" formed the background noise of her youth. Forced to dance and play violin, she hated it all. This suffocating negativity instead forged her resilience. She described herself like the robot boxing game her sons played: knocked down, immediately bouncing back. That toughness was honed during five years as a piece-rate worker on Hong Kong factory assembly lines. The anxiety of piecework wages instilled in her an almost instinctual obsession with efficiency and results. Even today, with billions in assets, her elderly mother still complains that she's not good enough at this or that. But such criticism no longer束缚s her; this former "factory girl" has completed her spiritual decoupling. She occasionally shows nostalgic traces on social media, posting old photos with captions like "Us, confident and spirited at Jianwai SOHO's opening 21 years ago." Yet for Zhang Xin, nostalgia is merely an occasional aesthetic spice, not a psychological anchor.
Before resigning as SOHO China's board chair in 2022, Zhang had already shifted her focus to her family office—Closer Group (formerly Seven Valleys). The name change is telling: "Seven Valleys" derived from Baháʼí writings, conveying religious归宿感, while "Closer" reveals her ambition to get "closer to the world's core." Her current identity tags rival Da Bing's in length: trustee of New York's Museum of Modern Art, Harvard advisor, Aspen Institute member. Her art collection includes pieces even the Louis Vuitton Foundation seeks to borrow. She also established her film production company, Closer Media, in New York. Recently, Closer Media has been active globally, with Zhang producing multiple films and documentaries, including one on Elon Musk and Meryl Streep's movie "Useful Idiots," which satirizes corruption in real estate markets. She frequently posts about skiing and marathon running worldwide. The "real estate developer Zhang Xin" who once worried about domestic air quality and macro policies has vanished, replaced by an indistinct yet impeccable global elite.
Some peers view Pan as the era's smartest escape artist. However, SOHO CHINA's current value is melting like chocolate. Pan's once "unshakeable" core assets now have irrelevant prices—because there are no buyers. Just before Pan resumed blogging, SOHO CHINA released its 2025 annual report: revenue of 1.372 billion yuan, down over 10% year-on-year; net losses widened to 291 million yuan. With only 5 billion yuan in cash on hand, the land appreciation tax and late fees for Wangjing SOHO alone amount to 2.5 billion yuan. Yet for the Pan-Zhang couple, these domestic assets are abandoned pieces. They don't even bother掩饰, as Zhang's New York ventures are fully cash-based and leverage-free. In October 2025, her Closer Properties completed a transaction on East 79th Street in Manhattan's Upper East Side for $76 million. During a period of Fed rate hikes and nervous New York real estate, such decisive moves are chilling. Zhang hired top real estate executives to create apartments blending traditional elite aesthetics with avant-garde elements in this conservative neighborhood. She stated her film company's purpose is to "bring people closer together," but "Closer"实质上 enables her integration into New York's old-guard establishment, where she operates with ease. Like the boxing robot that quickly rebounds after being knocked down, she is rootless, free, and always ready to leap.
On the morning of October 26, 1185, the poet Fan Chengda, after experiencing great personal upheaval, woke by Lake Tai and wrote at age 60: "Outside the window, dusty affairs; within the window, a dreamlike self. Knowing the self is but a dream, let affairs drift like dust." Zhang Xin no longer needs her hometown to define her, appearing to have become a true citizen of the world. But for Pan, the former internet celebrity who loved posting on Weibo, the transition may be less smooth. The place anchoring his soul lies neither in Beijing's SOHO penthouses nor his New York apartment, but within the family genealogy he repeatedly verified with his sons. Having fled Gansu, Hainan, and Beijing throughout his life, he ultimately cannot escape Tianshui. Now, with peers facing downfall, he can no longer contain himself. Through writing, he portrays himself as a clear-eyed purist who saw through the industry years ago—even a victim of peer exclusion and时代误伤. This shrewdest beneficiary, safe in his Manhattan home, throws stones at同行们 in distress, merely erecting his own moral monument. He seems to forget where his immense wealth originated. In 2014, The Wall Street Journal bluntly told Zhang Xin to her face: "You come from one of China's most corrupt industries." Earlier, when CBS asked if she also bribed officials, Zhang affirmed—she couldn't deny it. From the start, SOHO participated in the collusion between business and power, collectively harvesting money brought by Shanxi and Shaanxi coal bosses in sacks. Wanting both to enjoy life after escaping the peak and to reap moral rewards—only the most calculating seek to have it all. Their stage and applause have long turned to dust with the frenzied era. Those words written for his homeland resemble letters sent to ruins. During the New Year, someone asked why men like returning to the countryside. One answer was: because outside, some young woman he looks down on might veto him with one vote, but back home, he need only stand there to command respect.