Heart Capital's Yan Han: Venture Capital, My "Lighthouse" in Life | Voice

"VC is what I imagine still wanting to pour my heart into at 60."

By Pu Fan, ChinaVenture

Interview by Pu Fan and Cao Weiyu, ChinaVenture

Word count: 17,690

In his book Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, renowned historian Yuval Noah Harari proposes a striking thesis: the reason Homo sapiens managed to outcompete all other human species—surpassing the stronger, larger-brained Neanderthals to become Earth's dominant species—hinged on a pivotal "cognitive revolution" tens of thousands of years ago. Sapiens suddenly acquired the capacity to "imagine"—to describe things that had never happened, that existed only in the mind. More crucially, they gained the ability to believe in these fabrications—to trust descriptions from others without seeing or touching the things themselves.

This was planetary-scale transformation. Biologically, humans can only maintain stable social relationships up to about 150 people (the "Dunbar number"); beyond that, the brain hits its physiological limit. But with imagination and the faith in things unseen, humans could build organizations of thousands, even tens of thousands—tribes, religions, schools of thought, nations. The way Sapiens lived changed qualitatively, and human civilization began its relentless forward march.

To me, this explains why venture capital, among all financial sub-sectors, has achieved broader public recognition and become fodder for romantic narratives. Our species' affinity for the unknown and the imagined is encoded in our genes. And venture capital is a profession perpetually gazing toward the future.

Yet perhaps precisely because of this DNA, venture capital has also become the most "self-aware" industry. Even in China's brief 20-plus-year VC history, there have been at least three independence waves since 2005: the first in 2005, when dollar funds arrived in post-WTO China to build local operations, creating the first generation of venture capitalists; the second between 2012 and 2018, when mobile internet penetration and smartphone adoption fueled an entrepreneurial boom and gave rise to the VC 2.0 concept.

Today's protagonist represents the third wave. In 2022, Yan Han, co-founder of Lightspeed China, founded Heart Capital. This is a firm that is "comprehensively new"—from its website aesthetics to its investment thesis. In a January 2025 press release announcing the fund's first close, Han said Heart Capital's goal was to build "our fund"—which sounds almost archetypally venture capital.

Except compared to 2005 and 2015, 2022 seems almost deliberately vague. That year, people knew AI was on the cusp of something, but couldn't foresee the shock of the GPT moment. They still reflexively compared robots to Transformers, more curious about whether they could actually transform. Few discussed commercial spaceflight; "marketized satellite launches" were mostly cited to argue how much Elon Musk resembled Iron Man. There was massive dollar easing, asset damming... Was this an era for "being yourself"?

I suspect many people desperately need the answer to this question.

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"I Was the Youngest Person in the Industry"

Pu Fan: Let's start with a brief self-introduction.

Han Yan: I often describe myself to friends like this: thirty years in tech since childhood, twenty years in VC, ten years in meditation—that's me, Yan Han of Heart Capital.

Pu Fan: The "ten years in meditation" title is distinctive. Why make meditation a decade-defining noun?

Han Yan: Good question. I first tried meditation in 2015. As an investor who had always been in tech, the opportunity was quite accidental. And since I had been into amateur radio since elementary school, studied electronic engineering—meditation seemed so intangible, so虚无. After my first contact in 2015, I actually resisted it for a long time. But over the past ten years, I've realized meditation gave me a different perspective. I finally discovered that beyond using your brain and logic, there's another way to invest—with your heart. This is actually the origin of "Heart Capital."

Pu Fan: This fits my image of you perfectly. In my conception, your generation of post-80s investors came of age right as China began its ascent, right as China's internet industry was germinating. I've always believed your cohort has this impulse to create your own world.

Han Yan: Well then, let me recall my mindset when I first entered this industry. I started in 2008, and my first feeling was: I am the youngest person in this industry. That was my strongest impression in week one. And I was thinking: should I wear a suit? Should I wear a tie?

Why was I thinking this? It connects to my life experience. I studied electronic engineering. My first big company was Microsoft—suit and tie. My second was McKinsey & Company—even more suit and tie. So when I entered venture capital, I was quite hopeful, thinking this should be a freer, newer industry, right? I could finally stop wearing suits and ties?要知道, back then, many funds didn't even have websites.

So on my first day, I indeed didn't wear a suit or tie. But immediately I had another feeling: how am I the youngest person here? So from day one, I wanted to pretend—pretend to be older. Because a young person had entered an industry that loomed like a mountain in his eyes. This industry's dimensions are extraordinarily wide—not just law and finance, but entrepreneurship, human nature, so many dimensions.

Another background for wanting to wear a suit: in 2008, VC had only been in China for about a decade. China's venture capital history began with institutions like IDG and Accel entering the market. By 2008, the entire industry remained extremely secretive, fashionable, American—very Americanized. So you saw that most people in the industry were either American citizens, or Americanized, or at least deeply influenced by American culture.

Pu Fan: "Americanized" is such an accurate descriptor.

Han Yan: Yes. And in 2008, the financial crisis hit, forcing many funds to want to enter China, essentially becoming global funds. What does global fund mean? It means many things had to be communicated with the US. Should we invest in this case? What exactly is happening in China? Would the US side understand? So from 2008 to 2011, as a member of Lightspeed's US Shanghai office, I was essentially doing "China education work" with American venture capital veterans.

I remember introducing Bilibili to them—they couldn't comprehend it. Introducing Dianping—they couldn't comprehend that either. Plus the financial crisis was happening, so 2008 to 2011 was really three years of constant education, communication, and relatively slow movement.

So looking back from today, I feel those were three extremely chaotic yet wonderfully chaotic years. Just yesterday I was talking with a friend—I said, have you realized how precious the past three years were, especially 2022 and 2023. Whoever you wanted to talk to, they would talk to you; however you wanted to talk, they would accommodate you, because everyone was frozen.

Looking back today, what followed that freeze was extraordinary prosperity. And that prosperity has only just begun. Just like 2008 to 2011 opened up the tremendous prosperity of the following decade. Perhaps history is repeating itself.

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"VC Is What I Imagine Still Wanting to Do at 60"

Pu Fan: You were a tech geek from childhood, into amateur radio—a field driven by intense passion. Logically, your career goal should have been engineer. So why did you end up at McKinsey, then switch to venture capital?

Han Yan: I've reflected on my life. To tell this history, I probably need to start with amateur radio. I was among the first children in China to access amateur radio after its reopening. One afternoon, I was at a Math Olympiad prep class when a substitute teacher arrived. He chatted with each student, and asked me: "What English textbook do you use?" I said: "New Concept." He asked which volume. I said volume three. After asking around, he said to me: "Would you be interested in coming with me after class? I'll take you somewhere interesting."

He took me downstairs, walked a block or two, entered a building, climbed to the sixth floor rooftop, opened a door, and said: "This is called amateur radio. We just started an interest class. The benefit is, you can use it to chat with people around the world."

I was instantly captivated. I thought, I need to practice English anyway—chatting with people worldwide to practice English, what could be better?

Pu Fan: It feels exactly like those English exam essay prompts, helping Li Hua write a letter to a foreign friend.

Han Yan: Exactly. And you need to return to that era's context. At that time, long-distance communication still mainly relied on postage stamps. Several years later, I would get my first Dongfeng 286 desktop computer. So the idea that there was a machine that could—though I didn't yet know the term "radio waves"—chat with people worldwide, I was instantly hooked.

I was in first year of middle school then. This hobby continued through university. Just a month ago, a Shanghai Jiao Tong University classmate found me, saying "Mr. Han, I found in the school archives documents from 20 years ago about you establishing the SJTU radio station." So amateur radio runs through my entire life. That group of radio friends became lifelong friends. You could say my tech journey began in 1991 or 1992. Because of this, I chose electronic engineering at Shanghai Jiao Tong University—I felt electronic engineering and radio waves were connected.

As I was about to graduate, China's first wave of major internet companies was emerging. I remember the story I heard then was about Taobao battling eBay. A batch of American, very fashionable companies appeared, and many classmates went to work at them after graduation—Texas Instruments, STMicroelectronics, these were typical American or joint-venture companies in Shanghai at the time. I also went to one very fashionable company: Microsoft China.

At Microsoft, I performed very well. Working past midnight daily, rated top performer, best employee, awarded a small glass crystal trophy. But at some point, I suddenly realized: am I going to be an engineer my whole life? The answer was no. So I made a firm decision: use 200% effort to do my current job well, and use all remaining time to find my next point in life.

This was my very real thinking and decision at the time. My conclusion was, I had reached a peak in this thing, but I wasn't willing to do it for a lifetime. I also sensed that these international giants had given us some relatively peripheral business divisions in their division of labor. So I was constantly searching for direction, searching for a lighthouse. When I found the lighthouse, the lightbulb in my body would turn on.

For a long time, it didn't turn on. Then one thing made it light up: a campus recruiting talk from my university years, the McKinsey & Company presentation. I hadn't even stepped through that door back then—my body hadn't even wanted to move toward it. Because in 2000, McKinsey recruited only 4 people nationwide all year: one each from Peking University, Tsinghua University, Fudan University, and Shanghai Jiao Tong University. I weighed my chances and figured I wouldn't be SJTU's No. 1 that year, so I never even considered it.

But after Microsoft, my heart returned to that presentation. So I decided, exerted tremendous effort, through friend introducing friend, through communication, spent over a year, nearly two, and finally entered McKinsey. During my three years there, I also reached McKinsey's Top 5.

Then that question came back: would I stay at McKinsey forever? If I were 60, would I still be an analyst there? And by then, McKinsey was already willing to sponsor me to attend any of the world's top four MBA programs. My answer was still no.

I think I'm pretty high-maintenance (laughs). Once I've reached the top of something, I wonder: is this the end of my life? So I started searching again. What next? Interestingly, I was on a project where I was helping Xiaohong Chen "sweep" China's education sector — what does sweep mean? Holding a phone in one hand and a Yellow Pages in the other, calling every education institution listed. I remember dialing Mayflower Cooking School, Lanxiang Vocational School. Our team recommended New Oriental, plus an IT education company called Tarena. Both later went public.

Through that project, I first learned that China had something called private equity. I looked up what private equity meant. This was still dial-up internet, 56K modem.

Pu Fan: The connection drops as soon as someone picks up the phone.

Yan Han: You said it exactly right. I searched slowly and found out this was called PE, and there was another term called VC. At the time I actually found it funny: VC, like vitamin C?

I have another trait: when I do something, I do it intensely, all the way to the bottom. And if I find it's not enough, I make a firm decision and search hard. Searching uses both the brain and intuition. When both align, a lightbulb inside me goes "click" — on. At that moment, VC was what lit up. Once I decided I couldn't stay at McKinsey forever, I started gathering information, finding every headhunter I could, every VC fund with a discoverable URL. Eventually, through a friend of a friend of a friend's wife's friend, my resume landed in the hands of Daron Cao at Lightspeed's Shanghai office.

Actually, when I walked into that office for my interview, the psychological gap was huge. I had come from a 2,000-person company, flying business class, staying only at the best hotels in any city; now I was in a roughly 15-square-meter office with three people. That was my VC beginning.

Honestly, for a while after joining, I didn't even know what VC actually did. The earliest tasks were simple: cold calls, a full month of cold calls. I remember the projects from my first week, even specific conversations. Two or three years later, Weibo emerged; once Weibo had direct messages, I suddenly felt: there's no one on this planet I can't "harass" or reach.

The people I "harassed" in this industry back then — I'll never forget them. Here's an example. I was looking at the travel sector, and there was a guy named Guangfu Cui, CEO of eLong. I sent him 18 messages on Sina Weibo; he replied on the 19th. He remembered me, didn't block me. Later, on his first day as a partner at IDG, he said to me: "Herry, after all that circling, we ended up in the same industry."

Just a few seemingly unrelated things, cleverly coming together.

Pu Fan: That's a superpower, being able to shift your timeline, constantly imagining yourself at 60. But from my perspective, I can't help wondering: do you get full too easily?

Yan Han: Interestingly, I've thought about this. Look at my relationships, or things I use long-term — I'm actually quite loyal. Many of my friends are 30-year friends; I can wear a piece of clothing until it shines. So I'm not someone who gets "full" easily. I think this "superpower" is more like two forces intertwined: on one side, a backlash from some sense of insecurity; on the other, a whip constantly driving me forward.

Why can I find discomfort while comfortable? Because even when I'm lying down, I'm still whipping myself. This probably connects to my upbringing. I was born in Shanghai, elementary school in Wuxi. My classmates woke up at 5 a.m. to study — I literally couldn't "lie down." Both my parents were career-focused; I had to drive myself from a young age. My parents shuttled between Wuxi and Shanghai for me, giving up a lot. That force has always been inside me. Because I push so hard, I force myself to move the timeline. Most people might only have plans for tomorrow, or even just tonight. To have a lifelong plan is already counter to human nature.

Pu Fan: May I ask something — do you consider yourself smart? Let me explain why I ask: your way of expressing yourself reminds me of a "smart person with bad luck." Smart in that you know what capabilities you have; "bad luck" in that objective conditions limit your options. The combination creates intense pain or restlessness.

Yan Han: That doesn't sound like me. First, I'm not in pain, not anxious. Second, I'm not the kind of smart person who can clearly map out the future. But I have a fuzzy yet precise sensing ability — I know what isn't something I want to do for life. The lighthouse is there; I can't draw it, but I can feel roughly where it is.

This ability later translated into investing. People ask me, what gave you the conviction to bet on commercial space six or seven years ago, to invest in GPUs five years ago? I say, I just felt this thing was going to get big. At the time I couldn't draw it out, barely had scattered capabilities, but my directional sense was firm.

Cao Weiyu: This is what you mentioned earlier — when you encounter something you recognize, a lightbulb goes on in your body.

Yan Han: A lightbulb goes on. How bright? Just yesterday I told a colleague: I'm going to write down what I think will happen in the next 5 to 10 years. Because the past 30 years seem to prove I have this ability. So when people ask me, what is investing? I say: investing is flying in the space of deduction and imagination, based on facts and logic.

Pu Fan: What comes to mind is another term: the "overview effect." Once you enter a certain dimension, your thinking changes — you're no longer just understanding a local part, but generating new ideas through "overviewing the whole," breaking original cognitive boundaries. I'm wondering, through what particular event did you realize you had this ability?

Yan Han: You're absolutely right. I seem to have this ability — I can extract myself at the consciousness level, so space and time could shift for me even when I was young.

The biggest milestone I can recall is 2015. Through meditation, I developed a sense of space. What does space mean? Finding space within a limited physical body; your values and perspective can both shift. Originally 10 centimeters from something, now you can view it from 10,000 meters, putting yourself in the frame too. Thirty years ago, I already had that ability to extract myself and look at my 60-year-old self; ten years ago, that ability intensified. It made me truly realize that a person's perspective determines outcome.

This is Heart Capital's business. Resources, luck, brains — of course they matter. But what matters more is what values, worldview, perspective you use to look at something, what your original intention is. It's invisible, yet profoundly far-reaching.

So I have more reverence for investing, more reverence for founders, and more reverence for the heart. The ability to maneuver the heart — that's the inexhaustible force behind anything.

Pu Fan: And the overview effect has an even more exquisite application: the Hitchcock zoom. When you push in for a close-up, the background actually shrinks. This unexpected shift in perspective makes you notice more details that are otherwise hard to perceive.

Yan Han: Whether it's the overview effect or the Hitchcock zoom, the most direct effect is extracting you from your essence. What is essence? Essence is self-attachment, is ego. Many things succeed because of ego, and fail because of ego. If you can pull yourself out of ego — if your camera movement is no longer fixated on the present — you've physically broken through ego, which is extremely difficult, extremely rare, and extremely powerful. So if you physically help yourself break through ego, your interference decreases, and you get closer to truth.

What Was It Like Doing VC in 2008?

Pu Fan: Why didn't you start your own company? I feel like your personality is very suited for entrepreneurship.

Yan Han: First, Lightspeed itself was a startup. In 2011, we got the U.S. brand, and from Daron Cao, James Mi, to the three of us, we built it together. Later James Mi and I spun out Lightspeed China. Until 2022, many changes happened in between. But to your question — why didn't I start a company? I've actually always been an entrepreneur. It's just that today, the vessel called "Heart Capital" is a more suitable entrepreneurship for me, one that lets me influence the world and human nature more.

Cao Weiyu: So can you recreate the state of starting out in 2008? Especially since you mentioned cold calls — that's quite an ancient term.

Yan Han: In 2008, most people didn't know what VC was; China barely had angel investors. VC was a handful of Chinese Americans running tiny, mysterious shops, barely with websites, let alone marketing. Mobile internet hadn't started; communication relied mainly on phones and clunky mobile devices. More depressingly, www.house.com, www.car.com, every .com seemed to have already been invested in. When I first entered this industry, I thought: what am I here for?

So cold calls — because I didn't know what else to do.

Operationally, I would read a website from first page to last, every entry — the site was called 17 Startup, founded by a guy named Wen Feixiang — it had roughly 2,000 Chinese startups listed, many precursors to later familiar information-aggregation sites. Eventually I found a company called "Kan Chufang." The founder wanted to use OCR technology to scan medical records and tell doctors how to read them. That was AI back then.

Pu Fan: Way too ahead of its time.

Yan Han: Yes, that was the depression of that era: nothing to do, and what could be done seemed finished. In my eyes back then, everyone I met was older than me; there wasn't a single person younger in the industry. Everywhere I went, I wanted to make myself 12 years older, wear a good suit, tie a proper tie. Real mobile internet, real angel investors — that came after 2010, even 2011, 2012. But I have this trait: if I'm going to do something, I do it through. Make calls? Burn through them. Harassment? Harass until they agree to meet me. Like Tujia's Jun Luo — I told him: just tell me any point on earth, any time, and I'll be there.

Cao Weiyu: Wouldn't they call the police getting calls like that?

Yan Han: They would. They'd tell you to stop harassing them. But I'd say, I've researched this sector, I can first tell you what China's 10 most important travel companies are doing, then you tell me (the rest). There weren't many FAs in this industry then; I knew every single one, had everyone's QQ, had monthly meals, couldn't miss a single deal — miss one and it's a fail. Later some funds would have analysts monitor my Weibo: whoever Han added, we'd add immediately.

What to do when you really can't find anything to invest in? I liked travel, so I looked at every travel company in China, knew almost every single one. After seeing all of them and none were investable, I started thinking: can travel and internet combine into something new?

Thus came Tujia, then real estate, then finance, and finally the biggest outcome: Yunmanman. That track didn't even have a name then; we called it "technology-driven traditional industries." Later it was called industrial internet.

Pu Fan: Didn't you feel like you were losing all dignity? Because you saw what the Silicon Valley crowd was like, which might create a strong contrast with what you were doing?

Yan Han: First, we couldn't even meet them. The Lightspeed annual retreat only started after I became a GP. After the financial crisis, the industry recovered and everyone was talking about "copy from the US." This didn't really stop until 2015 or 2016. Back then, our research was: what does the US have? Does China have an equivalent? Only when China's unicorns kept multiplying, and Lightspeed China's early performance even surpassed the US, did the industry begin to move past the "endlessly copying from the US" phase. Later it became: US for tech innovation, China for business model innovation. Then, when we invested in lidar, we discovered that globally there were just a few Chinese companies, a few American ones, and one or two European ones — this was synchronization.

Then in the past three years, China moved ahead of the US in some industries. This has been an evolution. Back then, the US was the temple — whatever the US had, China copied. Today's opportunity is taking Chinese technology to places around the world where no one else is doing it.

Pu Fan: Let me summarize an impression I have, and tell me if you find it offensive. I feel like you had it too easy in those early years, and the work wasn't that hard. Why do I say this? First, the theme was clear. Second, the difficulties you encountered were basically manual labor. Third, even when you felt there was nothing left to invest in, you still had the freedom to research whatever fields interested you. This is an environment that many later generations of investors never had.

Cao Weiyu: Yes, this is something I especially wanted to ask — how was the tolerance for investors so high back then?

Yan Han: That's the biggest advantage of being at an institution that wasn't too large. Our main work back then was communicating with the US. After starting our own firm, the main work became fundraising. This反而 left me enormous space to research industries. It's true, the industry wasn't cutthroat then, but very few people were willing to do this kind of grunt work. The phrase that kept popping into my head wasn't "smart" — it was "the early bird catches the worm." Every time I didn't want to finish reading some website, I'd tell myself: the early bird catches the worm.

Second, this industry had no master-apprentice relationships. Without mentorship, can you imagine how hard this industry was? Could you understand legal documents? Could you understand term sheets? How many partners today can read through these documents word by word? This was a brutal jungle. If you survived, you survived; if you didn't, that was completely normal.

To this day, I still believe this industry was built by young people fighting their way through. So back then, I'd spend many evenings after work sitting in the office, flipping through every page, not going home until midnight. When I wanted to go home, I'd tell myself: the early bird catches the worm. It really was earned through hardship. Today when I see many young people in this business, I don't think it's hard at all.

"Of the first 20 projects, 10 became unicorns"

Cao Weiyu: Honestly, this differs from my previous understanding. Venture capital, as an imported concept, should have had a relatively mature system in Silicon Valley. I originally assumed that since we were copying from the US, the entire methodology would come over too. But from your description, it seems like many things were wild and chaotic, requiring exploration from scratch. Isn't this contradictory?

Yan Han: American VC manifests in three aspects. First is spirit — a spirit of adventure. Second is community. American VC has a community that divides labor, where strong people support strong people, making it more probable to build strong companies. Third is ecosystem. America has a mature ecosystem. But look back — how many of these three things existed in China back then?

Pu Fan: Seems like none could be copied over.

Yan Han: None. China's finance industry began with certainty. But taking risks — you can't do that without paying tuition. If you haven't personally lost and gained real money, the risks you read about in books aren't your risks. The ecosystem too — we're still building it now. Not just the secondary market and IPO ecosystem, but also new ecosystems of business and human relationships. All of China's entrepreneurs, large enterprises, and companies going global are still going through a phase: from insecure survival toward the confidence and leap-forward growth that comes after surviving. We haven't reached that American state of "being well-fed and clothed, having wine and cheese every day, then contemplating life's biggest questions." Much is still moving forward through scarcity.

Of course, this is precisely what's beautiful. China is forging its own VC path and ecosystem, completely different from America's, but very resilient and very unique.

Pu Fan: I think you touched on something very important — that our VC industry sprouted with values first, certainty first. The goal was determined first, then the industry was built backward. So I personally feel that if I had tried to become a VC in your era, not only would there have been no master-apprentice传承, I think finding a role model would have been hard.

Yan Han: Hearing you two, I appreciate VC even more. Big institutions throwing big money is certainly a game changer, but have you considered: when founders are nobodies, who takes the first swing? The first person to give Yiming Zhang money, the first to give Richard Liu money, the first to give He Xiaopeng money — this money is small, the risk is huge, AUM is small, management fees are low, and nobody believes in it. So why do it? Today with national sci-tech innovation, there are still too few truly willing to take that first swing in venture capital. Whether doing VC or entrepreneurship, if your heart isn't in it, you simply can't sustain it. Without the first and second believers, many companies never make it to the day when big institutions notice them.

Pu Fan: So you're willing to be the "angel" in angel investing?

Yan Han: Let me tell you, our first fund after starting out, Lightspeed China Fund I, was 168 million RMB. We had three requirements at the time: first, we don't invest if ownership is below 15%; second, we don't invest if it's not the first financing round; third, we don't invest if this person doesn't look strong at first glance. The three don'ts. By "don't invest," I mean don't even bring it up in meeting, don't even mention it.

Pu Fan: What's the standard for "doesn't look strong at first glance"?

Yan Han: Everyone's standard is different. Maybe you think someone who can't speak clearly isn't strong; someone else thinks someone who reacts too slowly isn't strong; a third person thinks someone who isn't handsome isn't strong. As long as after presenting, there's any obvious point where the team feels "not strong," please don't bring it up. Do you know what the result was? That fund invested in 20 companies, and all 20 were first-round financings. Of those 20, 10 later reached over $1 billion valuation.

Do you know why? Because these deals could never come to you through any FA, big shot, friend, or competitor introduction. You had to dig them out from cracks in the corner, or even create them. This is the secret of capital markets. The secret is that you must be that 0.01% person who digs the future out from wall cracks, then presents it to the industry so everyone sees: wow, in such a cutthroat industry, someone actually dares to do this, and it's really interesting. Then everyone looks again and discovers this person is truly strong. So 99.99% of peers will follow that first biter, bringing money, valuations, follow-on financing, PR, and good connections.

This is the easiest success mechanism in the world, because everyone will follow.

Cao Weiyu: Do you think there's still someone in today's industry with similar influence, a KOL?

Yan Han: The world needs such people, and Elon Musk is one. Musk was the first to say, brothers, follow me to Mars! The first person thought he was crazy — your company is about to go bankrupt. He kept calling out for over a decade, until today, when people across the entire planet are willing to follow this person into outer space. This is the strongest person on Earth.

Cao Weiyu: What about in China's market?

Yan Han: China will need such people in the future. Not necessarily leaders in investment or entrepreneurship, but leaders from various angles. But true leaders must be counter-human-nature, niche, non-consensus. They have faith, charisma, influence, and mental strength. At the same time they need three things: first, grounded in science, facts, and logic; second, able to commercialize — can't just have imagination without landing in business; third, heart — having vision, values, ultimately pursuing true value. If all three are present, that's a true leader.

Investors are excavating the light of humanity, entrepreneurs are creating the light of humanity, government supports the light of humanity, and you as storytellers are narrating the light of humanity. All of these are counter-human-nature, but this is where meaning lies.

"If your heart isn't ready, you'll definitely miss Yiming Zhang"

Pu Fan: After listening to all this, I have two questions bottled up. First, about the "three don'ts" you described for Lightspeed China. By this standard, you'd easily eliminate Xing Wang, because he wasn't just a serial entrepreneur but a serial failed entrepreneur. His Xiaonei didn't go well and he sold it; Meituan was his third or fourth project after countless failures. Yiming Zhang might also be eliminated, because he was someone who couldn't express himself clearly.

We wrote a detail in The History of Chinese Venture Capital: he did many roadshows in a day, dozens in a week. Each time he felt he hadn't spoken well, he'd call Wang Qiong (Yiming Zhang's angel investor) to apologize. He was the very typical (in stereotype) "small southern man" image. So the standards you designed then could easily miss such people.

Yan Han: Here's how I view this. In that era, if you didn't touch any of Xing Wang, Yiming Zhang, or Zheng Huang, you weren't successful enough. In 2015-2016, if you didn't touch Wei Xiaoli, you weren't successful enough — with this as premise, we invested in Zheng Huang; created Full Truck Alliance; invested in Lie Guo (founder of Faceu), which indirectly touched ByteDance; and when the vehicle era came, we also touched Xpeng Motors.

The benefit of this standard is that it forces independent thinking, independent excavation, independent creation. It's hard — everyone in our system found it变态, and I found it变态 too. But looking back, this pain precisely forced young people toward the true essence of the industry. Today, as long as you buddy up with an FA, you can get several packaged deals every week and look diligent at weekly meetings. But true deals don't appear this way.

You're right, "looks strong at first glance" is just the standard on paper. The people you can truly see are the people you should be able to see. When your heart is ready, they will definitely appear to you. Conversely, if you just think "this person speaks bluntly," "that person mumbles," "this person never worked at a big tech company," and pass — that means your heart isn't ready yet. Seeing someone's strength isn't about whether their speech is fluent, but whether their underlying thinking is fluent; not about how strong their physique is, but how strong their soul, values, and leadership are. Investing is a path of cultivation — first inward, then outward. When you miss a deal, what you truly need to do is look inward: what in me isn't ready?

When your heart changes, the Yiming Zhang of the AI era will naturally appear before you.

Pu Fan: What you said reminds me of another scene from The History of Chinese Venture Capital. Xing Wang once recalled that when he had just started Fanfou, he sat in the HSG office (seeking financing), and midway some big shot opened the door, peeked in, closed it again, and then notified him the financing couldn't happen. Just what you said — the heart wasn't ready. Xing Wang was already sitting there, but the wavelengths didn't connect, the signal wasn't received.

My second question is about angel investing. Someone said on Xiaohongshu that China has no true angel investors, only hell investors, and that getting angel investment is all about connections. I feel that connections and background are often just resumes — they help investors reduce decision costs. Venture capital needs returns, but also needs to jointly fulfill ideals for the world. If you want to earn trust to my degree, then me considering your connections and background — what's wrong with that?

Yan Han: Let me share how I feel about this. That Xiaohongshu post shows how intense the world has become, and that the person who posted it probably hasn't touched real venture capital yet — they've only seen the surface-level relationships. Relationships are unavoidable; this whole world runs on relationships, and relationships are entanglements of energy. But investing based solely on relationships? That's a losing strategy.

Why is investing so hard? Because it's a balance of so many things: reason and emotion, logic and dreams, reality and ideals. Stand on any one side, and you're incomplete. A good VC needs two capabilities: one is induction — strong logic, fast learning, the ability to extract the core issues and avoid pitfalls. The other is deduction — seeing how gritty and imperfect reality is, and still daring to imagine. Both of these need taste as well.

Taste isn't about aesthetic beauty. It's about judgment on the risk-reward scale: what risks do I take, for what returns? Without dreams, you just nitpick — that's private equity. Dreams alone, and you become charity. So it's still that triangle: science, business, heart.

Pu Fan: Is this why you decided to go on a spiritual retreat in 2015? The key point is 2015 — an era we remember as so golden — and you actually humbled yourself to go on a spiritual retreat?

Yan Han: Anyway, that year both we and the top domestic funds had portfolio companies going public in certain sectors. After the IPOs, we were thrilled. We took all our colleagues and their families to Sicily, to connect with nature. Performance was really strong then. Think about it — that 2011 fund I mentioned, 10 out of 20 projects reached over $1 billion, and each started from zero. So what I want to say is, investing is incredibly hard. It requires reason plus emotion. Which brings me back to what I said earlier: based on facts and logic, then deduce and soar.

Why Is Heart Capital the "Better Answer"?

Cao Weiyu: You've shared a lot of philosophies — taste, preferences, this whole framework. But honestly, what you're talking about differs considerably from what we hear from speakers on stage at events like the China Investment Annual Conference.

You operate in a fully marketized environment, free to make moves, fighting for returns in the jungle. But viewed through today's framework, much of this seems less applicable. Because in recent years, the market has been very clear — directions have largely been mapped out by that "visible hand," and everyone's basically moving in the same direction.

So do those earlier principles still apply? Are you prepared to face today's market, which has become fully Chinese-style VC?

Pu Fan: Let me summarize — why do you think Heart Capital is a better answer?

Yan Han: The situation now is too competitive, too transparent, too fast, even too bubbly, even too narrow, isn't it?

For over 30 years, I've basically worked with US dollars — I joke that I was drinking red wine. In 2016 and 2017, I started drinking baijiu, launching my first RMB fund. The conclusion many people reached then was: invest RMB the way dollars are invested. I always felt that was wrong; discarding either side was wrong. My answer was, on top of the skills learned in the dollar era, add two more things: first, whether the sector you invest in is something China will need and support in the next 5 to 10 years; second, whether the company can show revenue and profits relatively sooner.

This fund invested in 20 companies; 9 are now public. Over the past three years, I've also distilled three points: always stay walking in this industry; all pain hides enormous opportunity behind it; the more competitive it gets, the bigger the opportunities that follow.

Because the more competitive, the more unsettled people's minds become, the more they follow the crowd. If you dare to lead, you might ride a massive leader's wave. Recently we analyzed a very young early-stage fund that used to do consumer, then was forced into tech, only finding first-round deals through cracks. After a year or two, looking back, performance was excellent. I said, this was once Lightspeed.

Pu Fan: Isn't transparency a good thing?

Yan Han: Transparency becomes an advantage only if: you were the first to jump in when it was unclear, and you're the first to disbelieve the industry when it becomes transparent. For example, who first believed in embodied intelligence three years ago? Then comes the second test: who will be the first to exit?

This is extremely hard, because the momentum is so powerful. Disbelief happens collectively; belief happens collectively too. Believing when no one else does, and not believing when everyone rushes in — get both right, and returns aren't 10x, but potentially 100x, 1000x. Many industries work this way — movements are eerily synchronized, big wins and big losses happen together. In the end, there are always one or two people who start making big money first. What's needed here? Heart. Super hard.

Pu Fan: And I think this is a game for the brave. Why do I think transparency is good? Because when everyone converges there, it gives me a clear signal: don't bother looking there, or there must be some kind of misdirection. Then I can specifically look for the proposition obscured by that misdirection.

Yan Han: Propositions always come after pioneering.

Pu Fan: Really?

Yan Han: If propositions come before pioneering, that's a movement — 99% of people will lose. After pioneering, plenty still lose in the proposition phase, because they enter but can't exit. But those who harvested earlier have already left. Embodied intelligence, aerospace — these weren't pioneered just in the last two years; they started three to five years ago. How many people rushing in today are cannon fodder? Of course, this doesn't hinder industry development; industries need more energy and attention. But there's always opacity within transparency, wins with losses, rises with falls. Today thoughts are too unified; tomorrow losses may be too unified too. So in today's world, the demands on people's hearts are higher.

Pu Fan: So after founding Heart Capital, have you developed any special training methods for the team?

Yan Han: A company's culture is essentially the founder's culture. This culture isn't declared — it's built through your every word and action, every glance, every gesture, every value, every small matter. Under my influence, I haven't deliberately said anything, but our colleagues will use their own salaries to attend meditation retreats. Later they told me: "Herry, I secretly attended a meditation retreat, and the gains were quite substantial." Another colleague said: "I suddenly get why it's called Heart Capital." This is the influence I want to achieve: at the values level, the worldview level, subtly bringing people something.

Pu Fan: But I still feel that human free will is overestimated. Put someone there, and they won't necessarily awaken to these things. You still have to train them, still discipline them. So I'm especially curious — even if you don't have a specific training method. For example, when building the Heart Capital team, did you set any red lines?

Yan Han: The red lines are very clear. First, no quick money. There are many ways to make quick money in this business, but absolutely not — in 18 years, I haven't even considered it. Second, no slacking, no half-effort. Not thoroughly researching a phenomenon, an industry, a person — that's slacking. Doing something may seem easy, but you must give your all. The mindset is like air permeating the room, but ultimately it must land on brushstroke-by-brushstroke work — we have very detailed requirements for young people, for partners. Logic and facts are the foundation; deduction and imagination soar on this foundation. Soaring without foundation is like a kite with a broken string.

Pu Fan: So do you feel that your ideal Heart Capital, the institutional style it needs, has it developed?

Yan Han: Still a work in progress.

Pu Fan: Then if our book A History of Venture Capital in China gets a revised edition, what description would you want Heart Capital to receive?

Yan Han: Recently a sentence keeps popping into my head: using technology to connect humanity and human nature. Heart Capital is a tech, hard-tech investment firm, but technology can't stop at technology itself. It ultimately must connect to people — to people's lifestyles, emotions, choices, and destinies. And this is bidirectional. Chinese tech companies going global isn't just about becoming world-class companies; they should also become ambassadors for China, using products and services to let the world feel Chinese people's capabilities, values, and creativity. So my definition of Heart Capital isn't just investing in hard-tech companies, but hoping to use technology to connect China's and the world's human nature and human lives.

Pu Fan: Does this enormous sense of mission make you feel exhausted?

Yan Han: No. It makes me feel super free, super excited, super free. I haven't even set an endpoint for myself. If I felt exhausted, I'd definitely say, I'll walk another 15 years, retire by a certain year, go enjoy mountains and waters. But my conclusion is, as long as my physical body can support it, I can keep going. Can you feel the excitement in my heart?

Pu Fan: I can. I can feel it. You've been smiling while saying all this. From beginning to end, whether you were complaining or where we are now, you've been smiling.

Yan Han: The suffering is absolutely real, absolutely bitter. But I feel it's incredibly meaningful. I've found my meaning. So during the hardest four years, many friends came to me in the past year saying: "I see you've found meaning, can you share with me? I'm also searching for meaning in my life." Many entrepreneurs too. So I feel I'm living meaningfully. Inspiring them to find their own meaning — this may be more effective than giving them $10 million or 100 million RMB.

2022 May Have Been the Best Time to Start a Company

Pu Fan: Then what was your biggest challenge over the past four years?

Yan Han: This is absolutely not the best time to start a company, and yet it is the best time.

Pu Fan: Right, that sentence I opened with — 2022 was too indistinct.

Yan Han: Many people think 2025 is China's inflection point, because phenomenon-level companies and products like DeepSeek emerged. But 2022, 2023 — perhaps those were the real moments, because the whole world was actually hitting the brakes.

I've spent 40 years dealing with the United States; now I have to add "Moutai" to the "red wine," which isn't easy. I was also Lightspeed China's founder, shareholder, and legal representative. Originally my American partners and I were doing fine; outsiders would ask: why start Heart Capital too? Then the outlook for dollar capital was uncertain, the IPO environment uncertain, whether there was even a market was unknown.

This was a huge transition. Unlike other venture capitalists who went solo, Lightspeed China was my first startup, and I still have responsibility for it. Not just shareholder responsibility, but professional integrity. I need to manage, exit, and close out hundreds of portfolio companies well. Meanwhile, I created a new brand. These two things ran in parallel, so for a period the outside world didn't hear my voice. But I was actually handling two dimensions: being responsible for the past, while opening a new path for the future. Heart Capital isn't simple "going solo" — to me it's a new startup, a new self-iteration.

Cao Weiyu: I want to push further on Heart Capital's positioning. Heart Capital is actually at the very opposite end of this industry. It's hard to find a philosophically comparable firm. The industry usually talks about what? Numbers, returns, relationships, resources, brand, circles. Very few people talk about "heart." But in over an hour of conversation, nearly every sentence, every answer, you end with "heart." This is rare among the investors we've interviewed. So I want to venture asking: do people find you strange?

Pu Fan: Or to be more blunt, do people find you hypocritical?

Yan Han: Yes. The first reaction is: this name is too mystical. The second reaction is: patience, got it, patient capital. I think that's fine too, and just smile slightly. But what's magical is, I also continuously encounter entrepreneurs, investors, peers who, after sitting in my office, say: "Mr. Han, you made my heart tremble."

A few weeks ago in Hong Kong, a foreign investor peer took it even further — he said his gemstone told him to speak with me. After we talked, he felt I was the most conversant investor in all of Asia, the one who most "got" his secrets. It's the same with entrepreneurs. Those who've been through a lot, regardless of language, once they reach that stage, they get it; those who haven't, they'll interpret it as Monad Ventures, patient capital, mystical capital.

I believe the strongest founders in this industry, many of them are my kind of people, some have gone even further. Because those truly willing to look inward — their minds are definitely top-tier, but top-tier minds alone aren't enough; their hearts must also be ready. Look at the founders of world-class companies: emotionally stable, original perspectives, not joining the rat race just because everyone else is, not fearful out of fear, not frenzied out of frenzy. What's the secret? Their hearts have been put in order by themselves.

Pu Fan: But they don't shout it out. You do. That creates a massive declaration effect. We often say morality can be self-disciplined, not other-disciplined. Other-disciplining is thuggery. But once you shout it out, others easily other-discipline you, using the name "Heart Capital" to regulate you. You talk too much business with me, and you still call yourself Heart Capital? You haggle too much over terms, and you still call yourself Heart Capital? You obsess too much over returns, and you still dare call yourself Heart Capital? People will write that story. This name could become your shackle.

Yan Han: Not a big problem. Know what I thought of? The cover of The History of Venture Capital in China. We're actually that lighthouse.

Pu Fan: That's your interpretation?

Yan Han: Everyone is their own lighthouse. Our lighthouse is called Heart Capital. I've planted it here. Ships that see it, ships that like it, will sail over; those that don't, or don't like it, will steer around. So the role we need to play is simply to be one of many lighthouses. That's enough.

Pu Fan: Actually, about that book cover, I once wrote an interpretation. I don't think venture capitalists are lighthouses. I think they're more like people standing at the lighthouse holding a searchlight. They merely possess this tool. Where it shines, whether it catches the gold dust on the waves — they don't know. They're just blind testing. Based on their experience, based on what their predecessors told them, based on their own mood that day, they aim it there.

Yan Han: Very good. I think this mindset is what's called the "no-self-attachment" mindset. This makes it more likely to spot that piece of gold in this sea.

"I'm Not the Boss, I'm Herry"

Pu Fan: Last question. What kind of goal would you set for Heart Capital?

Yan Han: Know what Heart Capital's future will look like? Let me describe it. Heart Capital will be a boutique fund. What's boutique? Not large in scale, not many people. To be more concrete, from today's standpoint, I think each RMB fund shouldn't exceed 1 billion yuan, each USD fund shouldn't exceed 200 million.

Pu Fan: Essentially it's the best impression of VC from your youth, preserved at Heart Capital.

Cao Weiyu: Very Silicon Valley VC.

Pu Fan: No, I think it's what he saw when he first walked into the Lightspeed China office.

**Yan Han: Right. Today I'm rebuilding a new 2011. Every fund should stay small. Succeeding by investing broadly and issuing press releases is "right but wrong"; succeeding through tightly selected, difficult, painful investment approaches is "right but hard." We need to find balance among science, business, and heart, supporting from zero the 50 to 100 Chinese tech companies that can become world-class in the next 50 to 100 years. It doesn't stop at technology itself — technology must also connect China's and the world's humanity, human lives.

Pu Fan: Then how complete do you think you are, distance-wise, from this goal?

Yan Han: Still early. I work seriously at this every day. It shows in every conversation with colleagues, every conversation with myself, and in every investment decision. For example, a company we invested in last year — no fund was willing to invest then, it had spun out from industry, most investors wouldn't look at it. We invested. Less than a year later, up 10x. Today it's consensus; last year it wasn't. This includes hiring too. Recently a Gen Zer came in, still interning, and I just felt he's very good, very special.

Pu Fan: Do you personally interview hires now?

Yan Han: Absolutely. First, every colleague contributes, but in the end I must personally talk with them.

Pu Fan: Do you have any reserved special questions? I used to have one when interviewing: on your way here, whether by bus or subway, what story leads did you notice? If they found at least one, it proves they have curiosity about the world. In our industry, curiosity is prerequisite. Even in a familiar city, there's always something odd. Like in Chengdu, shared power banks always have graffiti on them. Who drew it? What do the symbols mean?

Yan Han: I think your point is excellent — curiosity represents one's attitude toward this world.

Pu Fan: Right, you want to screen for people who have that "heart." So you must have some tricks?

Yan Han: My biggest trick can't possibly be just one question. A person's pattern doesn't suddenly emerge. It's already manifested in every corner of their life. So I generally have the person tell their life story from childhood onward. From their descriptions and life stories, I find this person's common threads and through-lines, see whether they have that heart.

Pu Fan: So in that moment, do you feel you're a boss, or some other role?

Yan Han: Not boss, never call me boss. I don't like either of those two characters — "lao" or "ban." Of course in terms of role, I am everyone's boss, but I'd rather they call me Herry. Age is just a physical attribute; it can't determine the state of one's heart. Young people can be very mature; older people may not be ready. So in that moment, I'm more like someone looking at life's patterns with them, not judging them from a boss's position.

Pu Fan: I suddenly feel very bad, because when you mentioned "disembarking," it made me think of that "superpower" we discussed at the start: in this journey, there will come a day when you're full. When that day of being full comes, what would make you feel satiated with Heart Capital and leave it? Thinking of this image, I actually feel a bit sad.

Cao Weiyu: Based on your past experience, quite possibly. Your lightbulb goes out again, and you want to find the next one.

Yan Han: Good question. You know what, my lightbulb has already gone through its second iteration. First iteration: from Microsoft, McKinsey & Company to VC. That iteration was called the timeline moves, you can step back and examine. The second iteration was already different. At Lightspeed, we iterated many times too, you know that. By then, I'd already realized one thing: changing lightbulbs doesn't solve the problem, you need to repair the lightbulb.

Pu Fan: Now you have the ability to repair lightbulbs.

Yan Han: Now it's the third stage. At this third stage, I'm no longer repairing lightbulbs.

Cao Weiyu: You've become Edison. You manufacture lightbulbs.

Yan Han: I manufacture lightbulbs. And what I've realized is: keep manufacturing lightbulbs. Don't expect when they'll be finished, don't expect when they won't; don't expect good, don't expect bad. Do it wholeheartedly, and it's all good. This is already the third iteration. I hope the third iteration is a permanent state.

Pu Fan: That previous experience at Heart Capital, you're trying not to let it happen again, right?

Yan Han: At least not in the same form, not happening without harvest. You also know, in the original system, the lightbulb brightened, dimmed, brightened, dimmed several times. Each time I iterated, I upgraded. History will certainly be strikingly similar, but it can't happen without harvest, without iteration. I feel I iterated in that past history, gained cognition, made progress. That's enough.

Pu Fan: I believe you, because you said this smiling too — I see that confidence.

Yan Han: From the heart. Because I've already seen that everything is cultivation in life's journey. Whether you're boss, employee, founder, whether at Lightspeed China or Heart Capital, you're cultivating your own path. Being able to stir things up together is all fate, all love. Parting is also love, just the fate has run its course. Being entangled means the fate runs deep; no longer entangled means both people's lessons are complete. Being able to be entangled, it's all love, truly.

Pu Fan: Speaking of which I want to add one more question. In 2015, that afternoon when you first did spiritual practice, what question was in your mind?

Yan Han: I was thinking, why am I sitting here? How did I end up sitting here? How did I come to a place with no goal for 10 days? How did I let myself sit here so painfully? Can't retreat either. I talked with the abbot for 4 hours, he convinced me. Later I thought, fine, I'll just sit, only 6 days left anyway, already past halfway. Later I discovered, that pain was the enormous treasure.

Pu Fan: What did the abbot tell you?

Yan Han: He told me: when you encounter pain, you put it down. You think you've put down this heavy burden, but actually this burden could have been carried, solved, and ultimately put down. But because you actively chose to put it down, you no longer have the right to put it down — you'll carry it forever. A bit PUA, right? But when I heard it, I instantly felt it made sense.

Cao Weiyu: Instantly got PUA'd.

Yan Han: Only now that I know the term PUA do I realize it could be described that way. But at the time I really felt it made sense. This lesson itself must be passed through. You choose to put it down, thinking you've passed through, but actually you carry it tighter. So challenges and pain are treasures given to you. Others are lying down, enjoying themselves, and suddenly because you're uncomfortable, you're forced out. You mentioned industry consensus earlier — I've recently seen some completely unremarkable, difficult, very young teams, forced to be exceptionally excellent. This is 2011 Lightspeed, 2022 Heart Capital. Born from pain, holding to original heart, small, ugly, unremarkable, but especially powerful.

Pu Fan: This is also the future we hope to see.

Founded in 2022, Heart Capital is a venture capital fund focused on investing in early-stage Chinese technology startups.

Heart Capital's team consists mainly of Lightspeed's founding partners, core investors, and senior investors from industry. The team's past investments include MetaX (688802.SH), Xpeng Motors (NYSE: XPEV, 09868.HK), Full Truck Alliance (NYSE: YMM), Sunmi Technology (06810.HK), RoboSense (02948.HK), Ambiq Micro (NYSE: AMBQ), Hanshow Technology (301275.SZ), FinVolution (NYSE: FINV), Qimengdao Group (NASDAQ: HERE), as well as LandSpace, Micro-Nano Starry Sky, Baichuan, Manbang Cold Chain, World Logistics, Dedao, and Lanhu, among others.

Rooted in China with a global perspective, Heart Capital is committed to early-stage accompaniment and support for entrepreneurial teams with the potential to become future world-class companies in China's technology sector. Heart Capital advocates the value of "heart," believing that technology can become a bridge connecting hearts. Heart Capital looks forward to accompanying more young Chinese entrepreneurs onto the world stage.