Money as Love: Understanding Guanxi and Business in China

"Chinese people like money." I have heard this phrase many times. Sometimes it is said quietly by foreigners, with discomfort, as if pointing out a flaw. But I have also heard it said by Chinese people themselves, matter-of-factly, even proudly. When they say it, there is no apology in their voice.

In many Western contexts, particularly those influenced by Catholic traditions in France, Italy, or Spain, you are expected to speak first about universal values and only indirectly about money. Desire for money is something to soften or hide. This creates a particular form of politeness, a way of signaling that you are driven by higher purposes. Money carries moral weight.

In China, money does not carry the same taboo. From what we observe in our executive search work, it often functions as an expression of effort and care.

The equation we hear articulated is: effort converts to care, care converts to relationship, relationship converts to long-term value. Money can be a love language.

The Complaint We Hear

"We cannot sell premium services in China. They only care about price, not quality." This is a frustration we hear often from international companies, particularly in the service sector. Contract negotiations stall. Chinese partners push back on terms. The premium positioning that worked in Paris or New York does not translate.

Then comes the advice from local staff: "You need salespeople who already have the zīyuán (资源, resources)." By resources, they mean the clients, the relationships, the network already in place. Not the pitch deck. Not the credentials. The relationships.

For many Western executives, this feels like being told the game is rigged. Either you are already inside the circle, or you are locked out. From what we see in our work, the question may be less about being inside or outside, and more about how trust gets built in the first place. To understand that, you need to understand how relationships are structured in China.

The Concentric Circles Of Obligation

In Chinese culture, obligation radiates outward in concentric circles. Family sits at the core. Then classmates, former colleagues, your company, your industry, your city, your nation. Each circle carries different weight, different expectations.

Within these circles, people often borrow family language for non-family relationships. You might call your boss lǎobǎn (老板), but also address a senior colleague as jiějie (姐姐, big sister) or a junior one as dìdi (弟弟, little brother). A mentor might be lǎoshī (老师, teacher), an elderly business contact yéye (爷爷, grandpa). These are not literal family ties. They are borrowed kinship terms that create warmth, signal hierarchy, and remind both parties of the mutual care that family relationships imply.

The visible rituals of these relationships matter deeply:

• Bringing treats back from a trip

• Insisting on paying the bill

• Sending a thoughtful lǐwù (礼物, gift)

The ritual matters: a polite pushback to respect modesty and miànzi (面子, face), then acceptance to honor the giver. The object is secondary. The relationship is primary.

This connects to the Confucian concept of lǐ (礼, ritual or propriety). Lǐ described the proper conduct of ceremonies and relationships, the visible behaviors that made abstract values tangible. When you give a lǐwù, you are not just handing over an object. You are performing lǐ, converting intention and respect into something the other person can see, hold, and remember. The gift, the dinner, the favor, the price concession—these become physical records of the relationship.

This helps explain why the concept of guānxi (关系, relationships or connections) carries such weight in business. What looks like favoritism from outside is often a risk-management system built on demonstrated reciprocity over time.

Research Insight: INSEAD & Tsinghua University

Guānxi networks in China function as trust-building mechanisms in environments where formal institutions are still developing.

Guānxi traces back to Confucian teachings on wǔlún (五伦, the five cardinal relationships): ruler-subject, father-son, husband-wife, elder-younger, and friend-friend. Each relationship carried specific duties and mutual obligations. Over centuries, as China developed as a merchant civilization along trade routes like the Silk Road, these relationship principles adapted into business practice. Trust was built through repeated exchanges of rénqíng (人情, reciprocal favors or human feelings), creating durable networks that outlasted any single transaction.

This is the cultural foundation underneath the complaint about needing salespeople with zīyuán. The resources are not just a list of contacts. They are years of accumulated rénqíng, visible demonstrations of lǐ, a proven track record of reciprocity. You cannot buy your way in. You have to build your way in. And building takes time, care, and tangible proof.

What Actually Works

So how do you build when you are starting from outside? A senior executive in luxury, who spent over a decade building brands across China, shared his approach with us. He calls it pragmatic: adopt the local codes while remaining yourself.

"Senior leadership loves autonomy but hates independence. You earn freedom by serving the brand, the client, the relationship."

His sales culture was built on going the extra mile. Not through expensive gifts or fancy banquets, but by being the partner for success. The goal was never just to close the contract or sign the project. The goal was to make sure the client wins. Their business. Their boss. Themselves.

The questions became: What do they want as a company, as a professional, as an individual related to their job? How can they be successful? What is in our power to get them there?

Some of it goes into the contract:

• Adjusting terms and conditions

• Offering a discount

• Adding additional service

But much of it does not need to be written down:

• Connecting them with another partner they hoped to meet

• Sharing insights on a market they are interested in

• Inviting them to a workshop session that could help their business

The mindset shifts from "What am I contractually obligated to deliver?" to "What can I do to help you win today, even though it is not in the contract?" And just as important: "How can I help you understand that you need to help me win next time?"

From what we observe, this approach teaches the rhythm of reciprocity. When you go beyond scope for someone, you are not just solving their problem. You are demonstrating how the relationship should work. You are showing them what rénqíng looks like in practice, so they learn to do the same when it is their turn to help you. These gestures build the account of rénqíng, where each act of care strengthens the bond and creates expectation of reciprocity over time.

This is how you start building zīyuán when you have none. You perform lǐ. You demonstrate care through tangible acts. You prove that you understand the rhythm. Money, in this framework, becomes another form of lǐ—care made tangible. When someone offers a price concession at a critical moment or goes beyond the scope of work when it truly matters, they are converting abstract goodwill into a concrete act that can be seen and remembered.

Research Insight: Harvard Business Review

Western firms often struggle in China not because they lack technical capability but because they underinvest in relationship-building before and during contract execution.

The contract is the floor, not the ceiling. The relationship is what determines whether you get called back.

The Lǎowài Paradox

The phrase you hear often in business is ràng wǒmen yìqǐ fācái (让我们一起发财), literally "let us together become wealthy." It carries an assumption of mutual prosperity, of shared success, of winning together.

Many Western executives have a version of this mindset at home. American business culture values relationships and hustle. Latin business cultures prize personal connection and loyalty. The logic of mutual benefit is not foreign. But something happens when these same executives deploy to China as expats. They become more rigid.

Why the rigidity sets in:

• Structural constraints: They represent an oversized global entity with compliance rules, approval layers, and headquarters oversight. The autonomy they had in their home market disappears.

• Cultural distance: There is the forever status of being a lǎowài (老外, foreigner), which makes entering the family circle harder, slower, more uncertain.

The question we hear executives wrestling with is: Can you engineer mutual upside while staying within your own ethical boundaries? Can you ask, "How do I make you richer or more successful?" and mean it? Can you build flexible contracts that document both the spirit and the mechanism, while setting clear guardrails about what is ethical and what is off-limits?

From what we observe in our search work, those who succeed:

• Lead with long-term intent, then discuss price

• Prove commitment before optimizing margin

• Respect miànzi and do not force people to refuse three times just to prove a point

• Make introductions and share intelligence

• Follow through fast

• Help their suppliers and customers become more successful, even when it is not in the statement of work

But there is another constraint that makes all of this harder.

Speed As Currency

In China, speed functions as a form of currency. When a client asks for a product adjustment, they expect it fast. When they need a decision on terms, they expect it fast. When they request a favor or an introduction, they expect it fast. The market moves quickly, and the assumption is that if you want to be a partner, you move quickly too.

International firms face significant structural constraints:

• The product adjustment needs global approval

• The contract decision needs to go through three layers of regional review

• The adjustment to terms needs legal sign-off from headquarters

• The favor requires checking with compliance

By the time the answer comes back, the client has often already moved on or found another partner who could move faster.

From what we observe, speed functions as a signal of commitment. When you deliver fast, you show that the relationship matters. When you are slow, you signal that other priorities come first. And in a business culture built on guānxi and rénqíng, that signal carries weight. You can perform lǐ through gifts and dinners, but if you cannot deliver when it counts, the ritual feels hollow.

The companies that seem to succeed in China are the ones that either decentralize decision-making to empower local teams, or build processes that can accommodate the speed the market demands. The ones that struggle are the ones that impose global rhythms on a market that operates at a different tempo.

We also see a difficult pattern: companies that cannot deploy fast and do not have the budget to sustain their growth ambitions in China often find themselves in a difficult position. Showing up without the resources or the mandate to compete properly can damage the brand, exhaust the team, and signal to the market that the commitment may not be serious. In some cases, the question becomes whether it makes sense to continue in this way or to rethink the approach entirely.

Money As Love

Money, in the Chinese business context, is not separate from relationship. It is one of the ways relationship gets expressed. Effort converts to care, care converts to relationship, relationship converts to long-term value. The price concession, the extra service, the introduction that helps someone win—these are all forms of lǐ, tangible proof of the relationship.

When Chinese people say they like money, they are often saying they value tangible proof of effort and care. When Western companies complain they cannot sell premium services, they may be missing the fact that premium, in this context, is not just about the service specification. It is about the relationship that surrounds it, the speed of response, the willingness to help the client win even when it is not in the contract.

The zīyuán that local staff talk about is not a shortcut around this. It is the accumulated result of doing this well, over time, with enough people that your network becomes your currency. You cannot buy zīyuán. You build it through repeated demonstrations of care, reciprocity, and speed.

What is one moment when a small act beyond the contract changed the entire relationship for you?