The person who urged others to work hard, Zhang Xuefeng, was ultimately harmed by working himself too hard, leaving behind 9 companies and a 9-year-old daughter.

At 3:00 p.m., the people were already gone. The obituary wasn’t posted until 10:00 p.m. Zhang Xuefeng’s company turned into a chaotic mess

On March 24 afternoon, a piece of news exploded online: Zhang Xuefeng suffered a cardiac arrest and was being rushed to the hospital in Suzhou.

The news spread fast, but the response was slow, like a snail. When a reporter called a partner, the other side held it in for a long time and finally came out with four words: “No comment for now.” The assistant, Wan Xia, was in Chengdu when she answered the call—she was also completely baffled: “I don’t know. Who did you hear it from?”

There was no denial, no debunking, and not even a single sentence like “He’s fine.”

This reaction, in itself, says a lot.

It wasn’t until nearly 10 p.m. that the obituary finally arrived late. Fengxue Weilai announced it officially: Zhang Xuefeng died of sudden cardiac death due to a heart source on March 24 at 15:50 in Suzhou, at the age of 41.

Let’s work out the time difference—he had already passed away at 3:50 p.m., but it was nearly 10 p.m. before the public was told. In the meantime, what was the company doing over those six hours? In chaos, in collapse, with no one daring to make decisions and no one able to take charge.

Zhang Xuefeng wasn’t just the company’s star attraction—he was the soul of the company. Without that soul, the entire system instantly went into paralysis.

Zhang Xuefeng’s real name was Zhang Zibiao. Born in 1984 in Qiqihar, Heilongjiang, he came from an ordinary family of railway workers. He studied hard and got into Zhengzhou University, moving from a county town to a big city. In 2016, a video titled “Seven Minutes to Interpret 34 of the 985 Universities” made him go viral overnight. From then on, he became a “top-tier” figure in the postgraduate entrance exam circle and the field of high school college application choices.

Over the years, he turned “Fengxue Weilai” into a business with annual revenue of 800 million yuan, with 11 related companies under his name. His personal net worth and valuation were 800 million yuan, and he was also elected as a representative to the Jiangsu Provincial People’s Congress. From a “small-town test-taker,” he became an “educational lighthouse” in the eyes of countless parents.

His daughter, Zhang Yanhan, is only 9 years old.

At 9, it’s the age when you need your father. He once said on a program that he had already set aside money for his daughter for a lifetime, so there was no need to worry about what came after. But problems that money can solve have never truly been the real problem. Some things can’t be bought back with money.

Many people can’t wrap their heads around it: wasn’t Zhang Xuefeng always running? He checks in on social media every day. In March alone, he ran 72 kilometers. On the morning of the 22nd, he even ran 7 kilometers. For someone so careful about health, how could he suddenly have a heart attack?

That’s the most ironic part.

Back in June 2023, he was forcibly hospitalized by the hospital for “excessive overwork, chest tightness, and palpitations.” The doctor must have told him then: you need to rest, reduce the burden, and you can’t keep burning the candle at both ends like this.

He didn’t listen.

High-intensity work, running nonstop for years. Only a few hours of sleep every day, yet still insisting on running every day. After running, he would continue to stay up late, continue to produce content, continue to consume himself. This kind of “exercise” isn’t about preserving health—it’s about overdrawing. His heart was like an elastic band pulled to its limit: one force was work pulling at it, the other was exercise pulling at it—two forces stretching it, sooner or later it would snap.

Some people online spread the story that he “suddenly suffered a heart attack at home on a treadmill.” Whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter; what matters is one fact: a person who had advised countless others to “push yourself,” “work hard,” and “change your fate,” ended up being harmed precisely by the word “push.”

He was afraid something would go wrong with his body, so he kept exercising. But he forgot that real health isn’t something you can run into—it’s something you rest into.

This tragedy also has another detail that makes people feel a deep sense of regret.

After Zhang Xuefeng passed away, the public sphere didn’t fall into a one-sided wave of mourning. Instead, all kinds of voices appeared. Some said he was too utilitarian. Some said his “the uselessness of liberal arts” theory harmed a lot of children. Some said his business-mindedness was too heavy.

But more people were silent—those children whose career paths were changed by his guidance on filling in applications; those ordinary families who treated him as a mental pillar; those students who took fewer detours because of his “straight talk.”

They didn’t speak up because they genuinely didn’t know what to say.

A person who helped countless people find a way forward yet couldn’t find a balance between health and career for himself—this is, in itself, the biggest tragedy.

Zhang Xuefeng left way too suddenly.

At 3:50 p.m., his heartbeat stopped. Just before 10 p.m., the world only then found out. In those six hours in between, a company with a market value of 800 million yuan was in disorder, while a 9-year-old child was waiting for a father who would never be coming back.

All his life, he was teaching others how to “change their fate.” Teaching children from poor families how to choose the right major; teaching children from ordinary households how to take fewer wrong turns; teaching people born from the same hard beginnings as him: “eat well first, then talk about ideals.”

But he didn’t teach himself one thing: that life, above all else, matters more than anything.

No matter what age, and no matter what the purpose is, fitness must be done within one’s limits. Success obtained by overdrawing your body may, in the end, not even give you the chance to enjoy that success. Zhang Xuefeng’s last update on his朋友圈 was a running check-in on March 22. Under that post, no one will respond again.

May he in another world no longer have to push himself so hard. May those who are alive remember: living well is more important than anything else.