One Night in a Successful Man’s Wet Dream
- Biyi
- Aug 7
- 10 min read
Updated: Aug 13
❗️This article is packed with photos. But it is worthy of your time (and data), you have my words.
On a quiet day in late June, Beijing was bathed in gentle sunlight with wisps of clouds. Feeling relaxed, I text Da Gou, the producer for my Chinese show Amazing Chinese Women 平衡不了, to plan our coming work trip to Changsha. Keeping time and budget tight, our itinerary was straightforward: fly in, stay overnight, shoot the next day, and return to Beijing.
“Luxurious, grand and palatial!”—Da Gou, notoriously known for her talent for extravagant descriptions, threw these words to me while recommending a local hotel. Ignoring the flowery adjectives, I simply copied the hotel name - 'Wanjiali' - to search on Ctrip and Dianping.
A quick browse revealed two appealing features: the hotel has an enormous gym, and, according to Ctrip, guests can enjoy a late checkout at 6 PM by presenting same-day flight or train tickets.
Now that’s what I call thoughtful service! Even though we only had small carry-on bags, any business traveler knows the true luxury of avoiding that frantic morning packing rush and not having to beg for it with a five-star review in exchange. What a rare moment of capitalist benevolence!
The decision was made. On July 3rd, we were headed to Changsha. Destination: Wanjiali International Hotel 万家丽国际大酒店.
Behind every reckless decision lies a careless boss—and that boss will inevitably pay for her impulsiveness in blood, sweat, and tears.
Five days before our trip, Da Gou sent me a video. Its creator, Schlieffen, was one of China’s most famous internet curators of the bizarre. His signature style? Roaming across China’s 9.6 million square kilometers to document its most absurd, illogical man-made spectacles, zeroing in on their most imaginatively ridiculous designs—all while delivering razor-sharp, hilarious commentary.
I’d seen plenty of Schlieffen’s videos before, and I knew he was picky about locations. So when I learned he had filmed our soon-to-be lodging—Wanjiali—I knew this place had to be something special.
But I’ll admit: that day, drowning in a flood of WeChat messages, I didn’t actually watch the video. Instead, I just skimmed the description:
“What is Wanjiali?It’s a mall in Changsha (yes, the hotel and mall are one, housed in the same terrifyingly massive building).It’s the center of the universe.This ‘world’s largest building’ shattered everything I knew about interior design. Forget Scandinavian minimalism, rustic farmhouse, or neo-Chinese chic—Wanjiali’s aesthetic is Greatness. Here, there is only Greatness Itself.”
Greatness Itself. So apart from America, this is where Greatness resides?
I was about to sleep inside Greatness.
Some essential background information before we physically embark on this wild trip:
(The following is sourced from Wanjiali Group’s official website, presented here in all its glory.)
On Wanjiali International Hotel:
"Wanjiali International Hotel is China’s only hotel designed to seven-star standards—yes, it has officially claimed the title 'Center of the Universe' (no irony detected). It houses seven Guinness World Record cultural exhibits. The lobby features an 8.8-meter-wide crystal lotus chandelier and a white jade relief sculpture titled Beautiful Global Harmony World. Its corridors are lined with a 700-meter-long ceramic mural of Prosperous Suzhou, earning it the nickname 'A Museum on the Move."
On Wanjiali Plaza (the Behemoth that houses the hotel):
"Located at No. 99 Wanjiali Middle Road in Changsha’s Furong District, Wanjiali International Mall spans 426,000 square meters—8,000 square meters larger than Dubai’s Burj Khalifa.
Completed in December 2015, this 26-story, 3-basement monolith boasts 158 elevators and 2,600 parking spots. But the real flex? Its rooftop was designed as a helicopter landing pad capable of accommodating 250 aircraft (because why not?)."
On the Father of "Greatness Itself" (how can greatness be great without a father?):
Mr. Huang Zhiming, born in 1962 in Changsha, is the visionary behind the Wanjiali empire. With a graduate degree (naturally) and an unshakable belief in more is more, he single-handedly founded six companies under the grand brand Wanjiali, spanning home furnishings, shopping malls, and hotels.
In short—
The Wanjiali Group is extraordinary! As Hunan's most absolutely remarkable enterprise, it stands as the shining pride of Hunan's private sector and a veritable lighthouse for China's entire private economy!
And then there's Mr. Huang - a business visionary the likes of which China, nay, the entire universe sees but once a century! Not merely a genius at managing physical enterprises, but a man of such lofty social responsibility that he clearly doesn't operate for mere profit!
The pride of Changsha! The honor of Hunan! The glory of China!
The father of our universe!
July 3rd, 5 PM. I was drowsy on the Beijing-to-Changsha high-speed rail when Da Gou, who had arrived half a day earlier, texted me:
"YOU NEED TO COME ASAP. THIS PLACE IS RIDICULOUS."
Da Gou wasn't one for hyperbole. In our six months working together, she'd always been the unflappable one, the steady hand cleaning up my messes. Yet here she was, after just a few hours at Wanjiali, sending out SOS!
"20 minutes to arrive!" I replied, my anticipation now skyrocketing — if this place could rattle unshakable Da Gou, then Wanjiali, you must truly be something special.
Twenty minutes later, the bullet train glided to a perfect stop at Changsha South Station. I swiftly exited the station and hopped into a Didi, drove into the centre of Changsha.
Living in China long enough, you would develop a certain immunity to colossal architecture. So when Wanjiali Plaza—a rectangular behemoth boasting over 200,000 square meters—first loomed into view, I barely blinked. True, it was a monolithic presence, but with its unremarkable beige facade and the familiar riot of restaurant signage, it registered as just another Chinese commercial complex. An XXXL version, perhaps, but nothing extraordinary.
The real spectacle began the moment I stepped inside.
After staring at the elevator directory for what felt like ages, I finally made it to the 26th-floor lobby of the Wanjiali International Hotel. Before I could even steady myself, I was nearly knocked off my feet by the enormous mural covering the entire lobby wall —
What the hell is this art — art?!
Dazed by the mural, I completely forgot about checking in. I dropped my luggage and rushed to examine the wall, only to find them:
Jackie Chan, George H.W. Bush (Warrent Buffet, in fact, as a dear reader later remineded me), Li Ka-shing, Yelena Isinbayeva, and an assortment of Chinese minority beauties and celebrities. Greetings! Why were you all waving at me from this 2D giant waterfall and lotus pond straight out of a Chinese calendar painting?!
I knew you were just as bewildered as I was—a sentiment not shared by the front desk clerk processing my check-in. "This mural is insane. Who designed it?" "Our Chairman Huang," replied the young man in a dated burgundy suit, slowly clicking through his computer screen while humoring my astonishment. "But why these figures? " "No idea," he didn’t even look up this time. "Here’s your key card. Head upstairs—our hotel is quite large, so it’ll take about 20 minutes to walk to your room."
The hotel's colossal size speaks for itself — I passed three endless hallways before reaching my room. Just two trips out and back, and my Apple watch buzzed: daily step goal achieved.
Thank you Mr. Huang, for the unintended workout!
After dropping our bags in the room, Da Gou and I immediately rushed to the 28th floor — home to what she had described as "utterly overwhelming" and what the hotel proudly calls "the world's largest rooftop helipad," gleaming with golden extravagance.
Under the scorching 35°C Changsha sun, the blinding glare of gold-plated sculptures hit me like a physical force. According to the placards, this vast, empty expanse features 260 tons of bronze statues, including but not limited to: the Buddha, the Jade Emperor, Chang'e flying to the moon, Nuwa creating humans—basically, every deity except anything related to actual aviation.
Though the density of mythic figures felt overwhelming, my mood lifted as I watched tourists happily posing for photos. Then, as the sunset bathed Changsha’s skyline in gold, it hit me: it’s hard to feel gloomy when you’re standing above an entire city. Here, we see progress, feel small, yet also—somehow — feel pretty damn proud.
"It's actually not bad here—what were you so worried about?" I asked Da Gou while enthusiastically snapping photos of the Nuwa bronze statue.
"Wait, you haven't been to the 11th floor yet!" Having arrived earlier, she had already explored every corner of Wanjiali.
"Bring it on, let’s go!"
According to official materials, the 11th floor houses Wanjiali's "World Culture Exhibition Hall".
Allow me to first present the official description:
"Within Wanjiali's commercial colossus, the World Culture Exhibition Hall shines as a radiant cultural gem, achieving perfect harmony between commerce and culture. Visitors stepping into this space enter a vibrant global corridor showcasing architectural styles, artworks, folk traditions, and crafts from around the world. Every corner exudes rich cultural atmosphere, allowing shoppers to broaden their horizons while experiencing diverse international charm."
Basically said all but also said nothing. So let me, an overly entertained visitor, give you an actual breakdown:
The hall contains a series of massive exhibits, including but not limited to: History & Culture Gallery (the most normal one), Hunan-native CPC Central Committee Members Gallery, 100 Emperor Ancestors of Chinese Surnames Gallery, 100th Anniversary of CPC Founding Exhibition and other equally unique cultural experiences.
Hail to ancient Chinese history!
Hail to the Communist leadership!
Hail to Hunan!
We all get it; let’s be real. Besides just doing business, a big part of running a private business in China — or in fact, the real business — is about pledging loyalty. Showing allegiance to the ruling party and the local culture is always the safest bet.
Most of the time, these loyalty pledges feel pretty staged, like they’re sincere but also for show, and people can tell. But our great Chairman Huang is different; when you see him from his exhibitions, you can feel loyalty not as a performance, but something grow from the deepest, most passionate corner of his heart.
This passion manifests in the (lethally verbose) exhibition details—
"Hunan people? Nothing special—Except producing the richest person in China now and then!
Hunan people? Nothing special—Except building the world’s largest single building, Wanjiali!
Hunan people? Nothing special—Except contributing 3 of China’s 10 Founding Marshals!"
But what's even more fascinating (??) than his passion is his complete lack of self-awareness. Yes, we're talking about that unshakable confidence — the kind that never pauses to wonder, "Is there something wrong with this?" The kind that charges ahead without a single drop of self-doubt.
The charm of a successful man: utter self-assurance, zero introspection.
Amid the overwhelmingly dense historical exhibits, the 11th floor's main tourist attraction is a wax museum. My verdict? The world's most unrecognizable wax figures—a surreal gallery of abstract interpretations, with unclear copyright permissions but abundant creative liberties.
(At least it’s free entry. Because charging for this would be criminal.)
Honestly, after the wax museum, I was spent — just like you, dear reader, trudging through this article.
"Call it a day?" I asked Da Gou, already fantasizing about devouring two plates of crayfish at the night market.
"Wait—no! You haven’t seen the main event yet!" she insisted, squinting at the 11th-floor directory. Even as a repeat visitor, she was clearly lost — yet determined to drag me to the real center of the universe:
The Successful Mens’ Dream.
And there we were. After three more turns (bless Chairman Huang’s brutally simple rectangular layout—make three wrong turns, and you’ll either circle back or stumble upon something new), we reached the central atrium.
Let’s be clear: they warned us. "Step into Wanjiali, step into a successful man’s dream" plastered every wall. I’d seen the posters, but — arrogant Western-educated feminist that I am — I’d dismissed it as marketing kitsch. What even is a "successful man’s dream"? Joke’s on me. Ask me to picture a "successful woman’s dream," and it’s all hazy yearnings — half-formed fantasies I’d blush to voice.
Dreams? Of course we all have them. But while mine stay trapped in my skull, diluted by second-guessing, Chairman Huang — founding father of this entire universe, the triumphant Chinese entrepreneur — built his dreams in 260-ton bronze.
So I stood there, dumbfounded.
In the central atrium of Wanjiali Plaza’s 11th floor, I — a naive feminist — found myself face-to-face with Successful Mens’ Dreams: garish plastic pavilions and towers hanging proudly from the ceiling, completely unbothered, utterly self-assured.
I couldn’t even pinpoint what I felt. Anger, sure — that was the baseline. But layered on top was something else: amusement. Because Chairman Huang (my enemy? Is he?) was so…simple. So unapologetically convinced of his own rightness that he didn’t spare a single thought for whether any of this was problematic. He clearly never imagined a feminist would walk into his dream world—hell, he probably never imagined feminists existed at all. And me? I’d never seriously considered what a "successful man’s dream" might look like.
Yet here we were: me, trapped inside his dream; him, invisible yet everywhere. Another win for him, I guess.
But none of that mattered. Because beneath the anger, I was genuinely, unapologetically, enjoying the absurdity. "We are here anyways (来都来了)" , so why don’t we fully explore this f**king dream and dissect it all?
After two more circles in the central atrium, Da Gou and I quickly identified three key elements of a successful man’s dream:
1.Emperors. The centerpiece was a mural of every emperor in Chinese history — even the short-lived, exiled ones. ("Hey, one year on the throne still counts!”)
2.Beautiful Women. (with big, 3D boobs)
3.Legendary Chinese Men — Myth or history — all fair game. Hi there, Confucius and Buddha!
It was grotesque. It was hilarious. I criticized everything while snapping photos like a young child at Disneyland. I was witnessing a spectacle so bizarre that my presence barely registered.
What else could I do?
I was already inside a successful man’s dream!
Here’s how the story ends—
That night, I lay awake until dawn.
Not that I could blame Wanjiali. My hotel room was — sort of disappointing — a very normal physical space: a standard deluxe room with a perfectly comfortable bed, and some out-of-place "American-style"(according to the hotel’s official website) oil paintings.
After gorging on grilled oysters and crayfish at the night market, I returned to my room physically exhausted but mentally wired (how does one simply exit a successful man’s dream?!). By 4 AM, I’d resorted to pacing the room like a caged animal. Finally, I yanked open the musty curtains and snapped a photo of the view outside:
The 11th floor atrium was still blazing with light.
The Emperors. Athena. Confucius. The successful men — and the women of their dreams — kept me company all night.
July 4th, 7:30 AM.
Running on just two hours of sleep, I groggily laced up my sneakers (yes, I’ll admit — I’m compulsively athletic) and headed to the gym.
The gym was located just above the lobby (those insane murals, remember?!), its glass doors firmly locked. I rattled the black latch — no response. Desperate, I shouted down to the front desk (thank you, square architecture and hollow atrium, for carrying my voice across floors). The same burgundy-suited clerk from before looked up—
"Hello, I’d like to use the gym. How do I get in?"
"Uh… the gym opens at 10 AM."
"What?! What kind of hotel gym opens at 10?!"
"No staff at this hour."
"……"
And just like that — the dream, my dream, were over.