Chapter 10 Episode 1 Reflections on AI, Business, and the Times We Live In

 Liao Qing gazed out the window. The street was still the same street, but the liveliness of the past was gone.

The pandemic was over, yet its economic aftermath lingered like a stubborn illness that refused to heal.
Under a dull gray sky, only a few pedestrians passed by. Wind blew through the empty intersection, rattling the loose advertisement boards—pa-pa, echoing down the street.

She sighed, tightened her coat, and headed out to meet a friend for afternoon tea.
Passing the French bakery she used to frequent, she stopped for a moment. The familiar glass window was boarded up, a crooked For Lease paper taped on the wood, its corners curling and flapping in the wind.
A few steps further, several other stores had met the same fate.

“Guess they’re all closing down one by one,” she muttered, half-joking, half-bitter. “At this rate, Canada’s going to turn into one giant communal canteen—equal poverty for all.”

At the café, her friend was already sitting by the window, cupping a warm coffee. She waved when she saw Liao Qing. After a few pleasantries, her friend leaned in and asked quietly,
“So… have you ever thought about moving to the States?”

Liao Qing was mid-bite on a small cake. She laughed so hard she nearly choked, quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe her mouth, and said with a teasing smile,
“I’ve realized Canadians don’t greet each other with ‘How are you?’ anymore. It’s all the same question—‘Are you going to America?’
You’ve either already gone, or you’re figuring out your visa. When did it all turn into this?”

She paused, looking out at the empty street.
“When I first came here, I thought Canada’s mountains and lakes, and its quietness, fit my introverted personality perfectly. Who’d have thought that years later, the national small talk would be about escape plans?”

Her friend chuckled, sipping her coffee. “Yeah… but is America really the promised land?”

“Of course not.” Liao Qing rolled her eyes and tapped the table. “Their healthcare system is such a mess it could be a soap opera. Drug prices are so outrageous they practically motivate people to work harder—that’s what I call ‘capitalist positive reinforcement.’”

She shook her head with a wry smile.
“But Canada’s problem is different. Here, ideology always ranks above efficiency. Productivity? Not even on the list.”

Her friend sighed. “Exactly. After the new tariffs, the tax rates change every other week. You know Canada can hardly send small parcels to the U.S. anymore? Guess why? Customs can’t figure out how to calculate the tax!”

Liao Qing burst out laughing. “Canada’s not even rich, yet it insists on acting high-minded. If you’ve got business and refuse to do it—what else can you call it but foolish pride?”

Her friend threw up her hands helplessly.
“And the best part? They spend hundreds of millions every year on ‘electronic customs modernization,’ and still can’t balance the books. Forget the database—I’m starting to think there’s something mysterious in there.”

They looked at each other and both laughed.
“Remember that ArriveCAN app for vaccination records?” her friend added. “Our dear Trudeau spent four hundred million on it. For what? The functions could’ve been done by Claude in two weeks—for maybe two hundred bucks.”

Liao Qing chuckled, then sighed and propped her chin on her hand. “You know, I’ve come to believe that a city is humanity’s first filter. A massive audition. Whether you’re looking for a place to live or a place to build a business, the environment matters—more than anything.”

She gave an example.
“Take Lululemon. How could Toronto’s per-capita sales ever match Vancouver or the U.S. West Coast? The climate there’s perfect—you can wear Lulus all year. Higher income, higher spending. Different environment, different demand. Here in Toronto, the knock-offs sell better.”

Her friend laughed.
“Exactly! Canada’s comfort is suffocating. For people who want to do something, it’s like slow torture.
You know those MBTI types—NTJs? They’re going insane here. There’s no one with real execution drive left—they’ve all moved to the States.
Waterloo CS and U of T Engineering are basically factories for American talent.
So the rest of us have to do everything ourselves—learn it all, build it all, fix it all. Canada turns you from a decent, moderately ambitious worker into a full-time draft animal for the production brigade.”

“Couldn’t have said it better.” Liao Qing laughed, self-mocking. “In Canada, the rich either feed off government contracts or earn in U.S. dollars. Try to build an honest business here—it’s like climbing a cliff.”

Her friend added with a wicked grin,
“Let’s face it—Canada’s a hypocrite. Better to be an honest villain than a fake saint.”

Liao Qing shook her head and sighed. “After the pandemic, all the money’s flowing into the internet and AI. The real economy? Absolute nightmare mode. And real estate—don’t even start.
Anyone who bought pre-construction condos must feel like fate itself dropped a piano on them. Average losses—two hundred grand.
People live like numbers now—manipulated, allocated, always matching some scam designed just for them.”

Her friend gave a weary smile. “Yeah, unless you own a mine, forget getting rich through physical business. Infrastructure’s dead. The rest of us can only catch whatever wave the tech winds bring.”

Liao Qing took a slow sip of coffee. “There are still opportunities, though. Even in a place where it’s hard to find like-minded people, cracks always exist.
Big tech loves to overcomplicate their products—so much that anyone with an IQ under 140 can’t use them. And that’s exactly where small startups sneak in.
Ordinary users don’t want manuals—they want point-and-click. Google’s APIs are so painful to apply for that a whole industry of overpriced, ‘simplified’ middle-tools was born from that frustration.”

Her friend’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Salesforce is the same. It’s as powerful as a spaceship, but small businesses can’t drive it.
So third-party startups make lightweight plugins or simplified dashboards—market them as ‘time-savers’—and end up making millions.”

Liao Qing nodded, smiling. “Exactly. That’s what I call Big companies mine the mountain, small companies pan for gold.
The giants build complexity; the small ones profit by dismantling it. It looks like they’re fixing problems, but really they’re just reselling the fragments.”

She swirled her coffee thoughtfully.
“It’s like Canada’s tax system. They make the accounting so messy it spawns entire industries of tax consultants.
Paying taxes should be simple, but they turn it into something as confusing as ordering from a menu written in code—so you hire someone to tell you what’s edible.”

Her friend laughed aloud. “Exactly! Same with accounting. Canadians complain every year about high taxes, yet accountants thrive. Complexity is business. If things were truly simple, those professions wouldn’t exist.”

Liao Qing clicked her tongue. “That’s the ultimate irony. Everyone preaches accessibility and user-friendliness, but in reality, complexity is the moat.
Most businesses don’t create value—they create friction, or fear.”

Her friend shook her head, half amused, half resigned. “So who gets rich in the future? Not the smartest—just those who turn barriers into toll booths.
Big firms build the roads; small firms collect the fees. Perfect symbiosis.”

Liao Qing laughed, waving her hand, though there was bitterness in her smile.
“Exactly. That logic applies everywhere.
In ecosystems like ours—half-insulated from tech—the real opportunities aren’t about disrupting the world.
They’re about filling the tiniest cracks in the road the giants have already paved.”