Zhang Xue was born in 1987 in a leaking mud-brick house in a mountain village in Hunan, China. His parents separated early. His grandmother raised him. Before his mother left, she gave him a small bicycle — he later called it "the brightest memory of my childhood."
At 14, he rode a motorcycle for the first time. In that moment, he made a decision.
(photo: young Zhang Xue / mountain village in Hunan)
The moment he got on that motorcycle, he said: "I know I will never leave it for the rest of my life." His family is poor. Dropping out of school means giving up every conventional path forward. If you were Zhang Xue, what would you do?
At 17, Zhang Xue borrowed money from relatives and opened his own repair shop. His dream: become a professional motorcycle racer. The minimum entry cost: 200,000 yuan (about $28,000). This month, he has 300 yuan ($40) in his pocket.
In 2006, a TV crew from Hunan Satellite TV's prime-time news show came to town to film a story. Their program was one of the most-watched in the province — every racing team would see it.
Zhang Xue cornered the reporter and pestered him for days. He finally got 20 minutes in front of the camera.
Then it started to rain.
The ground turned to mud. He rode his 20-year-old motorcycle at a dirt slope — and slid off, again and again. Twenty minutes passed. The crew started packing up their equipment. One of them muttered under his breath:
"What even is this..."
(photo: Zhang Xue on the dirt slope)
Twenty minutes of failure. The TV crew is packing up and getting ready to leave. What do you do?
The van was running. The crew was heading 100 kilometers away. Today was clearly over.
The TV crew's van is pulling away, heading 100 kilometers to the next town. What do you do?
Another hour later, they reached Mayang. Zhang Xue was covered in mud.
The crew had a real assignment — other interviews in a nearby village. They couldn't deal with him yet. At lunch, the reporter bought him a meal, brought him hot water to wash his face, and dried his soaked clothes. Then they went back to work. Zhang Xue waited.
From noon until 4:30 in the afternoon.
The crew is off filming other stories. They've told you to wait. From noon to 4:30 pm. What do you do during those hours?
At 4:30 pm, the reporter was finally free.
But the location was wrong — too narrow, rough ground, still raining. Zhang Xue performed as hard as he could. He got maybe half his normal level. The reporter looked disappointed. It was getting dark.
The location is bad. You're at half your ability. It's almost dark. What do you do?
Another hour. They reached a sandy riverbank on the edge of town — the place Zhang Xue trained every day.
On familiar ground, he finally let go. He tore through the grass and mud, flying, falling, getting up, flying again. He carried a bottle of medicinal spray in his pocket for exactly this.
"Do you fall a lot?" the reporter asked.
"Of course. Skill comes from falling."
Finally, the 20-year-old motorcycle gave up completely. It wouldn't start again.
It was fully dark. The crew went back to the hotel. Zhang Xue was alone, covered in mud, sitting in the dark.
(photo: training on sand / falling)
It's late at night. The day is over. The crew is gone. What do you do?
The reporter went back that night, threw out his original story, and edited Zhang Xue's footage instead. After it aired, a young woman from Shanghai called the station: "I was going to jump off a building. I watched Zhang Xue's story and decided I absolutely wouldn't — his situation was worse than mine, and he was still pushing that hard."
The show aired. Zhang Xue had a name, finally.
In 2007, he scraped together all his savings — about $7,000 — and traveled to Jiangsu province to find a racing team. He said: "I'll fix your bikes, cook your meals, do your laundry. Just give me one chance to race." The team said no. But a veteran rider named Zhang Jixing saw something in his eyes and kept him on — to do odd jobs. Two years later, he became an amateur racer.
By 2009, the money was gone. He couldn't afford food. He looked at his results honestly and admitted: without professional support, he had reached the ceiling of what he could achieve as a rider.
Then he said one sentence that changed everything that followed:
"If I can't ride the fastest motorcycle, I'll build one."
In 2013, he went alone to Chongqing — the center of China's motorcycle industry. No money, no team, no factory. In 2017, he co-founded Kaiyue Motorcycles with two partners. By 2024, Kaiyue's annual revenue crossed 100 million yuan ($14 million).
Then he clashed with his co-founders.
He wanted to invest the profits into developing their own engine technology. Without a proprietary engine, he argued, the brand would always just be an assembly operation. His partners disagreed unanimously: "We're selling well — why take the risk?"
In 2024, in that boardroom, not a single person supported him.
(photo: Zhang Xue in wheelchair / launch event)
The company you built from nothing is now doing $14 million a year. But every co-founder is blocking the decision you believe in most. What do you do?
March 2026. World Superbike Championship. Algarve Circuit, Portugal.
The Zhang Xue Motorcycles 820RR-RS crossed the finish line.
Behind it: two Ducatis, three Yamahas. Margin: nearly 4 seconds.
Someone screenshotted the finishing order and called it "a world-famous painting."
From the 19-year-old repairman with $40 in his pocket, chasing a TV van 100 kilometers in the rain — to here.
Zhang Xue took 20 years.
(photo: the "world-famous painting" screenshot)