Randomly ask a Taiwanese reader: Which university did Bezos, Zuckerberg, Huang Renxun, Buffett, or Sam Altman graduate from?

Most people can't answer, nor do they think it matters. We remember these names not because of their academic degrees, but because they changed the world. Jensen Huang graduated from Oregon State University and later pursued further studies at Stanford University while working. Buffett began at the University of Nebraska before transferring to Columbia University, where he studied under Benjamin Graham, the father of value investing. Neither reached the pinnacle due to the prestige of an elite school, but through cultivated judgment and long-term dedication, becoming world-changing entrepreneurs. If world-class achievements aren't determined by prestigious universities, then what truly defines a person's extraordinary height?

Wang Hong, who won the Fields Medal—the highest honor in mathematics—in July this year, offers a thought-provoking answer. When the media first reported on her, they repeatedly emphasized that she came from a county high school in Guangxi, entered Peking University at sixteen, and later pursued a doctorate overseas. Many therefore focused immediately on Peking University, as if the institution itself had created her achievements. However, what truly propelled her to the world's peak was not gaining admission to Peking University, but years of research after her doctorate with almost no recognition or reward. She spent years crafting a 120-page mathematical proof, solving the 'Kakeya Conjecture,' a problem that had baffled mathematicians for over a century. Her advisor, Larry Guth, noted that Wang Hong was not the most dazzling prodigy in her youth; her most outstanding trait was her willingness to immerse herself in difficult problems for extended periods. After winning the award, Wang Hong said Guth was the person she most wanted to thank—he never pressured her when she was stuck, always patiently waiting for her to clarify her confused thoughts. What truly shaped Wang Hong was her mentor's guidance and her near-obsessive commitment to long-term goals. Jensen Huang's life trajectory tells the same story. Born in Taiwan, he moved to the U.S. as a child and completed his electrical engineering education at an unremarkable university. What truly changed his life was not the school's name, but the independent spirit nurtured by his family and the entrepreneurial culture of Silicon Valley. After founding NVIDIA, he bet on GPU architecture for decades, persisting with his technological vision even when it was long misunderstood, until the rise of the AI wave proved the value of his judgment. Buffett is similar. His investment philosophy began with influence from his father, but the person who truly shaped his life was Graham. Graham taught him not just methods for analyzing financial statements, but an entire discipline for navigating market volatility. For Buffett, the weight of a mentor far exceeds the prestige of any university. Looking at Wang Hong, Jensen Huang, and Buffett together, they come from vastly different backgrounds, yet share four common traits: families that cultivated curiosity and self-discipline from an early age; encountering mentors at critical stages who expanded their horizons; possessing the patience to work on problems for over a decade; and the courage to embrace uncertainty when facing major decisions. What truly determines their heights is not diplomas, but the cumulative abilities and character built over time. In contrast, Taiwanese society continues to treat 'which university you got into' as the ultimate indicator of educational success. While elite schools can offer better faculty and resources, that is only the starting point, not a guaranteed endpoint of excellence. If education policy pours all its resources into academic competition while neglecting the cultivation of curiosity, independent thinking, and mentorship systems, even producing countless elite university graduates won't necessarily foster more world-changing talent. What Taiwan's education policy should truly consider is not how high its universities rank globally, but whether it can establish systems that identify talent early, provide excellent mentors, and allow for failure. World-class talent doesn't share the same elite university—they share the same kind of growth journey: families that nurture values, mentors who inspire direction, systems that provide opportunities, and individuals willing to spend twenty years or more completing a difficult yet important task. What truly determines extraordinary height is not the name of a school, but the depth of life built collectively by family, mentors, institutions, and personal persistence.