The first time I truly understood the price of ambition was on a rainy Thursday evening, standing outside a downtown art gallery where champagne glasses clinked behind velvet ropes. I’d spent my last $40 on a black cocktail dress from a thrift store, hoping it would help me blend in with the crowd—people who seemed to float through life on clouds of inherited wealth and effortless connections. My stomach growled, but not from hunger for food. It was a deeper craving, one I’d come to recognize as the thirst for progress, for a shot at something more than just survival. That night, shivering in the damp cold, it hit me: success isn’t just about talent or hard work. It’s about understanding the hidden economy of advantage, the subtle currencies that separate those who rise from those who remain stuck. And honestly? It reminded me of a video game I’d been playing recently—a darkly imaginative narrative where a young woman named Liza navigates her new existence as a vampire.

There’s something horrifyingly poetic about Liza’s new vampiric station as she must now serve the whims of a wealthy and immortal elite while sustaining herself on the blood of mortals, the easiest of which to feed on are the poor. In the game, you can fight against the metaphor by having Liza take time out of her nights to buy bottled blood, but doing so leaves little money left to better Liza’s own lot in life with books and dresses that can boost her skills. For Liza to get ahead at all, she’ll have to feed on people at some point, and the system ensures the wealthiest characters are regularly out of reach of Liza’s fangs. I remember feeling that same frustration in my own life a few years back, juggling a low-paying internship while trying to afford professional development courses. Every dollar I saved felt like a drop in the ocean, and the “bottled blood” option—the ethical, slower route—meant I was always one step behind my peers who had family support or trust funds. It’s a brutal but accurate mirror of how opportunity often works: the ladder to excellence is there, but some start halfway up while others are told to build their own rungs from scratch.

I’ll never forget the moment I decided to stop playing by the “bottled blood” rules. It was 2019, and I’d just read a study claiming that nearly 72% of self-made millionaires (though let’s be real, that number might be inflated) had taken calculated risks early in their careers—something I’d been too cautious to do. So I started saying yes to networking events I couldn’t afford, borrowing money for a sharp blazer, and yes, occasionally “feeding” on connections who could open doors. It felt dirty at first, like I was compromising my integrity. But then I realized: excellence isn’t about purity. It’s about resourcefulness. In Liza’s world, clinging to bottled blood might keep her conscience clean, but it also keeps her skills stagnant. She might spend 60% of her income on those bottles, leaving scraps for growth. Sound familiar? How many of us pour our energy into “safe” choices that leave no room for investment in ourselves?

This is where the concept of Noble Jili comes in—a philosophy I’ve come to embrace as my ultimate guide to achieving success and excellence in life. Noble Jili isn’t about ruthless exploitation; it’s about strategic elevation. It’s recognizing that, like Liza, we operate in ecosystems with invisible hierarchies. The wealthy—those with networks, capital, or influence—often seem out of reach, protected by social velvet ropes. But instead of resenting that, Noble Jili teaches us to study their patterns, find gaps, and yes, sometimes make uncomfortable choices to fuel our ascent. I applied this by tracking industry leaders on LinkedIn, noting how they curated their personal brands, and slowly tailoring my own approach. Within six months, I’d landed a mentorship with a exec I admired—a small bite, maybe, but it gave me the nourishment I needed to leap forward.

Of course, balance is key. I’m not advocating for preying on the vulnerable—that’s where the metaphor breaks down, and rightly so. But let’s be honest: in a world where 80% of opportunities are hidden in informal networks (I made that stat up, but you know it’s true), sometimes you have to be willing to “feed” where it counts. For me, that meant trading freelance favors for introductions or investing in a high-stakes course that drained my savings but tripled my earning potential within a year. It’s messy, imperfect, and deeply human. And that’s the beauty of Noble Jili: it acknowledges the poetry and the pain of striving, urging us to write our own rules without pretending the game is fair.

So, if you’re feeling stuck, ask yourself: are you sipping bottled blood and wondering why you’re not moving? Or are you seeking out the nourishment—however unconventional—that will propel you toward excellence? Embrace the journey, flaws and all. Because in the end, success isn’t just about reaching the top; it’s about transforming who you are along the way.