Chapter 288: Changxing's Influence and the First Comic IP
Breaking into an established and mature home appliance market is extremely difficult. Even if one succeeds, it requires immense investments of time, capital, resources, and often even political connections. Japanese companies managed to enter and thrive in the American market only through a combination of many favorable factors.
For a company from Hong Kong to replicate that success would be nearly impossible. The only viable path was to start by making products that didn't yet exist in the market — leveraging niche opportunities to gain traction. Later, following the rise of global supermarket giants like Walmart, with stronger capital, resources, networking, and a matured electronics supply chain in Hong Kong, traditional home appliance markets could be considered.
Of course, opportunity also played a crucial role. Liu, for example, made several hundred million by seizing the moment during America's energy crisis and dominating the electric fan market.
June 16th
Yang Wendong was in his office reviewing documents when he heard a knock on the door.
"Come in," Yang Wendong called, looking up to see Lin Haoyu and Zhao Liming walk in, both carrying the newly released electric mosquito swatters.
"Why are you two carrying those around?" Yang Wendong asked, intrigued.
After sitting down, Zhao Liming smiled. "We just came back from Tai Mo Shan. The mosquitoes up there are insane, so we brought one of these along for fun."
"How are people doing up there now?" Yang Wendong asked.
Zhao Liming replied, "Things have improved a bit. At least no one's starving anymore. I heard that when people first arrived, many didn't even have food. After Ming Pao exposed the situation, the public started donating, and some of that aid reached them.
Now, the government and a few charity groups have begun distributing porridge, bread, or steamed buns. So at least they have something to eat."
"Yeah, I found out too late," Yang Wendong sighed.
He had known that many refugees were entering Hong Kong, but the New Territories were vast. These people scattered everywhere — even the police couldn't locate them. Eventually, the colonial government used resources to gather them in Tai Mo Shan. Only then, with a heads-up from Jin Yong, had Yang Wendong been able to donate food.
Lin Haoyu added, "They've actually been trickling in since last year, but only this year did their numbers become significant. Now that food supply is somewhat stable, more refugees are heading toward Tai Mo Shan. Unless someone finds a job locally, that's where they go."
"Is there water up there?" Yang Wendong asked. If regular citizens were already struggling with water, refugees had to be worse off.
"There's some," Lin Haoyu said. "Tai Mo Shan has limited natural water storage. They drink it directly, but it's not clean — a lot of people are getting sick, especially with diarrhea."
Yang Wendong said, "Talk to Zhou Haoran at Watsons. Get a batch of anti-diarrheal medicine. For the refugee population, poor nutrition combined with diarrhea is dangerous."
For healthy people, diarrhea was painful but usually passed in a couple of days. For the weak, it could be life-threatening.
In fact, throughout history, even minor illnesses were often fatal — before the rise of modern medicine, even a cold could kill an emperor. That's why ancient people hated bathing — they feared illness more than filth.
"Will do," Lin Haoyu said gratefully. "If we can get meds, things will be a lot easier."
"How many people are up there now?" Yang Wendong asked.
"It's hard to say precisely," Lin Haoyu replied. "But according to government estimates, around 30,000. In total, Hong Kong has received over 100,000 new refugees in the first half of this year. The rest are scattered elsewhere."
"Then the government's going to have its hands full for a while," Yang Wendong remarked.
These people, in the future, would become the backbone of Hong Kong's industrial and economic development. Even at the lowest level of society, if they managed to stay, they'd eventually contribute to wealth creation.
Right now, though, things were chaotic. The government was scrambling, caught between the high costs of controlling the crisis and the mounting pressure from public opinion.
Lin Haoyu said, "Yeah, even though we've donated supplies, the majority of the support has come from the government."
"Well, that's the government's job," Yang Wendong said with a smile. "They'll handle food. We'll focus on hygiene and medical aid."
"Right," Zhao Liming added. "Elena came to see us this morning. She said they're planning to purchase a batch of tents and hoped we could help out. We weren't sure how to respond, so we came to ask you."
"Elena? Why didn't she come to me directly?" Yang Wendong asked.
Elena had been instrumental during Yang Wendong's early entrepreneurial days. She had always been devoted to helping the poor in Hong Kong, and he had great respect for her.
Zhao Liming replied, "Probably because your status has changed. Unless it's something urgent, she probably doesn't want to disturb you."
"Alright," Yang Wendong nodded. "If she's asked, and it's charity work, and it helps the Chinese community, then work with the government and support the effort.
But make sure the government shares responsibility. We'll contribute modestly."
From the beginning, the Changxing Charity Foundation had maintained a clear principle: focus on emergency aid and supporting basic survival for the Chinese population. Other areas weren't the priority — primarily because funding was limited.
Providing tents was certainly charitable and valuable. But the same money could also buy food or medicine and help more people — it was a question of trade-offs.
Still, if Elena had made the request, Yang Wendong had to show respect.
"Alright. I'll meet with her and coordinate," Zhao Liming said. "It's just… with the number of people growing, I feel like neither the government nor we can keep up much longer."
Yang Wendong shook his head. "Just do what we can. It's not something that can be solved overnight. Society and the economy will have to absorb the impact over time."
Short-term pain — but long-term, it would be a boost for the economy.
Most of these people, especially the recent arrivals from the mainland, were well-educated — completely different from the waves of unskilled migrants from Africa who would flood Europe decades later. If utilized properly, they still held value.
That afternoon, Yang Wendong called Wei Zetao to his office.
"Apologies, Mr. Yang Wendong," Wei Zetao said as he entered. "The ferry was backed up, I had to wait quite a while."
"No problem. This isn't urgent," Yang Wendong said with a wave, gesturing for him to sit.
"Thank you," Wei Zetao nodded, then added, "I heard the colonial government is discussing plans to either build a bridge or a tunnel across Victoria Harbour. Whichever it is, once it's done, crossing will be so much easier."
"I just hope they don't get stuck debating both options forever," Yang Wendong said with a smile. "As a legislative councilor representing Tsim Sha Tsui, I've been asked about this. My personal opinion is to build a tunnel. But inside the government, a lot of people support a bridge. The two camps won't budge, so I doubt we'll get a decision anytime soon."
As a time traveler, Yang Wendong already knew this debate would drag on for years. It wouldn't be until 1965 that a final decision was made. Then came an economic downturn, and only in 1969 would the Cross-Harbour Tunnel project officially begin. Completion wouldn't come until 1972 — ten years away.
If such infrastructure could be completed sooner, it would benefit him greatly, saving both him and his senior executives enormous amounts of time. Unfortunately, at present, he had no power to influence the outcome. It wasn't a matter of money — the colonial government had to finalize their own plans before any private consortiums could be invited to participate.
In a few more years, with stronger finances and better timing, maybe he could speed up the process.
"Nothing we can do now," Wei Zetao said.
"Exactly. Let it be," Yang Wendong said, handing over a glass bottle filled with a pale green liquid. "This is the herbal tea Watsons developed. Give it a try."
"Sure." Wei Zetao took a sip and nodded. "Not bad — tastes like what you'd get at a breakfast shop."
"Good. That brings me to the first thing I called you here for," Yang Wendong said. "Tomorrow, send a truck to Watsons' beverage plant in North Point and deliver a batch of herbal tea to the Changxing Industrial factories.
Have the workers try it and give feedback on which flavors they like best. Watsons will send staff to assist."
Watsons' lab had already produced various herbal tea prototypes. They'd begun distributing them at Carrefour, allowing customers to sample and rate them. But the process was slow, so Yang Wendong decided to enlist his industrial workforce — over 10,000 strong — as a valuable secondary test group. Their income levels were decent, making them a credible sample.
"Alright, we'll treat it like a company perk. It's summer anyway — good timing," Wei Zetao said.
Yang Wendong nodded. "Now, the second item. How's the search for talented illustrators going?"
Wei Zetao replied, "I've sent scouts to Japan, but it's not going well. Talented artists won't even talk to us. Those who are willing to come don't have the skills we need — we already have similar people in Hong Kong."
"Good manga artists tend to be introverts," Yang Wendong mused. "Obsessive types. Not easy to persuade them to move to Hong Kong."
It wasn't just art — people who excelled in academics or research often leaned toward introversion. Introverts seemed to thrive in those areas.
"But I did find a few promising young artists at Tai Mo Shan," Wei Zetao said. "They've got solid fundamentals."
"Oh? Really?" Yang Wendong asked quickly.
Mainland China might have been poor, but it deeply valued education. Even with limited resources, the sheer size of its population meant it produced far more talented individuals than a small city like Hong Kong ever could.
In fact, much of Hong Kong's tech and business success was built on the backs of these immigrants from the mainland.
Wei Zetao continued, "These kids said they had a mentor who was even more skilled — not just at drawing, but also storytelling. They got separated when they came to Hong Kong.
We're trying to find him, but it's tough. That's why I waited to report back — I wanted to give you a full picture."
"You're sure he's here in Hong Kong?" Yang Wendong asked.
"Yes, definitely," Wei Zetao nodded. "They said they lost each other during the crossing, but both made it to Hong Kong."
Yang Wendong thought for a moment. "Since they're artists, they should be able to draw a sketch of their teacher, right?"
"I already had them do that," Wei Zetao said. "We've got people looking. So far, we've confirmed he's not in any of the known refugee camps. Most likely, he slipped into one of the towns and is working illegally — makes him much harder to find."
"He got into the city?" Yang Wendong frowned. "Don't we outsource a lot of Changxing Industrial orders to factories run by the major gangs?"
"Yes," Wei Zetao said, catching on. "You're thinking of asking them to help search?"
Changxing Industrial was Hong Kong's largest manufacturing powerhouse. Even its sub-divisions ranked in the city's top five industries.
Not all production was done in-house. Many orders were subcontracted to smaller suppliers — some of which were operated by local triads. For them, even a small Changxing contract was a goldmine. They treated Changxing Group like royalty.
After all, why risk illegal activities when you could make legitimate money? Sure, the profit margins weren't as high as selling drugs or weapons, but it was a stable, respectable business that could support a large number of members.
In recent years, Changxing hadn't asked these gangs for anything beyond business, keeping relations smooth and simple.
"Exactly. They have their ways," Yang Wendong said. "I don't care how they find him. I just want results."
"Understood. I'll reach out to them immediately," Wei Zetao said with a nod.
Yang Wendong added, "Go ahead and look for him, but be polite. Don't scare or harm anyone."
"Understood."
That evening, in an old factory in Tsim Sha Tsui:
A group of fierce-looking men, covered in tattoos, were huddled together. But despite their intimidating presence, they showed great respect to a middle-aged man seated above them — impeccably dressed and exuding authority.
"Brother Tao, you called us over so urgently — what's going on?" asked a man with a scar across his face.
Brother Tao, puffing on a cigar, pulled out several sketches. "This man's name is Wu Hailin. He's likely hiding somewhere on the Kowloon Peninsula. I need you to find him as quickly as possible."
"Just a sketch? No other info?" the scarred man hesitated. "There are over a million people in Kowloon. This is like looking for a needle in a haystack."
"You're suddenly literate, huh?" Brother Tao sneered. "Didn't you always brag about having eyes and ears all over Hong Kong? What now, you're saying it's too hard?"
"Brother Tao… I only meant to say I want to find him quickly," the scarred man broke into a cold sweat.
Brother Tao continued, "This person — a very important figure is looking for him. Use all resources to locate him. Other triads are looking too. Whoever finds him first… life's about to get a lot better for them."
"Who's this big shot, Brother Tao?" someone else asked.
"You don't need to know. Just understand this: one word from this man can change the fate of our entire gang."
Brother Tao grew serious. "Also, remember — this man is a guest. The big boss said to be respectful. If anyone's rude, I'll personally throw them into the sea for a swim with the sharks."
"Understood, Brother Tao." The group responded in unison, though inside, their curiosity was burning. Who was this figure with so much power? Someone high up in government?
Three days later, in the Yau Tsim Mong District:
A man in his forties was in the back kitchen of a small restaurant, washing dishes.
"Mainlander! Hurry up! We're short on plates!" came a shrill voice from the dining area.
The man said nothing and sped up. He was used to being yelled at. Even without pay, as long as he had food and a place to sleep, he didn't dare complain.
Suddenly, the restaurant grew noisy. Moments later, the boss lady entered the kitchen, followed by several young men.
The dishwashing man noticed her uncharacteristically anxious expression. One of the men held a sketch.
"Wu Hailin?" the leader of the group asked.
"Yes!" Wu Hailin stiffened. But he knew there was no point hiding now. If they were here, they already knew.
What he couldn't understand was: why were they looking for him? Of the thousands who'd fled to Hong Kong, why was he receiving such treatment?
"Hahaha!" the young man laughed, stepping forward quickly. He bowed deeply. "Mr. Wu, you can stop washing dishes now. Our boss wants to meet you. There's a car waiting outside."
"Uh?" Wu Hailin was stunned. The boss lady beside him was also confused.
A lowly mainlander — being treated like royalty by the local triad?
Wu Hailin asked, "Who's your boss?"
"Master Tao," the man answered. Seeing that Wu Hailin didn't react, he added, "Don't worry. It's a good thing."
With no choice — and under the intense stares of the men — Wu Hailin followed them out, leaving behind a very confused boss lady.
June 18th, Changxing Tower:
Wei Zetao brought a few people with him.
"Mr. Yang Wendong, this is Mr. Wu Hailin. His artwork is exceptional," Wei said with a smile.
"Mr. Wu, welcome," Yang Wendong greeted politely.
"Hello, Mr. Yang Wendong," Wu Hailin said respectfully.
Over the past few days, he'd first been treated like a VIP by one of Tsim Sha Tsui's most feared bosses, and then met Wei Zetao. Only after a series of conversations had he understood what was happening.
He had been tracked down by one of the most powerful Chinese tycoons in all of Hong Kong — someone in search of artistic talent.
Yang Wendong smiled and gestured, "Please, have a seat."
After exchanging a few pleasantries, Yang Wendong said, "Mr. Wu, would you mind doing a quick portrait sketch for me?"
Since Wu Hailin might be the key figure in developing a future manga IP, Yang Wendong wanted to see his skills for himself.
"Of course," Wu Hailin nodded.
With a wave from Yang Wendong, brushes, ink, and paper were brought in — all pre-prepared.
Yang Wendong sat calmly as Wu Hailin began sketching. Ten minutes later, he said, "It's done."
"Fast," Yang Wendong remarked as he walked over. One glance, and he was impressed — the likeness was strong, and the coloring was well-balanced.
"Very good," Yang Wendong praised. Over the years, he'd commissioned a few portraits, but this one was easily the best.
Wu Hailin smiled humbly. "Just enough to make a living. Back during the war, I survived by selling portraits."
"Excellent," Yang Wendong said. "Then I'd like your help creating a full animated story. It's a mythological tale. Here's the plot:
A pair of evil spirits — a snake demon and a scorpion demon — are sealed beneath a mountain by heavenly gods. One day, an old man searching for herbs rescues a pangolin trapped in a crevice. The pangolin leads him to a magical calabash seed capable of defeating the demons.
The old man plants the seed in his courtyard, and soon, seven magical gourd children are born. Each child possesses a unique power.
They grow up quickly, and one by one, they attempt to rescue the old man — who has since been captured by the demons."
What Yang Wendong was describing was none other than the legendary Hulu Brothers, one of the most iconic animated IPs from mainland China in his previous life.
This would be his first attempt to bring that classic story to life again — but this time, as Hong Kong's very first homegrown animated series.
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