Chapter 391: International Business and the Booming Success of the Film Industry
The real estate crisis that began in 1965 caused property prices to plummet dramatically within just the first year. In some areas, prices were slashed by half. High-end residences in Causeway Bay, for example, dropped from an average of 150,000 HKD to around 80,000 HKD. Other regions experienced similar declines, though the severity varied slightly from place to place.
In 1966, prices were expected to recover slightly, but by 1967, another major blow would strike, slashing property values once more, this time by another 15 to 20 percent from their previous highs.
Under such circumstances, only large-scale properties in prime areas like Central, Causeway Bay, or Admiralty—or extremely rare properties—retained value worth holding onto. There was, however, another exception: vast plots of land in fringe areas. Even if they couldn't be sold for much during high market periods, they were still worth keeping due to their long-term potential.
With another year to prepare, Yang Wendong had already begun planning a full purge of all properties in his portfolio that lacked value for long-term holding. He intended to clean house and be ready for future investments.
After Zheng Zhijie left, Yang Wendong summoned the head of Human Resources at the headquarters, Yao Jingyi.
"Sister Yao, about Yiyi's side of the business…" Yang Wendong briefed her on the general situation and continued, "I've already arranged for Old Wei to be in charge of all matters related to technology, equipment, and the factory. On the HR side, I'd like you to coordinate with him to build up the team for the new garment factory."
When it came to hiring key personnel for a subsidiary, headquarters naturally had to be involved. However, the HR team at HQ wasn't omnipotent, especially for manufacturing-focused ventures. The subsidiaries also needed to be part of the vetting process. Once both sides agreed, the hiring could move forward.
"Understood," Yao Jingyi responded with a nod.
Yang Wendong added, "Also, since this is Yiyi's business, the final selection of candidates must be approved by both of us. So after you've shortlisted them, we'll also need to conduct interviews."
"No problem," Yao Jingyi said with a smile. "There are quite a few people in Hong Kong who are experienced in the garment industry."
"I know that," Yang Wendong said, pausing for a moment. "But you also know that when our group enters an industry, we aim to grow it into something significant. Unfortunately, Hong Kong doesn't really have any precedent for success on that scale in this field."
He continued, "Beyond internal use, clothing is clearly aimed for export. So the leader of this team doesn't necessarily have to be from Hong Kong. They could be based overseas—particularly someone with connections in the European or American fashion industries. Those kinds of candidates would be ideal."
Without a domestic market to rely on, they would have to aim internationally. And in such cases, external connections were crucial. Garments, being relatively low-tech products, didn't rely heavily on innovation. Their core competitiveness depended on sales channels.
Previously, multiple divisions within the Changxing Group had been able to support each other through shared supply chains and distribution channels. However, the garment industry was a completely different realm—it was disconnected from the rest of their operations.
Everything had to start from scratch. That's what made it difficult—much harder than when Changxing Industrial first entered the market. At least then, the products had enough creativity to market themselves. Customers would talk about them, helping generate organic word-of-mouth.
But clothing? There were no inherent advantages. Success depended entirely on quality, pricing, and distribution. And that required strong management from top-tier professionals.
Yao Jingyi thought for a moment and said, "I understand. The garment industry has been declining in Europe and the U.S. over the years, with many factories going bankrupt due to competition from Japanese and even Hong Kong manufacturers. That's left quite a few unemployed professionals. I'll coordinate with international headhunters to see if we can find any suitable Chinese candidates."
"That's not strictly necessary," Yang Wendong said, pausing briefly before adding, "In fact, it might even be better to hire a foreigner."
"A foreigner? You mean as a department head within our group?" Yao Jingyi seemed slightly taken aback.
"Not as the overall department head," Yang Wendong explained. "More like head of international operations. The production side here in Hong Kong will still be managed by Chinese staff. But our group is now big enough, and our involvement in international business is deep enough, that we shouldn't limit ourselves by ethnicity anymore. Whoever is most suitable gets the job. Of course, for internal manufacturing roles, we'll still prioritize Chinese hires."
For a large corporation, the cost of hiring a few—dozens even—of international managers wasn't a major concern. Especially when it came to top talent. Those individuals could easily find well-paying positions in Europe or the U.S., so to attract them to stay in Asia, the salary offered would have to match Western standards.
When it came to international business, hiring employees from Europe or the U.S. often made things smoother. Historically, in the 1980s, many Hong Kong-based Chinese business groups had hired British managers to oversee overseas operations.
However, the manufacturing side still had to be managed by Chinese employees. This made for easier oversight and better alignment with local practices. Hong Kong was also especially strong in manufacturing. Unless they were planning to move production to Europe or America—which was unlikely—that setup made the most sense.
"Got it," Yao Jingyi nodded. "I'll pay close attention to this when hiring for overseas operations."
"Good," Yang Wendong replied with a nod.
As the boss, once he laid out the strategy and authorized resource allocation, the team would take care of the rest. Most of the time, his subordinates already had detailed plans—they just needed his greenlight.
Manufacturing would remain the core of his business empire. Even if one day finance, real estate, or shipping brought in higher profits, it would still be industry and physical production that shaped global influence.
In fact, if Hong Kong weren't such an unsuitable location for it, Yang Wendong would have even considered getting into shipbuilding. Unfortunately, that wasn't realistic. Instead, he had his eyes on petrochemical derivatives. With Singapore as an example, even if he couldn't build something that dominant, a moderately sized operation would be enough. After all, he wasn't competing with a whole nation, and Hong Kong's population would only grow to around seven million in the future—too small to support too many industries.
Once he established a petrochemical derivatives business, many of his manufacturing operations would form a semi-closed loop. That would drastically reduce production costs. Later, when China's economic reforms kicked in, he could shift part of the operations inland. While oil itself was tightly regulated, there was more flexibility around downstream petrochemical products.
Time passed quickly, and soon it was March 3rd.
That day, Yang Wendong arrived at a six-story office building in Tseung Kwan O. As his convoy of bulletproof Mercedes-Benz vehicles rolled up to the entrance, a crowd had already gathered to greet him.
After the bodyguards opened the door, the group of greeters stepped forward. Leading them was Zou Wenhuai, who quickly approached and said, "Mr. Yang, welcome to the headquarters of Changxing Film Company."
"Old Zou, is this building spacious enough for you all?" Yang Wendong glanced at the structure and asked.
Zou Wenhuai smiled and replied, "It's more than enough. Compared to when we were with Shaw Brothers, this is a huge improvement. Plus, Mr. Zheng has already told me that at the right time, he'll secure new land in Tseung Kwan O to construct a new building—at least 12 stories tall and five times the size of this one."
"Yes, I've heard about that too," Yang Wendong said with a chuckle. "But you'll need to give it two or three more years. It's not that I'm unwilling to invest in you—it's just that you need to prove yourselves first. Produce high-quality films. Deliver box office hits. Build up stars. Show me the data, and I'll make sure you get the environment you deserve."
There was another reason for the delay, of course—and that was to wait for the real estate crash. This year would be the last of the bull market, and unless absolutely necessary, no property construction or purchases would be approved. If something could be tolerated or delayed, then it would be.
"I understand. If we can't make a good film, I wouldn't have the nerve to make demands anyway," Zou Wenhuai said with a wry smile. "Mr. Yang, the box office results for films released during the Lunar New Year period have already come in. Please come upstairs—I'd like to report them to you."
"Alright. I heard the numbers for this month weren't bad," Yang Wendong nodded.
The Lunar New Year was the most exciting and lucrative time of the year for film companies. Wealthier clients finally had time to spend money, and even those without much disposable income would treat themselves during the holidays. It was, without question, the most profitable season of the year.
Whether it was Hollywood, Hong Kong, or eventually mainland China, the Lunar New Year release window was always a major battleground. Countless film companies poured all their efforts into releasing during this period.
Zou Wenhuai looked a little embarrassed. "The results are decent, but there were also some shortcomings."
"You're talking about the record for highest-grossing single film, right?" Yang Wendong asked casually as they walked.
"Yes, that's right." Zou Wenhuai nodded.
"No worries. After all, the previous record was ours too," Yang Wendong said, unfazed. These kinds of records weren't so easy to break.
The group soon entered the building and began heading upstairs. The six-story office had no elevator, so everything had to be done on foot.
"Our offices are on the third floor, Mr. Yang," Zou Wenhuai said. "We'll have to walk up."
"No problem. Good chance to check out the first and second floors while we're at it," Yang Wendong replied with a smile. He was still young—three flights of stairs were nothing.
"Then please, this way, Mr. Yang." Zou Wenhuai gestured politely.
As they ascended, Zou Wenhuai gave a detailed introduction of the Changxing Film Company's headquarters—the layout of the offices, the departments, the personnel, and all the various filming equipment they had on-site.
It was Yang Wendong's first time seeing so many unusual and specialized tools, and he was genuinely interested. He asked a number of questions along the way. It wasn't until nearly an hour later that they finally arrived at Zou Wenhuai's office.
After a secretary prepared tea and quietly exited, Zou Wenhuai handed over a report. "Mr. Yang, during the New Year period, Changxing Film Company released a total of five films. One was Mr. Jin Yong's Return of the Condor Heroes, three were other wuxia (martial arts) films, and one was a modern urban romance."
"The box office revenue for these five films were: 650,000, 410,000, 360,000, 290,000, and… 89,000. Here's the detailed breakdown."
"Looks like urban-themed films really aren't popular right now," Yang Wendong said, glancing at the table and smiling as he accepted the list.
Zou Wenhuai nodded. "Yes. That film was a love story. But because it didn't include any adult-themed scenes, even though it performed decently on the first day, the box office quickly collapsed afterward."
"Well, that's the market. Can't force it," Yang Wendong replied thoughtfully. "Even if you make modern urban films, don't go for pure romance anymore. You could try supernatural or comedy themes—add some ghosts or something else unusual. I'm not exactly an expert, but you guys can research and experiment internally."
While he had grown up watching Hong Kong films, all he really remembered now were the genres—not the specific storylines. Even if he wanted to replicate them, he probably couldn't.
Besides, with his current identity, personally getting involved in these kinds of films would be beneath him. With the kind of memory-based cheat he had, his goal should obviously be to aim for Hollywood-level productions. Of course, that would only work if he had the capacity to avoid being exploited by Hollywood itself—but that was nearly impossible. The people there were ruthless.
"Ghosts? Comedy? Alright, I'll have the screenwriters look into it," Zou Wenhuai agreed with a nod. Then he continued, "As for the three wuxia films in the middle, their performance was average—not bad, but not outstanding either.
"But Return of the Condor Heroes underperformed. Although 650,000 would have ranked in the top five last year, this film had a huge marketing campaign. The final numbers are far from ideal. It's not even close to Legend of the Condor Heroes."
"Then what do you think the problem is?" Yang Wendong asked.
Zou Wenhuai paused. "I believe the main issue is the length of the story. No matter how much we trim the plot, we still can't fit everything in. And if we cut too much, it leads to narrative incoherence."
"Exactly. I think so too," Yang Wendong nodded. "Legend of the Condor Heroes performed well because it was the first of its kind—audiences were curious, even if they didn't know what to expect. So they showed up.
"But now, with a second film, audiences already have a frame of reference. Naturally, the numbers can't compare to the first. And I predict, if you make a third one, it'll perform even worse."
From his decades of past-life experience, it was clear: adaptations of Jin Yong's novels rarely succeeded as films. If it weren't for the strength of his name recognition, they might not even be worth mentioning.
And that made sense. These novels were long and dense, and trying to condense them into a 90-minute film was a fool's errand. It was practically impossible to do well.
"Exactly. That's why I'm planning to stop making film adaptations of Jin Yong's novels," Zou Wenhuai said. "But I think Gu Long's works might be worth a try. For example, Lu Xiaofeng—many of his novels are detective stories, which can be broken into shorter, standalone plots. That makes them much more suitable for film."
"That could work," Yang Wendong agreed. "Try making one first. If it's successful, you can continue the series—and you can also use the opportunity to develop the lead actor into a proper star."
Using films to promote stars was a fundamental part of the cultural industry. When a TV show or movie became popular, people remembered the plot. But when an actor became famous, there were countless ways to leverage that popularity.
In his previous life, there were actors who had only ever worked in television but still released music albums. Even if they couldn't sing well, fans would still buy the records.
And when it came to cultural exports, the most important factor was always the people. Back in the 1980s, Hong Kong's male and female stars—the so-called heavenly kings and queens—were incredibly famous across Japan, South Korea, and Southeast Asia. Wang Zuxian had Japanese fans who were absolutely obsessed with her. That kind of influence was the ultimate expression of cultural power.
"Understood. I'll be sure to carefully select the right person and sign them under a long-term agreement," Zou Wenhuai said. Then, pausing, he added, "But Mr. Yang, once we've cultivated a star like that, how should we handle their income?"
Yang Wendong replied, "We can pay them more—within reason. But there's no need to follow Hollywood's model. That kind of thing only happened after years of development. Our situation in Hong Kong is still quite different.
"And of course, it depends on the individual's capabilities. If they truly have outstanding talent, then yes, we can pay them more. But if they only manage to stay famous because they're using our resources, then the pay should just be reasonable."
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