Chapter 124: Price Increases and the Ritual Blessing for Construction
Yang Wendong nodded and said, "It's about time. The Rubik's Cube already has strong name recognition at Hong Kong University. We can use that as a hook and officially start advertising."
Over the past few weeks, his main focus had been on expanding production capacity at the new Post-it note factory—that was the top priority. As for the Rubik's Cube, there was no urgent rush.
Even if the Rubik's Cube went on to become a global success, its overall market size might still not rival that of Post-it notes. After all, one was a toy, the other a consumable item that potentially hundreds of millions of people needed regularly.
For Yang, the real value of the Rubik's Cube lay in its function as a gateway into the toy industry. If it sold well, distributors would come knocking, or at the very least be open to discussions. That would give him access to valuable sales channels—and that was the true goal.
Compared to the entire toy industry, Post-it notes didn't even measure up. But the toy market was fiercely competitive and tough to succeed in, even if it offered much greater potential in the long run.
Wei Zetao said, "I'll contact the local newspapers. Is there a particular paper you want me to go with for the ad?"
"Ming Pao. Have you heard of it?" Yang asked.
"Ming Pao? No, I don't think so." Wei thought for a moment, clearly unfamiliar. "Maybe I just haven't been reading enough papers."
Yang shook his head with a smile. "No, it's not that. Ming Pao is new—it was just founded at the beginning of this year, so it's normal you haven't heard of it.
But you definitely know its founder—Jin Yong."
"Jin Yong? As in the Jin Yong? The one who wrote The Legend of the Condor Heroes?" Wei asked, instantly intrigued.
"That's right," Yang nodded. "He started his own newspaper and is already serializing his latest novel in it."
Wei's eyes lit up. "Jin Yong has a new novel? What's it called? I'm a big fan of his—I've read The Legend of the Condor Heroes multiple times!"
"It's called Return of the Condor Heroes," Yang replied. "You say you're a fan—how come you haven't been following the new one?"
"Well…" Wei hesitated. "I don't like reading in installments—only 2,000 characters a day is too frustrating. I prefer waiting until the entire novel is done and reading it as a complete volume. It's more immersive that way."
"Fair enough," Yang chuckled. "But if everyone thought like you, who would buy Jin Yong's newspaper? He's counting on people following the story in real time to drive sales."
Wei shrugged. "I'm sure there are plenty of others who'll read it daily."
"Fair point." Yang didn't press the issue. "You can wait for the full release if you want."
If history remained unchanged, then in a few months, the infamous plot twist involving Xiaolongnü would cause a massive uproar in Hong Kong. Ming Pao would get paint splashed on its doors, and Jin Yong's fame would skyrocket.
Nobody really knew why Jin Yong wrote the story that way. Some said he was heartbroken after failing to win over Xia Meng, one of the "Three Beauties of the Great Wall." Others claimed it was a ghostwriter. Either way, the controversy only boosted his popularity.
Even in the 1950s, people had clear expectations for male leads: they could be beaten, humiliated, or forced to jump off cliffs—but the female lead had to remain untouchable. Jin Yong's powerful prose and gripping storytelling were enough to carry him through the storm. Plus, people had fewer entertainment options in that era.
In later decades, readers would just accept the plot, but if a modern web novel dared pull the same stunt, it would get destroyed online.
Wei Zetao said, "Alright, I'll go talk to Ming Pao and see which ad placements are available."
"Good. Check in with Haoyu too," Yang added. "He handled our ads for the glue traps and rodent control services—he used Ming Pao as well."
"Glue traps?" Wei frowned in thought. "How effective were those ads? Things have settled down a bit on the Post-it front, so I've got more time now. I'd like to focus on this."
"From what I've heard, not bad. Sales went up," Yang said. "Advertising in Hong Kong is partly an experiment. If it works, we can use the results as leverage when negotiating exclusive distributor contracts overseas."
Hong Kong only had about three million people. Outside of real estate, any other product needed to be export-focused—especially industrial goods.
But whether he was seeking new distributors or negotiating favorable terms, strong domestic performance would always help.
Wei nodded. "Makes sense. Up till now, our glue trap sales model has been pretty basic—whoever shows up with cash gets stock.
That's fine in the early stage, but if we want to scale up, we'll need exclusive distributors with real resources."
"Exactly," Yang nodded. "So next, we need to find reliable long-term partners in key markets, just like 3M did with us for Post-it notes.
For the smaller markets, we'll stick with our current model for now."
Building a robust distribution network took time. Early on, the focus was naturally on the major economic hubs—like Europe, the U.S., and Japan.
"Alright," Wei said. "I've got more free time right now, so I'll take charge of scouting for distributors. Hopefully we'll find the right ones."
"Good. The sooner the better. Otherwise, we'll miss the Northern Hemisphere's summer sales window," Yang said.
His current factory was already mid-sized by Hong Kong standards. Once the new facility was completed, it would be among the city's largest.
In this era, most Hong Kong factories were small. It was only Li Ka-shing's plastic flower business that had catapulted him to the top of the industrial sector.
Even industries that would later become giants—like textiles, garments, and toys—were still in their infancy.
Wei grinned. "By the way, one more thing—Liming's old factory is starting to run out of space. He's asked me several times about renting a new place.
We were going to give him this space once we moved out, but he can't wait any longer."
Yang took a sip of tea and said, "That's fine. Glue trap production mostly relies on manual labor—any decent space will do.
Plans can't always keep up with change. Business booming too fast is still a good problem to have.
Just rent a separate warehouse for him and get it converted quickly. Let it be dedicated to glue trap production. As for this space—we'll deal with that later."
In the short term, both of Yang Wendong's main products were about to experience a massive production boom. Although they had planned extensively, it was inevitable that many things would differ from their early projections.
The glue trap business was a prime example. The product had an extraordinarily high success rate in catching mice and sold well in virtually every market it entered—and that was without even having strong distribution channels yet.
After a brief pause, Wei Zetao said, "Lately, many clients are so eager to get their hands on our glue traps that they're starting to pay upfront in full. Maybe we should consider raising the price a bit—it might also help relieve some of the current production strain."
"That might be a good idea," Yang Wendong nodded. "I imagine those clients are turning around and marking up the price themselves once the product arrives."
Wei grinned. "That's not our concern. As long as we're selling out and supply can't keep up with demand, it means our prices are too low."
"You're right. We've been so focused on the Post-it expansion and the bank loans lately that we haven't paid much attention to glue traps. Raising the price makes sense... but by how much? That's the tricky part."
Wei thought for a moment and said, "We really can't be sure, but we could test the waters with our distributors."
"What reason are we going to give for the price hike?" Yang asked. "Sure, we can raise prices—it's our call. But we shouldn't just do it bluntly. We need a reason."
Wei chuckled. "That's easy. We can say the glue we import from Japan has gone up in price. Or we can blame it on a rise in the cost of the cardboard we use. They're not going to verify it. Everyone knows the game. Even if someone does try to fact-check us, they won't actually call us out. And if anyone's dumb enough to do that out loud—well, they're probably not the kind of partner we want anyway."
"True. They're not that stupid. People in this business understand the unspoken rules." Yang laughed, then added, "Don't raise prices for Zhao Chengguang and An Yongqiang, though. They helped me a lot early on. Consider this a small way to return the favor."
At the current stage of development, Yang didn't really care about the Hong Kong market anymore. Domestically, the help from those two wasn't as critical as it once was.
But Hong Kong was still his home base—his launch pad—and maintaining good relationships here was essential. Having a good reputation would also help with future product launches. It was worth honoring past favors.
Wei nodded. "Got it. The Hong Kong market's small anyway. We're mostly relying on exports—especially to the U.S., Europe, and Japan."
Yang nodded as well. A thought occurred to him, and he asked, "Didn't plastic flowers blow up in Hong Kong starting a couple years ago? Did those factories raise their prices too?"
"No," Wei replied. "Plastic flowers aren't exclusive to any one manufacturer. The reason some companies sold so well wasn't just that their flowers looked better—it's that they kept prices low. They're masters of cost control.
If they raised prices, they'd just lose customers to competitors. That's where we're different. At least legally, we're the only ones who can produce what we do."
Yang smiled. "Plastic flowers don't have patents?"
"They do," Wei said. "But they're old. This stuff's been around for decades—it just wasn't feasible to mass-produce until recently. So there are no invention patents, just process or technical ones.
One company might patent a method, but others have their own. There's no infringement. And even if someone does steal your process and uses it in their own factory, how are you going to prove it?
Plastic flowers look identical on the outside."
Yang nodded. "Yeah, technology-based patents are hard to defend. Not like our invention patents—you can tell just by looking."
Technology was important, but the reality was harsh. Enforcing intellectual property rights was incredibly difficult—especially for processes that didn't leave visible differences in the final product. Even if your rights were infringed, you might not even know until the patent expired.
And even if you did know, suing someone required inside information about their production, which you'd need to obtain legally in order for it to hold up in court. That's a loophole that few could realistically overcome.
Wei continued, "Another reason is that many of those factories have exclusive distributors in each region.
They're long-term partners. Raising prices isn't easy. And even if you do raise them, it has to wait until the contract renewal date."
"Same for us and 3M," Yang agreed.
Exclusive distribution agreements often came with price clauses. Manufacturers couldn't just raise prices whenever they wanted—especially when dealing with powerful distributors. Unless you were Coca-Cola or someone on that level, you couldn't push them around.
"I'll test the waters with our distributors over the next few days," Wei said. "Once I have some feedback, I'll let you know. Then we can make a decision together."
"Good," Yang nodded. Price adjustments were a big deal. Even as the boss, he didn't make such calls on a whim—he always consulted his team.
Wei gathered up the blueprints on the desk and was about to leave when he suddenly stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot—Mr. Yang, in a few days you'll need to come to the new factory site. We're holding a 'kaigong baishen' ceremony."
"Kaigong baishen?" Yang blinked. It wasn't the first time he'd heard the term—he knew the Hong Kong film industry liked to do such things, and the tradition was still around even into the 21st century.
Wei chuckled. "Yup. Many large construction projects in Hong Kong begin with a ritual ceremony.
It's to pray for prosperity and safety. Small workshops might skip it, but for a factory of this size, it's better to do it."
"Alright," Yang said after a moment's thought.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Even if he came from the 21st century, there was no reason not to respect local customs from 1950s Hong Kong. Besides, it was just a festive little ritual.
"Should we invite anyone else? Reporters?" Wei asked.
"Forget the reporters," Yang waved his hand. "We're not shooting a movie. But you can invite some of our business friends—people we've worked with before."
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