Chapter 125: Banquet Invitation from a Banking Tycoon
The ground-breaking blessing ceremony was simple enough—Hong Kong had plenty of professional teams for this sort of thing. Whether it was for a project kick-off or a ribbon-cutting at completion, if you paid up, they'd take care of every detail for you.
At the site of the new factory in East Tsim Sha Tsui, the land already bore signs of early activity.
"Old Wei, does this count as officially breaking ground?" Yang Wendong asked, looking at the partially excavated land, piles of cement, sand, and rebar nearby. He seemed unsure. "Isn't the blessing supposed to happen before any construction begins?"
Wei Zetao smiled and explained, "Technically, yes. But small-scale prep work like this doesn't count as full construction.
As long as we haven't started major work, we're still in the window to hold the ritual. We've only turned the soil for the foundation—that's still just preliminary prep, not official commencement."
"Got it," Yang Wendong nodded. He wasn't too bothered. Customs varied from place to place.
Hong Kong wasn't big, but it had become a melting pot for people from across China. It was normal for different regions to bring their own cultural practices. Even language wasn't strictly Cantonese.
Wei continued, "Another way to look at it is this—when we did the early groundwork, we hadn't secured the bank loans yet, so it wasn't officially 'starting.'
If we'd held the ceremony back then and had to halt because the funding didn't come through, that would've been very inauspicious.
Now that we've secured the money and finalized the decision to build, this is the real beginning."
"That makes sense," Yang nodded again.
"And more importantly," Wei added, "today is an auspicious day. The feng shui master highly recommended it."
"Feng shui master?" Yang looked in the direction Wei gestured, spotting a man in his forties wearing traditional Taoist robes.
"That's Master Yin," Wei said with a smile. "He was introduced by Zhao Chengguang. Supposedly very skilled in feng shui."
"And I'm guessing he doesn't come cheap," Yang said with a faint smile.
In this era of Hong Kong—or even back in mainland China a decade earlier—feng shui was widely believed in. Many were willing to spend big on it, which only drove up the prices charged by practitioners.
Even into the 21st century, some feng shui masters in Hong Kong were making millions annually. The most famous of them nearly snagged himself a billionaire heiress.
"Ha! Mr. Yang…"
A familiar voice came from behind. Turning around, Yang saw two old business acquaintances—Zhao Chengguang and Wang Zhixian.
Zhao grinned. "Sure, it's expensive—but if it brings good luck to our ventures, it's worth it."
"True enough," Yang said. He didn't really believe in such things, but he saw no reason to stop others from believing.
It was like praying to the God of Wealth during Chinese New Year. You didn't have to believe in it, but there was no harm in going through the motions—it brought people together, made things festive.
Zhao added with a chuckle, "Congratulations, Mr. Yang. You quietly acquired such a massive plot and are now building a factory of this size. When I heard the news the other day, I was stunned. Truly impressive!"
"What can I say? Once you start doing business, it's hard to stop," Yang said with a smile.
Today was a good day—a rare chance for many of his business contacts from the past year to gather. He was happy to see them.
"Haha! That's a good way to put it," Zhao said. "When I told Zhixian about your journey, we both agreed—you're not ordinary.
Then you made the glue traps and handled that massive rat control job at Kowloon Wharf. Even more impressive—and you're still so young!
And now, barely six months later, look how far you've come."
Wang Zhixian, also an old acquaintance, laughed and said, "Mr. Yang, my boss has been regretting it. He should've put more money into your company when he had the chance."
"Haha, Mr. Zhao, there's no need for regrets," Yang said with a smile. "Even if you had offered more investment at the time, I wouldn't have accepted it."
He didn't know if the two were just being friendly or hinting that they still wanted to invest.
If it was the former, then his response would ease Zhao's mind. If it was the latter, it would discourage any further investment talk.
Not just these two—even a giant like 3M wouldn't be allowed to buy into his company.
Zhao smiled. "That kind of confidence only makes me admire you more. Entrepreneurs like you—the ones who know exactly what they want—are my favorite kind of investment.
But if investment's off the table, then so be it. Let's just focus on good business cooperation."
Yang nodded. "Absolutely. Working together is just as profitable. In fact, there's something I might need your help with."
"Oh?" Zhao perked up. "What is it?"
He had long realized that Yang Wendong's operations were heavily export-oriented—something that didn't overlap with his own local network.
Yang grinned. "Let's chat more about it later. For now, we should begin the ceremony."
Zhao immediately caught on and laughed. "Ah! Don't want to miss the auspicious time. Come on, Mr. Yang—this is your day. You're the host, and you've got to lead the ritual."
Yang nodded. "Alright."
This would be his first time hosting—and participating in—such a ceremony. Everyone moved toward the factory entrance.
Quite a few people had already arrived—business acquaintances Yang had made over the past year. Even Hang Seng and Liao Chong Hing banks had sent representatives. The one from Liao Chong Hing? None other than the heir himself, Liao Liewen.
"This way, Mr. Yang." The stoic, mysterious-looking Taoist priest said calmly, "Here's what you'll need to do…"
Yang followed the instructions carefully. The ritual wasn't too complex, and the highlight was splitting a roasted suckling pig in half.
He went through all the steps as instructed, while Wang Zhixian once again took on the role of photographer, capturing the key moments of the event.
Half an hour later, the ceremony was complete. The Taoist master took his payment and left with his two assistants. As for the food on the table—it remained untouched. Tradition held that it was an offering to the Earth God.
Since everyone was already present, they took the opportunity to tour the site of Changxing Industrial's future mega factory. Wei Zetao acted as guide, enthusiastically explaining the plans.
People followed him casually. Some chatted quietly as they walked, but Wei didn't mind. Those who wanted to listen could; those who didn't were free to wander.
Halfway through the tour, Liao Liewen—who had been paying close attention—suddenly asked, "Mr. Wei, I recall in your earlier proposal, you mentioned that the glue traps would be switching from plastic boards to waterproof cardboard, right?"
"That's correct," Wei Zetao nodded.
Before joining Changxing Industrial, Yang Wendong had already considered switching glue trap materials. However, due to the complexity of importing the cardboard and limited manpower at the time—when the company's focus was still heavily on ramping up Post-it note production—the idea was shelved after preliminary testing.
It wasn't until the new management team came onboard that Wei Zetao took over the project and successfully negotiated down the import cost of the cardboard. Though still slightly more expensive than plastic sheets, it was now within an acceptable range.
Walking just behind, Yang Wendong explained with a smile, "The switch to rigid cardboard mainly came down to weight. In Hong Kong or nearby regions, it's not a big deal. But for long-distance exports, the added freight costs from plastic made it uneconomical. And from a consumer perspective, carrying too many plastic sheets gets heavy. That affects their willingness to buy—or how much they buy. Switching to cardboard solves all of that in one go."
"Mr. Yang and Mr. Wei, that's a smart move," Liao Liewen praised, then asked with a grin, "But in your factory blueprints, I noticed all six industrial buildings have ground floors reserved for injection molding workshops. Are you planning to go into plastic flowers too?"
Yang Wendong paused, then asked, "Mr. Liao, is that a question from you personally, or from the bank?"
Technically speaking, as creditors, banks did have a right to inquire about their client's business plans.
Unfortunately, the phrase "the debtor is king" didn't really apply when it came to dealing with banks—unless the company was already on the verge of collapse. In the real world, no company, no matter how proud, would ever dare to show attitude toward a bank unless pushed to the brink.
Liao Liewen quickly clarified, "No, no—pure curiosity. Nothing formal, I promise."
"Oh," Yang said, laughing. "There's no secret. I did have some plastic molding operations before, but I was too busy with the Post-its and glue traps to focus on them.
Once things settle down, I'll start developing some plastic product lines. Injection molding machines can only be installed on the ground floor, so I've left space for them. If we end up not needing it, we'll repurpose it."
Plastic plays a huge role in human life—from daily necessities to toys, household appliances, cars, and even future electronics. Nothing is truly separate from plastics.
Until now, Yang hadn't had the time, energy, or money to expand into plastic-related products. But once Post-it note production stabilized and the company had cash flow, he naturally planned to capitalize on it. The Rubik's Cube was only a stepping stone.
"I see," Liao Liewen nodded, not pressing further.
Aside from the textile industry, plastics had become one of Hong Kong's largest manufacturing sectors—everything from plastic flowers to toys.
If Changxing Industrial no longer faced cash flow constraints, branching into plastics made perfect sense.
Once the tour was over, Yang Wendong, as host, invited everyone to a nearby hotel for a celebratory lunch.
In Chinese business culture, banquets were essential. Fortunately, Yang had now built enough status that even when he didn't drink, most people wouldn't pressure him. Of course, he still offered a sip here and there to show respect.
After lunch, everyone said their goodbyes and departed.
As the crowd dispersed, Liao Liewen remained and approached Yang.
"Mr. Yang," he said, "at the end of next month, our Liao Chong Hing Bank will be hosting a banquet at a major hotel. I'd like to personally invite you."
"A banquet?" Yang was intrigued. This would be his first formal business event since arriving in Hong Kong.
More importantly, these kinds of gatherings often drew well-known business figures. While Liao Chong Hing wasn't HSBC, it was still a significant local bank. The guest list would definitely carry some weight.
Liao Liewen smiled. "That's right. My father recently purchased a piece of land in Central to build our new headquarters.
So we're inviting clients and peers in the business world—people like yourself—to preview the architectural model of our future headquarters."
"You're building a new HQ?" Yang asked with a smile. "Where in Central?"
"At the former site of the China Products Company," Liao replied. "It was a private transaction, so there hasn't been any news about it publicly.
This banquet is, in part, to introduce the project. My father enjoys being in the spotlight, so he's taking this opportunity to show it off."
Yang nodded. "Makes sense. When a company's founder is famous enough, that becomes a form of branding in itself."
In his past life, people like Elon Musk, Lei Jun, Steve Jobs, and Bill Gates had all turned themselves into figureheads for their companies, drawing massive attention as a result.
Liao Baoshan was playing the same game. He ran a bank, but used depositor funds to finance his real estate ventures. That meant he needed to keep attracting capital—more and more. So his name had frequently appeared in newspapers over the past year.
"Not just founders," Liao Liewen added with a grin. "Lately in Hong Kong banking circles, there's been an unofficial race to build bigger towers in Central. The taller and more prominent your building, the more trust you inspire in depositors."
Yang laughed. "That tracks. Ordinary people believe what they can see. If I were a depositor, I'd feel more secure seeing a bank with a towering office. Hong Kong's banks aren't wrong to focus on this.
After all, you're not just competing with each other—you're trying to win customers away from the British banks. Without strategies like this, it's an uphill battle."
On the internet in his past life, many people had mocked how competitive Chinese society had become—especially compared to the West.
But they got the order of things wrong. Western countries only became high-welfare societies after centuries of colonization and exploitation gave them a head start. For other nations—China, Japan, Korea—there was no shortcut. They had to grind it out, fight for the high-tech, high-profit sectors, and claw their way to a better life.
In 1950s Hong Kong, that same pattern was unfolding. British capital monopolized every industry. Local Chinese tycoons had to "roll up their sleeves" and grind their way into industrial manufacturing and shipping—or, in rarer cases, banking—if they wanted a piece of the pie.
But it wasn't the right era yet. Those who entered banking too early would eventually get crushed by British dominance.
"I'll have someone deliver the invitation soon," said Liao.
"Great. I'll definitely attend," Yang replied with a nod.
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