Chapter 212: The Liu Family's Plea for Help
"Liu Baoshan is selling flour now? I heard he absconded with funds and fled overseas!"
"No, I heard all the bank's money went into real estate, and now that the market's down, he's probably lost everything."
"That bastard Liu Baoshan tried to escape with the money!"
The rumors flying around Hong Kong were becoming more and more bizarre—so much so that even Yang Wendong found them suspicious. It was very likely someone was fanning the flames behind the scenes.
Flour smuggling? Ridiculous. Even if that line of business was profitable, a tycoon with Liu's stature would never stoop to it—unless it was his original trade. Clearly, the rumors were designed to stir panic.
June 20, Yang sat inside his bulletproof Mercedes on the way to Liu Chong Hing Bank's headquarters in Central.
Before even arriving, the car was blocked off—entire intersections were jammed with people. Not because they were stopping traffic on purpose, but because the crowd was that massive. Everyone had come to withdraw money.
The street was flooded. Police officers were stationed on both sides of the crowd, trying to maintain order. A few traffic cops were directing cars to turn around.
Inside the car:
Zheng Zhijie turned to Yang. "Mr. Yang, we'll have to stop the car here. Should we just walk?"
"Alright," Yang nodded.
They got out, and a team of over ten bodyguards quickly formed a protective ring around him. The area was chaotic, and the bodyguards were clearly on edge.
Fortunately, they weren't yet in the thick of the crowd. The bodyguards spread out to ensure visibility while still giving Yang space.
"I saw yesterday's paper reporting on this," Wei Zetao said with both surprise and disbelief. "But I thought it was just crowds inside the branches. I didn't expect the streets outside to be packed too."
"It's a case of live by the sword, die by the sword," Yang said, shaking his head. "Liu Chong Hing Bank rose to prominence by appealing to the working class—absorbing their savings.
But now that a run is happening, it's those same people lining up first. The more people withdraw, the more fear spreads, and it just snowballs from there."
It reminded Yang of the bike-sharing craze in his previous life—companies taking in massive amounts of deposits with the promise of convenience, only to misuse those funds for wild expansions, ultimately crashing hard.
Zheng laughed. "Old Wei, you don't have any money saved in Liu Chong Hing, do you? If half your savings were there, you'd be at the front of the line too."
"I'd be panicking for sure," Wei admitted. "Good thing I followed your investment tips and pulled everything out in time."
Zheng added, "As of now, Liu Baoshan hasn't asked for external help. He's still trying to manage the crisis internally, even having influential political and business figures sign binding agreements to discourage withdrawals. It's had some effect."
"It won't work," Yang said flatly. "Agreements like that might work for elite clients, who just want assurance that their money is safe.
But regular folks won't buy it—especially not Liu's client base. These people won't be calmed by fancy promises. They trust only one thing: cash in hand."
When a regular company runs into financial trouble, there's still room for negotiation. Even if they owe banks tons of money, creditors might help them stay afloat just to protect their own interests.
But if a bank loses public trust, it faces the most terrifying beast of all: a bank run. A run driven by thousands of ordinary people, not high-level stakeholders—people who won't listen to logic, reason, or policy.
You can't negotiate with a mob.
That's why banking laws are strict in most countries. Commercial and investment banks are often required to operate separately. But Hong Kong had no such regulations.
Wei nodded. "Exactly. There's no stopping this once it starts."
Zheng added, "Reports say that yesterday alone, Liu Chong Hing's branches lost over HK$3 million in cash. Today will probably be worse. If Liu doesn't pull something off soon, they'll run out of liquidity."
Yang nodded. "It's self-inflicted. Using bank funds to speculate on property was asking for this. He must've known it was dangerous, but he was blinded by the profits."
Even Yang, with his future knowledge, wouldn't risk channeling bank capital into real estate.
Yes, he could predict long-term trends, but short-term dips were always unpredictable—and deadly for banks.
Zheng asked, "Mr. Yang, should we wait for Liu Chong Hing to come to us?"
"Yes," Yang said. "With the Liu family's resources, they can probably hold out for a few more days. We wait."
"Also, tell Qin Zhiye not to push this story too hard in Ganghua Daily," Yang added. "Give the Liu family some face.
But we should run a feature on financial risks—an in-depth analysis with expert commentary. That's the kind of content upper-class readers will value."
"Understood," Zheng nodded.
"Let's go back," Yang said. Then he turned to a secretary. "A-Ying, arrange for a few people to take photos around Liu Chong Hing Bank over the next few days. Save them in the company's historical archives."
Changxing Group had its own archive department. It preserved records of the company's entire history—its early days, milestones, achievements, and plenty of photographs.
Major external events were also documented, especially those involving Hong Kong society. These would one day be part of Changxing's corporate memory.
Eventually, once computers became widespread, everything would be digitally archived.
"Yes, Mr. Yang," A-Ying responded.
June 21, Central – inside Liu Chong Hing Bank headquarters.
Once hailed as the next Ho Tung, the future Chinese king of finance in Hong Kong, Liu Baoshan now sat slumped, hair unkempt and eyes blank, staring at a potted plant.
"Daddy?" a young man approached cautiously.
No response.
"Daddy?" he called again.
Only after the third attempt did Liu finally react. "Liewen, how is it outside? I've raised HK$30 million in cash. Has that helped calm the run?"
Liu Liewen looked at his father, Liu Baoshan, who hadn't slept in days. He was completely exhausted. Liewen didn't want to reveal the truth, but he knew he couldn't lie. Right now, Liu Baoshan was still the spiritual pillar of the entire Liu family.
He said softly, "Dad, there's been a run on every branch for days now. Our staff are doing everything they can to calm people down, but it's not working.
Our tellers have been instructed to delay withdrawals as much as possible, but the number of people coming in keeps rising. The HK$20 million we raised is almost gone."
"Almost gone? That was twenty million dollars!" Liu Baoshan stared in disbelief.
In 1960s Hong Kong, HK$20 million was an astronomical amount—enough to make anyone's jaw drop. Even for him, it had taken immense personal favors and urgent loans from other banks and business partners to scrape together.
He'd thought it would buy them at least a week. He never imagined it would evaporate in less than three days.
Liewen looked grim. "I didn't expect this either. Over the past few days, maybe 10,000–20,000 people have come to withdraw money—some taking a few hundred, some thousands.
Each individual withdrawal wasn't large, but the volume was overwhelming.
And just now, even some of our biggest corporate clients showed up demanding their money. They must have gotten wind of what's really happening."
It wasn't just insiders. Even outsiders were beginning to see the writing on the wall.
And with the bank's liquidity collapsing, too many employees now knew the truth. The rumor mill would spin out of control. Soon, even regular citizens would know.
"I signed guarantees with many of them," Liu Baoshan muttered. "It should be fine."
"It's not enough anymore, Dad," Liewen said, shaking his head. "Those agreements don't matter now. The real issue is—we're out of money.
If this keeps going, we'll be forced to shut down branch offices. If that happens, it's over. Liu Chong Hing Bank will be finished."
No one needed experience to know: once a bank can't give depositors their money, it only takes hours for a full-scale collapse to unfold. And when that panic spirals, even the government can't stop it.
Baoshan exhaled slowly and nodded. "Alright, I'll start calling my friends, ask for help, raise more cash. That's all we can do now."
He pulled himself together, picked up the phone, and started dialing.
An hour later, Liu Liewen's heart sank.
Because every single one of his father's calls had been rejected.
BANG!
With a furious roar, Liu Baoshan slammed the phone into the floor. His face was dark with rage. His hands trembled—not just from anger, but maybe from despair.
"Dad..." Liewen said cautiously.
"They're just watching me die!" Baoshan finally spoke after a long silence. "No one—no one is willing to help. They all want to see me fall."
"Dad," Liewen said gently. "That's not unfair. If the roles were reversed—would you help them?
Maybe you'd lend a hand at first, but once it was clear they couldn't be saved... would you keep giving?"
Liu Baoshan said nothing.
Business was war—dog-eat-dog.
Your competitor might be your friend one day, your enemy the next. When times were good, everyone toasted together. But when one fell, the rest ran as far as they could.
If no one kicked you when you were down, you were lucky.
Finally, Baoshan said, "Then tell me—what should we do now?"
"We're not a regular company," Liewen said slowly. "Even if we file for bankruptcy, we're legally obligated to return all depositors' money. If we can't, we could all go to jail—for life."
He hated his father for this. For his arrogance. For ignoring warnings and gambling with the bank's money on risky property deals.
But blood is thicker than water. Now they were on the same boat. If the ship sank, they would all drown.
Baoshan murmured, "The money's still there. The depositors' funds haven't disappeared—they've just become real estate.
It's just that people want their cash now. And that's not something we can do overnight."
Liewen nodded. "So the only option is to liquidate your real estate—fast. Turn it into cash. Pay the depositors. If we wait, even selling later won't help."
Baoshan shook his head. "Even if we sell our properties, it won't be enough. A bank holds massive liabilities—just like any other.
Even if I sell everything at a loss, it still won't meet demand."
"I know," Liewen said. "That's why while we're liquidating property, I'll also talk to other banks. Maybe we can sell off our loan portfolios. Or get our borrowers to repay early."
Baoshan was silent for a long while. "Even if this works, our family's legacy—all the work of these past decades—it'll be gone."
Liewen took a deep breath. "I know. But we have no choice."
"Alright," Baoshan finally said. "I'll go see the government—see if they can guarantee our deposits. If they step in, maybe we can calm the panic."
Liewen frowned. "It's worth trying. But with Hong Kong's long-standing free market policy... I doubt they'll intervene."
June 25
Yang Wendong was at home, playing with his newborn son, when the phone rang. It was Liu Liewen.
That afternoon, the two met at a luxury hotel in Central.
"Congratulations on becoming a father," Liu Liewen said with a forced smile.
"Thank you," Yang replied casually. "When the baby turns 100 days old, we'll have a small celebration. I hope you'll attend."
"I hope I'll still be able to attend happily," Liewen said with a sigh. Then he cut to the chase. "Mr. Yang, I'm sure you know about the situation with Liu Chong Hing Bank."
"Of course," Yang said, nodding. "Who in Hong Kong doesn't by now?"
"I asked to meet you today," Liewen continued, "because I'd like to ask a favor. We'd like you to repay the loans we issued to your companies—immediately."
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