Chapter 240: Daily Life of Ordinary Workers and Plans for the Future
Governor Black stepped forward and inspected several dormitory rooms.
The layout was simple: bunk beds on both sides of the room, six personal lockers—one per person—and a row of tables in the middle. Overhead, a ceiling fan provided ventilation. Each room also had a small balcony equipped with a water tap for washing clothes or fetching water, and a space to dry laundry.
"It's simple, but definitely better than how many people in Hong Kong are living now," Black remarked after looking around. "If those living in shanty towns could stay in places like this, that would be quite something. The government has spent millions on subdivided housing, but it's still not as well organized as these dorms. I've seen some myself—those places are chaotic."
"It's not a fair comparison," Yang Wendong explained. "People in subdivided units usually have families and children. They need to save money and cook for themselves, so their living spaces require more utilities and storage.
But in our factories, everything is provided—meals, hot water, hygiene facilities. No children involved. So the housing needs are minimal: a bed, a locker, that's it. Everything else is centralized and shared, which removes a lot of the daily hassle."
Families accumulated more things out of necessity and cost-saving. But here, like in university dorms from his past life, everything was standardized and optimized for efficiency.
"Good point," Black nodded. "So what you're saying is—if the government could supply food and hot water in bulk to subdivided housing, it would eliminate a lot of problems?"
"In theory, yes," Yang said. "But that requires consistent investment. Here, meals and water are provided free of charge. In subdivided housing, it's impossible to maintain that kind of system—if food and water services charge too much, people will go back to cooking at home."
"True, and those are the poorest groups to begin with," Black said thoughtfully. "Seems like the only sustainable solution is to continue developing industry and creating jobs."
Yang nodded. "Exactly. That's why Changxing Industrial will keep pushing to hire more people."
Over the past year, the core focus of Changxing Group had been real estate, media, and shipping. Although the company had invested heavily into manufacturing—like the Wanren Industrial Park—product innovation had been lacking. Internally, the industrial division had only developed a few basic kitchenware products.
The market reception was decent, especially compared to average companies, but within the massive scope of Changxing Group, it barely moved the needle.
Why hadn't Yang—despite being a time traveler—pushed for more innovation? The answer was simple: production capacity and management couldn't keep up.
Sticky notes, rolling luggage, adhesive hooks—these hit products were already stretching their manufacturing systems to the limit. Without solid infrastructure and experienced management, launching another product boom would risk collapse.
Even the toy business, which had started strong with the Rubik's Cube, was on pause. Yang decided to use that momentum to build overseas distribution channels for future growth.
"Truly," Black said, clearly pleased. "If you could build two more industrial parks like this one, I believe unemployment would drop sharply."
One Wanren Industrial Park could directly and indirectly support 50,000–60,000 people. When you added their families, that meant stability for over 100,000. For the colonial government, this was a godsend. It also meant more tax revenue.
"You have my word, Governor," Yang said earnestly. "I'll do my best."
"Good. If you build another park like this," Black said, pausing for emphasis, "I'll arrange to offer you land at a significantly discounted rate. The only condition is that it must be outside high-value commercial districts."
"Understood," Yang nodded.
He figured this offer came after the government realized just how much value an industrial park brought to the surrounding economy. Even the land around Kwun Tong had appreciated in value, giving the government a windfall during public land auctions.
It was a win-win. Massive development like this pulled everyone along the same path—like sailors rowing the same boat.
Black added, "But I may be stepping down in 1964. I wonder if you can get it all done before then."
"I believe I can," Yang replied confidently. "I'll give it my all."
British governors could serve a maximum of 10 years. If history stayed on track, Black's successor would be David Trench, who was also fairly competent.
Up until 1984, the British Empire still intended to govern Hong Kong seriously. They sent capable, responsible governors. Later governors like MacLehose would be known for their efforts to clean up corruption and dismantle the influence of local gangs.
"Haha, good," Black laughed.
He knew his time was limited, and the window to leave a legacy was quickly closing.
Yang continued, "Governor, it's nearly noon. How about we have lunch nearby?"
"Sure, but keep it simple. Nothing too extravagant," Black replied.
"No problem," Yang smiled.
…
After lunch, the Governor departed.
Yang returned to the administrative building at the front of the industrial park—a newly completed eight-story office tower. On the top floor was his personal office.
To the south, he could see Victoria Harbour about two kilometers away. In the distance, the skyline of Hong Kong Island shimmered through the haze.
To the north, he had a clear view of the entire park. From the eighth floor, he could see workers walking along the internal roads—just a fraction of those actually employed. Most were already inside the vast factory buildings, working as part of the Changxing Group's massive operation.
Each of them was helping to generate profits—and earning their own piece in return.
Yang stood silently for a long time.
He suddenly realized: It had been almost four years since he arrived in Hong Kong. His greatest accomplishment wasn't owning billions in property, nine towers on Hong Kong Island, or ten massive cargo ships. Those were just numbers on a bank ledger.
His true pride was building something that acted as a powerful engine for the local economy—giving thousands, even tens of thousands, a stable job. Helping them escape poverty. Maybe even changing the futures of their children.
…
Ding ding ding ding ding…
At 5 p.m., the sound of dozens of bells echoed throughout the park. Inside multiple workshops, assembly workers put down their tools and stood up from their stations.
"Ah Long, let's go eat," a young man said to his friend beside him.
Ah Long glanced around and asked, "Ah Wai, how come some people are leaving and others aren't?"
"Meal times are staggered," Ah Wai replied. "There's too many of us. If we all went to eat at once, the dining hall would be packed."
"Ah, makes sense." Ah Long nodded, then followed his friend, blending into the stream of workers heading toward the canteen.
On the way to the dining hall, Ah Wai said, "Ah Long, just follow me this time, okay? Don't make a scene like you did at lunch."
"Got it." Ah Long scratched the back of his head, a bit embarrassed. "Sorry. It was my first day, and I just lost it when I saw how good the food was."
"That's normal. Happens to a lot of people," Ah Wai replied with a chuckle. "But usually, only the girls act like that."
"I haven't had meat in ages," Ah Long admitted. "Let alone a big chicken leg like that."
"You'll be happy to know," Ah Wai grinned, "dinner's even better."
"Really?"
"Of course," he said. "But the best meal is actually the late-night one. There's fried rice with oil, and more meat."
Then he added, "If you ever meet any workers like me from the Tsim Sha Tsui branch, ask around. A bunch of people there gained so much weight from eating too well, the company had to order them to lose it."
"Lose weight? Seriously?" Ah Long looked stunned. That concept felt alien to someone from the shanty towns, where hunger was part of daily life.
Ah Wai nodded. "Yup. At first, the company didn't care whether we were thin or fat, as long as we didn't waste food. But then a few long-timers in Tsim Sha Tsui started eating braised pork belly with rice soaked in the sauce—every day. Some of them ended up in the hospital.
Turns out they were diagnosed with lifestyle-related diseases from overeating. After that, Changxing implemented weight monitoring across all divisions."
"Then I better start watching my portions," Ah Long said, quickly tightening his expression. "Can't afford to lose this job—my kid would suffer."
"No need to panic," Ah Wai laughed. "Unless you really balloon up, nobody's going to say anything. Just don't overeat every single day. Honestly, eating too much is a kind of waste, too. As long as you eat moderately, you'll be fine. Our boss is very generous in this area."
"Right. And we even get buns to take home," Ah Long added gratefully. "My kid can finally eat something good every day."
"Alright, let's hurry up. If we're late, the line's going to be massive," Ah Wai urged.
The two of them jogged to the canteen. There were over 30 serving windows, and everyone received the same meal—no picking and choosing. The food was dished onto plastic trays, and rice was self-serve.
After waiting for about ten minutes, it was finally their turn. When Ah Long saw the food, he gasped in delight. "Braised pork belly again! And a big chunk of fatty meat!"
"Haven't had fat meat in a while, have you?" Ah Wai grinned. "You'll see—once you eat too much of it, you won't like it anymore."
"Really?" Ah Long blinked. "Then let's trade later—my lean meat for your fat."
"Deal," Ah Wai agreed immediately. He'd been with Changxing in Tsim Sha Tsui for over a year and was more than used to meat.
After grabbing their dishes, the two went to scoop rice from cylindrical containers. Ah Wai reminded him, "Watch your portions. Don't do what you did at lunch again. If you waste food, the penalty's harsh."
"Right." Ah Long blushed again. He had, in fact, taken way too much rice at lunch and couldn't finish it. He and Ah Wai had to struggle together just to clean the plate.
He'd learned the hard way: at Changxing, wasting food meant a fine—an entire day's wage. Do it three times, and you could be fired.
The two found a seat and ate heartily, finishing everything and then leaving quickly to make space for the next wave.
On their way back to the workshop, Ah Long clutched his takeaway buns and said, "I guess I won't have to worry about going hungry anymore."
"Of course not," Ah Wai said with a laugh. "At Changxing, it's not just about getting enough food—it's about getting good food. And every three months, they give out rice and cooking oil. You'll see."
"Mr. Yang, the Post-it King, really is a great man," Ah Long said with feeling. "I've worked in other factories before. Just getting any food was a blessing—most places made us bring our own meals."
"That's why Mr. Yang is so successful," Ah Wai replied. "Back at the old factory, a lot of us actually went to temples to pray for his long life—and hoped he'd become the richest man in Hong Kong."
"Well, I'm going to pray too," Ah Long said seriously.
November 9th
At the Kwun Tong Changxing Industrial Park, the first full day of operations began for 2,500 workers. Previously, only small groups had been brought in for orientation or equipment testing.
From a bird's-eye view, the three factory entrances teemed with people—excluding the thousands already living in the dormitories.
This was Day One of full-scale production. Output would ramp up gradually in the weeks ahead.
"Mr. Yang, according to our plan, in two weeks the rolling suitcase line will hit 5,000 units per day. In a month, we'll double that," Wei Zetao reported as he walked with Yang Wendong through the production floor.
"Once the workers are more experienced, we'll split shifts and increase output further."
"Excellent. Are the warehouses ready?" Yang asked.
"We've bought three warehouses near the park, plus we've acquired land and built six more. That should be enough for now," Wei replied. "My bigger concern is whether Changxing Shipping can keep up."
"No worries. Zheng Yuhua's prepared. We should be receiving several second-hand freighters soon," Yang said with a smile.
Alongside new vessels purchased from Japan, they hadn't neglected second-hand ships. Even the older ones—less fuel-efficient—were worth it. For now, they'd be used to transport suitcases, and later, water for drought relief.
"Good to hear," Wei said. "If everything's in place, I'll head to Taiwan tomorrow to meet with Mr. Wang Yongqing.
First, to discuss the polyethylene project you mentioned. Second, I want to raise the issue of his production capacity. The Hong Kong toy industry is booming right now. Even though most factories are small, their combined demand for plastic is huge. Formosa Plastics needs to scale up."
"Good. Go ahead," Yang nodded. "We also need to start preparing our own toy line."
"Understood," Wei said.
Early on, Changxing had intended to focus on toys. Yang had personally invested significant time into launching the Rubik's Cube. But as adhesive hooks and rolling luggage proved easier to mass-produce and market, toy development was put on hold.
With production maxed out, new product launches were delayed. The company focused on producing Rubik's Cubes in Hong Kong while building relationships with overseas distributors.
Now, Changxing had dozens of international contacts in the toy business. With the Kwun Tong plant operational, production would no longer be an issue.
It was finally time to dive into toys—and maybe even more.
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