Chapter 96: The Joy of a Successful New Year in 1959
February 1st.
Inside the original Dewei warehouse, over a dozen electricians were busy rewiring the facility at top speed.
Zhou Xianglong, Wei Zetao, Yang Wendong, Zhao Liming, and others were all on-site. With Zhou, the production manager, leading the team, the group was finalizing the layout plan for the new factory.
Yang Wendong walked the floor with them, observing the space and listening to Zhou's detailed explanations.
Back at the center of the warehouse, Zhou looked at his boss and asked, "Mr. Yang, what do you think?"
"Not bad," Yang nodded. "According to your layout, this space can hold up to 80 Post-it production machines. So that means, excluding the 30 units already on order, we could still purchase another 50 machines?"
"Correct," Zhou replied. "Although, if we use Dongsheng's newly upgraded models, the number might be lower. But those machines operate at twice the speed of the older ones, so overall production efficiency would still be higher."
Yang nodded. "That's certainly better. But the earlier equipment from Dongsheng was a direct imitation of the Japanese machines, which I felt more confident about.
Since these new models are Dongsheng's own design improvements, we'll need to keep an eye on quality issues."
"Understood," Zhou responded immediately. "We'll stick primarily to the previous models for now. The new ones—we'll start with just three units, observe them for a while, and only scale up if they prove reliable."
"Good. You're in charge of this then," Yang said casually.
As the company scaled up, it was impossible for Yang to micromanage everything. He knew when to delegate. Let the professionals handle the professional tasks.
His role now was to focus on key clients and the broader direction of the company's development.
Tap-tap-tap— just then, a faint scratching sound echoed from the roof. Several people looked up, but saw nothing.
Zhou quickly explained, "I had someone inspecting the roof. Since our raw materials and finished goods are all paper-based, water is our worst enemy. A single leak during a rainstorm could cost us dearly."
"Well done," Yang said, genuinely impressed. He hadn't thought of that.
Of course, he hadn't been paying much attention to these details lately.
Zhou smiled. "From now on, we'll check the roof every three months—especially before summer. If a typhoon hits Hong Kong and we're not prepared, the losses could be catastrophic."
"Right. This is one area we can't cut corners," Yang nodded. Aging warehouses and factories often had drainage or leak issues—especially during typhoon season.
He glanced around and added, "Let's install an additional layer of color-coated steel panels inside the warehouse. We'll store all paper-based goods beneath the panels, and anything that's not water-sensitive can go on top."
"Got it," Zhou said with a grin. "That'll also increase our usable storage space."
Yang thought further. "We need to guard against not only water, but also fire and electricity.
No matter how urgent production is, safety must always come first.
We don't need the fanciest safety equipment, but everything that should be in place must be there."
"Understood. You can count on me," Zhou replied.
The others were quietly impressed. Bosses in Hong Kong who valued workers like this were exceedingly rare. Even those who had worked for ten or twenty years had never seen anything like it.
In Hong Kong, workers' lives were often seen as expendable. There had been multiple news reports in recent years about factory owners locking their gates to prevent early departures—only for a fire to break out, killing so many that even the media lost count.
A little later, the group stepped outside. Along the side of the warehouse, a corrugated iron structure was under construction.
Zhou explained, "This will be the new staff canteen. As per your instructions, we'll make sure it's more spacious and hygienic."
"Good. Use the same meal standard as before," Yang nodded. "Plenty of rice, a fair amount of vegetables, and some meat.
If the workers don't eat well, they won't work well. The indirect losses would cost us more."
Zhou was clearly pleased. "No problem. With meals this good, I expect a lot more people will want to apply."
"That's exactly what I want," Yang said with a light laugh. "The more applicants, the better we can filter and select. That's how we raise the overall quality of our workforce."
"Exactly, Mr. Yang," Zhou nodded in agreement.
"When will the water and electrical work be finished?" Yang asked.
"I've already arranged for 24-hour rotating shifts. Workers rest, but the work doesn't stop.
Once it's all done, and Dongsheng delivers the first batch of ten machines after the New Year, we can install them right away," Zhou said.
"Won't the workers be taking time off for the New Year?" Yang asked.
It was just seven days until Lunar New Year—Yang's second Spring Festival since transmigrating.
Last year, he hadn't even noticed it. He'd been too busy selling mouse traps at the wet market. A steamed bun for lunch had been considered a luxury—whether it was New Year or not hardly mattered.
But this year, he had built something of his own from the ground up. His business might not be huge yet, but it was enough to let him and his close companions enjoy a decent New Year.
Zhou replied, "They won't stop. But they're not our employees—I don't have much say over them.
The most I can do is make sure they get a good meal."
Yang nodded. These workers were brought in by contractors—subcontracted laborers.
Zhou then asked, "Mr. Yang, are we giving our own employees time off for the New Year?"
Yang thought for a moment, then asked, "How do most factories in Hong Kong handle it?"
Wei Zetao chimed in, "Generally, if the factory isn't too busy, they'll close for three days—New Year's Eve, and the first two days of the New Year.
If they're busier, they might only stop work on New Year's Eve afternoon and the morning of the first day.
Some factories don't stop at all. If the boss is decent, they'll hand out red envelopes to those who work through the holiday."
"That's actually a good system," Yang said. "Let's do the same.
Whoever wants to go home and spend time with their families can take three days off. Those who want to keep working and earn more can stay.
I'll prepare red envelopes for everyone—larger ones for those who stay, and smaller ones for those who take time off.
We'll also give everyone a bit of rice, cooking oil, or preserved meat to take home. Let them know that the company appreciates all their hard work over the past six months.
Everyone deserves a good New Year."
Wei smiled. "They're going to be really grateful for this, Mr. Yang."
"All I ask is that everyone works hard again next year," Yang said with a warm smile.
The factory's profits were quite solid, and since Yang Wendong wasn't like the exploitative factory bosses common in Hong Kong, giving his workers some benefits was no problem at all.
In fact, factories with good benefits might have slightly higher costs in the short term, but over time, they attracted more capable people, creating a positive feedback loop.
Wei Zetao added, "Everything's ready now. All we're waiting for is the post-holiday startup."
Yang nodded. "Alright, let's all head back and get ready. Everyone's about to go on break. After the new year, we'll start again from here."
"Got it," the others replied with smiles.
In the final days before the New Year, the entire factory continued running on schedule.
The workers in the original factory kept working hard, and when they found out each person would be getting a 5–10 HKD red envelope, along with 10 jin of rice, 1 jin of oil, and 1 jin of cured meat, they were overjoyed.
For most of them—many from the shantytowns—this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. No other factory had ever treated them like this. In the past, most factory owners didn't even let workers take time off for the new year, let alone offer gifts. Only large foreign firms or government offices ever offered holiday benefits.
February 5th, three days before the New Year.
Yang requested the kitchen prepare a festive lunch for everyone—a symbolic "New Year's Eve dinner" before the holiday.
It wasn't extravagant—just the basics: chicken, duck, fish, and a few common vegetables. But for many of the workers, it was a feast beyond imagination.
After lunch, the factory began its year-end cleaning and inventory. At 4 p.m., workers lined up to receive their red envelopes and food rations.
Some of the female workers were so touched that they started crying with joy when they received theirs.
Click click click—Wang Zhixian was off to the side snapping photos, moving around constantly to get different angles.
Yang walked over and handed him a bottle of Coca-Cola with a smile. "Mr. Wang, thanks for your help. Sorry to drag you out so close to the New Year just to take pictures."
"Haha, Mr. Yang, you're a big boss now," Wang joked as he put down his camera and accepted the drink. "But just call me Old Wang."
Yang smiled. "It doesn't matter who's richer now. I only got to where I am because of your help, and that's something I won't forget."
Wang replied, "You're too modest. With your talent, you would've made it with or without me.
Honestly, I think if your story got published in the newspaper, it would inspire a lot of people."
"Haha, maybe," Yang said, then paused. "Old Wang, have you thought about joining my company?"
Wang shook his head. "No, I'm happy with my life the way it is. I don't want too much change."
Yang glanced toward Zhao Chengguang and asked, "Is it because of Mr. Zhao?"
"Kind of," Wang admitted. "But it's mostly me. Mr. Zhao once saved me from the Japanese—I nearly died.
Since then, I've never been too focused on money. I have a house, a car, a family, a child—that's enough for me.
Besides, your business is focused on exports, and I've always done local Hong Kong business. I don't have experience with overseas markets, and I've never managed a factory like Mr. Wei has."
"That's fair. If you ever change your mind, though, my door is always open," Yang said. "And it doesn't have to be for work—if you ever need anything, come to me."
Everyone has different ambitions. Some love politics, others love business. Some have what it takes to be entrepreneurs but prefer the quiet life of an employee. You can't force these things. There are as many life paths as there are people.
"That means a lot, thank you," Wang said with a smile.
Yang looked at the camera and asked, "Can I borrow this for a few days? I'll return it after the holiday."
"Of course. I'll teach you how to use it," Wang said, handing it over. "But honestly, with where you're at now, you should buy your own. Especially at this early stage of the company, it's important to document everything. That material will be valuable one day."
"You're right," Yang nodded. "I'll go buy one after the New Year."
After a short lesson, Yang quickly got the hang of the film camera and began enthusiastically snapping photos.
Of course, coming from a future with smartphones, he wasn't all that impressed by the camera itself. What he cared about were the smiles on his workers' faces—the hope in their eyes.
As a boss, it warmed his heart.
And that spirit, that morale, would carry them through the explosive growth coming next year. These very people would be key contributors to that success.
It was a win-win.
February 7th – Lunar New Year's Eve.
That morning, only a few workers came to the factory. When given the choice between working or taking time off, most had understandably chosen to stay home.
By noon, Yang returned to his rented house.
Inside, Auntie Guo, Su Yiyi, and a few others were making sausages and steaming buns.
Yang walked in and said with a smile, "Now that we have a fridge, is there really a need to make so much food?"
Su Yiyi replied, "It's not about that. Mom says it's tradition—you're supposed to make a lot of food for the New Year and then eat it bit by bit afterwards."
"Alright then. Make as much as you want," Yang said with a laugh.
It was a habit born of long-term hardship. In the past, people made buns, sausages, and other preserved foods to get through the holidays and the weeks that followed.
Without refrigerators, those foods had to be sun-dried to keep. As someone born in the 1980s, Yang still remembered seeing salted meats, dried chicken, and buns hanging outside during winter.
They were tough as rocks—but they lasted a long time.
Now that he had money, he could buy whatever food he wanted, whenever he wanted. But there was no reason to change the older generation's habits. If it made them happy, he was happy too.
That evening, they enjoyed a truly lavish dinner.
"Come on, no alcohol tonight—just this dark soda," Auntie Guo said, placing bottles of Coca-Cola on the table. "Ah Dong, this drink you bought is really tasty."
Yang took a sip and said, "It's actually the best-selling beverage in the world."
"It's just a bit pricey," Auntie Guo muttered as she sat down. "This New Year's Eve dinner… I never thought I'd have something like this in my lifetime."
Yang nodded. "Then let's eat. Next year, we'll be celebrating in our own house. Things will only get better."
Su Yiyi took a sip of her soda and asked, "Brother Dong, are we buying a house?"
"Soon. Once the company's work stabilizes and cash flow comes in, we'll make the move," Yang replied with a smile.
Previously, company finances had been tight, so buying property wasn't an option. Sure, he could've used the house as collateral to get a loan—but that would've taken time and effort.
And back then, they couldn't afford anything luxurious anyway. Now, they were getting close to the point where they could make it happen all at once.
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