Chapter 113: Future Planning for the Glue Industry
Qian Shangde took a glance at the Post-it notes in his hand and the glue traps being produced by the workers nearby. After a moment of thought, he said, "Mr. Yang, I must say, these two products of yours have tremendous potential."
"Exactly, and that's something even many others can see," Yang Wendong replied with a smile. "That's why 3M has given us so much support. They're not in the business of charity—if there weren't enough benefits in it for them, they would never have gone to such lengths to secure the distribution rights to the Post-it notes."
Qian nodded and said, "Indeed. But what surprised me even more is that you're not only good at inventing—you're also very savvy in business. You leveraged your advantage and used 3M's channels and capital to grow your own business. That alone is a rare kind of talent."
"I'll take that compliment," Yang said with a hearty laugh.
It was true—his capability came from a combination of his past-life experience in the internet age and years of doing business. While a great invention could open up business opportunities, most accidental inventors lacked the ability to turn their ideas into companies.
More often than not, these inventors would release a product, fail to sell it, and then get bought out by someone who understood how to commercialize it. Think of Coca-Cola, Red Bull, air conditioners, or even calculators.
Of course, there were exceptions—companies like Mercedes-Benz in automobiles or Apple in computing had managed to turn their inventions into empire-building ventures.
Qian paused and then asked, "So what kind of production line will 3M be providing?"
"The folks at 3M only gave me a rough description," Yang quickly explained. "I don't understand the technical details, and we didn't have any experts to evaluate it. So I didn't look too deeply into it.
Only once we bring in a suitable expert can they take charge of the project—evaluate the equipment, manage the relocation, and oversee the setup of the glue factory in Hong Kong."
Too technical a project absolutely required technical personnel. If you didn't have the money, you could still try to get a loan. But if you didn't have the people? Then it was game over.
For most large-scale initiatives, the key was always the project manager.
Qian nodded again. "Alright. Do you have the documentation for that 3M production line?"
"Yes," Yang said. "They sent it over a while back, but honestly, none of us could make sense of it." He chuckled. "The file is in my office. Why don't we head over there now? We can go over the documents and discuss some other matters as well."
Changxing Industrial's current products were simple and not technically demanding—they relied purely on creativity.
"Alright," Qian agreed.
They headed toward the office, but most of the group stayed outside. Only Yang Wendong, Wei Zetao, Qian Shangde, and his female assistant entered the room.
Su Yiyi had already prepared everything. She poured the tea and then quietly took a seat to one side.
"Professor Qian, please have a taste of tea from the mainland," Yang said.
"Mmm." Qian took a sip and sighed. "It's been over a decade since I left the mainland. It's really hard to find authentic Chinese tea in the U.S."
Knowing it wasn't time to jump straight into business, Yang followed his lead and asked, "You can't buy Chinese tea in America?"
"You can," Qian replied after putting down his cup. "But most of it's fake. After getting tricked a few times, I gave up.
For a while, I had a friend send some from the mainland. But he later moved to Taiwan, so I started drinking Taiwanese tea instead."
Yang chuckled. "I'm no connoisseur—I probably couldn't tell the difference between tea from Taiwan and the mainland."
"Haha, they're quite similar," Qian laughed. "To most people, there's no difference. I think I like mainland tea because it reminds me of my earlier life."
Yang nodded, then suddenly lifted his teacup solemnly. "Professor Qian, I've heard about what you did during the war. I admire you deeply. Regardless of whether we end up working together today, let me first raise a cup to you."
Wei Zetao also lifted his teacup. "Same here. Anyone who contributed to the resistance deserves our respect."
Su Yiyi, who had been quietly recording notes, immediately straightened her posture. She hadn't poured herself any tea and suddenly felt awkward not being able to join in.
"You're too kind," Qian replied, lifting his cup with a sigh. "Back then, I was just doing what needed to be done.
I was in the rear, working on weapons R&D. It was the front-line soldiers who were the real heroes—those who died without even a marked grave. No one remembers their names.
Compared to them, what I did was nothing."
His eyes were a little wet. "The battlefield… it was just too brutal."
"Yes, I've heard stories," Wei said quietly. "So many of our countrymen fought tooth and nail against the Japanese, even believing they might never see their homeland again.
Even Master Qian Mu wrote Outline of Chinese History during the war, fearing that if our country were destroyed, our history might be rewritten. He wanted future generations to know our past."
Yang didn't speak, but he had read the historical documents online in his past life. He knew far more than most people in the room.
The hatred, the humiliation—it would never be repaid.
Qian paused again, then added, "But the past is the past. Today the world is at peace—that's a good thing.
People who've never experienced war will never truly understand how terrifying it is.
Let's hope the world stays this way."
"Let's hope," Yang agreed. But he knew that was just wishful thinking. Where there are people, there are conflicts.
Before he came to this timeline, the 21st century had already felt like a powder keg. Part of him still hoped he'd live long enough to see Japan get its due.
The room fell silent as Qian began reading through the documentation sent by 3M.
Everyone quietly waited.
After about fifteen minutes, he set the files down. "This production line is based on technology from five years ago. It's a bit outdated, but still very usable—especially here in Hong Kong.
Its main drawback is the labor requirement. In the U.S., where wages are high and unions are active, it's not efficient.
But in Hong Kong? Not a problem at all."
Yang asked, "Labor costs aren't an issue. But if it needs more skilled technicians, can Hong Kong workers handle it?"
Paying more workers wasn't a problem. Even if Hong Kong's labor costs rose, it wouldn't matter. The profit margins on Post-its were high. Plus, producing their own glue would further reduce costs.
The real issue was skilled labor. If they couldn't train enough competent workers, it would affect output and product quality.
Qian shook his head. "That shouldn't be a problem. A little training and they can get started.
To truly master the work will take time, of course.
Since you're on good terms with 3M, you should have two of their engineers stay in Hong Kong for three to six months.
As long as they teach carefully and your people study seriously, most of the skills can be learned.
Just make sure the workers have at least a high school education—or better yet, relevant experience."
Yang Wendong murmured, "High school graduates we can find. But people with knowledge or experience in chemical production lines… that's going to be hard."
An American high school diploma was roughly equivalent to Form 5 in Hong Kong. That level of education already counted as semi-skilled—those people could easily land clerical jobs in major firms.
Still, if the money was right, they could probably be convinced to work in a factory. The real issue was that with no existing chemical industry in Hong Kong, there was simply no one with the relevant experience.
Qian Shangde thought for a moment and said, "That's solvable. Send those new hires to the U.S. Let them train directly in 3M's factories.
Give them a translator, or better yet, hire people who already know some English. If they're diligent, they can learn the basics in a month or two.
The only challenge is whether 3M is willing to help—and it will cost some money."
"Money's not the issue," Yang said with a nod. "If it can be solved with money, then it will be solved."
Given his current relationship with 3M, they were at least publicly on the same team. If all he was asking for was help training workers, they probably wouldn't say no.
Qian continued, "You also mentioned that your agreement with 3M includes the transfer of certain patents. For glue traps, the glue involved is relatively simple. I just need to do some research and I should be able to confirm everything.
The real challenge is the Post-it adhesive. That type—used in high-end medical supplies—needs to be only mildly sticky. Not too strong, but strong enough. It's patented, and not only is the license expensive, but even if we get it, reproducing the glue will be difficult."
Yang smiled. "That's okay. Everything step by step. I'm not expecting to leap forward overnight. Let's focus on producing the simpler glue for the traps first.
Once we're up and running, and both our technical and financial strength improve, then we can move on to the more complex formulas."
Even producing a seemingly simple product like the Post-it had required slow, gradual increases in capacity. Light chemical manufacturing with higher technical thresholds would be even harder. Just taking the first step would already count as a win.
"I'm glad you're thinking that way," Qian praised. "Not impatient or arrogant. That's rare in someone so young and successful."
"You're too kind," Yang replied. "But there's something else.
One of our shipments of glue traps went to Southeast Asia. The local temperatures were so high that the glue melted and spilled out. So in the future, we need glue that's heat-resistant."
"There are heat-resistant adhesives, but they tend to be expensive," Qian warned. "From what I've seen, your glue traps use quite a bit of adhesive per unit, don't they?"
"Yeah. About 20 grams per sheet," Yang said. "In the early days, we couldn't test precisely, so we just applied extra glue to be safe.
We're now trying to reduce the amount slowly, but we're cautious—too little glue might reduce effectiveness. And now that we're considering switching glues, we have to be even more careful."
Qian thought for a bit. "So it's a balancing act—between stickiness, cost, and weight.
To optimize that, you'll need scientific testing methods. Otherwise, you'll either raise costs too much or risk reduced performance."
"Exactly," Yang said, sipping his tea and nodding.
Last year, even in its infancy, his glue usage had already been massive. He had to find multiple distributors to import glue from Japan.
This year, after his sales channels expanded in spring, the production volume of glue traps had multiplied several times over. The demand for glue had become astronomical.
That was the whole reason he was building his own glue factory. Production was only going to increase—Post-its, too.
Even owning a factory didn't eliminate the need for research. Even the simplest product required rigorous balancing of cost and performance. That was why, unless a company held a monopoly on advanced tech, the most important concept in manufacturing was always the same: cost-effectiveness.
"You're absolutely right," Qian agreed. "If 3M provides the raw materials, and we have the trained personnel, and Hong Kong's infrastructure is ready, then yes—production can begin.
In the short term, getting raw materials from 3M is fine. It saves us the trouble of procurement. But in the long run, we can't depend on the U.S. supply chain.
The shipping costs are too high, and strategically, dependency is dangerous."
Yang asked, "Do we have access to those raw materials in Asia?"
Qian thought for a moment. "I haven't looked into it in detail yet, but Japan's chemical industry has made great strides. If they can produce adhesives, then they likely have the full supply chain."
"Buying from Japan… makes sense." Yang paused, glanced at Qian, and asked, "You don't mind us sourcing from the Japanese?"
Qian sighed. "Of course I mind. I hate them. I'd love nothing more than to wipe them out. Why should they get to start wars whenever they want, then just surrender and pretend nothing happened—now their economy is booming again?
But what can we do? We're just small people. We can't change the world. We have to look forward."
Yang nodded. "You and I think the same way.
A lot of Asian countries and regions are reviving their economies, including building out chemical industries. Once we have better options, we'll switch.
In the meantime, if we can sell products to the Japanese and take their money, that's still a win."
What he was really referring to was Taiwan. In a few years, Taiwan would begin large-scale development of its chemical industry—starting with petroleum refining and then moving into derivatives.
It would become one of the most famous chemical production centers in Asia.
Formosa Plastics, one of its key conglomerates, would become the largest group on the island—until TSMC eventually surpassed it.
Yang's vision was to one day leverage Taiwan's chemical infrastructure—either to support Hong Kong-based operations or to build new facilities across the strait.
It wouldn't just be about glue, either. He had plans for paper and plastic production too. Once he had the capital and enough product demand, he could dive into multiple sectors.
"Sounds reasonable," Qian said. It seemed like just a bit of comfort talk, but maybe, just maybe, it could be real.
Sensing that things were going well, Yang asked, "Professor Qian, you know what our company does. I don't need to say much about the future.
Just Post-its alone are worth a fortune.
I'd like you to join us—help us build the glue factory. That way, we can finally fix one of the biggest gaps in our operation."
"Oh?" Qian raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean you'll be entering the paper business too?"
"Maybe," Yang said. "We'll see. Paper production is even more polluting than glue. And Hong Kong doesn't have the raw materials.
If our internal paper demand grows, we'll evaluate. But not until the glue plant is stable."
Paper manufacturing was a notoriously dirty industry. Even as a kid in his past life, Yang had known that.
Hong Kong simply wasn't suited for it. Even if it was technically allowed now, it wouldn't last.
Unless they imported pulp and just produced finished paper locally—but whether that would be worth the effort was another question entirely.
Taiwan might be a better location. It was close enough that shipping costs wouldn't matter much, even in this high-freight era.
"I know a bit about paper chemistry too," Qian chuckled. "In that case… I think it's time we talked about salary."
Yang's face lit up. If Qian joined the company, the final missing piece of his industrial empire would fall into place.
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