Chapter 142: The New Factory Breaks Ground — A Goal of 100 Million in Output
"Is that the older sister or the younger one?"
As Yang Wendong spotted the figure, he began to wonder—but quickly deduced the answer based on her gait.
The Bai sisters had distinct demeanors: one gentle and refined, the other lively and athletic. The older sister walked like a traditional noble lady, while the younger moved like a trained athlete.
This one, on stage, was clearly the elder sister. It looked like she had returned from the U.S. During their last conversation on the plane, Yang had learned that Bai Yushan was merely visiting American universities to get a feel for the environment before deciding whether to pursue further studies there.
—
Under Yang's gaze, Bai Yushan took to the stage and sat down at a piano. A moment later, graceful notes filled the air.
Even Yang, who wasn't especially musically inclined, found it pleasant—though he couldn't place the tune.
Beside him, Jin Yong commented, "That girl plays quite well—especially for someone her age."
"Indeed, very nice," Yang said with a smile.
He wasn't much of an art lover. Coming from an ordinary background in his past life, he hadn't had the time or money to indulge in the arts, even after his startup succeeded. That kind of education was a luxury reserved for the children of wealthy families.
Maybe one day, if his own kids had that opportunity, he'd make sure they were trained in the arts.
Jin Yong glanced at him and asked, "You know her?"
"Sort of," Yang replied, shifting his attention back to the stage. "She's a student in the economics department at Hong Kong University. I'd heard she was artistic, but I didn't know she played the piano this well."
"Economics? Then she's a hobbyist. Quite impressive for someone who's not a professional," Jin Yong said, once again offering praise.
Yang gave a soft "mm" and glanced once more at the distant figure on stage before turning back.
Bai Yushan's appearance was only a small interlude in the banquet—certainly not enough to distract him. Mingling with the business elites at his table remained his main task.
They continued chatting and toasting each other.
Seeing Jin Yong finish his tea, Yang offered, "Mr. Cha, won't you have a little wine? The alcohol here is pretty mild."
"I know," Jin Yong shook his head. "But I need to get back to writing tonight. This part of the story has been driving me crazy. I've written and rewritten it so many times that Ming Pao's updates have been inconsistent.
Even if I don't get drunk, the dizziness and slower reflexes from drinking would be fatal to my process."
"Fair enough," Yang nodded, recalling another legendary Chinese novelist—Gu Long.
Jin Yong loved tea. Gu Long loved wine. You could say they were like the twin pillars of wuxia: one northern, one southern.
Yang still wanted to start his own newspaper, but he hadn't figured out how. Aside from funding, he lacked any particular advantage.
Still, if he could find Gu Long and get him to write fiction, he might not replicate Ming Pao's trajectory—but it would definitely help jump-start his publishing venture.
The problem was, Yang wasn't sure what Gu Long was doing at this point in time. If he'd already begun writing, it would be easier to find him. If not, locating him would be a challenge.
He only remembered that Gu Long's real surname was Xiong, and that he had died young—and that he was a heavy drinker. Other than that, his memory drew a blank.
—
As the banquet continued, Bai Yushan finished her performance and left the stage. Her seat appeared to be on the opposite side of the hall, farther back—nowhere near Yang.
After everyone had eaten about halfway through their meals, Liao Baoshan began making his rounds, accompanied by his children. He went from table to table, toasting and exchanging pleasantries.
When he reached Yang Wendong's table, he smiled warmly and said, "You must be Mr. Yang, the Post-it King?"
"Mr. Liao, a pleasure," Yang and the others stood up politely. When the host comes to your table, you show respect—especially someone of Liao Baoshan's stature. He was easily among the top five Chinese businessmen in Hong Kong.
Liao Baoshan took a moment to size up Yang and said, "So young, yet already so accomplished. The future is yours. If there's ever a chance, we at Liao Chong Hing Bank would love to work with you again. We'll come better prepared next time."
"Of course," Yang replied with a smile. Liao Chong Hing still had about a year and a half before its collapse in 1961. They might indeed do business again—most likely loans.
Then, turning to his son, Liao Baoshan added, "Liewen, you're only a few years older than Mr. Yang, but look at his achievements. You should spend more time with him. Learn something."
"Yes, Father," Liao Liewen replied, naturally not daring to object—especially in public. And frankly, there was no reason to. Yang had clearly surpassed him. Losing to someone like that wasn't shameful.
Yang smiled and said, "Mr. Liao, you're too kind."
With the pleasantries exchanged, Liao Baoshan chatted briefly with the rest of the table and then moved on.
The room gradually returned to its relaxed state. People nibbled, drank, and chatted.
After a while, Yang felt nature calling and excused himself.
Just as he stepped out the door, he almost bumped into someone. Upon seeing the person clearly, he smiled and said, "Miss Bai, seems like fate keeps throwing us together."
"Mr. Yang?" Bai Yushan tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled back. "What a surprise to run into you again. You were invited here as well?"
"Yes," Yang nodded. "I know Liao Liewen fairly well—we've worked together before. He invited me."
Bai Yushan laughed. "Well, considering you're now the Post-it King, I wouldn't be surprised if even HSBC extended you an invitation."
The probability of this coincidental meeting was so low that, being a math major, she found it almost suspicious. But with his now-famous identity, it was clear he wouldn't stoop to something like stalking her.
"Your family was invited too? Which company is it?" Yang Wendong asked.
To be invited by Liao Chong Hing Bank, there was no official requirement set in stone, but generally, one needed to have a net worth in the hundreds of thousands of Hong Kong dollars or more. Only a handful of government officials or cultural figures like Jin Yong were exceptions.
Bai Yushan smiled. "My family runs a renovation company called Weibo. We've got a bit of a name over on Hong Kong Island in Admiralty. Ever heard of it?"
"Hmm... no, can't say I have," Yang answered honestly.
Even in the mobile internet age, most people only knew the companies they worked with or that had a large presence. Unless it was a peer in the same industry or a truly massive enterprise, it wasn't unusual not to have heard of it.
"In that case," Yushan said, "our main business is renovating office towers and luxury homes. We've worked with Liao Chong Hing Bank before, and chances are, we'll be the ones handling the interior work for their new building."
"That's a major contract," Yang said with a smile.
Renovating an office tower wasn't small business. Some luxury projects allocated up to 10% of their total budget to interior design—hotels, even more.
Yushan continued, "If you ever plan to build an office tower or luxury home, you can come to us too."
"Sure thing," Yang replied casually.
She smiled, looked around, and then said, "Well, I'll head back to my seat?"
"OK." Yang nodded, then added, "Wait—this is my actual business card. If you ever need anything, you can use it to come find me at any Changxing Industrial facility."
"Looks like you hand out a lot of 'fake' cards too, huh?" Yushan said with a laugh as she took it.
Yang shrugged. "Can't go around telling everyone I'm a big boss, right? I'd never make any genuine friends."
Yushan tucked the card away. "Well then, it's my honor to be friends with the Post-it King."
They parted ways just as Yang's bladder issued a non-negotiable command: Go. Now.
Meanwhile, back at her table, Yushan sat down and was immediately addressed by a man in his forties. "Yushan, you know Yang Wendong? The Post-it King?"
"Ah?" Yushan jumped slightly, but when she saw it was her father, she instinctively replied, "Sort of. We've met a few times."
"How did you meet?" he asked.
"On the plane to the U.S.," she answered. "At the time, I only knew his name—I didn't know he was the Post-it King."
"Oh, right. That was before he became famous," her father nodded thoughtfully.
She exhaled in relief, only to hear her father say, "Yang Wendong has enormous potential. That's the consensus in the business world now. Since you know him, you should definitely keep in touch."
"Eh?" Yushan blinked. "But Dad, we're in renovations. He runs a factory. I mean, sure, factories need renovations, but it's not the same as what we do."
Her father shook his head. "That's how it looks now. But when Chinese tycoons make money, they almost always end up in real estate. Our people love land and property—it's in our blood."
"Ohh..." Yushan nodded slowly. That made sense.
In Hong Kong, people struggled their entire lives just to buy one home—and most still failed.
—
After the Liao Chong Hing Bank banquet ended, Yang Wendong quietly exited through the hotel's underground garage with the help of security staff—avoiding the reporters outside.
Fortunately, reporters hadn't been invited to this event. As Yang had heard from others, many wealthy Hong Kong elites didn't like being in the spotlight. While Liao Baoshan enjoyed media attention, he couldn't afford to offend his guests just for a headline.
—
July 3rd arrived quickly.
The new factory in Tsim Sha Tsui was officially complete.
Yang Wendong arrived early in the morning.
"Mr. Yang," Wei Zetao greeted him with a grin. "You're here early."
Yang smiled. "This factory determines our company's future. I barely slept last night."
"Haha, same here," Wei laughed. "Let's go inside."
Yang nodded and followed Wei and a few others through the gates.
Before they even reached the entrance, several trucks came into view, loaded with Post-it production equipment. Forklifts were unloading crates, and more workers were stationed nearby, assisting.
"How many machines in this first batch?" Yang asked.
"One hundred thirty units," Wei replied. "They'll be delivered over three days.
The electrical work is done. Assuming no problems during setup, we can start mass production in a week.
The remaining 200 units will take about two more months. But those will be delivered one-by-one straight from Changsheng's factory."
Yang nodded. "So by September, we'll have all 330 machines in place. That should give us a daily output of 1.5 million units?"
"Exactly. And that's a conservative estimate. We might even hit 1.8 million," Wei said with a grin.
Yang nodded again. "Based on our current unit price, that's about HK$150,000 in daily revenue—or roughly HK$50 million per year."
"Yes." Wei lowered his voice. "And that's just the beginning. Even with this many machines, we probably still won't meet U.S. demand.
Add in Europe, and I think by next year, we'll need even more machines. We might even need to expand into phase two of the neighboring lot. At that point, reaching HK$100 million in annual revenue is totally possible."
"Sounds about right." Yang nodded seriously. "But with that kind of revenue, we'll definitely draw even more attention. We need to be ready."
Historically, Post-it Notes became one of the core products of 3M—one of the world's top 500 companies. Despite their simplicity and low unit value, the market was enormous.
Yang had licensed the patent, giving up a portion of the profits to 3M. But the remainder was still enough to build a business empire—at least in a place like Hong Kong.
And that didn't even include Europe and Japan, both of which would eventually require their own 3M-equivalent partners.
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