Back to 1958: Creating a Century-Long Family Empire

Chapter 46 – Big Business at the Banquet Table

In any rodent extermination campaign, the beginning is always the busiest phase. But once the initial wave of rats is wiped out, things naturally become easier.

At Kowloon Wharf, workers were already beginning to notice a clear drop in rat activity, especially at night. The surrounding business areas and residential neighborhoods were experiencing the same.

Once success was confirmed, An Yongqiang—the manager overseeing the project from Kowloon Wharf—invited Yang Wendong and Wang Zhixian to dinner at a nearby restaurant.

The table was full of delicious dishes:

Braised beef brisket, steamed sea bass, soybean pig trotters soup, steamed chicken, crispy pork belly, stir-fried cauliflower, scrambled eggs with chives, and tofu with greens.

An grinned and said, "Come now, Mr. Wang, Mr. Yang. The food isn't anything fancy—let's just enjoy a casual meal."

"This looks great," Wang said with a polite smile.

"It's more than enough, Mr. An," Yang echoed.

Whether Wang meant it sincerely or not, Yang couldn't tell. But for Yang, this was the first proper feast he had seen since arriving in this new world.

After months of near-starvation, Yang had almost forgotten what a proper meal looked like.

In his past life, he could eat like this anytime—he even refused meals just to lose weight.

But now, even though his stomach roared with hunger, he remained composed.

Thankfully, he had experience with business banquets and knew how to handle himself.

An raised his glass. "Shall we have a drink? Mr. Yang, can you handle liquor?"

"I should be fine," Yang replied.

He wasn't fond of alcohol—not in his previous life, and not now—but in the world of business, drinking was often unavoidable.

He avoided cigarettes when he could, but drinks? Those he'd have to endure, unless he reached a level where no one dared pressure him again.

"Great!" An said cheerfully. "Let's go with baijiu."

Wang chuckled. "An, I know you can drink like a fish—go easy on us today, huh?"

"Come on now," An laughed. "You're no lightweight yourself! Here, let's start with a shot."

Yang could only force a smile and downed his glass.

The white liquor burned his throat like fire.

"Haha! Now eat! Let's enjoy ourselves," An said, clearly in high spirits.

Yang kept pace with polite conversation, balancing food and drink.

Before long, Wang began to falter—his posture slouched, his eyes unfocused.

"Mr. Wang?" An gave him a nudge, but Wang barely reacted.

"Haha, looks like Mr. Yang can hold his liquor better than Mr. Wang!" An laughed.

"I'm almost at my limit," Yang replied with a tired smile. "Mr. An, you're truly unmatched."

An waved his hand. "A man should never say he's had enough! Come on—one more round. To refuse is to insult me!"

Faced with such words, Yang had no choice but to lift his glass again—though this time he took only a tiny sip, then began eating more to mask it.

An, already tipsy himself, didn't notice that Yang's drinking had slowed to a crawl.

After a few rounds, while chatting and enjoying the food, An suddenly leaned in with a grin.

"Mr. Yang," he said, "I have to thank you. Your team resolved the rat problem at Kowloon Wharf faster than we imagined.

Let me toast to you again!"

"To your health," Yang said, deciding to take the lead and nudge An toward drinking more instead.

"Cheers!" An replied, taking a few more small shots.

He wasn't completely drunk, but his speech had become looser. And then—

"You're a smart one, Yang," An said, eyes twinkling. "Let me tell you about a very good opportunity."

"Oh?" Yang was starting to feel fuzzy, but his mind stayed focused. "What kind of opportunity?"

An leaned in. "Your glue board—very effective.

Lately, some crew members from international cargo ships have started asking about it. A few of them even came looking around the docks."

"You mean… the ships want to buy glue boards?"

The words sobered Yang up immediately.

This wasn't just a casual comment—this was a business breakthrough.

If this deal went through, it would mean even more than the entire Kowloon Wharf campaign.

Weeks ago, in a conversation with Wang, Yang had learned that modern cargo ships rarely use military-grade fumigation methods like naval vessels.

Why? Because the cost was too high—not just financially, but in terms of time.

The poison itself wasn't the issue. But to fumigate a cargo hold, you needed to seal it, gas it, and let it sit for days, if not longer.

In the shipping industry, time is money—and delays are unacceptable.

That's why most shipowners tolerated a few rats.

To mitigate the risk, they used cats, traps, poisons—anything they could get their hands on.

But if Yang's glue boards could be safely and effectively used on ships, he'd be tapping into a massive market.

Cargo ships were huge. They had dozens of compartments. And each required multiple traps.

"Yes," An said, still smiling. "Which means, you're going to be rich.

"Don't forget—Hong Kong is one of the largest shipping hubs in the world. Thousands of ships dock here every year.

Imagine the demand!"

"A massive market," Yang whispered.

His mind was already racing.

He had considered this possibility before, but marketing a new product citywide was difficult.

In this era, media was limited to newspapers, radio, and the occasional TV broadcast. Most consumers wouldn't even see an ad.

And those who could afford such media didn't have rat problems.

His glue boards would sell best at street stalls and mom-and-pop stores—channels that were hard to scale.

But now? If the shipping industry adopted his product?

It would change everything.

An didn't dwell on the subject. Soon, he was back to teasing a now-unconscious Wang Zhixian.

By night's end, all three were drunk enough that they had to be loaded into a van and driven to a nearby inn to sleep it off.

…

The next morning, with the alcohol out of his system, Yang sat up in bed and reflected on everything An had said.

He now knew exactly what he had to do.

At 10 a.m., he knocked on An's office door.

"Mr. An?"

"Haha! Mr. Yang!" An welcomed him in, clearly in a good mood. "Come, come!

Still a bit hungover. I barely remember what we talked about last night—but it was a fun evening!"

"Indeed," Yang said with a smile. "Though I do remember one thing, and that's why I'm here.

"Mr. An… I heard that some shipping crews were asking about glue boards.

I'd like to propose a business partnership. With you as the intermediary, of course."

Because that dinner wasn't just about celebrating the wharf campaign—it was a setup to drop this hint.

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