Chapter 139: Reactions from All Sides
Editor-in-Chief Li Rongshan spoke softly, "No luck. Yang Wendong isn't accepting interviews from anyone. Reporters from multiple newspapers haven't even seen his face, let alone gotten a photo.
Our people even went to his residence, but of course, we couldn't break in or sneak around. The best we can do is stake out the entrance again tomorrow morning."
Hu Xian nodded. "Alright. But I'm surprised someone so successful at such a young age is choosing to stay this low-profile. Usually, people his age with even a little achievement are desperate to show it to the whole world."
Li replied, "Could just be a matter of personality."
"Perhaps," Hu Xian said. "In any case, if he refuses interviews, there's no forcing it. But he's surrounded by plenty of people—we should talk to them. We'll still be able to dig up some valuable details."
"I'm already working on that," Li said. "We've been pulling every string we can. We've found a lot of information, but mostly about his rise. His current situation? Nothing.
His people are tight-lipped, too. It's like they've all been briefed ahead of time."
"Then it's clearly his directive," Hu Xian said. "Keep trying. Learn what you can. Eventually, he'll show up somewhere—Hong Kong's not that big."
Li nodded. "As long as we investigate thoroughly, readers will be interested either way."
"What are the other newspapers saying?" Hu Xian asked.
"Same as us—only the Chinese-language ones. The English-owned papers haven't shown any interest."
Hu Xian shook her head. "Those British bastards are always so arrogant. No surprise. Forget them. Let's keep riding this wave. If we break sales records this week, that'll be the real win."
"We'll be raking in ad revenue," Li said with a grin.
Hu Xian waved it off. "Ad money is secondary. What really matters is gaining loyal long-term readers. That's the lifeline of a newspaper."
"Understood," Li nodded seriously. Attracting a wider audience was extremely difficult. Usually, a newspaper could only gain new readers by catching lightning in a bottle—getting a blockbuster story at just the right time.
—
The next morning:
At a factory in North Point, a man in his thirties wearing thick black glasses sat reading a newspaper intently.
A woman of about the same age walked over and asked, "Jiacheng, what article has you so absorbed?"
The man was none other than Lee Ka Shing, Hong Kong's rising star in the plastic flower industry. The woman was his cousin, Zhuang Yueming.
After setting the paper down, Lee said with a smile, "Someone impressive. This guy was living in a squatter hut just last year. In one year, he built everything from scratch. I think his net worth might already be higher than mine."
"No way! That paper must be exaggerating," Zhuang Yueming said incredulously. "Even Cheung Kong Holdings took ten years to get where it is. How could someone earn that much in one year? Not even by selling drugs!"
"If I hadn't read this article myself, I wouldn't have believed it either," Lee said as he handed her the newspaper. "But the story is told very logically. Read it yourself."
"Really?" Still skeptical, Zhuang Yueming took the paper and began reading.
After a while, she finally put it down, stunned. "So Post-it notes came from Hong Kong? I never thought about it before. Now I understand why you say his net worth might be higher than yours."
Lee nodded. "In terms of factory size, he may still be behind Cheung Kong Holdings. But that Post-it product is brilliant.
It might not be bigger than the plastic flower market, but he owns the patent—he's the only one who can manufacture it. He sets the price.
Unlike us—plastic flowers sell well, but we only make modest profits. If we try to raise prices, someone else takes the order."
Even though Cheung Kong's plastic flowers were among the most beautiful, other factories were catching up fast, either developing their own methods or buying similar tech. Soon, there would be little to distinguish one factory's flowers from another's.
Zhuang said, "Having a patent really is like printing money. But inventions like that aren't something you can force. We can't copy what Yang Wendong did."
"No need to copy him." Lee's gaze sharpened with determination. "Our company has made good money these last two years. I'm planning to enter the real estate market."
"Real estate? That's a good move. But are you confident?" Zhuang asked.
"I compared real estate and shipping. Property is far safer," Lee said. "Now that other plastic factories have caught up with us, I know the plastic flower business won't be profitable forever.
The market will still exist, but we no longer have a unique advantage.
We've been in the plastics industry for a decade and still don't have a single long-term, stable product. So I'm making the switch—especially now that I finally have some capital."
Zhuang nodded. "Compared to shipping, real estate really is safer. Even if housing prices fall, you can still collect rent."
Lee agreed. "Exactly. We'll move slowly, of course. I may not be great at factories, but I can clearly see that Hong Kong's manufacturing sector still has a long way to go."
"I plan to first invest in industrial land with my current capital," Lee Ka Shing continued. "Industrial real estate will also fluctuate with market cycles, but as long as Hong Kong's manufacturing sector doesn't collapse, it won't plummet like residential or commercial property.
Plus, industrial leases are usually long-term — very stable income."
"A double layer of protection?" Zhuang Yueming smiled. "That's actually a smart strategy. So you plan to buy soon?"
"I'll wait a bit longer. Investing in real estate always involves banks," Lee said. "Liao Chong Hing Bank has invited me to a banquet. Other banks will be there too.
I'll test the waters and then choose the right bank to partner with."
Zhuang nodded. "That makes sense."
Lee glanced at the newspaper in her hands. "I have a feeling I'll be meeting this Post-it King very soon."
Zhuang chuckled. "That would be interesting. The two of you are the rising 'industrial kings' of the past two years."
—
At the University of Hong Kong:
Bai Yujie walked up to her sister, who was reading an English finance book, holding a newspaper in hand. "Look at this! That guy Yang Wendong — turns out he's a company boss, and now they're calling him the Post-it King?"
"Yang Wendong?" Bai Yushan looked confused. She took the paper and began reading.
After a while, she finally said, "So that's who he is. No wonder I always thought there was something different about him — I just didn't think in this direction."
Bai Yujie nodded. "Who would've thought he's about our age and already the boss of a major company? The paper says his factory will eventually hire over 2,000 people. That's incredible."
"No wonder he's grown so fast," Yushan mused. "I've used Post-its myself, but I never thought they were invented in Hong Kong."
Yujie added, "Turns out he also invented those glue traps. We've used those too — just toss them with the rat. He really knows how to invent things. Do you think the Rubik's Cube was his invention too?"
"That… I'm not so sure anymore," Yushan admitted.
If it were before, she would've confidently said no — something like the Rubik's Cube had to be invented by someone with deep mathematical or spatial knowledge, probably with a prestigious academic background. But after reading about Yang Wendong's one-year rise… she wasn't so certain.
"Forget it, sis," Yujie smiled. "People like him are probably going to be top figures in Hong Kong's business world. We probably won't get the chance to meet him again. No need to overthink it."
"Yeah," Yushan agreed. With Yang Wendong's identity now exposed, he was bound to become a central figure in Hong Kong society.
As for them—even as top students at HKU—after graduation, the best they could hope for was a mid-level position in a major firm, maybe more if they were lucky.
Sure, their family background gave them some edge. But compared to Hong Kong's rising industrial tycoons, the gap was still enormous.
And so, in the public sphere of Hong Kong, the name "Yang Wendong, the Post-it King" became a new topic of conversation at tea shops and dinner tables.
Hong Kong society worshipped money. Whenever someone emerged from poverty and built a fortune from scratch, they instantly became a role model, admired by all.
Meanwhile, the man in the spotlight, Yang Wendong, had been keeping a low profile—commuting strictly between home and the factory. Though he had been surrounded by reporters more than once, fortunately, journalism in this era wasn't as aggressive as future paparazzi.
Plus, Yang was always accompanied by a dozen or so loyal young men, easily keeping the press at bay.
Once he entered the factory, he was completely safe, and his daily routine remained unchanged.
—
Knock knock.
Wei Zetao entered the office with a smile. "Mr. Yang, I've got good news."
"Oh?" Yang asked, "Is construction on the new factory ahead of schedule?"
At the moment, Changxing Industrial had two major projects: the "super factory" under construction and the glue factory in Tuen Mun.
The latter wasn't as urgent—it was already approved, just a matter of time. Chemical plants, although small in footprint, required complex infrastructure like piping and safety systems, which took time.
The super factory, though, was critical. The sooner it was built, the sooner they could "print money."
Wei replied, "No, the factory construction is progressing as scheduled. Because the equipment needs to be installed upstairs, we can't rush the structural work. And once it's done, we'll need to bring in a certified building inspection company to verify everything before we move in."
"Fair enough. Safety first," Yang nodded. "So what's the good news?"
"The press frenzy about you is starting to fade," Wei said. "There've been a lot of articles these past few days, but as of today, newspaper coverage is tapering off."
"Oh? Really? You're sure?" Yang asked eagerly.
He didn't want to stay in the public eye for too long. He wasn't yet a billionaire with the resources to ignore the media and live unaffected.
Wei nodded. "I confirmed it with Shen Baoxin at Ming Pao. He said while your name still has buzz, it's beginning to cool down.
Still, the nickname 'Post-it King Yang Wendong' is deeply ingrained now. Pretty much everyone in Hong Kong knows who you are."
"That's fine. As long as they don't know what I look like," Yang grinned.
He was very strict about keeping his photos private. Even if one got printed, few people would remember his face for long.
In his past life, only Li Ka-shing had widespread facial recognition in Hong Kong. The other three tycoons—if seen on the street—might not even be recognized by the average person.
Wei continued, "By the way, Shen Baoxin also asked if you'd be open to an exclusive interview. What do you think?"
"An exclusive?" Yang waved it off. "No need. At least not yet. My businesses don't really concern the average Hongkonger. Even if I explain everything, most people wouldn't care."
"Besides, with all the chaos surrounding Xiaolongnü's storyline right now, does he even have time to interview me?" Yang Wendong joked casually.
As it happened, just as Yang had been thrust into the media spotlight by Galaxy Daily, Jin Yong's Return of the Condor Heroes had also reached the infamous plot point that enraged countless male readers.
Just like in history, Ming Pao's office was splashed with paint, and Jin Yong himself even received threats from local gangs.
Typically, these gangs wouldn't bother with high-profile businessmen or cultural figures, especially since those individuals were often people the colonial government actively courted. But this time, it seemed they had been truly enraged—enough to issue open threats.
Wei Zetao shook his head. "I was so frustrated. I was happily following the updates, then that chapter hit me like a slap in the face. I nearly tore the paper in half."
Yang laughed. "I have a theory. Writers love to stir the pot. They don't like playing to expectations. A lot of literary authors end their stories in tragedy—or pull stunts like this with Xiaolongnü. As for why, I have no idea."
Even in the online fiction scene of his previous life, Yang had seen it—every so often, a story would feature a green-hat-wearing protagonist just for the shock value.
"Maybe you're right," Wei nodded, then asked, "So should I decline Shen Baoxin's interview request?"
Yang waved it off. "No rush. I don't mind Ming Pao as a publication, but Jin Yong himself has considerable influence—we should maintain good relations.
Just tell them I'm not ready for interviews yet. Maybe later. Tell them I'll prioritize Ming Pao when the time comes—but for now, let's blame the delay on the Xiaolongnü controversy."
As a transmigrator, Yang knew very well: Jin Yong's future standing in Chinese culture would surpass that of all contemporary Hong Kong media combined.
Even if Yang himself launched a media empire one day—say, becoming Hong Kong's number one publisher—it still wouldn't outshine Jin Yong. His novels were practically sacred among Chinese readers. And when the television industry matured, his status would soar exponentially.
Wei nodded. "Understood. I've still never met Jin Yong in person. Maybe after this all blows over, I'll arrange a visit."
"Sure, that works," Yang said with a faint smile. "Since we're partners now anyway, maybe we can even grab a meal together sometime. I'm curious why he wrote Xiaolongnü like that."
"Sounds good," Wei agreed. Then he added, "Mr. Yang, the evening after tomorrow is the banquet at Liao Chong Hing Bank. Do you need anything else prepared?"
"My suit is already taken care of," Yang said after a brief pause. "Just arrange the car as usual. I've spoken with Liao Liewen—he said he'd stick close and help guide me through it, since it's my first time at an event like this."
Yang had attended similar functions in his past life, but that was over sixty years later. He had no idea what current banquet etiquette looked like. Having someone experienced accompany him was necessary.
Wei chuckled. "Then I wish you good luck. These kinds of events usually attract major players from the Hong Kong business scene."
"Yes, I hope so too." Yang nodded.
At this point, even if he wanted to keep a low profile, it could only be with the general public and media. Among Hong Kong's elite, he now had the qualifications to enter their circles—and it was time to do just that.
He didn't need to make a splash. Just showing up would be enough.
After all, in the early stages of his business, he'd intentionally avoided traditional industries to sidestep competition and instead focused on building new markets. But now that he had the cake, it was time to take a slice of Hong Kong's market as well.
Sure, Post-its were valuable—but compared to real estate and finance, they didn't hold a candle.
—
Two days later, in the evening:
Yang Wendong arrived by car at the Grand Hotel, where Liao Chong Hing Bank was hosting the banquet.
A few reporters were stationed outside snapping photos, but when they saw Yang, they didn't recognize him. Assuming he was just another hotel guest, they didn't bother wasting their precious film.
Yang headed up to the 16th floor, where the grand banquet hall was located.
As the elevator doors opened, Liao Liewen was already at the entrance, smiling. "Mr. Yang, welcome to Liao Chong Hing Bank's banquet."
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