Chapter 22 – Expanding the Supply Chain
Back at the shantytown, Yang Wendong looked up at the streaks of sunlight cutting through the uneven rooftops, illuminating specks of dust in the air. He then glanced down at the damp ground, which still hadn't dried completely after last night's drizzle.
His desire to move out grew stronger.
A month ago, he had neither the money nor the choice. But now, with his business showing real signs of growth, that dream no longer felt distant—it felt urgent.
After tidying up his gear, he made his way over to Zhao Liming's home nearby. Their wooden shack was a bit larger than his own, but it was in no better shape. Cracks in the floor, cloth-covered windows, and a faint smell of mold in the air.
"Your parents still at work?" Yang asked casually as he stepped in.
Zhao Liming nodded. "Yeah, they've gone to their shifts. I told them they should quit and join us instead. Even just making rat traps at home would be better. But they won't listen."
"That's normal. You have to understand," Yang said with a chuckle. "They've got proper jobs, and they can't afford to take risks. Wait until you're making serious money. They'll see for themselves."
In every society, this was a common pattern: most people only turned to entrepreneurship because they had no choice. Those with stable jobs—especially in large companies or government positions—rarely left, and if they did, they often faced fierce resistance from family.
Liming sighed. "Yeah, I get it. I just feel bad. They work so hard. My mom's eyesight is getting worse, but she still has to go to the textile factory every day."
"That's why we need to make money faster," Yang said firmly.
Money doesn't solve every problem—but if it can't solve it, then you just don't have enough of it yet.
A bit exaggerated? Maybe. But even the root causes of World War I and II could be traced back to… money.
Liming changed the topic. "Brother Dong, we've got six warehouses under contract now, and we're starting to run low on traps. Should I go with Haoyu and make more?"
Yang shook his head. "No need. Our time is better spent placing traps, studying rat behavior, and—most importantly—learning to read and write. Making traps is too time-consuming and low-value for us now. We did it before because we had no choice. But now, we need to manage our time better."
Liming blinked. "Then should we pay people to make them?"
Yang thought for a moment. "You remember how, recently, a bunch of people around here started making traps too? Do you know who they are?"
Chinese people are known for their strong learning ability—historically, this had been true all across Southeast Asia, where Chinese immigrants often rose to control much of the local economy.
Even here in the shantytown, most people were struggling. But the moment they saw someone earning from something, some of them would imitate, experiment, and adapt.
Liming nodded. "Yeah, I know three of them for sure. One of them even tried selling at the East Market last week—but I think he gave up after a few days."
"Interesting." Yang smiled. "Let's go take a look. If what they're making is decent, we'll just buy from them directly."
"Buy? That'd save us a lot of hassle. But what about price?"
"I'll handle that," Yang said confidently.
Liming stood up quickly. "Alright, I'll take you."
"Let's go."
Most shantytowns in Hong Kong were built at the base of hills, on uneven ground. The flat land had long since been claimed by the wealthy or by older families.
As they walked, the narrow paths were strewn with rocks, puddles, trash, and the smell of sewage. Clotheslines stretched between makeshift homes, and bamboo poles with tangled wires crisscrossed overhead. Some of the cloth hanging above them had been there so long it had faded to near-transparency.
Thankfully, it was still early afternoon. Most people were out working. If it were evening, this place would be so crowded you'd think you were on Nanjing Road in postwar Shanghai.
They arrived at a wooden hut near the back of the settlement.
"Ah Du!" Liming called out loudly. "Come out—Brother Dong is here!"
A moment later, a skinny teenager stepped out. He smiled awkwardly when he saw Yang.
"Brother Dong? What brings you here?"
"Just came to check on you," Yang said with a friendly grin. "I heard you've been doing pretty well lately."
Ah Du scratched his head, embarrassed. "Don't tease me, Brother Dong. I couldn't find other work, so I copied your trap design. Just trying to make a little money."
Yang found a rock nearby and sat down. "I heard you even went to the market a few times. Why'd you stop?"
Ah Du sighed. "They charge fifty cents a day just to set up a stall. I was there three days and only sold two traps. I lost money."
Liming chuckled, clapping Ah Du on the shoulder. "Did you think Brother Dong got rich just from selling traps?"
"Yeah," Ah Du admitted, "I also realized… I'm not very good at talking."
Yang smiled. "That's a skill not everyone has. Some people are born with it. Others… not so much."
In his past life, Yang had been a natural speaker—he could host events, negotiate deals, charm strangers. But not everyone had that gift, and many could never develop it, even with training.
Ah Du finally asked, "So why are you here?"
Yang didn't answer right away. Instead, he asked, "I see you've still got a pile of bamboo. You're still making traps?"
"Yeah. I make them and give them to some vegetable vendors I met at the market. They sell them for me on the side."
"Smart," Yang nodded. "How much do you charge them per trap?"
"Two dimes," Ah Du replied.
"Not bad." Yang nodded again. "How about selling to us instead?"
Ah Du's eyes lit up. "Really? How many do you want?"
"Not a few. A few hundred."
"A few hundred?!" Ah Du's jaw dropped.
Yang held up his right hand, fingers spread. "But I'll only pay five cents per trap."
The smile vanished from Ah Du's face. "Five cents? Brother Dong, that's way too low."
"You can say no," Yang said casually. "But don't forget—I was the one who made these first. I know exactly how much they cost."
The bamboo came from discarded scaffolding in the hills—basically free. The only cost was labor. Based on their experience, one person could make about 30 traps a day.
In the shantytown, earning $1.50 a day by making traps was already better than most jobs—and a lot less exhausting.
Ah Du scratched his head. "Can you at least go up one cent? That's three more dimes a day—I could treat myself to a bowl of wonton noodles!"
"No can do," Yang said firmly. "You know the margins. I'm being fair."
After a long pause, Ah Du sighed. "Alright. Deal."
Yang smiled. "Great. We'll take a batch today. Liming, pay him on the spot."
"You got it," Zhao Liming replied cheerfully, pulling out a small pouch of coins.
That day, Yang Wendong didn't just secure a new supplier—he secured his supply chain.
And one step at a time, he was shifting from being a hustler to becoming a businessman with a system.
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