With a swift motion, Brian grabbed a handful of golden fried potatoes.
"Hmm!" he hummed in surprise.
"Ahh…" murmured his companion, Austin, his face awash with curiosity.
Brian, a sergeant of resolute demeanor, and his friend Austin had ventured to a bustling eatery that had recently become the talk of the town.
"It looks like a simple sandwich, but the taste—it's completely different!" Brian exclaimed, his gaze darting to Austin, whose face mirrored his astonishment.
"These potatoes… why are they so good? I always thought potatoes were meant for soups. Are these sliced thin and fried in oil?" Austin mused, examining the crisp morsels with fascination.
The two men sat on chairs outside the modest establishment, savoring their meals with deliberation. Occasionally, they sipped from vibrant fruit juices to refresh their palates before returning to their feast.
"How is it that something so simple tastes this extraordinary? There doesn't seem to be anything particularly expensive or rare in it," Brian observed.
"And you're saying this was all created by that boy?" Austin asked, incredulous.
"You mean Eugene?"
"No, it's Fang Ming. 'Fang' is his family name. Apparently, he's the one behind all of this."
Brian's expression was a portrait of awe and disbelief. The thought that a mere teenager had conceived such an enterprise was as astonishing as the flavors on his plate.
"The truly remarkable thing isn't just the taste of the food," Brian said, gesturing toward the line of people stretching before the eatery. "Look closely at that queue."
Austin squinted, observing the orderly line of patrons waiting to place their orders. "What's so special about it? People are just waiting for their food."
"No, not that. Watch how quickly they're served. How long did it take for us to get our food after ordering?"
"Hmm… less than three minutes, I'd say."
"Exactly. Think about it—at a typical restaurant, even a simple course meal takes forty minutes to prepare. Yet here, a fifteen-year-old boy has created a system that serves high-quality food in under three minutes."
Austin took another bite of his hamburger, but now his gaze lingered on the sandwich as if seeing it for the first time. The combination of bread, lettuce, and beef patty was deceptively simple, yet the precision of its flavors and presentation was unparalleled.
"In my twenty-nine years, I've never seen food this perfect delivered so quickly," Austin admitted.
"One thing is certain," Brian said, his tone laced with both admiration and envy. "That boy, Fang Ming, is raking in money by the sackful."
A month had passed since the eatery first opened its doors. The establishment now stood as a veritable fortress of prosperity.
Though the profit margins on the set meals weren't particularly high, the sheer volume of sales overwhelmed any such concerns.
Initially, the eatery struggled to draw a crowd. Positioned near the military barracks, it was tucked away from the bustling heart of Hong Kong. Residents, accustomed to their traditional favorites in the city's vibrant markets, had little reason to venture to this unfamiliar place—especially to an eatery where one had to eat standing outside. The concept was awkward, even alien.
But time worked its magic. Within weeks, rumors began to swirl. Tales of British soldiers lining up for food so delicious it defied logic spread like wildfire. The sight of these smartly dressed military men dining outdoors became a spectacle in itself, turning the soldiers into living advertisements.
"A restaurant so good even the British elite queue for it!" the whispers said.
Fang Ming's eatery, Makdonaldo, thrived by embracing the hallmark of historical innovation: meticulous division of labor. Unlike traditional kitchens where one chef oversaw the entire process, Makdonaldo divided tasks with precision.
The cook responsible for grilling patties focused solely on that task, while another dedicated themselves to spreading sauces without pause. This assembly-line efficiency ensured that even when waves of customers arrived, service remained swift and seamless.
"Jonathan! How many sets did we sell today?" Fang Ming called out one evening.
Jonathan Yang Basilio, a young man fluent in English, Chinese, and now diligently studying Korean, handled the daily operations of the eatery with unwavering dedication.
"We sold 300 sets, but we had to close early because we ran out of ingredients," Jonathan reported, his voice tinged with both pride and exhaustion. "Why is business booming like this?"
Jonathan bore the weight of his responsibilities with pride. Thanks to Fang Ming's enterprise, he could now send his nine-year-old sister to school—an unimaginable luxury for an orphan.
"Does it have to be beef?" Jonathan ventured cautiously one evening. "Couldn't we use pork or even dog meat? It'd cut costs significantly."
"We can't afford to get complacent," Fang Ming replied firmly. "Competitors could emerge at any moment."
"But if we think about the cost…" Jonathan persisted.
Fang Ming shook his head. "Absolutely not. Sacrificing quality for cost is the surest way to lose everything. Never forget—the products we sell define the customers we attract. We must always offer the best."
Jonathan sighed but nodded. He respected Fang Ming's unwavering principles, even if he disagreed at times. Fang Ming understood that in the 19th century, beef was a rare delicacy. To offer it as an affordable, accessible product was to create something irresistible to the people of Hong Kong.
A Day's End…
Later that evening, Fang Ming returned home after visiting both the eatery and the laundry workshop. Though his empire consisted of only two ventures, managing them consumed his days entirely.
"Yuna! I'm home!" he called out.
The door burst open as his younger sister greeted him with an exuberant cheer. Behind her, silhouetted against the lamplight, sat their father at the dining table.
"Father, you're back!" Fang Ming exclaimed, his voice tinged with both surprise and delight.
His father, back after three weeks, appeared slightly inebriated. A faint scent of rice wine lingered in the air.
"Ah, my son!" his father said, his words warm and slurred. "Three weeks away, and you've grown taller! Soon, you'll be ready for marriage!"
Fang Ming laughed softly, knowing his father's words were less about reality and more about paternal pride.
"Even I'm an adult now, Father. I can't stay a boy forever," Fang Ming replied, bowing respectfully before sitting down to join his family.
As the night deepened, Fang Ming's thoughts turned back to his growing empire. Success was only the beginning. A greater destiny awaited.