The morning sun crept into the house as Fang Ming reflected on the conversation he'd had with his father the day before.
He had shared glimpses of the ambitious future he envisioned—a future fraught with risks they couldn't afford to shy away from.
Fang Ming's words had been stark: if they didn't seize opportunities with boldness, they would inevitably be devoured by the rising tides of power around them.
The British military, with its notorious inertia, rarely altered its suppliers. Once a company secured a contract, it was customary for them to win successive ones. This meant that acquiring a supply contract now could become a cornerstone for sustained growth.
With this in mind, Ming and his father deliberated how they could enter the fold. Their discussion led to a singular conclusion: they needed a ship.
The vessel in question was one his father had once worked on—a thirteen-year-old wooden cargo ship.
Though aged, it was well-suited for their purposes.
The ship's current owner had been caught in the maelstrom of the Sino-Japanese War. Stationed in Taiwan, the owner had struggled to keep the business afloat until the island fell to Japan.
Realizing that Japan saw Taiwan as a military stronghold rather than a commercial hub, the owner had decided to cut his losses and sell.
For Fang Ming and his father, this was a rare opportunity. Acquiring the ship would mean inheriting not only a reliable vessel but also an experienced crew—men who had worked alongside Fang Ming's father and were known to be rough but trustworthy.
After breakfast, Fang Ming and his father headed to the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation (HSBC), a towering institution founded in 1865.
Its reputation as one of the largest banks in the East was already cemented, and it would only grow more formidable in the decades to come.
Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of muted voices and shuffling papers. Fang Ming wrote down his father's Chinese name, " Fang Xin," on a consultation slip, submitting it to a clerk before they waited. In this era, there were no number dispensers—patience was a necessity.
"Fang Xin, please step into the office," a voice finally called.
The two rose, making their way into a modestly furnished room where a middle-aged banker awaited them. The man introduced himself as Liu Feng, his demeanor polished but curious.
"What brings you here today?" Liu Feng asked.
Fang Ming's father responded in fluent Chinese.
"Greetings. I am Fang Xin."
But Liu Feng's gaze shifted past the elder man to Fang Ming, his brows arching in recognition.
"Well, if it isn't Amazing Fang Ming!"
Fang Ming blinked in confusion.
"What? Amazing who?"
Liu Feng laughed.
"You mean you don't know? Everyone calls you Amazing Fang Ming. The soldiers say they can't live without you.
Rumor has it you've got the British military wrapped around your finger."
Though Fang Ming was aware of his growing reputation, the nickname caught him off guard. It sounded both childish and embarrassing to his modern sensibilities—he would've preferred something sharper, like "Project Fang Ming" or "High Noon Fang Ming."
"Even I've visited the restaurant you established," Liu Feng continued. "It's revolutionary, truly. Industrialization in culinary form.
Remarkable."
Hearing this, Fang Ming's father turned to him, his expression shifting from mild pride to astonished respect.
Though Fang Ming had told him about the business, hearing praise from someone else clearly struck a different chord.
"I'm flattered," Fang Ming replied modestly. "It was just a small idea."
"A small idea?" Liu Feng exclaimed. "What I saw was unprecedented! My meal arrived in less than three minutes. Even the fastest taverns take ten!"
"That's thanks to the hard work of my staff. I'm just a facilitator," Fang Ming replied, deflecting the praise with humility.
Liu Feng's eyes sparkled with admiration. "And it doesn't stop there. Soldiers now buy their supplies through you. Your restaurant serves over 500 customers a day. You've become the closest civilian to Hong Kong's military, and you've done all of this at the tender age of fifteen!"
Fang Ming's father sat quietly, absorbing every word. Though momentarily sidelined in the conversation, the older man couldn't hide the pride that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Forgive me for rambling," Liu Feng said at last, composing himself. "Now, what brings you here? I can't imagine you're in need of a loan."
Fang Ming's father answered, his tone steady. "We wish to secure a significant sum. The collateral is my son's restaurant."
Liu Feng's expression turned thoughtful. "A solid choice. I've heard nothing but good things about it. Still, a restaurant alone won't justify a large amount. Even if we took it, could we replicate its success without Amazing Fang Ming at the helm?"
Fang Ming's reputation loomed large over his ventures, and Liu Feng was keenly aware of it. Without the young entrepreneur's ingenuity and military connections, competitors could easily erode the restaurant's dominance.
"What sum are you requesting?" Liu Feng asked.
"Ten thousand dollars," Fang Ming's father replied.
Liu Feng's eyes widened slightly. "Are you serious? Expanding the restaurant, I presume?"
Fang Ming spoke up, taking the lead. "Actually, we need the funds for a different endeavor. In truth, the more we can borrow, the better. As long as we can handle the interest, we'd like to maximize the loan."
Liu Feng leaned back, regarding Ming with a shrewd gaze. "That ambition of yours—do you know what it reminds me of? A soldier who catches an enemy general by sheer luck and thinks himself a master strategist."
Though his words could've been insulting, his tone betrayed an undercurrent of respect. Liu Feng wasn't dismissing Fang Ming—he was testing him.
Fang Ming met his gaze without flinching. "And what do you think, sir? At fifteen, I've established military connections and built Hong Kong's most successful restaurant. Confucius said that at fifteen, one sets their heart on learning. I've set my heart on forging a path no one else dares tread. If you know anyone on this island who's achieved as much at my age, bring them here. I'll invest the ten thousand dollars myself."
Liu Feng broke into a grin. "Amazing Fang Ming indeed. With wit like that, it's no wonder the British soldiers adore you."
His earlier intensity softened, replaced by a more collaborative tone. "But you're asking for a gamble. A ten-thousand-dollar investment in a restaurant run by a boy and his friends? That would be unheard of. If someone made that bet, I'd personally match it."
Fang Ming smiled, matching Liu Feng's energy. "This isn't about what I've achieved so far. It's about what's to come. Are you familiar with the new British consulate being built in Quanzhou?"
Liu Feng's brows furrowed. "I've heard of it. The British seem intent on fortifying the area."
Fang Ming nodded. "It's not just a consulate. It's a forward base. And the supplies needed for it? I've already been approached by the military for logistical support."
Liu Feng's expression turned serious. "A forward base, you say... This aligns with Japan's occupation of Taiwan. The British are watching them closely."
The banker's understanding impressed Fang Ming. The stakes were clear: in a world of shifting alliances and rising tensions, this loan wasn't just an investment in a restaurant—it was a bet on the future of the region.