Chapter 17 – Learning Comes First
"Sounds pretty amazing!" Lin Haoyu scratched his head. "But do you think they'll really keep paying for it long-term?"
Yang Wendong shook his head. "They're not worried about the money. For big companies, paying someone to do a job is standard. What they care about is whether the job gets done—whether the rats actually go away."
"And Brother Dong said before, rats can cause huge damage if left unchecked," Zhao Liming chimed in.
Yang Wendong smiled. "Right. If a rat bites a piece of meat at your house, what do you do?"
"I'd just cut off the chewed part and eat the rest," Lin Haoyu replied. "Or maybe wash it."
"Exactly. That's how we survive. But what about rich people?"
"…They'd probably throw the whole thing away," Haoyu muttered.
"Now think about warehouses. If a rat chews through a sack of rice, it can be sold off or discarded. But what about fish? Or vegetables? Or medicine?" Yang Wendong continued. "Even if the rat doesn't eat much, just a nibble means the entire product can't be sold."
Everyone nodded.
"And what about mattresses, or couches, or storage crates? A single rat can destroy a lot more than people realize."
Su Yiyi gasped softly. "I didn't think it was that serious…"
"Exactly why they'll pay us to handle it," Yang Wendong said. "Because we're solving a real problem."
From that day on, every morning, two people would head to the Jordan warehouse to check traps, clean up, and restock bait. In the afternoons, they returned to build more traps and prepare for future orders.
The good news? Brian, the warehouse manager, even covered their lunch—which saved the group a decent amount of money.
By the third day, when they returned from the warehouse, Yang Wendong stopped by the shack to check on Su Yiyi.
"Feeling better?" he asked as he entered.
"A lot better! That medicine worked really well," she replied, smiling weakly. "I'm still a little tired, though."
"Well, I brought you some leftovers from the warehouse—look! There's meat in here," Yang Wendong said cheerfully.
He unpacked the lunch carefully and poured it into their bowls.
"Meat?" Su Yiyi's eyes lit up. "Brother Dong, did you really bring this back for me?"
"I already ate. So did Liming and Haoyu. This is all for you," Yang Wendong said as he set down the bowl.
"It smells so good…" Su Yiyi said, scooping a bite into her mouth. "I can't believe I get to eat real red-braised pork with rice!"
"Normal meal for a big company," Yang Wendong said with a smirk. "Warehousing and shipping are some of the biggest money-makers in Hong Kong right now. That lunch was probably the cheapest thing they bought today."
"Well, it's the best thing I've eaten in months," Su Yiyi giggled.
Yang Wendong watched her eat for a moment, then said, "From now on, we're going to have a routine every afternoon. I'm going to teach you all how to read and write."
Su Yiyi blinked in surprise. "Me too?"
"Of course. All of you," he said.
"But… how do you know how to read so well, Brother Dong?" she asked.
"I taught myself before, whenever I had free time," Yang Wendong answered smoothly.
The truth was more complicated, of course, but it was the best explanation for how much he had changed.
"I can barely write my name…" Su Yiyi said shyly.
"That's fine. We'll start from the basics. Recognition first—writing later. I'll buy pens and paper once we can afford them. For now, we'll practice in the dirt," he said.
Paper and ink were expensive luxuries in 1958 Hong Kong—everything had to be imported, and for shantytown dwellers, they might as well have been made of gold.
Just a cheap steel pen had cost him six full dollars—more than what many laborers earned in three days.
"Alright. I'll work hard," Su Yiyi said with determination.
That afternoon, they went outside and sat on the edge of the sand near the hill. Yang Wendong began teaching the team how to read numbers, recognize basic characters, and add or subtract with confidence.
That evening, the Jordan warehouse received their regular visit from the rat control team. They swept the traps, reset the bait, and took note of how many rats had been caught in each location.
"Notice anything?" Yang Wendong asked.
Zhao Liming said, "Yeah. The rats we're catching now are smaller."
"Exactly," Yang Wendong replied. "The big ones were caught first—because they eat more, they venture out more. Now it's mostly the younger ones."
Su Yiyi looked around and whispered, "Brother Dong… I couldn't read any of those diagrams you were drawing earlier."
"That's okay. I'll keep teaching. Once you can read, I'll show you how to track progress like I do."
The diagrams he'd drawn on the side of the trap box showed building layouts, trap positions, and symbols indicating the number of rats caught. It was the beginning of something bigger: a standardized tracking method.
He knew that the knowledge he was accumulating now would form the foundation of a business model—one that could be replicated and taught to others when the time came to scale.
The others didn't fully understand his system, but they followed along and began developing their own sense of how to place traps effectively.
By the time they returned to the shantytown, the sun was low in the sky and rain began to drizzle.
They were soaked by the time they arrived, but the shack hadn't leaked too badly. Everyone dried off with whatever cloth they had and collapsed into bed.
Even heating water to wash was a luxury. Most homes didn't even have enough clean water to drink—let alone waste it on bathing.
In the shantytowns of 1958 Hong Kong, life was still a strange mix of modern and medieval. The rich could live as comfortably as those in Western cities, while the poor lived one misstep away from death.
And so, another day passed—and the beginnings of Yang Wendong's real business had quietly taken root.
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