Chapter 159: Preparations for the Radio Station Launch and Initial Music Planning
A few days later, breakfast vendors operating around the Changxing Industrial factory suddenly noticed a drop in sales—especially in steamed buns.
Soon after, they found out why: Changxing Industrial had started giving out free buns to employees every day. Curious, some of them managed to get their hands on a couple of these buns. When they opened them, they saw that they were stuffed with more meat and had thinner wrappers than their own—dripping with rich, fragrant oil.
"Sigh, forget it. I'm done selling buns," one vendor shook his head. "I'll switch to baked flatbreads."
"Flatbreads won't work either," another replied. "If workers are getting buns every day, why would they buy anything else? I say switch to fried dough sticks—at least it's a different flavor."
"Yeah… that might work." The vendor nodded, seeing some logic in that.
...
On Hong Kong Island, at the Hong Kong Chinese Daily building:
"There's still a bit of a chemical smell lingering, huh?" Yang Wendong frowned slightly as he walked through the lower three floors of the newly built building.
Qin Zhiye smiled and said, "Mr. Yang, are you worried it might be bad for people's health? No need to worry.
Even though we're only using three floors for now, the space is more than enough for our current needs. Everyone is working in well-ventilated areas with fans. A couple of months, and the smell will completely dissipate."
"Alright." Yang nodded.
Then, together with Zhang Hui, the three of them reviewed how the three floors were being utilized.
At present, Hong Kong Chinese Daily had already been operating for a while and had a full organizational structure—editing, operations, advertising, reporting, logistics, and more.
The radio station, by contrast, had just a core team of ten.
Thus, the first floor of the building was designated for Zhang Hui's radio operations, while the second and third floors were for the newspaper.
Once the upper floors were fully renovated, they would rearrange the allocations accordingly.
...
After touring the floors, the three of them arrived at the broadcast room on the first floor.
Yang Wendong looked at the somewhat "vintage" equipment in front of him—rows of buttons, knobs, and sliders—and asked, "This is the audio control equipment you mentioned in your 60,000 HKD procurement request?"
After winning the radio license, Zhang Hui had submitted a list of essential equipment. The most expensive item was the full-range signal transmitter for covering all of Hong Kong. In addition, there were several other components, including this set of audio control hardware.
Zhang nodded. "Yes. With this, we can filter and process the hosts' voices to remove noise, making them more pleasant to listen to. Similar equipment is also used by musicians to fine-tune audio.
It's imported from France, which is why it's so pricey."
"Mm," Yang nodded. Then, half-jokingly, he added, "That kind of money could buy you a decent apartment on the island."
Where there's no industrial base, equipment becomes incredibly expensive—especially rare, specialized devices like this.
"Exactly," Zhang agreed. "But without this, if we just broadcast raw voices directly on air, listeners would feel uncomfortable over time.
Even the English and public radio stations in Hong Kong use similar setups, though theirs are much older. Ours will have much better sound quality."
Yang smiled. "Alright, then. Since you've already hired announcers, how about a live demo? Let's hear a sample."
"Sure," Zhang said, and signaled two of his team members. Then he turned back to Yang and asked, "Mr. Yang, any scene in particular you'd like to hear?"
"Let's go with the scene where Guo Jing first meets Huang Rong," Yang said.
"Got it," Zhang replied. He quickly went off with the voice actors to prepare.
Yang and Wei Zetao found some recent copies of Hong Kong Chinese Daily and flipped through them while waiting.
Soon, the voice room was ready. One male and one female performer began reenacting the scene where Guo Jing meets the disguised (male-clothed) Huang Rong:
["Guo Jing, seeing the young Huang Rong about to be beaten, quickly stepped forward and shouted, 'Put the blame on me!'..."]
In total, four people were inside the booth—one voiced Huang Rong, one Guo Jing, one served as the narrator, and the last played all the background characters.
After a few minutes, when the short scene ended, Yang said, "It still feels a bit unnatural. Looks like we'll have to go with pre-recorded segments?"
Zhang nodded. "Yes. Live broadcasts are too risky—we can't guarantee that no one will make mistakes.
What we've found works best is recording in small chunks. If there's an error, we just redo that segment instead of the whole thing. It's time-consuming but much safer."
"That's to be expected," Yang nodded. "Movie shoots in Hong Kong work the same way. So don't worry too much.
But for some things—like news reports or advertisements—you won't be able to rely on recordings. You'll need to train your team for live sessions eventually."
"Understood," Zhang said.
"Alright. The transmission tower still needs two more months before it's operational. Use that time to train everyone properly. I'll come back and check again right before we launch."
Live broadcasting—whether radio or TV—required high competence. There was no room for mistakes.
"I'll make sure everyone is fully prepared by then," Zhang promised.
"Mm…" Yang nodded. This was the kind of work where he could only rely on the competence of his professional managers.
He then asked, "What about music? How's that going? How many tracks have we licensed so far?"
In Yang's previous life, home radios were mostly obsolete by the 21st century, but car radios were still a thing. Drivers who enjoyed listening to radio knew—when there wasn't much programming, stations just played music.
Back in this era, with slow news cycles and limited content, music would be a huge part of any station's output.
If the playlist was good and diverse enough, some listeners would tune in just for the music. That's what Hong Kong's public and English-language stations were doing already.
"We've secured the rights to 76 songs so far. About the same volume as the public station," Zhang said.
"Only 76?" Yang raised his brows. That felt a bit low. But then he considered the time period. There really wasn't much music being produced yet.
"Alright, try playing a few of the nicer ones. Or maybe pick some that the public station airs often," he said.
"Right away," Zhang said and gave the order.
Soon, music started playing through the speakers outside the recording booth. Each song lasted between 2 and 4 minutes.
After six tracks, about fifteen minutes later, Yang raised his hand to signal a stop. Then he asked, "Old Zhang, is it just me, or is there really a lack of quality music in Hong Kong right now?"
In theory, Yang Wendong's expectations for music were definitely higher than those of this era—after all, he had grown up in a world rich with classic songs and decades of refined musical development.
He wasn't particularly satisfied with the few Chinese tracks that had just been played. But if the average listener in Hong Kong found them acceptable, then that was enough for now.
Zhang Hui said, "It's hard to say for sure. But a lot of Hong Kong's music still comes from the mainland—songs from over a decade ago. These past ten years, there really hasn't been much new content.
But if we look at Japan, the situation's totally different. They release a lot of good music every year."
"Economy determines culture," Yang Wendong nodded. "Without a strong economy, there's no foundation for a cultural industry."
In about 20 years, Hong Kong's TV dramas, films, and music would sweep across Asia. The root of that cultural influence lay in Hong Kong's economic strength during the 1970s. The Korean Wave (Hallyu) that exploded in the early 2000s followed the same logic.
If people don't have the means, they won't pursue art, or good music, or quality film and television. Economic power leads to cultural output. It all works hand in hand.
Zhang Hui chuckled. "Exactly. That's why Hollywood is so strong. It's not just about talent—they've got a massive audience to support the industry.
A few Hong Kong film companies have done pretty well these past two years, but the music scene is still pretty weak."
"That's expected," Yang agreed. "Most people don't even have radios. How could we expect them to buy record players?"
Movies were doing okay—some had already grossed over 500,000 HKD at the box office. But television and music were still lagging far behind.
Why? Because movies were relatively cheap. A ticket and you're in. But watching TV required buying a set that cost several hundred HKD, plus paying 25 HKD per month for cable.
Even the middle class couldn't always afford that. Music was a bit more accessible—record players were cheaper than TVs—but still out of reach for most.
Zhang continued, "A lot of people in Hong Kong buy radios purely to listen to music.
I've already sent people to Taiwan to purchase music copyrights, but their market is pretty much the same as ours. There isn't much great music coming out of there either."
Even privately owned radio stations had to follow the rules—broadcasting unlicensed content was a quick route to a lawsuit. Everything played had to be licensed properly.
"What about Japan?" Yang asked suddenly. "How about buying music from there?"
Zhang was stunned. "Buy from Japan?
It's doable, sure. If we pay, they'll sell. But Chinese people won't listen to Japanese songs, will they? They don't speak the language."
"What if—just a hypothetical," Yang paused, "what if we buy the rights to Japanese melodies, and then add Chinese lyrics ourselves?"
Yang had always had a deep appreciation for music—even more so in his past life. He loved many Cantonese songs, especially those by bands like Beyond, even decades after Wong Ka Kui's death.
And he also knew that many early Chinese-language pop songs—whether from Hong Kong or Taiwan—weren't original compositions. They were Japanese melodies bought and re-lyricized.
Zhang looked surprised. It was the first time he'd heard of such a thing. After thinking for a moment, he said, "That… could actually work. As long as the Japanese entertainment companies agree to those terms."
Yang smiled. "If there's money to be made, do you think they'll say no? They'll probably put a few conditions in the contract, like 'lyrics must be in Chinese' and 'only for distribution in Chinese-speaking regions.'"
In his previous life, Yang wasn't entirely sure when Hong Kong and Taiwanese singers had started adapting Japanese songs. But since it happened in the '70s and '80s, and it was now almost the '60s, there was no reason it couldn't be done.
Especially since Japan's economy hadn't hit its peak yet. Their entertainment companies would be eager for any opportunity to make money.
"Alright. I'll send someone to contact a few Japanese entertainment companies and inquire," Zhang said.
Yang nodded. "Good. Our adhesive hooks from Changxing Industrial are already being exported to Japan, and we've got some Japanese yen in the local account. If you need funds, you can use that directly—no need to exchange currencies and take the hit.
Or you can use U.S. dollars—I have an overseas company with a USD account."
In this era, foreign exchange transactions were expensive. Banks like HSBC and Standard Chartered made fortunes bleeding Hong Kong exporters dry through currency fees.
That's why Yang kept a lot of his foreign currency overseas—especially the USD from Post-it note exports. Those were parked in foreign bank accounts under intermediary trading companies he had established earlier.
For investments within Hong Kong—like future real estate or new factories—he would mainly use local bank loans to maximize profit margins.
"Understood," Zhang said. "But if we're buying the rights to songs, who's going to write the Chinese lyrics? And who's going to sing them? We're not a record label."
"Do you know any of these people?" Yang asked.
Art is all about talent. Hard work doesn't always make up for it. Even when it comes to adapting someone else's work, not everyone can do it well.
Such people were rare—especially in Hong Kong's underdeveloped music industry.
Zhang shook his head. "I don't know any personally, but I do have some connections who can reach those kinds of people. The question is, do we try to bring them in-house? We're not an entertainment company."
Yang thought for a moment. "No need to poach anyone. We just commission their work.
We buy the melody rights from Japan, then hire lyricists to write the lyrics. If they also sing well, they can record the vocals. If not, we'll find someone else.
Each part is a separate task—and we'll pay accordingly. But make sure we secure all the post-adaptation copyrights."
For radio, owning a few adapted tracks with exclusive rights would be great for broadcast ratings.
As for the music industry as a whole, Yang would wait to see how things developed. If it turned out to be profitable, he'd consider building it into something bigger.
Especially once Hong Kong's electronics industry exploded in a few years, bringing down the price of devices dramatically. That would fuel explosive growth for music, TV shows, and radio alike.
"Got it. I'll pursue both leads," Zhang said. "But buying Japanese copyrights and commissioning local lyrics and recordings—those timelines are out of our hands."
"That's fine," Yang replied. "We're not in a rush. It's important, yes, but it won't make or break the station.
Right now, focus on getting all the equipment ready. Training the professionals is more urgent. The rest we can handle step by step after we launch."
"Understood," Zhang said with a nod.
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