Chapter 448

The news came too suddenly, leaving the outside world utterly unprepared; even in these few days, Lü Dongliang's investment of HK$10 million had already yielded a 19% return!

This is the nature of the stock market: when profits come, you can earn them in days—revenue that even the most profitable tech companies take a full year to generate.

Of course, the same applies to losses: if you borrow from a bank to trade stocks, not only will you lose your principal, but you'll also owe the bank a massive sum, and your house, car, and other assets will be seized.

But this time, Lü Dongliang bet right; even he, hearing the chaotic uproar around him, was stunned—he never imagined a company would actually dare to target Hong Kong Telecom, a century-old institution!

"How could this happen so fast? Where did this Digital Harbour company come from?"

"If I'd known, I'd have died before selling my Hong Kong Telecom shares—I held them for nearly half a year!"

"I sold mine just last week!"

The trading floor was a cacophony. Some faces were grim; one man had sold his Hong Kong Telecom shares just last week, only to watch the stock surge wildly within days, climbing nearly 20% and becoming the most outstanding performer on the Hong Kong Exchange this month.

"Mr. Lü, do you have some insider information?"

Lü Dongliang's mobile phone suddenly rang; after he answered, his stockbroker began firing questions at him nonstop.

In Hong Kong, mobile phones were still the dominant device; neither GSM nor PHS base stations had been fully deployed across the city due to Hong Kong Telecom's influence, and handsets from Nokia, Ericsson, and other brands had notoriously poor signal coverage.

Earning HK$2 million in a week made his stockbroker suspect Lü Dongliang might have received insider information.

"Do you think I'm in a position to get insider news about something this big?" Lü Dongliang said with a bitter smile. "I just felt Hong Kong Telecom couldn't fall any further."

Lü Dongliang's reason for buying Hong Kong Telecom was simple: he felt its stock price had hit a floor. After all, its net earnings per share stood at HK$4–5, and while its market cap was too high for troublemakers to easily target it, such a juicy company should have been snatched up long ago if not for that barrier.

The stockbroker on the other end paused, realizing it made sense: this sudden Digital Harbour company had acquired 13% of Hong Kong Telecom's equity, meaning it had paid at least $2 billion in hard cash, based on Hong Kong Telecom's current price.

Even the securities industry hadn't heard a whisper of such a large acquisition, let alone Lü Dongliang.

"Mr. Lü, what should we do with these Hong Kong Telecom shares—hold or sell?"

"Hold!"

Lü Dongliang spoke with absolute certainty. If he'd been uncertain before, now even a fool knew the show was about to begin. At under HK$15, Hong Kong Telecom might well be its lowest price in years—if he couldn't see that, everything he'd learned was wasted.

The sudden emergence of Digital Harbour, acquiring 13% of Hong Kong Telecom's equity and entering its board, had shaken Hong Kong and even Southeast Asia, even though it hadn't gained controlling interest.

Hong Kong had only a few million people, but they were obsessed with wealth creation—nearly everyone invested in stocks, bonds, foreign exchange, and insurance. You didn't need to be an office worker in Central; even an elderly couple on the street could give you investment advice.

This was tied to how Hong Kongers lived: every service they relied on—water, electricity, gas, phone, public transit, subway, docks, housing—was provided by companies listed on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange.

Under these conditions, it was impossible not to pay attention to the stock market. In a way, Hong Kongers who bought shares in these companies over the past few years had reaped the benefits of Hong Kong's growth—a way to increase returns, like saving in a bank, only with much higher risk and higher rewards.

Hong Kong's status in Asia was now equal to Tokyo's, perhaps even higher: economically, and amplified by Hong Kong films, it was seen by people from Vietnam, Siam, the Philippines, Malaysia, and beyond as a paradise.

Rumors claimed gold lay everywhere—come here, and you'd get rich. Every year, vast numbers of people from Vietnam, the Philippines, and elsewhere arrived in Hong Kong through legal means or smuggling to make a living, explaining why Vietnamese gangs kept appearing in Hong Kong movies and TV dramas—it was real.

Events in Hong Kong were closely watched across Southeast Asia; once Digital Harbour joined Hong Kong Telecom's board, the news spread through Southeast Asia almost as fast as it had in Hong Kong itself.

…

"This is undoubtedly a classic blitzkrieg!"

The TVB Finance Channel host said, "Our reporters have just interviewed Hong Kong Telecom executives, who claim they're still verifying the situation!"

The information revealed on TV further shocked many: it showed Hong Kong Telecom itself didn't know who Digital Harbour was. Digital Harbour had acted without consulting Hong Kong Telecom or its major shareholder, Great Eastern Telegraph Company—straight-up forced entry.

"Have they found out anything yet?"

Inside PCCW Group, Li Li Zekai's face was grim as he questioned several executives. Those who knew his temperament understood he was on the verge of exploding—no one wanted to bear his wrath.

Li Li Zekai had every right to be furious: he was still discussing how to act with Yuan Yuan Tianfan and others when this Digital Harbour company suddenly barged into Hong Kong Telecom's board. How could he not rage?

This was Hong Kong—Longjiang Li family territory—and yet this happened, with no warning at all. Li Li Zekai felt as if someone had stolen his prey right from under his nose.

"It's not settled yet. Even if we lose this 13% equity, PCCW Group hasn't lost. The key is still the 54% controlling stake held by Great Eastern Telegraph Company!"

Yuan Yuan Tianfan had also been caught off guard by Digital Harbour's move, but he quickly regained his composure and told Li Li Zekai.

"But with Digital Harbour in the picture, any other company wanting to acquire Hong Kong Telecom must first get Digital Harbour to let go!"

Li Li Zekai's expression darkened. Yuan Yuan Tianfan fell silent—he'd once led the Hong Kong Exchange and knew its rules inside out.

The Hong Kong Exchange had many rules to protect small investors, though most of the time they were useless—no handful of retail traders could shake a giant.

But with Hong Kong Telecom, Digital Harbour, holding just 13%—a "minor" stake—was more than enough to cause chaos. It couldn't decide who bought Hong Kong Telecom, but it could block any buyer it didn't like.

From this moment on, Digital Harbour had become the de facto representative of the remaining 46% of minority shareholders.

"Digital Harbour's CEO is Ning Ning Wenwen. Its major backer is…"

The head of PCCW's intelligence unit rushed in, barely getting out a few words when the TV broadcast began airing the same information—more detailed than ever.

"Latest report on Hong Kong Telecom: Digital Harbour has submitted its board candidate list. Ning Ning Wenwen, CEO of Digital Harbour, will represent the company on Hong Kong Telecom's board!"

"Ning Ning Wenwen is the general manager of Ning's Trading Company. Digital Harbour was jointly established by Ning's Trading Company and multiple domestic and international financial groups and investment institutions…"

"Li Dongling High-Tech!"

The TV host was still speaking, but Li Li Zekai and Yuan Yuan Tianfan stopped watching. The TV wouldn't mention Li Dongling High-Tech by name—it would only report that Ning Ning Wenwen, a local Hong Kong figure, was acquiring Hong Kong Telecom's shares. But everyone knew who was backing her.

Otherwise, no one would believe Ning's Trading Company alone could swallow Hong Kong Telecom whole.

Yuan Yuan Tianfan was also surprised—he hadn't expected Li Li Dongling to move so fast. He turned to Li Li Zekai: "Digital Harbour has seized the initiative, but PCCW hasn't lost yet. Still, we must proceed with caution from now on."

Li Li Zekai could only nod helplessly. No matter how Digital Harbour had acquired its shares, it was already on the board. His anger now changed nothing—he could only compete again when vying for the 54% stake held by Great Eastern Telegraph Company.

…

"CNBC Finance Channel latest report: Digital Harbour has acquired 13% of Hong Kong Telecom's equity and secured a seat on its board!"

"Digital Harbour acquired 5% of Hong Kong Telecom's shares through the market and an additional 8% via a deal with Nishiguchi Taifu Group, totaling approximately $2.3 billion in investment."

"According to CNBC reporters, Digital Harbour was established by an offshore foundation in partnership with Ning's Trading Company. This acquisition was supported by direct loans or overseas fundraising from institutions including Bank of China Hong Kong and PCCW Investment Bank."

"Some financial insiders claim the offshore foundation behind Digital Harbour may be linked to or established by Li Dongling High-Tech Hong Kong, though this has not been confirmed!"

In Singapore, another man named Li Li Xianyang, upon seeing the Digital Harbour news on TV, flew into a rage.

As CEO of Singapore Telecom, he was still negotiating with Great Eastern Telegraph when this newly formed company suddenly appeared.

It had entered Hong Kong Telecom's board as the second-largest shareholder, leaving Li Li Xianyang with the feeling that he was still running in "PUBG" while someone else had already eaten the chicken.