Chapter 16 Restructuring Plans

The factory hummed with life, its rhythmic clanging echoing the heartbeat of industry. 

Ming Han Industries had become a sprawling empire in just under two years, its growth as impressive as it was precarious. 

But beneath the surface of prosperity lay a storm of challenges. For Fang Ming, this meeting wasn't just about operations—it was about survival, ambition, and shaping a future where the company wouldn't just thrive but dominate.

The sun cast long shadows over the factory as its machinery hummed rhythmically, a symphony of industry.

 Workers moved with precision, but inside the executive office, a very different atmosphere reigned. Fang Ming sat across from his father on the plush sofa, the weight of recent decisions pressing heavily on his shoulders.

He let out a long sigh. "Father, what do you think of it all? The new logistics venture? The restructuring?"

Fang Shin, his father, stroked his chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowing as he considered his son's ambitious plans.

"It's well-conceived," he began slowly. "The manualization, the division of responsibilities—all of it shows foresight. It may look like you're fragmenting the company, but I see the foundations of something greater. Yet this logistics expansion of yours… pouring so much money into a single venture worries me. Are you certain this is the right move?"

Fang Ming nodded firmly. "We can't operate on the backs of six aging wooden ships forever. They're inefficient, and while they've served us well, we need modern vessels to expand. Yes, it's a gamble, and yes, it will strain our finances. But this investment will determine whether we sink or swim in the future."

Fang Shin leaned back, exhaling deeply. "Your funds would stretch further if you didn't spend them as quickly as you earned them."

Fang Ming chuckled softly, reclining into the sofa. For a fleeting moment, the weight of the 19th-century world seemed to recede, replaced by a longing for modern comforts. How nice it would have been to light a cigarette, he thought—not that he ever had.

His father leaned forward, his tone shifting to one of quiet intensity. "What are you really planning, Fang Ming? The rapid logistics expansion, absorbing unprofitable external partners—it feels deliberate. What's the endgame?"

Fang Ming's expression grew serious. He met his father's gaze with unwavering determination. "I plan to enter the firearms trade."

The words hung in the air like an invisible storm. Fang Shin, ever the pragmatic businessman, blinked slowly, digesting the unexpected revelation.

"Firearms?" he echoed, his voice low. "Do you realize how dangerous that is? If this gets out, we're finished. The military has never allowed us to touch their weapons contracts. I've tried discreetly in the past—it's a dead end."

Fang Ming shook his head. "Not with the military here. I've abandoned that path. My focus is on Qing China."

His father's brows furrowed further as Fang Ming explained his plan. It was a risky endeavor, one built on secrecy and shadows. They would produce key firearm components and ammunition in isolated factories, with workers unaware of the full scope of their work. The finished weapons would be discreetly assembled elsewhere, under cover of seemingly unrelated enterprises.

"This restructuring isn't just about efficiency," Fang Ming said. "It's about obscurity.

 Only a select few will know the truth. If this business ever sees the light of day, it must first succeed in the shadows."

Fang Shin folded his arms, his discomfort evident. "And the designs? The factories?"

"John is already working on the designs," Fang Ming replied. "Our main factories will produce essential components. Secondary contractors—unknowing of their purpose—will handle peripheral parts. It's not perfect, but it's the only way."

Fang Shin closed his eyes, his face a portrait of conflict. The idea of manufacturing weapons—tools of death—troubled him deeply. Worse yet was the deception required to carry it out.

"Must it be this way, Fang Ming?" he asked quietly. "As we grow, we're becoming vital partners to so many. We have no enemies. Why rush into danger like this?"

Fang Ming's voice softened, but his resolve remained unshaken. "Because the world isn't as kind as it seems, Father. I saw it the other night, looking at Yoon-ah. If we'd stayed in Joseon, could we have protected her when the Japanese marched into Hanseong? Could we have shielded her from their soldiers?"

His father remained silent, his expression grim.

"Standing still means death," Fang Ming continued. "Only those who prepare survive. I'll do whatever it takes to protect the people I care about—even if it means producing firearms. This is only the beginning. If the need arises, I'll build things far more dangerous."

"Enough!" Fang Shin's voice cracked like a whip, silencing his son. "I understand, Fang Ming. But remember this: never use 'protecting your people' as an excuse to justify your actions. That is a slippery path."

Fang Ming lowered his head respectfully. "I understand."

Fang Shin rose, his posture heavy with resignation. "I have logistics matters to attend to. Do what you will, but tread carefully."

As his father exited, Fang Ming remained seated, his gaze fixed on the floor. He knew his father didn't approve, though he wasn't outright opposed. Perhaps the harsh realities of their expanding enterprise had begun to erode the older man's ideals.

Fang Ming leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Father," he murmured to the empty room, "the world crowns the boldest madman as its king."

The 20th century was on the horizon, and it would bring war, revolution, and destruction. Diplomacy would no longer rule the day—violence and cunning would.

If Fang Ming wanted a seat at the table of nations, he needed strength. Not just wealth or influence, but power. Guns and industry. Fear and respect.

To the imperial powers of the world, dialogue was only offered to those who were formidable enough to demand it. For everyone else, there was subjugation.

Fang Ming clenched his fists. "If strength is the only language they understand, then I'll learn to speak it fluently."

He would not only survive the coming storms but rise above them. He would build a fortress of power so imposing that no empire could dismiss him, no enemy could challenge him, and no one—no one—could threaten the safety of his family.