Yong He Eating House, a 39-year-old Taiwanese eatery in Geylang, faces potential closure on November 30, 2025, without securing a $300,000 investment. Third-generation owner Mr. Dong Han Zhong’s redemption journey from spoiled heir to hardworking operator highlights critical challenges in family business succession, labor shortages, and operational sustainability in Singapore’s competitive F&B landscape.

Case Background

Heritage & Legacy

Founded: 1986 in Singapore (Taiwan roots dating back ~60 years)
Location: Currently at 458 Geylang Road (third location)
Operations: 24-hour service, Tuesday-Sunday
Specialty: Authentic Taiwanese staples (soya milk, you tiao, bean curd)
Price Range: $2-6 (highly affordable)

Generational Timeline

First Generation: Grandfather worked at and eventually took over Yong He Dou Jiang You Tiao Da Wang in Taiwan
Second Generation: Father (Mr. Dong Rong) brought to Singapore by investors in 1985, opened first outlet in 1986
Third Generation: Mr. Dong Han Zhong, 46, officially took ownership in 2024

Critical Issues Analysis

1. Succession Failure & Leadership Gap

The Problem:

Third-generation heir lived as “Dong Shao” (young master), withdrew $3,000-10,000 monthly without contributing
No business training or grooming despite being the only son
Parents shielded him from financial realities even during crises
Hospitalized at 17 for depression; parents avoided pressuring him afterward

Impact:

Lack of prepared leadership when crisis hit in 2015
Dismissed by landlords as “immature young man”
Steep learning curve when forced to take over operations
Poor strategic planning capability due to late entry

2. Financial Deterioration

Timeline of Decline:

2008 Crisis Point:

Moved to larger 3,600 sq ft space at 517 Geylang Road
Rental jumped to $28,000/month (significantly higher)
Relocation cost: $300,000
Customer footfall dropped as regulars couldn’t find new location
Global financial crisis hit father’s trading business simultaneously
Maintained 30+ employees despite challenges

2015 Second Relocation:

Forced move due to rental issues
Budget severely constrained: only ~$20,000 available
Shabby, grubby premises at 458 Geylang Road
Had to do manual labor (scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets)

2022-2025 Debt Accumulation:

Three years of accumulated debts totaling $300,000
Insufficient strategic oversight (owner too exhausted from daily operations)

3. Severe Labor Shortage

Staffing Evolution:

Original location: 30+ employees
2015 relocation: 18 employees
2024 present: 3 full-time workers
2024: Lost 2 employees, unable to replace

Current Workload:

Owner: 7pm-4am, nap in car, 7am-1pm (essentially 18-hour days)
Mother (68 years old): 5pm-4am despite recent hospitalization for knee infection
Unsustainable physical and mental toll

4. Operational Challenges

Weak weekday morning footfall
Better weekend/night traffic but insufficient to offset costs
All signature items made from scratch in-house (labor-intensive)
Owner trapped in operations, unable to focus on strategy
24-hour operations require constant staffing

Competitive Context: Singapore F&B Landscape

Market Pressures

High Operating Costs: Rent, labor, utilities in Singapore among world’s highest
Labor Crunch: Severe shortage of F&B workers, especially for traditional/heritage businesses
Changing Consumer Behavior: Rise of delivery platforms, changing foot traffic patterns
Competition: Proliferation of food courts, hawker centers, modern cafes
Gentrification: Geylang area undergoing transformation

Heritage Business Challenges

Younger generation often unwilling to take over physically demanding businesses
Traditional skills (handmade soya milk, you tiao) difficult to mechanize or transfer
Price expectations remain low despite cost inflation
Authentic preparation methods time and labor-intensive

Stakeholder Analysis

Primary Stakeholders

Mr. Dong Han Zhong (Owner)

Motivations: Redemption, honoring parents’ sacrifice, preserving legacy
Constraints: Limited business acumen, exhausted from operations, accumulated debt
Willingness: Open to staying on to help new investor

Mother (Madam Fang Chyi, 68)

Still working grueling hours despite health issues
Represents parental generation’s sacrifice and dedication

Long-time Customers

Emotional attachment to the brand
Recent surge in patronage after closure news
“Scolded” owner for considering closure

Potential Investors (~20 parties)

Emerged after media coverage (Nov 18, 2025)
Motivations likely vary: nostalgia, heritage preservation, business opportunity

Strategic Options & Outlook

Option 1: Investor Takeover (Most Likely)

Scenario: Secure $300,000 investment, clear debts, continue operations

Pros:

Preserves brand legacy and jobs
Media attention generated significant investor interest
Owner willing to stay and assist
Established customer base and brand equity

Cons:

Fundamental operational issues remain unresolved
Labor shortage crisis not addressed by capital injection alone
Requires operational restructuring, not just financial rescue
New investor may lack F&B or heritage business experience

Success Requirements:

Operational streamlining (reduce hours, staff efficiently)
Price adjustments to reflect true costs
Possible modernization (online ordering, delivery partnerships)
Professional management while preserving authenticity
Succession planning for knowledge transfer

Probability: High (70-75%) – Media coverage generated strong interest, emotional story resonates, November 30 deadline creates urgency

Option 2: Closure & Liquidation

Scenario: No suitable investor found, business closes November 30

Pros:

Ends financial hemorrhaging
Relieves physical/mental strain on family
Mr. Dong can potentially restart career elsewhere

Cons:

Loss of cultural heritage (39 years, 3 generations)
Emotional impact on family and loyal customers
Accumulated debts still need resolution
“Failure” narrative for Mr. Dong’s redemption story

Probability: Low (10-15%) – Given investor interest, unless negotiations fall through

Option 3: Scaled-Down Operations

Scenario: Reduce operational hours, streamline menu, continue as smaller operation

Pros:

Maintains legacy without external investor
Reduces labor requirements
Focuses on profitable time slots (nights/weekends)
Owner retains full control

Cons:

May not generate sufficient revenue to clear $300,000 debt
Still requires at least 3-4 reliable staff members
Doesn’t solve succession issue long-term
Continuous physical strain on aging family members

Probability: Moderate (15-20%) – Possible fallback if investor negotiations fail but family wants to continue

Critical Success Factors for Revival

1. Operational Restructuring

Reduce operating hours to 16-18 hours (not 24/7)
Focus on peak periods: dinner through breakfast
Streamline menu to most popular, highest-margin items
Invest in some automation where possible (e.g., soya milk preparation)

2. Sustainable Staffing Model

Minimum 6-8 staff for reasonable shift coverage
Competitive wages to attract/retain workers
Cross-training for operational flexibility
Consider part-time workers for peak periods

3. Financial Discipline

Clear separation of business and personal finances
Professional bookkeeping and cash flow management
Realistic pricing that covers costs plus margin
Regular financial reviews and strategic planning

4. Market Positioning

Leverage heritage story for premium positioning
Consider modest price increases (still competitive at $3-8 range)
Develop delivery/takeaway channels
Build social media presence targeting nostalgia demographic

5. Knowledge Transfer

Document recipes and preparation methods
Train new staff in traditional techniques
Create operations manual
Establish mentor-apprentice system for specialized skills

Outlook Assessment

Short-Term (Next 3-6 Months)

Base Case Scenario: Investment secured, operational continuity

December 2025: Investor confirmed, $300,000 injection clears immediate debts
January-March 2026: Transition period, new investor learns business, operational assessment
April-June 2026: Initial restructuring implemented, staffing improvements begin

Key Risks:

Investor lacks F&B experience or commitment
Operational changes alienate loyal customer base
Unable to attract quality staff despite capital injection
Owner burnout before transition complete

Outlook: Cautiously Optimistic – Financial pressure relieved but operational challenges remain significant

Medium-Term (6-18 Months)

If Restructuring Succeeds:

Stabilized staffing with 6-8 employees
Reduced but strategic operating hours
Modernized ordering/payment systems
Break-even or modest profitability
Mr. Dong transitions from operator to strategic advisor/cultural keeper

If Restructuring Fails:

Continued losses despite investment
Staff turnover remains high
Investor frustration, potential second closure crisis
Brand dilution as quality/authenticity suffers

Critical Milestones:

Q2 2026: Staffing stabilization achieved
Q3 2026: Return to break-even operations
Q4 2026: Sustainable profitability demonstrated

Outlook: Mixed – Success depends heavily on quality of investor partnership and execution of operational changes

Long-Term (2-5 Years)

Best Case Scenario:

Yong He becomes profitable heritage brand
Possible second location or franchise model
Professional management with family cultural guidance
Recognized as preserved Singaporean food heritage
Featured in tourism/cultural promotion

Realistic Scenario:

Single location operates sustainably
Modest profitability supports small team
Brand survives but growth limited
Continues as neighborhood institution rather than expanding enterprise

Worst Case Scenario:

Closes within 2-3 years despite current investment
Heritage knowledge lost as elderly family members retire
Location redeveloped, brand disappears
Becomes cautionary tale of succession failure

Outlook: Uncertain – Long-term viability depends on solving fundamental structural issues, not just short-term capital injection

Lessons for Family Businesses

1. Succession Planning is Non-Negotiable

Start grooming next generation early, with real responsibility
Don’t shield heirs from business realities
Create structured transition timeline
Develop business acumen, not just operational skills

2. Financial Transparency Essential

Separate personal and business finances strictly
Share financial situation honestly with successors
Avoid “shielding” that prevents learning
Build financial literacy across generations

3. Operational Sustainability Over Tradition

24-hour operations may not be viable without scale
Labor-intensive traditional methods need efficiency balance
Pricing must reflect true costs, not just customer expectations
Strategic choices matter more than working harder

4. Emotional Attachment vs. Business Reality

Heritage value doesn’t guarantee profitability
Sometimes scaling back preserves more than expanding
Know when to seek external expertise/capital
Exit or transformation can be honorable choices

5. Community as Asset

Loyal customer base is valuable but insufficient alone
Media attention can catalyze support
Heritage stories resonate and attract investors
Cultural preservation arguments have power

Recommendations

For Current Stakeholders:

To Potential Investors:

Conduct thorough due diligence beyond emotional appeal
Bring F&B operational expertise, not just capital
Plan for 18-24 month restructuring timeline
Budget additional $100,000-150,000 for operational improvements beyond debt clearance
Retain Mr. Dong as cultural advisor but hire professional manager

To Mr. Dong Han Zhong:

Accept that investment means ceding control – focus on preserving culture, not operations
Document all recipes, techniques, and supplier relationships immediately
Commit to leadership development/business education
Set boundaries on working hours to avoid burnout before transition
Be realistic about what aspects of tradition must adapt

To Government/Heritage Bodies:

Consider heritage business support program for Singapore’s food culture
Provide subsidized business advisory for generational transitions
Explore rent stabilization mechanisms for cultural institutions
Facilitate foreign worker quotas for specialized traditional skills

Conclusion

Yong He Eating House stands at a crossroads representing broader challenges facing Singapore’s heritage F&B businesses: succession failures, labor shortages, unsustainable cost structures, and the tension between preservation and adaptation.

While the immediate crisis will likely be resolved through investor interest generated by media coverage, the fundamental operational and structural issues require deep transformation beyond capital injection. Success depends on balancing authenticity with modern business practices, tradition with efficiency, and heritage with sustainability.

The redemption arc of Mr. Dong Han Zhong adds emotional resonance but cannot substitute for professional management and strategic restructuring. His journey from spoiled heir to hardworking operator demonstrates personal growth but also reveals the dangers of inadequate succession planning.

Final Outlook: 60% probability of 2-year survival with investment, declining to 30-40% probability of 5-year survival without addressing fundamental operational challenges. The brand will likely survive the immediate crisis but faces ongoing struggles without systemic changes to business model, pricing, operations, and management structure.

The Yong He story serves as both a cautionary tale and a potential template for heritage preservation – if stakeholders can move beyond nostalgia to embrace necessary evolution while honoring cultural authenticity.

Case study based on reporting by The Straits Times, November 18-19, 2025

The Last Shift at Yong He

Part One: The Young Master

The money came easy when you were Dong Shao.

Han Zhong remembered the weight of cash in his pocket as he walked into Zouk on a Friday night, the envious looks when he bought bottles for his table, the way girls leaned in when he mentioned his family owned “that famous Taiwanese place in Geylang.” He never said it was his parents who actually ran it. That detail seemed unimportant when you were twenty-three and the ATM was your mother’s cash register.

“Dong Qian Qian!” his friends would shout across the club. Young Master Money. He’d laugh and buy another round.

His father never said anything when Han Zhong slept until noon, or when he took three thousand from the till on a Tuesday, or when it became five thousand, then eight. His mother would smile tiredly and ask if he’d eaten, even as she worked the register from opening to close.

The one time his father tried to teach him how to make the soya milk—the real way, soaking the beans overnight, grinding them fresh at dawn—Han Zhong had yawned and said he had plans. His father’s face had done something complicated, something between disappointment and resignation, before he nodded and turned back to the grinder.

That was 2007. Han Zhong was twenty-eight years old and had never worked a full day in his life.

Part Two: The First Crack

The hospital walls were the color of old soya milk, that off-white that looks clean but isn’t.

Han Zhong sat outside his grandfather’s room in Taiwan, listening to the machines beep their steady rhythm. His father stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, speaking rapid Mandarin to someone about the shop, always the shop. Even here, even now.

“The new location isn’t working,” his mother said quietly beside him. She’d flown over separately, leaving the skeleton crew to manage. “The rent is too high. Twenty-eight thousand. Your father’s trading business is struggling too. The financial crisis…”

She trailed off. Han Zhong had heard about the financial crisis the way you hear about weather in another country—abstract, someone else’s problem.

“We’ll be fine,” he said automatically. “We always are.”

His mother looked at him for a long moment. In the fluorescent light, he could see every line around her eyes, the gray threading through her hair that he’d never noticed before. When had she gotten old?

“Yes,” she said finally. “We’ll be fine.”

She was lying. He knew she was lying. And they both knew he would do nothing about it.

Part Three: The Phone Call

The call came on a Tuesday in 2015.

“We have to move again,” his mother said. Her voice had an edge he’d never heard before. “The landlord won’t renew. Your father is still in Taiwan with your grandfather. I need you to come look at spaces.”

“Can’t it wait until Ba comes back?”

Silence on the other end. Long enough that Han Zhong pulled the phone away to check if the call had dropped.

“I need you,” his mother said finally. “Please.”

The first landlord took one look at Han Zhong—designer sneakers, expensive watch, the kind of careless grooming that screams money without effort—and quoted a price triple the market rate.

The second landlord asked where his parents were.

The third laughed in his face. “You’re the owner? You?”

Han Zhong stood on Geylang Road between viewings, watching the afternoon crowd flow past. Across the street, someone was hauling crates of vegetables. A taxi uncle argued with a parking attendant. A mother dragged two children toward the bus stop, her shopping bags cutting lines into her palms.

Real life. He’d somehow never been part of it.

His phone buzzed. His mother: “Any luck?”

He looked down at his hands. Soft. No calluses, no scars, nothing that spoke of work or struggle or anything real. His father’s hands were thick and weathered from decades of kneading dough, lifting pots, grinding beans. His mother’s fingers were bent from arthritis she’d never complained about.

And here he was, thirty-six years old, dressed like a child in clothes his mother’s money had bought, unable to convince a single person to take him seriously.

I felt like a failure, he would say later. But in that moment, standing on the hot pavement with the smell of frying oil and incense drifting from the shops around him, he felt something worse than failure.

He felt like nothing.

Part Four: The Scrubbing

The new space at 458 Geylang Road was disgusting.

Grease caked the walls in layers, geological strata of previous tenants’ failures. The floor was sticky with something Han Zhong didn’t want to identify. The toilet—he’d looked in once and immediately closed the door.

“Twenty thousand budget,” his father had said over video call from Taiwan, his grandfather visible in the hospital bed behind him. “That’s all we have. Make it work.”

Make it work. As if Han Zhong had ever made anything work in his life.

He started with the floor. On his knees, bucket of soapy water beside him, scrubbing brush in hand. His back hurt after ten minutes. After thirty, his knees were screaming. After an hour, his hands were raw.

“Why are you doing this yourself?” one of the remaining workers asked, watching from the doorway with barely concealed amusement. “Hire cleaners.”

“No budget,” Han Zhong said, not looking up.

He worked through the night. When his friends texted about drinks, he left them on read. When a girl he’d been seeing called, he let it go to voicemail. The club scene, the late breakfasts, the afternoon gaming sessions—all of it felt like someone else’s life now.

At 4 AM, he sat on the floor of the cleaned shop, every muscle aching, and looked around at the space. It was shabby. It was small. The equipment was old and the location was questionable and there was no money for renovations.

But it was clean. He’d made it clean.

His phone buzzed. His mother: “How is it going?”

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to say it was impossible, that he couldn’t do it, that they should just give up. That he was sorry for wasting his youth while they built something real. That he was sorry for being Dong Shao instead of a son.

Instead he typed: “I’m learning to make the soya milk tomorrow. Teach me.”

Part Five: The Grind

The beans went into water the night before, swelling slowly in their bath. In the morning—and morning meant 4 AM in this business—his father guided his hands on the grinder.

“Feel the texture,” his father said. “Too coarse and it’s gritty. Too fine and it’s pasty. You have to know by touch.”

Han Zhong’s hands shook from exhaustion, from muscle memory he didn’t have, from the weight of thirty-six years of not paying attention.

“Like this?” The mixture felt wrong, lumpy and uneven.

His father said nothing, just adjusted Han Zhong’s grip on the handle. They ground together in silence, the ancient machine rumbling between them.

“Ba,” Han Zhong said. “I’m sorry.”

His father’s hands stilled on the grinder. In the fluorescent light of the kitchen, Han Zhong could see how much older he’d gotten. When had his father become an old man?

“Don’t be sorry,” his father said finally. “Just be here.”

So Han Zhong was there. There at 4 AM to soak the beans. There at 5 AM to grind them. There at 6 AM to cook the milk, standing over pots of boiling liquid in the brutal Singapore heat. There at 7 AM when the first customers arrived, there at noon during the lunch rush, there at 4 PM during the lull, there at midnight when the night crowds came.

His old friends stopped calling. The girls stopped texting. His social media went quiet, then silent.

He didn’t notice. He was too tired to notice.

Part Six: The Shift

“Two more quit,” his mother said in 2024. It was October. She’d just come back from the hospital, her knee still bandaged from the infection.

Han Zhong looked at the schedule. Three workers left. Three. To run a 24-hour operation.

“Ma, you need to rest. The doctor said—”

“Who will work the night shift?” His mother was already tying her apron. “Who will take orders? You can’t do it alone.”

“I can hire—”

“With what money?”

The silence sat between them like a third person. Outside, the dinner crowd was starting to gather. Wednesday night, moderate traffic, probably enough to pay the utilities and restock supplies. Probably.

“I’ll take 7 PM to 4 AM,” Han Zhong said. “Sleep in the car for a few hours. Come back for the breakfast shift.”

His mother started to protest, but he was already moving, checking the soya milk levels, preparing the dough for the you tiao, his hands moving through the motions his father had taught him. Muscle memory now, finally, after nine years.

Nine years of being here. Nine years of trying to undo thirty years of not being here.

Was it enough? Would it ever be enough?

Part Seven: The Night Shift

The nights were the hardest.

Between 2 AM and 4 AM, when the drunk crowds had gone home and the breakfast people hadn’t yet arrived, Han Zhong would stand behind the counter in the fluorescent silence and feel the weight of everything pressing down.

The debt. Three hundred thousand dollars. Three years of bleeding money because he couldn’t figure out how to stop the bleeding. Because he was too busy making soya milk and frying you tiao and cleaning tables to think about strategy, about business models, about anything beyond surviving the next shift.

His father had made it look easy. But his father had been a chef, raised in the business, trained from childhood. Han Zhong was a spoiled rich kid playing dress-up as a hawker, and some nights the costume didn’t fit right.

On one of those nights, Mr. Tan came in.

Mr. Tan had been coming since the original location in 1986. He was seventy now, walked with a cane, always ordered the same thing: saltish soya milk and you tiao.

“You look terrible,” Mr. Tan said, settling onto his usual stool.

“Thanks, uncle.”

“Your father looked terrible too, back in the day. Worked himself to the bone.” Mr. Tan watched Han Zhong prepare the order with movements that had become automatic. “But he was happy. Was building something. You look like you’re drowning.”

Han Zhong set the soya milk down carefully. His hands were steadier now than they’d been nine years ago, but they still shook when he was this tired.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted. The words came out before he could stop them. “I’m trying, but I don’t know if I’m doing it right.”

Mr. Tan sipped his soya milk, considering. “Your father’s soya milk was perfect. Best in Singapore. You know what yours is?”

“Terrible?”

“Almost perfect.” Mr. Tan smiled. “Almost is good enough. Almost means you learned. Almost means you tried.”

“Almost means I failed him.”

“Almost means you showed up.” Mr. Tan finished his milk and stood, leaving exact change on the counter like he always did. “That’s more than most sons do. Even if it took you a while to get here.”

After he left, Han Zhong stood in the empty shop and cried for the first time in nine years.

Part Eight: The Article

The reporter came on a Tuesday.

“Just a feature on heritage food businesses,” she said, camera clicking as she photographed the shop. “How are you managing?”

Han Zhong thought about lying. Thought about saying everything was fine, business was good, no problems here. But he was too tired for lies.

“We’re closing,” he heard himself say. “November 30th. Unless I can find an investor. Three hundred thousand to take over the business.”

The article ran on November 18th.

His phone started ringing at 6 AM the next morning.

“I saw the article. I’m interested.” “My grandfather used to bring me here. I want to help.” “I have capital to invest. When can we meet?”

Twenty calls. Twenty potential investors. Twenty possible futures.

Han Zhong sat in his car—where he slept now, between shifts—and watched the messages pile up. His mother was inside preparing for the lunch service, her bandaged knee hidden under her apron. The morning crowd was already forming, larger than usual. People had seen the article. People were coming to say goodbye, or maybe to say don’t go.

One of the messages was from David Lim, a successful restaurateur who owned three establishments in the CBD. Professional. Experienced. Knew the business.

Another was from a young couple who said they’d gotten engaged at Yong He five years ago. Romantic. Emotional. No relevant experience.

Another was from a private equity fund. Corporate. Efficient. Would probably gut everything that made Yong He what it was.

His phone rang again. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Mr. Dong? My name is Katherine Soh. I saw your article. I’d like to discuss the investment.”

“What’s your background?” Han Zhong asked tiredly. He’d already had this conversation fifteen times.

“I’m a corporate lawyer. No F&B experience. But my grandmother worked at your father’s first location. She was one of the cooks. She passed away last year.”

Han Zhong’s hand tightened on the phone. He remembered the older women who’d worked the kitchen when he was young, when he’d still lived above the shop. He remembered their Taiwanese accents, their rough hands, the way they’d sneak him extra you tiao when his mother wasn’t looking.

“She always talked about your family,” Katherine continued. “How your father gave her a job when she first arrived from Taiwan. How your mother helped her fill out the paperwork to bring her children over. She worked there for twelve years.”

“I don’t remember—”

“You wouldn’t. You were just a kid. But she remembered you. She said your parents were good people who worked too hard and gave their son too much.” Katherine laughed softly. “She meant it kindly. She loved all of you.”

Han Zhong closed his eyes. The morning sun was starting to heat up the car. Soon he’d need to go inside, help with the breakfast rush. But for this moment, he sat in the quiet and listened.

“I read about what you’re doing now,” Katherine said. “Working those hours. Learning the business. Your grandmother would be proud. My grandmother would be proud too.”

“I don’t need pride,” Han Zhong said. “I need three hundred thousand dollars and someone who knows how to run a business properly. I’ve proven I can’t do it alone.”

“Then let’s not do it alone.”

Part Nine: The Meeting

They met at the shop at 2 AM on a Saturday.

Katherine arrived in a taxi, dressed in jeans and a simple blouse, looking nothing like a corporate lawyer and everything like someone who’d grown up around hawker centers. She ordered the saltish soya milk and you tiao, eating slowly, methodically, the way people do when they’re really tasting something.

“It’s good,” she said finally. “Different from what I remember my grandmother making, but good. Your own style.”

“It’s not my style. It’s my father’s recipes.”

“Recipes are just instructions. The person making it is what matters.” Katherine pulled out a folder. “I’ve done some preliminary analysis. Want to hear the bad news or the terrible news first?”

Despite everything, Han Zhong laughed. “Surprise me.”

“The bad news: your operational costs are unsustainable. You’re working eighteen-hour days because you can’t afford proper staffing, but you can’t afford proper staffing because you’re not generating enough revenue, but you’re not generating enough revenue because you’re too exhausted to do proper business development. It’s a death spiral.”

“And the terrible news?”

“Your pricing is insane. Two dollars for soya milk? It’s 2025, not 1985. The ingredients alone cost almost that much. You’re not running a business, you’re running a charity.”

Han Zhong felt something defensive rise in his chest. “That’s what my father charged. That’s what people expect—”

“Your father charged that forty years ago when rent was a quarter of what it is now and he had thirty workers to distribute the load. Times change. Businesses have to change too.” Katherine pulled out a calculator. “Here’s what I’m proposing.”

She laid out a plan. Reduce hours to 6 AM to midnight, six days a week. Hire six workers, train them properly, pay them well. Raise prices modestly—nothing crazy, just enough to cover actual costs plus margin. Invest in a delivery platform partnership. Modernize the payment system. Create an Instagram account.

“It’s still Yong He,” Katherine said. “Same recipes, same quality, same heart. Just run like an actual business instead of a monument.”

“My parents—”

“—would want you to succeed. Not to be a martyr.” Katherine met his eyes. “My grandmother told me stories about your father. He wasn’t some idealistic saint. He was a businessman who worked smart and hard. He charged what he needed to charge. He adapted when he needed to adapt. He built something sustainable.”

“Until it wasn’t sustainable.”

“Because circumstances changed and adaptation stopped. The 2008 move was a mistake—too big, too expensive, wrong timing. But the real mistake was not correcting course afterwards. Just grinding harder instead of working smarter.”

Han Zhong thought about his father, standing over the soya milk grinder at 4 AM, year after year, decade after decade. Working hard. Always working hard. But had he worked smart?

“What’s your interest in this?” Han Zhong asked. “Why do you care?”

Katherine was quiet for a moment, looking around the shabby shop with its worn tables and flickering fluorescent lights. “My grandmother came to Singapore with nothing. Your father gave her dignity. A job. A way forward. She built a life here because people like your parents gave people like her a chance.” She looked back at him. “I can’t repay that debt to her. But maybe I can pay it forward.”

“Three hundred thousand is a lot of paying forward.”

“I’m not doing it for free. This is an investment. I believe in the brand, the heritage, the potential. But mostly, I believe in second chances.” Katherine smiled. “Grandmother used to say everyone deserves a second chance. Even spoiled rich kids who take thirty years to grow up.”

Han Zhong should have been offended. Instead, he laughed until tears ran down his face, the exhaustion and stress and fear finally breaking open into something that might have been hope.

Part Ten: December 1st

The shop didn’t close on November 30th.

Instead, on December 1st at 6 AM, Han Zhong opened the doors to a shop that looked almost the same but felt entirely different. Six new workers, trained over the past week in the recipes his father had taught him. Katherine at a corner table, laptop open, working through the business registration for the new partnership structure. His mother at the register, but only for the morning shift now, doctor’s orders.

The prices had changed. Soya milk was $2.80 now. You tiao was $2.50. Some customers complained. Most understood.

“About time,” Mr. Tan said, studying the new menu. “Your father was too stubborn to raise prices. Good to see you’re not.”

The morning rush was steady. Not overwhelming, but sustainable. At 1 PM, Han Zhong was supposed to go home and sleep. Actual sleep, in an actual bed, not crumpled in his car. But he lingered, watching the new workers handle the lunch service with growing confidence.

“Go,” Katherine said, not looking up from her laptop. “That’s the whole point of this. You can’t keep grinding yourself to dust.”

“I know. I just—” Han Zhong stopped. What was he trying to say? That he didn’t know how to not be here? That leaving felt like failing again? That he’d spent nine years trying to prove he could do this and stepping back felt like admitting he couldn’t?

“You’re not abandoning it,” Katherine said, reading his mind. “You’re saving it. There’s a difference.”

Han Zhong’s phone buzzed. A text from his father in Taiwan: “I saw the article. I’m proud of you.”

Not proud of the business. Not proud of the soya milk or the long hours or the sacrifice. Proud of him.

He texted back: “Coming to visit next month. Want to show you something.”

“What?”

“My hands.”

Epilogue: Six Months Later

The Instagram post went semi-viral in the heritage food community.

A photo of Han Zhong and his father, both in aprons, standing over the soya milk grinder. The caption: “Three generations, sixty years. Still grinding.”

The comments poured in: “Went there yesterday! So good!” “Prices are higher but quality is still there” “New management seems great, workers are much happier” “Thank God they didn’t close”

Katherine forwarded him the post with a single word: “Progress.”

Han Zhong was at home—an actual apartment now, not the storage room above the shop—when he saw it. He zoomed in on the photo, studying his father’s face. Still weathered, still tired, but something else there now. Relief, maybe. Or peace.

His own face looked different too. Older, yes. Harder, certainly. But real. Finally real.

The shop wasn’t saved. Not yet. They were break-even now, maybe slightly ahead some months, still paying down the debt slowly. The long-term viability was uncertain. The F&B industry in Singapore was brutal, heritage brands closed every month, and nostalgia only bought so much goodwill.

But they had a plan now. Systems. Structure. Help.

And Han Zhong had something he’d never had before: calluses on his hands and the knowledge that he’d earned them.

His phone rang. Katherine.

“Investor meeting in fifteen minutes. You ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“There’s a property available in Tanjong Pagar. Smaller space, lower rent, better foot traffic. I want to look at opening a second location.”

Han Zhong’s first instinct was panic. Another location? More overhead? More risk?

His second instinct was different.

“Send me the address.”

He hung up and looked at his hands again. His father’s hands. His grandfather’s hands. Three generations of men who’d built something from nothing, sustained it through decades, passed it forward even when passing it forward seemed impossible.

Almost perfect, Mr. Tan had said. Almost is good enough.

But maybe, Han Zhong thought as he pulled on his shoes and headed for the door, maybe almost was just another word for still trying.

And trying, he’d learned, was everything.

Author’s Note

This story is fiction inspired by real events reported in The Straits Times, November 18-19, 2025. The article about Yong He Eating House was real. The people are real. The struggle is real.

But this imagined version—Katherine Soh, Mr. Tan’s wisdom, the specific conversations—these are one possible future among many. As of this writing, the outcome remains uncertain.

Heritage businesses across Singapore face these same challenges every day. Some survive. Some adapt. Some close, their stories lost to time and rising rent.

What makes the difference? Capital helps. Professional management helps. Community support helps.

But sometimes what matters most is simpler: someone finally showing up, even if it took them thirty years to get there. Someone willing to work hard and work smart. Someone who understands that preserving heritage doesn’t mean freezing it in amber, but letting it grow and change while keeping its heart intact.

The real Yong He’s fate will be determined by decisions made in the coming weeks and months. This story imagines just one path forward—a path where redemption is possible, where second chances are real, where almost perfect is good enough.