HK, Inc: The Secret Life of Chungking Mansion
A vertical WhatsApp group with a food court. A billion-dollar stairwell. And a 10-year-old systems theorist named Slay Potato.
Hi. We’re showing something new today that I’ve been working on with my daughter for about a month.
The first post on Hong Kong, Inc. was heavy. And it had to be—because corruption, custody failure, and institutional silence are real, and we’re not done telling that story. But we also learned quickly that there are real risks to our original approach. We’re still committed to accountability. But that’s not the only story we’re here to tell.
And it’s not the only way to tell the story of Hong Kong.
So we’re trying something new.
Originally, we were going to pair Willow and Slay Potato for Systems, Not Species - a kid-adult crossover series about ecological systems, bureaucracy, and all the weird structures that shape our lives. Now we’re launching a new branch of that idea right here, inside Hong Kong, Inc.
So for this next chapter, we’re zooming out. Same lens—systems thinking. Same mission - real literacy. But now we’re using characters, city maps, food courts, train tunnels, and vertical ghost stories to explain how this wonderfully weird city actually works.
This is also an experiment.
We’re building something that feels different:
→ High-level, but playful
→ Accessible to adults and kids
→ Serious enough to teach, weird enough to love
We’re starting in dialogue and newsletter form.
Eventually, we’d love to turn this into videos.
Maybe even get these stories into classrooms.
Because we think it’s possible to teach systems, history, politics—even economics and postcolonial theory—without making it boring. And definitely without making it cringe.
This dispatch was written with my daughter, who goes by Slay Potato—a 10-year-old Hong Kong systems theorist with strong opinions about public transport and fried things. She’s built a whole cast of characters—Corndog No. 9, Auntie Love Alarm, Uncle Folder—and this is the first time we’re publishing them.
Together, we’re building a fictional learning world to explore a very real place.
And our first stop?
A building that smells like biryani, is unlocked with a paperclip, and somehow powers a billion-dollar global trade network.
It’s all based of facts from this book from a CUHK anthropologist: Ghetto at the Centre of the World.
(Quick explainer for confused adults: “Slay Potato” is my daughter’s chosen name online. She picked it recently because: 1) “Slay” is Gen Alpha slang for being awesome or nailing something with style, and 2) potatoes are universally funny. Together? It’s chaotic-good energy. She’s 10. She speaks in Adopt Me economics and Roblox metaphors. I’m here to translate when needed.)
Hong Kong, Inc.
Dispatch #004
The Secret Life of Chungking Mansions
A vertical WhatsApp group with a food court. Also: one of the most globalized buildings on Earth.
Before we start: this is an experiment.
We’re trying something new.
This series is called Slay Potato’s Guide to Hong Kong—and it’s a mix of city anthropology, character dialogue, and systems storytelling designed for both adults and kids.
We’d love to turn this into videos, lessons, and classroom-ready explainers. But we’re starting here—on Substack—with the kind of writing that’s smart, sharp, and weird enough to make you actually want to learn.
The characters are fictional. The systems are real.
We’re going to show you how Hong Kong works—through trash networks, public hospitals, inheritance law, the MTR, and eventually, yes, money laundering. But first? We start with a building.
Not a fancy one.
Not a corporate one.
Not even a well-maintained one.
We start with Chungking Mansions—the beating heart of informal globalization in Hong Kong.
Here we go.
The Secret Life of Chungking Mansions
SLAY POTATO (squinting at the sign):
“Okay. But like… what even is this place?”
CORNDOG NO. 9 (already smiling):
“You just activated my anthropology card.”
SLAY:
“Don’t make this a lecture.”
CORNDOG (pulls out a book with neon tabs):
“It’s not. It’s a field trip. This building? Chungking Mansions. And it might be the most global place in the world.”
SLAY (side-eyes the entrance):
“It looks like a hotel, a curry shop, and an internet café all glitched into each other.”
CORNDOG:
“That’s pretty much accurate. But underneath the chaos, there’s a real system running. Phones, food, people, cash—all moving across continents. All from this building.”
SLAY (dodging a guy holding a SIM card display and a plate of biryani):
“You’re telling me this is, like, international trade?”
CORNDOG:
“Exactly. Phones from Shenzhen get sold here. African traders buy them in bulk, pack them in suitcases, and fly them to Lagos or Nairobi. Some stay for days. Some just a few hours. They move everything from unbranded smartphones to halal frozen chicken to Bluetooth speakers with no volume cap.”
SLAY:
“This building smells like globalization got microwaved. But with goat.”
CORNDOG (laughs):
“And that’s kind of the point. It’s not shiny. It’s not formal. But it works.”
SLAY (walking past a halal pizzeria, pausing):
“Wait, did that sign say ‘Money Transfer + Pizza Combo’?”
CORNDOG:
“You can wire cash to Kathmandu and eat keema-topped pineapple pizza while you wait. That’s customer retention.”
SLAY:
“But who started this? Why here?”
CORNDOG:
“Back in the 80s and 90s, South Asians—mostly Indians, Pakistanis, and Nepalis—started moving in. The rent was cheap, the location was perfect, and there weren’t a lot of rules. They opened restaurants, guesthouses, and phone shops. And once it worked for one person? They told everyone.”
SLAY:
“Okay, so Chungking Mansions is like… South Asian WhatsApp for real estate.”
CORNDOG:
“Exactly. Then came the African traders—especially from Nigeria, Ghana, Kenya. They needed phones and flexibility. Chungking offered both. Add some Southeast Asian domestic workers, a few tech backpackers, and some postcolonial ghosts, and here we are.”
SLAY:
“Postcolonial ghosts?”
CORNDOG (gesturing around):
“Hong Kong was a British colony. So were India, Pakistan, Ghana, Nigeria. Chungking is what happens when those threads re-tangle in one vertical building.”
SLAY:
“This is Empire, but make it eBay.”
SLAY:
“And all this runs without apps?”
CORNDOG:
“No platforms. Just cash, WhatsApp, and trust. No Stripe. No Amazon. No five-step user flow.”
SLAY (nodding at a man packing chargers into a duffel bag):
“Does anyone here use receipts?”
CORNDOG:
“Only when they’re printing fake ones. This whole place runs on your name, your word, and your cousin’s contact in Nairobi.”
SLAY:
“Decentralized capitalism with no customer support.”
CORNDOG:
“But high-speed logistics and spicy curry.”
SLAY (spots a sign for ‘Shipping to Africa in 72 hours’):
“Okay, no offense, but how does this place not collapse? Like, structurally?”
CORNDOG:
“It should. But it doesn’t. Because it’s adaptive. It’s not designed. It’s evolved. Every business here is small, fast, and flexible. There are no 10-year leases. No HR departments. No stock options. Just hustle.”
SLAY:
“This whole building is side quests.”
CORNDOG:
“Exactly. And yet, somehow? It processes over $1 billion a year in informal trade.”
SLAY (pause):
“Wait. You’re serious? This crusty stairwell building does billion-dollar volume?”
CORNDOG:
“Yup. Phones, chargers, SIM cards, remittances, shipping boxes, suitcases full of goods, orders sent by voice note. If you add it all up? That’s more volume than the GDP of some small countries.”
SLAY:
“That’s wild. This place has more revenue than LinkedIn Premium.”
CORNDOG:
“And half the overhead.”
SLAY (watching someone unlock a flip phone using a paperclip):
“So if there’s no receipts, no management, no rules… what keeps it from turning into actual chaos?”
CORNDOG:
“Trust. That’s the secret. You don’t burn bridges in Chungking, because your whole network is built on word of mouth. You get caught cheating one person? You lose access to everyone. That’s how informal systems police themselves.”
SLAY:
“So like… instead of cancel culture, it’s delete-from-network culture.”
CORNDOG:
“And faster. People know who to avoid before they land at the airport.”
SLAY (pauses in front of a Nepali food stall next to a SIM card booth):
“This whole building is doing globalization backwards. No strategy deck. No branding. Just people figuring it out in real time.”
CORNDOG:
“And Gordon Mathews—this anthropologist guy—he calls it ‘low-end globalization.’ Not low quality. Just low barrier. It’s trade from the bottom up.”
SLAY:
“It’s what happens when nobody builds a system for you, so you just build your own.”
CORNDOG (nodding):
“And then make it profitable. Then make it home.”
SLAY (grabbing another sip of lassi):
“Okay. Real talk. Is this what the future looks like?”
CORNDOG:
“It’s what the present already is—we’re just trained not to see it. Most of the world doesn’t live in skyscrapers and salary jobs. They live in systems like this: flexible, unregulated, trust-powered.”
SLAY:
“This is the economic underground. But also, like… the power grid for half the world.”
CORNDOG:
“You’re catching on.”
SLAY (turns back to the building):
“So what even is this place?”
CORNDOG:
“It’s where the real economy lives.
Where the Global South built its own infrastructure.
A remix of trade routes, curry fumes, and business cards printed on the back of SIM packaging.”
SLAY:
“A vertical WhatsApp group with a food court.”
CORNDOG (smiling):
“Low-end globalization. High-end intelligence.”