The next day, I attended a meeting at the headquarters of Le Tao Group, the distributor for BeeComfort. Le Tao is one of Hong Kong’s largest distributors, managing hundreds of products, including five sanitary pad brands, diapers, toilet paper, and shampoo. BeeComfort is the best-selling sanitary pad in Hong Kong, with a 50% market share. It was no surprise it had become a target.
I was also a loyal user of BeeComfort myself.
The person I met with was Le Tao’s CEO—a man who, to my surprise, was relatively young, appearing no older than thirty. When I entered his office, he was intently assembling a model fighter jet.
He was delicately attaching a tiny piece, no larger than a grain of rice, to the plane. Not wanting to disturb him, I stood quietly to the side, but just then, I sneezed. Despite covering my mouth, the sound startled him. His hand trembled, and the piece ended up in the wrong place.
“Sorry about that,” I apologized awkwardly.
He didn’t look pleased but remained polite. “It’s fine. Please, have a seat.”
“I’m Qiu Huan’er, a representative from Yun Sheng PR.” I handed him my business card.
“I’m Gao Hai Ming,” he replied.
Gao Hai Ming wasn’t tall—about five feet six. He was slim, with naturally curly, thick hair and pale skin. His eyes lacked the sharp, determined gaze one might expect of a successful businessman, instead carrying a hint of melancholy and resignation.
“I’ve prepared a draft clarification for the rumors about BeeComfort sanitary pads, along with a detailed plan for follow-up actions.” I handed him the plan.
He silently read through the entire document without saying a word.
“Let’s go with this,” he said.
“Mr. Gao, do you have any feedback?” I asked carefully.
He shook his head. “You may leave now.”
As I turned to go, he suddenly called out, “Miss Qiu—”
“Yes?” I turned back, thinking he finally had an opinion.
He pointed to my left sleeve, which had caught on a small piece of his model.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I removed the piece and handed it back to him.
“Thank you,” he said, focusing again on his model. His movements were precise, and the joints were flawless. It was clear he often assembled models. Watching him work was like observing a surgeon performing a delicate operation. The model was his patient, and his office, the operating room. It felt as though, once complete and painted, the fighter jet would soar straight into battle.
To address the BeeComfort rumors, I organized a large-scale press conference, inviting two gynecologists to provide professional opinions. They explained that the idea of bugs infesting sanitary pads, entering the uterus, and causing harm was entirely baseless. Gao Hai Ming didn’t attend the conference; Le Tao’s general manager represented him.
We followed up with several days of newspaper ads debunking the rumors. Sales of BeeComfort began to recover, and the situation finally settled. However, the police had yet to identify who had spread the malicious rumors. The case was handed over to the commercial crimes investigation unit. Industry insiders speculated that it wasn’t likely to be a competitor since BeeComfort’s main rivals were represented by large companies that wouldn’t take such risks. It was more likely the work of disgruntled former employees of Le Tao.
“You did a good job,” Fang Yuan said to me in his office.
“Gao Hai Ming wasn’t what I expected from someone called the ‘Sanitary Pad King,’” I remarked.
“He inherited the business from his father,” Fang Yuan said. “But don’t underestimate him—he’s very smart.”
“He seems introverted,” I noted.
“Which is probably why he’s still single,” Fang Yuan said with a laugh.
That weekend, we had dinner at Meng Meng’s house.
“Tie Han, any updates on your application to become an inspector?” I asked Hu Tie Han.
“I’ve been accepted,” he replied.
“When does training start?”
“Next week. It’s thirty-six weeks long.”
“After thirty-six weeks, you’ll be a true man,” I teased.
“Aren’t you afraid of dying?” Meng Meng asked sarcastically.
“I—will—not—die,” Hu Tie Han replied, emphasizing each word.
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