Family Code: NDN Group honcho Andy Ann’s ventures in AI are designed to see humanity thrive

Andy Ann looks a little more tanned than usual, sporting that rosy glow you get when you’re living your best life and your calendar has absolutely refused to let you be boring. “I’ve been making the most of the last days of summer, travelling, hiking, golfing. You know, the things that remind you the sun still exists outside of boardrooms,” says the serial architect of digital ventures as he settles into a chair in his Admiralty headquarters.

The walls around him are covered in paintings, some by rising local artists, others by more established names. He points to an abstract canvas with obvious pride: “This one was made by my daughter.” He lingers on another piece, created without any intention of traction by an artist whose work caught fire years later. “It’s the same way I handle work,” he affirms. “You put something honest into the world. You don’t force the hype. Sometimes the impact finds you. It’s all about giving back.”

That philosophy runs through every chapter of Ann’s backstory, leading to the AI-driven ecosystems he builds today as the founder and Chairman of NDN Group, and father of countless online portals.

Childhood Circuits

He follows a strong family code. His grandfather, Dr T.K. Ann, textile king and a drafter of the HKSAR Basic Law, dreamed of promoting the Chinese language so strangers around the world might reply “Ni hao ma” instead of “Hello”. His father, the industrialist James Ann, harnessed that vision, helping to design one of the first Chinese-input computers. Dad and uncles also bolted Japanese red LED lights onto radios, creating the clock radio.

“Technology and innovation are kind of in the family’s bloodstream,” says the 21st-century digital-tech pioneer. “Each generation has been thinking about the same thing: how technology and business can drive impact for the world. That’s what I grew up inside, and it’s what I’ve carried into everything I build.”

Laughingly, he says he’s no boomer; born in 1979, he’s on the end of Gen X. Which, if you think about it, is the generation that grew up learning computers were powerful and also learning how to fix things manually, because no one was going to help you.

A family legacy was appreciating the value of the calculated risk. “Innovation is risk itself. Without risk, you don’t innovate. I’ve watched many businesses fail not because they run out of ideas, but because they stop wanting to take risks. Protecting the numbers becomes the goal, and innovation quietly dies,” he explains.

Click Wait

Ann’s entrepreneurial switch flipped in the summer of 1999. While studying economics at the University of British Columbia, he was interning at a pre-YouTube streaming-media startup in Silicon Valley, taking a Stanford telecom course, and writing a paper on how 3G could elevate new media. Beijing had just been awarded the 2008 Olympics and he visualised digital billboards that could live-stream ads and content across a wireless network with a single click. He and a college buddy built WAP pages and prototypes on their Nokia phones – food finders, games, early ads.

While that enterprising spirit didn’t race as far as the Games, by 2002 Ann was back in Hong Kong and heading NDN, now a digital conglomerate in data, mobile and media technologies. The ambition to found his own company was fuelled by the realisation, two months into his first corporate job, that the youngest managing director there was 38. He quit immediately. “If I don’t build my own dreams, someone will hire me to build theirs,” he reasoned.

The serial ventures began – digital display network Hot Media launched in 2004, and two years later came Hot Mob, one of the first mobile ad networks on iOS and Android. He chuckles: “[My 2008 dream] didn’t end up as mega digital billboards in Beijing, but we did build a massive digital out-of-home network, a Wi-Fi hotspot network, and a mobile ad network for Hong Kong.”

Wedding Gift

His entrepreneurial journey was not without setbacks, though. As he and his wife, Gretchen King-Ann, planned their nuptials in 2006, he was inspired to raise 60 million renminbi in seed capital to build Darizi, one of China’s largest luxury wedding platforms. Then a term-sheet clause was triggered, and overnight his equity was diluted to 0.006 percent and he was promptly removed by the board.

“That kind of loss teaches you things winning never can,” he shares. “I’m genuinely grateful it happened when I was young. Every venture I’ve built since, how I think about growth, control, cash, and the terms I put my name to, carries the fingerprints of that year. I lost a company, but I gained the judgment that built everything after it.” He stopped chasing single companies and started engineering ecosystems with multiple reinforcing streams.

No Meme Policy

He determines what to build by first deciding what he will never do: games, crypto meme coins, virtual land, anything that doesn’t create genuine value for humanity. He then follows the classic Chinese sequence of responsibility: self, family, community, world. Responsibility was never abstract in the Ann household. “When people trust you – your team, your clients, your investors – you hold something that isn’t only yours,” he notes.

YAS Digital was born from personal frustration with insurance agents who pitched everything and covered almost nothing; XN Insight stemmed from relationship managers pushing underperforming funds. GoImpact, which empowers startups to create social, financial and environmental change, grew from watching global warming reshape boardroom decisions. He advises: “Rule out what has no value. Start with the problem in front of you. Then let the circle widen.”

AI Captain

Being a venture architect means building a network of companies that share infrastructure, data and an AI backbone. “The old way to grow was linear,” he says. “Now, with AI and AI agents, everything gets to 10X [10-fold exponential increase], sometimes 100X, because time-to-delivery is compressed, cost is compressed, and you’re able to change the entire company architecture and make it AI-native.”

YAS, the risk intelligence for the machine economy, newly launched embedded micro-insurance partnership for corporate robot deployments is the clearest example: one risk-intelligence data layer connecting EVs, robotaxis, drones and eventually satellites, turning live data into real-time risk scores: “10X growth doesn’t come from working 10 times harder. It comes from designing a system where AI and a network of ventures do the compounding for you.”

Metrics of Success

The underlying goal of Ann’s AI-driven ecosystems is to help Hong Kong become the place where Chinese innovation goes international and global ideas enter Asia. “Success isn’t a number for me personally,” he emphasises. “It’s seeing more Hong Kong and China founders shine on the world stage – a new generation of founders who believe this city is where you come to build the future.”

Professionally, pride comes when team members become entrepreneurs themselves, when the next generation of founders creates real value and refuses to quit, and when a little support helps them through their own process. “Success isn’t the money you make… it is who you become, and who you help become.” He urges the Gens Y and Z to “dream big. Why? Because it’s free! Help one person at a time, and leave the world a little better than you found it.”

As we finish the shoot, Ann – always finding a reason to be in a good mood, whether by inspiring the next wave of founders or collecting paintings and memories with his daughter – suggests a few lunch spots around Admiralty. Supporting other people’s businesses is just another way of connecting the dots. The same principle that started with a grandfather’s dream of “Ni hao ma” and a father’s clock radio still holds: put something honest into the world, keep taking the hard path, and watch the network compound.

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura

A Better Tomorrow: Arthur Shek, co-founder of Project Melo, proudly pushes a generational playbook for business led by hope

Meeting Arthur Shek on a fine afternoon, we step forward to shake hands, inadvertently interrupting his mission to fix his tie. It’s the kind of detail that says ‘precision’ before he even speaks. Then, almost immediately, the picture widens. The corporate cadence of a seasoned management consultant (he’s Managing Partner of McKinsey’s Hong Kong office) gives way to something livelier. There’s a thriving Millennial side to Shek, built on consistency (he goes to the gym religiously), community (he co-founded youth-empowerment social enterprise Project Melo), and a belief that strategy matters most when it changes what people can imagine about their future.

Shek carries Hong Kong in the way he talks: fast, confident and proud. “Since I was young, I always thought of Hong Kong as the best place on earth,” he enthuses. “I loved the East meets West aspects, the fast pace and the convenience.” That famous pace – you either learn to move with it or get left behind – shaped his “role in the world” as someone who doesn’t just observe systems, but helps design what comes next.

He studied at Diocesan Boys’ School until he was 17, then went to the UK for five years, first to Colchester Royal Grammar School, then the University of Cambridge. But he doesn’t talk about that move like it was an escape. Leaving his beloved city, he felt lonely and lost – until something clicked into place. “I had a great group of friends at the school, also from Hong Kong, and they helped me get through tough times,” he says. Even better, the relationship endured. “Some of us are still close today.”

Mentor Mentality

The experience instilled a belief that community doesn’t just help you survive; it helps you turn ‘hard’ into ‘rewarding’. “Since graduating, I have always wanted to stay close to, and work with, young and talented people,” he shares. He led a mentorship programme at Cambridge, where he learned the key insight that mentorship isn’t one-directional.

“Mentorship can be a two-way street, with mentors benefitting through hearing different perspectives and understanding the youth POV,” he expounds. That youth point of view doesn’t just inform his non-profit work at Project Melo; it also sets the tone for how he approaches leadership, technology and AI, with curiosity first.

He credits studying economics as the shift that pulled him toward business and analytical thinking rather than engineering or science. “I was particularly interested in microeconomics, how individuals make decisions and optimise their choices.”

Consulting Change

Fresh out of university, he joined McKinsey in 2009, and still relies on this way of thinking when advising companies on strategy and transformation. Pointing out a fundamental shift in management consulting over the past decade, he says: “Ten years ago it was about giving great insights and recommendations. Today, though, it is about driving change and delivering outcomes.” His work now is more operational, involves a longer time span, and is more collaborative. It also requires expertise from the likes of data scientists, software engineers and UX designers.

When he was a young professional, success looked like titles and speed, and how he compared to his peers. Then he realised that “the world is very big and there are so many other paths to satisfaction.” He now cares more about what he calls “outside of work” satisfaction: friends you can rely on, impact on others in need, and, importantly, “I definitely care a lot less about what other people think!”

Another value shift learned over time is that “family always comes first”. He realised family isn’t just comfort; it’s a stabiliser. “They always have my best interests at heart and also have my back. And of course, the other way round,” he notes. In a career that comes with pressure, boards, leadership and transformation, family becomes a quiet operating system – acting as your anchor, even when everything else is moving.

Agency of Youth

Gen Y Shek, who embraced a traditional ‘nine-to-five’ career, sees the Gen Z ‘slashers’ era as a “good thing”. “The younger generation want more meaning, satisfaction, flexibility and overall balance [in life], and they are much more likely to move and explore new things,” he opines of today’s young creators, influencers, day traders and more who don’t limit themselves to one all-consuming job. He views this as evidence of agency – it’s not that the next generation is lacking ambition; they are simply redefining it.

Despite this positivity, he describes Project Melo’s origin as a shared recognition among his co-founders that something was off. “We noticed the hope gap,” he says, recalling an event where people were asked to rate out of 10 how they felt about the future. “CEOs gave 7s or 8s, while many of the students gave 4s or 5s.”

The contrast was striking, and it pushed Melo – a platform dedicated to empowering youth to initiate social-impact projects by connecting them with business and society leaders – towards its dual purpose of helping youngsters feel more optimistic and capable, while enlightening the older generations as to why youth feel the way they do.

Shek shares the numbers since Melo’s founding in 2019 – over 6,000 youth engaged; 80 CEOs; 7,000-plus volunteer hours contributed to local NGOs; more than 5,000 secondary-school students receiving free AI-literacy training through the flagship AI-5000 initiative – but keeps the emphasis firmly on principles: distinctive, inclusive, impactful, authentic and youth-led.

Nurturing the New Generation

He also names the problems youth care about – mental health, sustainability, inequality – and positions Melo as a pipeline for “nurturing a generation of change agents”. “We have an amazing team and a really special core group of co-founders,” he says of Kenny Lam, Stephanie Lo and Louisa Mak, all close friends.

His pride, here, isn’t about scale for its own sake; it’s about consistency in purpose. Back on that fine afternoon, after our formal greeting, he finishes adjusting his tie like he’s making sure every detail is in place, then he talks with electrifying, rousing energy about how a better tomorrow is possible for all.

Personally, Arthur Shek enjoys a career built with business discipline and real-world impact, but he’s also a builder of youth pathways through Melo, pushing hope into the hands of students, where it becomes confidence, belonging and agency. It is his fervent belief that Hong Kong’s new generation is the most exciting yet, and they should be supported to take up the mantle.

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura

Inner Joyce: Echoing her most soul-stirring hit, singer-songwriter Joyce Lee loves life every day without regrets

Befitting her award-winning singer-songwriter stature, Joyce Lee arrives at the Cordis Hotel in Mong Kok with an entourage – her glam team, who promptly proceed to finish her hair and makeup. She also brings along her handy speaker for sounds to transport her into photo-shoot mode. “No, please don’t put on my music,” she exclaims, laughing. “I don’t like listening to myself!”

So we blast upbeat ’80s hits, among them Madonna’s Like a Prayer, and the Canadian-born Cantopop pioneer dances while striking her signature poses: arms raised, head tilted, that knowing half-smile that has been selling records since the mid-’90s. The hotel suite suddenly feels like a living room where someone decided that the only appropriate response to life is to groove.

Before the platinum plaques and the theme songs that became Hong Kong’s unofficial background music, there was a teenager in Toronto hammering out scales at the Royal Conservatory of Music. As Lee notes, the conservatory drilled discipline and technical skills into budding musicians until they were muscle memory.

“After all those hours of practice, you will master the mechanics of it,” she affirms as her hair stylist battles a particularly rebellious strand. “Once you have that foundation down, the real magic happens when you stop thinking about the rules and start putting your heart into the music.”

Singing in the Shower

That heart first oozed melodies about age 16, usually when she was in the shower. English lyrics arrived uninvited, tagging along with the tunes. Looking back, she’s grateful for the Hong Kong lyricists who turned those early, half-formed feelings into Cantonese that still landed with the force of a quiet confession. The Canadian conservatory gave her the hands; the shower gave her the soul. The rest was just timing, and a mother who refused to let a good song die as a B-side.

After decades of drowning in Cantonese covers of American and Japanese hits, by the early ’90s, Hong Kong radio and television started championing original songwriting. Into that opening walked a 19-year-old with a piano who cooed Western-accented Cantonese that made people smile. It was in 1994 that everything clicked. Her single, One Day I Will Touch Your Heart – which her mother insisted the record company push – made the Jade Solid Gold list of the year’s top 10 songs; her first, second and third solo album went double platinum, and she was serenaded as TVB’s Singer-Songwriter of the Year.

Performing Spirit

Lee’s producer had pushed her to write as well as sing and play, but the real spark for her compositions was loneliness. Fresh from the Toronto suburbs, newly signed, friendless and culturally adrift, she wrote English lyrics because the Cantonese words for “I feel lost and I need my voice to be heard” hadn’t arrived yet. The finished song carried that wish. “I just really wished to be understood through music,” she recalls.

Her popularity was underscored the following year when she performed the theme song of A Kindred Spirit, one of TVB’s longest-running dramas. For 1,128 episodes over four years, people let the ballad Love Your Life Without Regrets into their living rooms the way they let in the evening news. Fans still stop her on the street to tell her what was happening in their lives when the first notes hit.

“It feels so lovely and humbling to realise that my music became a part of their personal stories,” she says now. It confirmed that vulnerability with a piano heartbeat travels farther than any manufactured karaoke anthem.

Notes of Emotion

Three decades later, the process looks different. Experience has piled up: personal heartbreaks and career highs; surviving cancer; and the ordinary miracles of raising three boys with husband Ted Lee. She sits with close friends, talks the ideas through, and takes their honest feedback into the studio. Producer and piano become co-conspirators. The goal is no longer just a good melody; it’s one that matches the emotional core of the story she’s trying to tell.

Trends change fast, but Lee has grown braver. “When you’re younger, you worry so much about fitting into a specific mould,” she reflects. “But looking back now, there is really nothing to be afraid of anymore because, creatively speaking, anything goes.”

Since the release of her seventh album, Fantasy, in 2005, her impact has been measured through deep connection with the community – performing at charity events, local concerts, masterclasses, even with a choir for people who simply want to sing together. If her music makes someone feel less lonely and more seen, it is exactly as it was meant.

Scene & Heard

Hong Kong’s pop scene still has that 24/7 pulse she loves – a raw energy you can’t find anywhere else. What needs work, she says without hesitation, is infrastructure: more affordable rehearsal spaces, independent gig spots where young artists can experiment without booking a commercial venue that costs more than a month’s rent. The talent is here. The rooms just need to open.

As one of the first female Cantopop singer-songwriters, Lee remembers the scepticism. Producers handed her songs and images. As a young woman carrying her own compositions, production choices and lyricism, she had to work twice as hard in the studio to prove the doubters wrong. Today, aspiring female stars face different traps – social-media scrutiny, hyper-sexualisation, the relentless demand to be ‘relatable’. Her advice is characteristically direct: “You just have to out-sing the noise.”

Empowerment, for Lee, is not a slogan. It is internal clarity – the freedom to know your worth and act on it even when society prefers boxes. It is the daily resilience of getting back up after life knocks you down; the quiet decision to keep going and find your voice again.

That same clarity fuels her work as an ambassador for OneSky (formerly Half the Sky Foundation), which trains caregivers in Chinese orphanages to meet each child’s unique needs, and the Hong Kong Breast Cancer Foundation, where sharing her story of early detection, treatment and recovery is worth it if just one person listens. When she sits at the piano now, she is simply thankful that she is still here, breathing, creating.

Quiet Applause

Lee’s success used to be gauged by chart position, awards, airplay and applause. Today attainment comes from watching three boys grow, hearing them laugh, being with Ted – “my partner in crime and my biggest fan” – and the deep gratitude of still being healthy enough to share her music. “Happiness is waking up with peace in your soul, knowing that you survived,” she shares. “Realising every day you get to create, love and give back is an absolute gift.”

One of the keys to Joyce Lee’s triumphant journey through life is finding a reason to express gratitude and finding peace in her heart. Be it by being an inspiration to others, setting an example to society, or tuning into uplifting pop songs. Shoot completed, she heads home for some much-needed swimming therapy-cum-me time. It’s a passion she picked up from Ted, another kind of baptism, of letting the body move until the mind quiets.

The woman who danced to Madonna’s Like a Prayer in a hotel suite will soon be cutting through the water with the same quiet determination that once turned a shower melody into a double-platinum career. Through her music, we feel her power; it touches our hearts, drawing us into her world.

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura Venue: Cordis Hotel Hong Kong Stylist: Cecilia Yiu Make-up: Gaby Makeup Clothes: Zeemo at Walk in Closet Jewelleries: K.S. Sze & Sons Jewels

Wellness Informed: How Mandy Pao’s nervous-system energy fosters corporate health and wealth

Humidity hovers at 91% on the typical summer morning we meet Mandy Pao. The city feels like it’s holding its breath: air thick, sunlight bright, and even casual movement requires a little extra effort. Yet for Hong Kong’s ‘Woman of Wellness’, the energy and enthusiasm to share her story don’t flinch. If anything, the weather seems to suit her.

“Having lived in London, I’d say this weather is far better. I’d choose this over that. Always,” she laughs, partly at the contrast, partly at the confidence that runs through everything she says. Pao joined ATLAS Chiropractic as Chief Operating Officer in 2023 to help with her husband, but her influence extends far beyond clinic walls. Drawing on both lived experience and operational outcomes, she champions corporate wellness by prioritising employee health, arguing that wellness drives profits and strengthens organisational performance.

Blending holistic expertise with executional clarity, her mission is to implement strategies that can be scheduled, measured, maintained and sustained. Her importance as a local leader in chiropractic care boils down not just to what she advocates, but how clearly she explains why it matters. Wellness, for her, isn’t a lifestyle poster. It’s a nervous system-backed operating system for human performance.

Entrepreneurial Blood

Pao’s upbringing shaped her understanding of resilience and stress long before she had language for nervous-system regulation. “I grew up with two sisters and parents who were entrepreneurs, so home life was dynamic,” she says. “My parents would sometimes bring us along on business trips and meetings, and as a family, we experienced plenty of ups and downs together. In our family, ‘health’ was approached in a very relaxed way. To my parents, health mostly meant happiness; if I was happy, then I was healthy.”

Even her later perspective on food and physical health carries that nuance. “I indulged the foods I loved, which in hindsight gave me a very healthy relationship with food and mental wellbeing, though probably not the strongest foundation for physical health. I can laugh about it now,” she giggles.

Growing up around entrepreneurship, she absorbed a definition of success that wasn’t rooted solely in status and external factors but internal rather. “My mom and dad taught me that success means being able to take care of myself independently – financially, emotionally and physically,” she expounds.

Suffering in Success

Pao has clocked up more than a decade in brand communications, an environment known for glamour, precision and image management. She has consulted for global entities such as LVMH, PepsiCo, Forbes and Unesco, and founded her own firm, Eloquence International. If that sounds like a world far removed from wellness, she would disagree. Pao credits that early landscape with teaching her how people truly behave, especially under pressure.

“In luxury fashion PR and brand strategy, everything is curated. The image, the narrative, the perception. I learned how quickly people can be seduced by status and how easily someone’s sense of identity can become tied to external validation, titles, recognition, being seen in the right rooms,” she shares.

She also witnessed the human cost hiding behind curated success: people who looked untouchable yet felt depleted, disconnected, or trapped in performance. “What stayed with me most is this: identity isn’t something you construct for the world. It’s something you return to. That experience deepened my respect for authenticity and inner work.”

Leap to Wellness

As with many entrepreneurs, Pao’s story includes a leap of faith, one that wasn’t glamorous at the time, even if the results later look ‘successful’. She says: “My biggest turning point was the moment I left my 9-to-5 job to believe in myself. I still remember how nervous and uncertain I felt about what would come next, but I was crystal clear about one thing: I didn’t like what I was doing.”

Assuming a new role, she brought along her insights into clarity about performance, how people pretend, how they project, and how they can become disconnected from themselves. What she shed: the belief that burnout is an acceptable toll for ambition.

“What eventually fell away was the constant chase for what success must look a certain way,” she notes, reflecting on how long she tolerated the pace of proving. “Over time, I realised that kind of success was exhausting and unsustainable. I let go of the need to prove myself, and I stopped believing that burnout was the price of ambition. I now measure success by sustainability and genuine impact, not by how impressive things look from the outside.”

Positive Energy

If Pao’s work at ATLAS Chiropractic feels holistic, that’s because it is. But she’s cautious about the word ‘soft’ in soft wellness, because in corporate settings that can become an excuse to ignore wellness entirely. “Wellness is not about being gentle or lowering standards; it’s about mastering the balance between pushing and recovering,” she stresses.

“We run an energy-infused business. We treat energy as a strategic resource,” she says of ATLAS Chiropractic. “Our team [of chiropractors] spends 30 minutes before every shift to prepare, physically, mentally and emotionally, so they can bring their best energy to each other and to our clients.”

Framing wellness as ownership, she explains: “Every team member is responsible for managing their own energy, because we know that how we show up directly impacts the quality of care we deliver and the sustainability of our work. When people operate from a place of balanced energy rather than depletion, they perform better, think clearer and stay longer.”

Back Just the Beginning

Pao’s philosophy of chiropractic care isn’t narrow. She rejects the ‘back pain only’ stereotype of the profession, positioning chiropractic care as a whole-body life approach: the body’s innate intelligence plus a nervous-system facilitator. “Chiropractic care is about creating the internal conditions for a life that feels aligned and sustainable, not just the absence of pain, but the presence of vitality,” she says.

“The nervous system is the master control centre of the body, and when it is clear and functioning well, the whole body works better. That’s why I see chiropractic care as foundational. Beyond the clinic, this philosophy shapes how I approach my own life and work.”

Pao is also an avid yoga practitioner and long-distance runner, disciplines that demand consistency, attention and respect for the body’s feedback loop. And perhaps most grounding of all, she’s an animal-welfare advocate – reflecting the same theme running through everything: care is a practice, not a performance.

Humidity Takeaway

As our shoot winds up, the Hong Kong morning hasn’t changed much. The air remains warm and heavy, still urging you to slow down, breathe deeper and accept that some days you don’t win by pushing harder. Pao, meanwhile, seems to understand something more fundamental than comfort. She’s built a philosophy where wellness isn’t a reward for finishing work; it’s an input that makes better work possible.

The simplest message Mandy Pao lives by in a humid city that tests everyone’s patience is that when the weather feels thick, your body needs regulation, not just willpower. You don’t have to sweat burnout to beat it. Sometimes you just need to get your system back in balance to feel 100%.

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura Venue: Island Shangri-la Hong Kong Clothes: COS

Spaceship Odyssey: Chi Lam’s courier platform charts a clear course through logistics chaos

Having pulled up to JW Marriott in a grey Tesla, AI-powered logistics platform dynamo Chi Lam strides into the room in a uniform of white T-shirt and jeans, wrists accessorised by Chinese beads and a smartwatch flashing quietly with notifications, and leather loafers that say practical, but never sloppy. Our conversation with the commander of Spaceship begins where most logistics stories begin, at the edge of something complicated, and ends up at the opposite: simplicity.

“We had to,” he says of the company’s decision to move its operations and technology presence from Hong Kong to Shenzhen. “It was just the right thing to do. It’s a strategic and practical decision.” Then he smiles, like he’s about to reveal a number that sounds too good to be true. “I’m not even exaggerating that it’s a 20-times saving with just our rent changes. It’s crazy, I know.”

True to the logistics empire he is building, even big decisions have to make sense in the real world of cost, capacity, speed and stability.

Ready for Take-off

Lam frames Spaceship like a mission: make logistics easier to use and accessible to everyone, by using big data and AI to help business customers save shipping costs and time. Since launching in 2019, the one-stop international courier comparison and booking platform has soared. Internal numbers are impressive: more than 130,000 members who can “with just a few clicks” find global delivery services that fit their needs, and 2.5 million-plus items shipped.

But his focus isn’t only growth; it’s growth that is scalable, repeatable and operationally sound. Looking forward, the company co-founder and CEO eyes the US and its opportunities as a major e-commerce market with complex multi-warehouse, multi-carrier needs. “That complexity fits Spaceship’s strengths,” he notes.

Logistics is a business where competition and service expectations are unforgiving, though. “Customer-acquisition costs can be high and operational mistakes can become expensive very quickly,” he states. So Spaceship is validating with selected merchants and partners before scaling aggressively. Localisation, reliable partnerships and consistent service quality is the current flightpath.

Fuelled by Loss

Before Spaceship had metrics, it had a personal foundation. Lam doesn’t romanticise his youth. He reveals that his understanding of work, responsibility and success changed dramatically when he was in secondary school. “My father passed away during that period, and from that moment, I felt that my role in the family had changed,” he shares. Success became something heavier and clearer than just achievement. “It became much more connected to responsibility. It meant being able to take care of the people around me.”

He expounds: “Losing my father was one of the moments that changed the way I looked at the future. I realised early that I couldn’t simply wait for opportunities to appear. If I wanted to create a better future, I had to actively build it.”

Lam chose to study nursing at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University. Then life handed him another classroom: e-commerce. He founded cross-border e-commerce platform Kaiser Bloc in 2010, and added to his portfolio in 2017 by co-launching Shopkyo, a site focusing on Japanese goods.

“I originally thought selling the product would be the hardest part. In reality, operations were often much more difficult. Logistics was one of the most painful and fragmented parts of the entire process,” he recalls. Spaceship was thus born – not from abstraction, but from lived frustration.

Humanising the Mission

His nursing degree shows in his emphasis on outcomes instead of only workflows. “Studying nursing taught me that behind every system, process and decision, there is a real human being,” he says. That human angle matters because logistics can look cold from the outside.

“In logistics, people often focus on parcels, routes, prices and delivery times. But behind every shipment, there is a merchant serving a customer or an individual waiting for something important.

A logistics delay may look like only a data point inside a system, but for a small merchant, it could mean an unhappy customer, a refund, a negative review, or the loss of future business.”

He labels logistics as stressful because merchants often feel that they don’t have control or visibility once an order has been shipped. Spaceship’s goal is to deliver visibility, options, better service choice, earlier risk detection and confident responses.

Flying Beyond Fear

Every business founder has a story about fear. Lam has a story about clarity. “During difficult periods, I believe the most important thing is to be transparent without creating unnecessary panic,” he says.

There was a time their startup had roughly two months of capital left. “It was a very stressful situation. The company, the employees, the customers, and many families were depending on the decisions we made. We became much more disciplined about costs, priorities, revenue and execution. We focused on activities that could directly improve the business.”

Today, he validates his earlier, smaller experiments. “Shopkyo taught me that perseverance is important, but perseverance alone is not enough,” he admits. He learned the difference between courage and stubbornness. “Continuing in the wrong direction for a long time is not necessarily courage. Sometimes it is simply an unwillingness to accept that an assumption was wrong. You can remain committed to solving a meaningful problem while changing the product, business model, or approach.”

As a leader, he focuses less on titles and more on substance and readiness. “I don’t think responsibility comes from a job title. It comes from being willing to step forward when people need you, especially when the situation is difficult. I focus on whether someone has relevant experience, strong judgment and the willingness to be honest.”

He adds: “Great leadership is often visible in small daily actions rather than major speeches. I don’t believe leadership means having all the answers. It means creating an environment where the team can find better answers together. All of those outcomes matter, but reducing uncertainty is one of the most meaningful impacts we can create.”

Automation Helps, Humans Lead

Logistics is chaos dressed up as spreadsheets, and Lam, it seems, has always been the kind of person who hates that disguise. “We begin by accepting that logistics will never be a completely controlled environment,” he says. In Spaceship’s orbit, AI helps with prediction and consistency while humans handle context and accountability. “The objective isn’t to remove people from logistics; it’s to remove repetitive work and give people better information so they can make stronger decisions.”

Echoing the kind of philosophy that would sound poetic if it weren’t also practical, he says: “Technology only creates value when it improves the real experience of the person using it. AI has made communication faster, but faster communication doesn’t automatically create deeper understanding.” It doesn’t replace trust-building. “Real connection still requires empathy, honesty, attention, and the willingness to understand another person’s situation.”

Lam believes AI’s biggest value is connected decisions, not isolated improvements. It can analyse more variables than people can handle manually, a benefit that can be used to improve customer experience. Instead of ‘Your parcel is delayed’, the system should help explain why, what’s likely next, and what to do. “The biggest value of AI will be turning fragmented logistics data into useful decisions,” he concludes.

Clear Landing

Lam glances at his smartwatch from time to time during our shoot, like the device is another tool in an already thoughtfully built system. And when he talks about AI at Spaceship, it comes back to that same attitude – intelligence that improves real experiences, not intelligence for its own sake. For Chi Lam, the future of logistics isn’t just faster shipping; it’s clarity, predictability and better decisions made possible by technology.

As we wrap, he lands on a principle that ties everything together: “At Spaceship, we want AI to make people more capable, not less responsible.”

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura Venue: JW Marriott Hotel Hong Kong

Tee Off @ Two: Chip Chip Golf founder Martin Liu on starting young and acquiring the resilience to finish strong

Martin Liu arrives at his Wong Chuk Hang office, where golf bags are stacked neatly and shelves lined with an array of familiar paraphernalia: clubs that look professionally polished, mini training tools that belong in a budding golf star’s dream, and equipment that seems to hum with possibility.

The founder of Chip Chip Golf Academy appears a little under the weather today – as evidenced by his husky voice – but the passion in his eyes moves faster than his throat. He leans forward and, with the patient warmth of someone who has taught countless eager juniors, begins sharing the joys of golf and how the sport shaped his perspective from a very early age.

“I started playing and learning about golf when I was only two years old,” he says. “Do you play?” he inquires of our team. When the majority of the crew admit they don’t play often enough, he doesn’t tease for long. Instead, he challenges us the way only a golf mentor would, by igniting ambition through friendly one-upmanship.

“There’s no age limit or starting point in life and in sport. Perhaps you can enrol your son when he turns one,” he says, laughing lightly, like the idea was obvious, like his sport was built for beginnings, not gatekeeping.

And in that moment, it becomes clear: Liu’s energy doesn’t need a fully rested voice to resonate. It comes from deeper places: research, resilience, people development, storytelling, and a business mindset sharpened through years of growth strategy.

Chip Off the Old Block

Golf for Liu wasn’t introduced with a club brochure. It was handed down through proximity: being around professionals, learning by absorption, and feeling the culture of the sport early enough to make it personal.

“My father [Daniel Liu] was a former professional golfer,” he shares. “Looking back, I realise golf gave me much more than a sport. It taught me discipline, resilience, and how to stay composed under pressure at a very young age. As I sometimes say, ‘Golf raises you before it rewards you.’”

Even as a child, Liu was doing something many adults struggle to do: reflecting. Not just dreaming, but choosing. He explains: “Being immersed in that environment gave me an early understanding of both the beauty and the demands of the game. It was certainly an advantage to learn within that world, but it also prompted me to reflect early on about what kind of path I wanted to create for myself, both within and beyond golf.”

In Hong Kong, golf can feel like a well-kept secret; popular, respected, yet still not equally accessible. Young Liu found a way through it by moving with his family and learning through sacrifice.

“My parents operated a golf merchandise and consulting business across the border in China, working closely with clubs and training facilities, so we spent most weekends and school holidays travelling there for training. Those journeys taught me adaptability and commitment at an early age, while also giving me invaluable exposure to competitive golf beyond Hong Kong.”

Green Approach

Liu’s career is a route built from experiments. He studied business at The George Washington University in the US capital – where he captained the golf team – and over the span of a decade teed off as a financial analyst, swung into business management for film and video production companies, and ventured onto the greens of venture capital. He founded Chip Chip Golf three years ago. On paper, his CV might look scattered; in practice, it sounds like a continuous education.

“Despite the contrast of working for a multinational corporation with 300,000 employees to a four-person media production start-up, the one consistent lesson across every industry was the importance of creating tangible value,” he states.

His pivot away from corporate life was instinctive once he realised what kind of environment he truly thrived in. “I found myself reconnecting with golf through my involvement with the Golf Association of Hong Kong, China, particularly through the Junior and International Development Committee, which plays a key role in shaping the city’s next generation of athletes, and later as captain of the Hong Kong men’s national golf team.”

Fun First, Skills Second

When people imagine golf academies, they might expect performance metrics and pressure-driven progression. Liu built the Chip Chip Golf programme, which teaches juniors aged two to 14, with a different ordering of priorities. “Our philosophy is simple: fun comes first, skills come second,” he explains. “Too often, youth sport becomes overly focused on performance too early. We believe children first need to enjoy the process. Children do not stay in sport because they are talented; they stay because they fall in love with it.”

His ethos echoes the sport itself: you miss, you recover, you return. That principle becomes a life lesson. “While we place great emphasis on developing strong technical fundamentals, we believe the golfer’s mindset is equally important, perhaps even more so in the long run.”

It’s an environment in which juniors learn how to cope with disappointment. “We teach our students that setbacks are not something to fear or avoid, but something to navigate with confidence and perspective. Life, much like golf, rarely unfolds perfectly. The ability to remain calm, adapt positively and recover gracefully is a skill that extends far beyond the fairway.”

Fairway for All

Liu’s aim is to make the sport more welcoming and inclusive for families who may never have previously considered golf. “One of the most common misconceptions is that golf is an exclusive sport reserved only for the wealthy or those with access to private-club memberships. The sport itself is far more approachable than many people realise,” he says.

“We guide children from their very first swing all the way through to playing on-course and competing in tournaments, all within an environment centred around learning, friendship and enjoyment.”

His experience as Hong Kong team captain gave him a macro view: what’s improving, what still needs system-level strengthening, and where belief must be rebuilt. “We now have players winning at the highest levels internationally, and golf has earned Tier A elite-sport status at the Hong Kong Sports Institute. Golf teaches accountability fast, because there’s nobody else to blame. That’s why character development isn’t optional; it’s built into the sport.”

Game for Life

Liu’s ultimate goal is to cultivate lifelong relationships with the sport, so children feel empowered long after the lesson ends. “Ultimately, I hope every child who comes through our programme develops a positive and lasting relationship with golf,” he says. “If we helped cultivate genuine passion, confidence and enjoyment through the experience, I would consider that a success.”

Although Liu feels below par today, this is a man who keeps showing up. As we conclude our chat and move on to the photo shoot, he offers our crew some energy drinks. “I think I might need these the most,” he quips. Martin Liu may sound croaky, but he has certainly found his voice in life.

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura

Stage Whisperer: HKAPA Director, Anna C.Y. Chan is instilling integrity and intellectual rigour into citywide performing arts

At 9 am on the dot, Professor Anna C.Y. Chan is already almost done with her hair and makeup – and only ‘almost’ because she’s expertly multitasking like someone who has spent a lifetime training her body to listen before it speaks. While her stylist makes final adjustments, the HKAPA honcho is on a conference call. As we arrive, she gestures towards her ears, wireless buds snug in place, and without breaking rhythm, flashes us a warm smile. She quickly ends the call, stands and proceeds to shake hands with the entire crew.

Chan confesses that she doesn’t really like shopping unless it’s for homeware. But, with a quick laugh, she confirms that she has “a full rack of designer clothes and shoes ready for today”. She then clarifies the deeper reason behind her wardrobe choices. Almost all of her clothes are from local designers.

For the 35-year veteran of Hong Kong performing arts, dressing is not about labels; it’s a quiet public service. “This is my way of showing support to the local art and creative sector,” she says. “Art is a very vast industry. It can be anywhere, really.”

Inside the naturally well-lit office of the Director of the HKAPA (The Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts), the walls display taste and curiosity. Books are stacked and arranged, with fashion volumes such as Chanel and Dior near performing-arts tomes, including Why They Dance: Narrations of Hong Kong Dance, and photography books by Annie Leibovitz alongside family portraits.

Dance as Body Language

When Chan converses, she doesn’t speak like someone who manages art; she talks like someone who has lived inside it and then later built the structures that allow others to live there, too. “Becoming an artist is not only about skill but also about resilience, vision and meaningful contribution,” summarises the former professional dancer.

Young Anna studied at an Anglo-Chinese Catholic school, where music, drama and visual arts weren’t optional extras but part of the curriculum. “When I began ballet in the 1980s, I quickly realised it wasn’t only about technique,” she says. “Ballet teaches etiquette, posture, presence, and how to carry oneself with awareness and respect. Through it, I discovered that the body could become a language beyond words. Dance isn’t merely a performance; it’s communication and lifelong education in humanity.”

Her family had a strong business mindset, teaching responsibility, strategic thinking, resilience and long-term vision, but there was also a person who raised the bar. Her pivotal mentor, Hong Kong ballet pioneer Jean M. Wong, instilled technical excellence and uncompromising artistic integrity. As a teenager performing in community settings, Chan saw how dance could connect sectors of society and share beauty and cultural values beyond the stage. At the Royal Ballet School in London, teachers refined her standards and exposed her to international rigour.

Working professionally in London while pursuing postgraduate studies deepened her engagement with dance not just as performance, but also as research, scholarship and cultural discourse. Later, colleagues and mentors at the HKAPA and the West Kowloon Cultural District, where she was the inaugural Head of Dance, broadened her scholarly and global outlook.

Director Shift

Chan’s career pathway unfolded seamlessly: performer to educator to producer to arts administrator to cultural leader, each role expanding the others. “Those layered experiences across different landscapes strengthened my adaptability and expanded my vision beyond any one aesthetic. Even now, they continue to shape my commitment to performing-arts education that is culturally grounded, intellectually rigorous and forward-looking,” she affirms.

The transition from an artist to an institute director could have required a total reinvention. But Chan sees it differently: “What I had to relearn was scale and scope. Leadership demanded strategic planning, governance awareness, financial responsibility and long-term thinking. It became less about delivering excellence personally, and more about creating the systems and conditions that allow others to thrive.”

A natural performer, Chan quickly adapts to our cover shoot. She tries dance-inspired stances – clean lines, graceful timing – then suddenly shifts into some fun, wacky angles, before effortlessly switching back into more elegant expressions. From Plaudits to Passing on Passion

After decades of awards, publications and leadership, she speaks with gratitude first. “I feel deeply fortunate, because not everyone gets to pursue a career driven by passion,” she explains. “In earlier stages [of my career], success might have looked like achievements and milestones. But now my greatest fulfilment comes from witnessing the growth and success of others: students, colleagues, collaborators.”

However, she agrees that leadership can be isolating, especially when navigating complex decisions and carrying responsibility that ultimately rests on one’s shoulders. “I draw strength from strong bonds with my colleagues, students and stakeholders, because accountability may be personal, but the mission is shared,” she notes. “Resilience isn’t about standing alone. It’s about remaining connected to people, to values, to the larger vision collectively shaped.”

We discuss initiatives like the Jockey Club Dance Well project, which offers dance to people living with Parkinson’s. “It reshaped how I understand embodiment and dignity,” she enthuses. “Participants aren’t framed as patients receiving therapy. They’re approached as dancers creating art. That shift in identity is where true dignity resides.

“The arts are for all,” she champions firmly. “Access to performing arts education and participation can’t remain elite or concentrated. It must be citywide, reaching every district and community.”

Contributing to Society

As a government-funded academy, the HKAPA’s responsibility as framed by Chan is twofold: uphold artistic integrity and ensure the work contributes meaningfully to society. “Protecting artistic freedom begins with rigorous standards, encouraging critical thinking, and creating space for creative exploration in Hong Kong and the region,” she says.

In her view, artistic freedom and public value aren’t in tension; they align through purpose, quality and service. “Sustainable funding structures and fair commissioning policies matter so artists can focus on creation rather than constant survival. Institutions must also invest in research, documentation and development of new work rooted in local context, so artists aren’t only presenting but generating original ideas.”

Arts in the AI Era

When asked what she tries to pass on to the next generation, Chan returns to a human message: seeing dance as a platform for cultural dialogue and community engagement. As a performer, she learned discipline, integrity and humility. But the world her students enter is different now, shaped increasingly by AI, rapid technological change and shifting professional landscapes.

“Beyond professional rigour and ethical responsibility, I want students to develop digital literacy and critical thinking,” she asserts. “They should be able to work alongside technology without losing artistic voice.”

She also emphasises adaptability, cross-disciplinary collaboration, and a strong moral compass, especially around authorship, data ethics and cultural sensitivity. “Remaining curious, always, is essential,” she adds. “Ultimately, I hope to equip them to sustain careers in the performing arts and also become cultural leaders who navigate an AI-driven society while preserving the humanity at the heart of the arts.”

Picture Perfect

Towards the end of our photo session, Chan requests to pose against a giant mural created by HKAPA students. “This is my way of supporting the arts, my students and the academy,” she says. Then, with a gentle reminder that underscores her leadership philosophy, she adds: “At the end of the day, this is not about me. This is about promoting and supporting the art scene we have here in Hong Kong.”

As the crew packs up, it’s hard not to see the through-line of our audience with Professor Anna C.Y. Chan – technique, integrity, curiosity and community, working together like choreography.

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura

Legally Glam: Brand founder, creative director, curator, barrister – glimpsing inside the multi-talented Tania Mohan’s court of luxury

It’s a miserable grey, rainy Friday afternoon in May. Inside Prince and the Peacock Indian restaurant, though, the vibe is different. Rich colours hit like a soft punch to the soul. Then Tania Mohan walks in, armed with so much poise and purpose that the room appears to glow. She spreads out her choice of shoot outfits with the calm authority of someone who’s done so much and seen too many ‘maybe’ ideas come and go. The founder of luxury fashion and homeware brand Tabla is not just styling, she’s curating – like a one-woman editorial board.

“Proper representation is important,” she tells us, leaning into the point the way some people lean into compliments. “Nowadays, a lot of people are trying to be someone else without recognising it. It’s the trend. We have to embrace our individuality because no one can ever top that. Not even trends. Because trends come and go.”

Mohan doesn’t sound like someone chasing fashion. She sounds like someone defending it. Like fashion is a court case, and she’s showing exhibits to the jury. And – plot twist – she’s literally qualified to do that.

Dressed for Destiny

Born and raised in Hong Kong to an affluent family of Indian heritage, she has retail in her DNA – Mohan’s department stores operated during the 1950s. Her upbringing ensured that she absorbed luxury the way some people absorb weather patterns: constantly, without even realising you’re learning.

“Growing up, that early exposure gave me an instinctive understanding of quality and fabrics, while my mother’s exquisite taste filled our homes with a deep sense of aesthetic luxury,” she says. “The city’s incredible energy, combined with my family’s heritage, taught me to view fashion as a complete, curated lifestyle – an approach that defines my creative direction for Tabla today.”

Sparkle and Structure

This creativity was honed early in her career. In the 1990s, she joined Hong Kong Standard as fashion editor and stylist. She’s also a barrister-at-law. When asked how law fits into a life built around luxury, her answer is clever, like she’s already drafting your argument before you finish the question.

“I don’t think my love affair with the law will ever truly go away, and I am fortunate to still utilise my legal training through consulting work today,” she defends. “As a barrister, you learn to investigate every angle thoroughly, and I now apply that exact same investigative discipline to my creative process. When a specific historical era or traditional embroidery technique catches my attention, my instinct is to dive into the archives and uncover its full story.”

She expounds: “Having studied law since I was 16, those years of discipline have become an invaluable asset in running my own business. Rather than a total departure, my legal background provides the structural foundation that supports my creative freedom, giving me a unique edge as the creative director of Tabla.

Tabla Setting

The brand began in Hong Kong in 1999 with an Indian-inspired luxury focus in a chic boutique in Prince’s Building. It went international in 2015, when she opened in Knightsbridge, London, an area she knew well from her law-student days.

“I was at a major crossroads in my life when the opportunity for Tabla appeared, and I simply dove into it with the reckless abandon of someone who found exactly what they were looking for,” she recalls. “I measured its success by the sheer momentum of the journey itself. Finding an opportunity that resonated so deeply with my passions proved instantly that the leap was worth it.”

Mohan frames Tabla’s style as an organic dialogue: ‘Made in India’ but filtered through her Hong Kong lens. She reels off specific examples, such as plates pairing pagodas with peacocks, and clothing highlighting Parsi Gara embroidery, a craft born from vibrant 19th-century maritime silk routes connecting China and India.

Asian Persuasion

She credits the emergence of cross-cultural branding – especially as championed by David Tang at Shanghai Tang – as a defining moment in fashion. “David was a true visionary,” she says. “I used to tell him that my ultimate goal was to create the Indian Shanghai Tang, and I very much stand by that ambition today. His legacy taught me that reframing heritage isn’t about changing the craft itself, but about elevating it onto the global stage with the pride and grandeur it deserves.”

Nowadays, the ‘Asian luxury’ conversation isn’t just aesthetic, it’s political, cultural and historical. It’s about who gets credit, who gets called inspired, and who gets called original. She explains: “To me, Asian luxury is deeply rooted in the old-school, homegrown traditions of unmatched craftsmanship, rich materials and exquisite hand-worked detailing. About 10 years ago, at a luxury conference in India hosted by a European company, I championed the rise of ‘Made in Asia’, only to be dismissed by an executive who insisted the world wasn’t ready.

I was astounded by that ignorance, knowing how much Western luxury has always relied on Indian embroidery and Asian craftsmanship behind the scenes. Today, I can say with pure conviction that the Asian invasion in luxury retail is fully upon us, reclaiming that narrative proudly.”

Then she drops a line that makes the room seem like it just got louder: “Over the next decade, the world will watch amazing homegrown designers emerge from this region to lead global trends – because when the dragon and the elephant dance, the whole world watches.”

Styles and Shifts

Expectations have evolved for Tabla since its pre-Millennium birth. Consolidating online, the brand now embodies more discernment, less ‘whatever’. “Today’s clients expect more than just a premium product; they seek a genuine craft story, a sense of heritage, and an authentic, personal connection to what they wear and bring into their homes,” she affirms.

“I have always envisioned the Tabla shopping experience as a jewel box – a treasure trove filled with unique, beautifully crafted pieces that resonate with this modern desire for authentic luxury.”

Reflecting on the longevity of her brand, she says: “Celebrating 25 years has proven to me that persistence is born out of pure, unadulterated belief. Someone once called me the most tenacious person they know – and while some days I ask myself why I have spent so much time on this, my retail lineage, my passion, and the specific niche we hold are what drive me forward.

It is easy to look at brands that scale rapidly and feel discouraged, but I didn’t come this far just to come this far. I still have so many stories to tell, embroideries to explore, and pieces to create while staying fiercely true to Tabla’s artisan heritage.”

That’s the foundation of a luxury brand that endures, because the truth is, anyone can dress you, but only a few can define you.

“I’ve done a lot of things [then thought], what the hell am I thinking right?” she laughs. “But now I’m focusing on Tabla and the importance of bringing forward my culture to the world, and who knows what the future may bring.” And true enough, real glam isn’t a trend; it’s a point of view.

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura Venue: Prince and the Peacock

Bridge Partner: Translating his dual identity into business strategy, influential investor Chibo Tang connects East and West

We meet venture capitalist Chibo Tang on the same day Donald Trump lands in China for a face-to-face with Xi Jinping and a possible reset of superpower ties. Since Tang is a super-successful investor who sees himself as a bridge between East and West, this coincidental concurrence feels like fate – like the universe itself is orchestrating product placement, or magazine calendars and geopolitical giants accidentally have the same Wi-Fi password.

Tang, characteristically calm and composed, acknowledges the symbolism but doesn’t oversell it. The Hong Kong-based Managing Partner of Gobi Partners smiles like a man who’s heard too many ‘signs’ to be impressed by one more. Born in China and educated in the United States, he has turned that dual identity into a professional strategy. His story is one of connecting worlds, forging partnerships, and leading teams who play to win.

The parallel between our rather more humble get-together and the ground-breaking sit-down of world leaders in Beijing clicks even harder as we begin our cover shoot at Chinesology. The restaurant’s contemporary aesthetics reflect the value and beauty of reactivated Chinese cuisine, adding new elements without abandoning tradition. In short, Chibo Tang and Chinesology share the mindset that modern innovation should respect its roots, not bulldoze them. They’re both focused on translation, timing and balance, on bridging two worlds without losing the plot.

Values Asset

Tang talks like a man who’s seen enough cycles to know that the world never moves in straight lines, and yet, somehow, it moves. He doesn’t romanticise his origin story; he lays it out simply like a business founder explaining how they achieve product-market fit: “I grew up in a family of academics. [While] my parents brought me up with traditional Chinese values, I ended up spending a lot of time reading and gaming. By the time college applications rolled around, I was convinced that I didn’t want to be an academic. I wanted to explore an intersection of business and engineering.”

Then came a hiccup that highlights Tang’s mentality to a tee – when the universe says ‘no’, he treats it like data. He had set his heart on attending Olin College of Engineering in Massachusetts, yet despite a perfect SAT score of 1600, he didn’t get in. But he believes “everything happens for a reason”, and brings that same energy into investing.

Activating Plan B, Tang went to Harvard College and acquired a bachelor’s degree in applied mathematics and economics. “Ambition was all my own,” he says. “Grades and academic prowess never meant much to me. Straight As [only] mean that you’re good at taking tests. I look at results, not at résumés.”

Empathy Engine

It’s a tactic that has served him well in a career that kicked off as a management consultant developing consumer segment activation strategies, and spanned spells in Shanghai prior to assuming, in 2009, his current role at Gobi, one of Asia’s leading early-stage venture-capital firms.

The deeper you go with Tang, the more you realise the bridge isn’t just professional. It’s personal, and he doesn’t skip the hard part. “The toughest challenge was probably coping with the discrimination that comes with being an immigrant in a foreign land,” he confesses.

As one of just a handful of Asian kids growing up outside Boston, bullies were part of his early life when he moved to the US aged three. He credits his parents, who sent him back to China every summer, with shaping him into a blend of two worlds. “Ultimately, being able to identify as both cultures – relating with either and offending neither – is the perfect background to help bridge the two,” he states.

Tang might be described as the ‘chillest’ boss in venture capital. He’s often seen in a hoodie and running shoes, plus a carry-on suitcase, unladen with ego or entitlement. “Is it happy hour yet?” he laughs mid-shoot. “I think I need a mojito after all of these [photos].” He casually calls his assistant “dude” as if he’s managing a team but not trying to intimidate anyone into productivity.

Investor Intelligence

Yet his brain runs 24/7. He’s always thinking of more: how to offer more, help more, connect more. Even in conversation, his mind is doing what his role demands: turning relationships into opportunities. He shares that Gobi Partners has grown AUM (assets under management) more than 10-fold to nearly US$2 billion since he joined in 2009. Next year is Gobi’s 25th anniversary, and they have an internal target to triple their AUM over the next few years. Expansion into emerging markets along the Belt and Road is part of the impetus.

Tang has a structured way of sizing up startups. “The most basic framework is threefold – market size, product and team,” he says, breaking it down like a checklist. “I’ve also added a fourth dimension, which is capital market momentum.” Challenging the US$1 billion unicorn hype, he adds: “Unicorns are aspirational, but many fall back soon after reaching that status. Valuations are products of the market, and hype cycles can outrun fundamentals.”

He also references the decacorn threshold (startups privately valued at US$10 billion), explaining that many unicorns get stuck in a “middle-income trap” – too big to be acquired, too small for IPO against established mega-caps.

Heart Burners

Returns matter in the world of venture capital, though for Tang, being able to say “I helped bring these technologies to the world” is more satisfying. His philosophy of success hinges on managing burners – the life version of resource allocation. Outlining the four burners theory, he opines: “It is impossible to keep all burners going strong. Your time and energy are finite, and there’s family, friends, work and health. You can’t keep all burners high all the time. You must choose what to feed and what to let lower.”

He argues that true success is achieving balance, and happiness – like money-making – comes as a by-product of this, but with impact and meaning. To him, venture capital sits at the intersection of wealth creation and societal progress.

Ultimate Fate

Personally, he wants to keep expanding his global perspective, meeting at new ‘courts’ with people he can learn from. His big life lesson? “The journey isn’t the destination. Milestones are rest stops, not the finish line, and then the road onwards continues.”

He and his wife, Karen Wong, who accompanies him at the shoot, have been married for almost two years. He believes in the concept of yuanfen – fated affinity or destiny – and the couple used feng shui to guide their choice of wedding day.

Head in the Game

Outside of work, the six-foot-two millennial enjoys playing basketball. It’s mid-May when the NBA playoffs are in full swing, and he is following two teams, the Oklahoma City Thunder and the Los Angeles Lakers. In sport as in life, he believes in being the bridge between two viewpoints. Which brings us full circle. Our meeting ends in the same way as it began: musing on the idea of connection.

Bridging two worlds isn’t a slogan for Chibo Tang; it’s a skill, a strategy and a philosophy. At the end of the day, thriving in business and progressing as a team aren’t just about winning. They are about bridging, so different worlds can finally play on the same court.

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura Venue: Chinesology

Vision Board: For Puyi Optical next-gen Julian Yau, eyewear is a story and leadership a lens

Drawing from both parents, Julian Yau brings a new brand of disciplined creativity to a visionary family business

Upon our arrival at Puyi Optical’s head office, Julian Yau takes great delight in showing us slides. Not the usual corporate kind – more like a visual scrapbook of the last chapter, stitched to the next one. A brand anniversary celebration? Sure. A look back at the past 25 years? Absolutely. But the real focus is the future, which is framed by the youthful Brand Director not as “growth”, but as development of experience – vision, yes, but also meaning.

Gen Z Julian was born in 2000, a year before his father, Jeffery Yau, founded the now multi-city luxury eyewear retailer. “I was in Hong Kong until 14, then went to the US for high school at Choate and college at Wharton,” he recounts, like he is opening the first page of a storybook. He smiles, as if he can already see the ending.

“I’d been sitting in on meetings and hearing about the business since high school. I had a surface-level understanding, but it was clear I couldn’t play any real part in it unless I had a robust business foundation. I set out to study business [finance and management] at the University of Pennsylvania.

“[Afterwards] I saw that my skills – in branding, in storytelling, in connecting different moving parts – aligned naturally with what we were doing. There was work I could genuinely help with [and] that was the confirmation I needed.”

Eyewear as a Canvas

This ‘structure first, magic second’ philosophy runs through everything Yau does ¬– like a disciplined paintbrush. It’s also the reason he talks about his job as something active: fighting for room to create: “At work, a lot of what I do is fight for space – to give ourselves a canvas to work with – and fight to have the tools, the ‘paint’, to create things.”

“My mother [artist Margaret Yau] is an oil painter,” he reminds us, “and in a way I followed in her footsteps – I grew up drawing and building things to play with: paper cars, even paper time machines.”

A paper time machine. That detail lands like a quiet punchline because it explains how Yau thinks: you build, you test, you iterate, you wait, and then you learn. His upbringing also prepared him for a leadership world that doesn’t always reward imagination alone.

“Beyond discipline, patience and humility, my father emphasises character,” he shares fondly. “To him, success never really mattered unless I was able to internalise it properly. If I failed at something, I needed to know how to pick myself back up. If I succeeded, I couldn’t get full of myself. The benchmark was always yourself – did you do your best?”

For any young person imagining that a family business is an effortless inheritance, Yau the younger corrects that fantasy immediately. “He didn’t care much if my grades were good if he didn’t see me try. And if I lost a competition that I’d trained hard for, he’d genuinely recognise the effort. That taught me early on that results aren’t the whole story. The relationship you have with your own work is what matters.” In other words, you don’t get to outsource your integrity.

Firm Eye for Family

In the Gen Z era, young people no longer ‘join’ industries; they collect them. But despite being Puyi Optical’s heir apparent, Yau didn’t just fall into eyewear like fate; he framed it as a bridge. “I approached my career with an open mind,” he explains. “The family business was a legacy, but it only carried that weight and responsibility if I was the right person for the job. It’s hard to separate my interest from my family ties, but honestly, even setting that aside, I think I’d be drawn to eyewear.”

Then he delivers a line that feels like the mission statement hidden inside his career: “Beyond having poor eyesight myself and a desperate need for glasses, the thing that really stands out to me is that it’s a confluence of disciplines: healthcare, retail, fashion, design, craftsmanship.”

The word ‘confluence’ matters here. It’s why he sees a boutique not as a storefront, but as a cross-industry experience. “I’ve always thought of myself as a bridge – in fact, my Chinese name means ‘holy bridge’. I like to think of myself as a bridge between cultures and fields, and eyewear sits right at that intersection.”

Should the next generation feel obliged to further what their parents have built? “No,” says Yau plainly. “I think it’s about you as an individual.” Then he adds the accountability clause: “But you are obligated to be honest with yourself – to genuinely assess whether you’re the right person, and to make the best decision based on that. If you’re not, that’s fine. Bring in people who can help. A legacy is better served by someone who’s truly committed than by someone who’s there out of obligation.”

Seeing then Believing

Having interned in varied environments, Yau explored alternative paths rather than default to the expected one. He earned a master’s degree in data science and worked in that field for a while. “If I’d turned out to take a different path, I’m sure my parents would have been just as proud,” he notes. “The legacy influenced me, but it never dictated my choices.”

Then came the defining realisation. “When you grow up around something, you can take it for granted. But stepping away – being in New York, working in a different context – I recognised how rare Puyi actually is.”

Puyi Optical’s approach has always been personal: understanding each customer’s personality, interests and needs. That’s the brand’s DNA. Innovation is still part of the story, but Yau doesn’t treat it as a replacement for craft. “It’s more nuanced than tradition versus innovation,” he says. “A lot of the traditional things we do at the company actually have room for innovation built into them.”

He also believes that leadership isn’t just “contributing”, it’s earning trust in real time. And he admits the trap of overcorrecting. Which is the kind of vulnerability modern brands increasingly need – not glossy confidence, but responsible humility.

Lens on Life

Yau’s personal happiness is derived from friends, loved ones, family, “and having purpose”. He adds: “To be honest, happiness is one of the things that’s less directly tied to my work itself. Work is my platform – it’s about what I do with it and my relationship to it.”

As the interview wraps, he returns us to who he is – Gen Z in spirit, but not in clichés. The most eye-opening part of our encounter isn’t his education, his finance discipline, or his brand slides. It’s his patience. When our photographer arrives late, he treats it not as a challenge but as a process to respect, the way you respect the slow build of something that matters.

Because somewhere in his childhood – assembling paper cars and time machines – was the same principle: you don’t rush the craft. You build the frame. You align the lens. You let the story come into focus. And that’s why Julian Yau’s brand of Gen Z cannot be labelled loud, careless or performative. It’s creative but structured, and visionary but grounded.

Interview, Text & Art Direction: Joseff Musa Photographer: Jack Law Videographer: Iris Ventura