The smell of smoke filled the flat as Mr and Mrs Wong brought home eight red-white-blue and IKEA bags filled with their belongings, retrieved from their old home, now charred and damaged by the fire.

Their daughter should have been overjoyed to have been reunited with her collection of storybooks, but all she could do was recoil from the smell of ash still lingering on the paperbacks six months after the fire at Wang Fuk Court last November.

The Wongs were among residents who returned to their fire-scorched flats to retrieve their belongings from mid-April to early May. On their allocated day, Wang Fuk Court residents made their way up the estate’s stairwells, racing against a three-hour time limit to retrieve what they could, reminisce in their former homes, and pay respects to the dead.

It was also a cathartic experience for some, as they struggled to pick up the pieces – literally and figuratively – in the wake of the deadly tragedy.

The inferno at the government-subsidised estate in Tai Po in November last year killed 168 people and has since displaced thousands of others. An inquiry hearing is under way to identify the cause of the fire – the city’s deadliest in decades – and hear testimony from residents, government officers, and others.

The Wong family was able to salvage some keepsakes and belongings, including the daughter’s books and birthday cards from friends, an old photo album, and a hard drive containing pictures and videos from the past decade.

“Some of the books were gifts from friends, and some of them she bought with her own pocket money. When she saw that the things in Wang Fuk Court had come back, she was so happy. But at the same time, all of those things smelled of smoke,” said Mrs Wong, who declined to disclose her full name for privacy reasons.

She recalled that her daughter, unable to withstand the stench, retreated to her room. “She said, ‘I have to hide in my room, the living room smells so bad!’”

Nearly six months after the fire, the nine-year-old girl is still reeling from the trauma. She “has become quite sensitive to certain smells and sounds, even the school bell,” Mrs Wong told HKFP in a phone interview this month.

The 38-year-old mother was worried that the smell of smoke – if it continued to linger – might bring up her daughter’s memories of the escape from the burning complex. Both she and her daughter have started seeing a psychologist to process the emotional fallout.

On the fateful day in late November, Mrs Wong was working at a local nursery when a neighbour called to tell her the estate was on fire. Her daughter and father-in-law were at home. Both Mr and Mrs Wong tried to call the grandfather multiple times, and luckily, the husband’s call went through.

The girl and her grandfather made their way down the 27 floors and exited the building through the back entrance – some 20 minutes after the fire broke out.

The Wongs are now living in a rented flat in Tai Po, the same district as their old home. Smoke from incense at a nearby traditional temple and sirens from a fire depot have also become triggers for the young girl.

For herself, Mrs Wong recovered some clothes that her mother-in-law had tailored to fit her. The family is still searching for an SD card containing 10 years’ worth of photos, including those of her daughter’s birth, hoping it will still be intact in the wreckage.

Mrs Wong told HKFP that she wept as she climbed all the way up to the 27th-floor flat at Wang Tai House, the second block at Wang Fuk Court that caught fire, earlier this month. To her surprise, their flat appeared to be largely untouched by the flames, though the intense heat from above and below her flat had mangled the ceiling and floor.

Before heading back to their old flat, she had resigned herself to the possibility that it might also be her last chance for a farewell. “What I wanted was to properly say goodbye to the flat,” Mrs Wong said.

Hong Kong authorities are set on a plan to buy out seven blocks at Wang Fuk Court for HK$6.8 billion and one tower largely unaffected by the blaze for another HK$1 billion, as well as to tear down the estate and turn it into a park or community facility.

“Every time I thought of going back, I would cry. I would worry about crying so hard that I wouldn’t have time to pack,” she said. “But I couldn’t let myself do that. I had to steel my nerves and pack up.”

Mrs Wong also brought flowers to pay her respects to her neighbour who died in the fire. “Looking at the other badly burnt units, I was reminded of all the people who left us,” she said.

Unfortunately, she did not have time to say proper goodbyes because she had to get back to packing.

The 27-storey slog up and down the building left the Wongs pressed for time. They were told to leave almost 30 minutes before their three hours were up to account for the time it would take to move all their things downstairs.

“I had hoped I would have some time to sit down and let things sink in, but I couldn’t even have that,” she said. To the family’s relief, the government has said residents will have a second chance to return to the estate. “Given a choice, I would pack up the entire place with me,” she said.

Carbon Yip, who lived in a sixth-floor flat in the neighbouring Wang Cheong House, the first block that caught fire, is planning his second trip back to the estate.

“I’ll take every single opportunity to go back,” said Yip, who spent almost three decades of his life at the estate. “The last time I was home was when I left for work that day, and now we’re back.”

Yip and his wife, Karen, moved into their flat after they got married, in the block neighbouring the tower where his childhood home was. “It wasn’t just property, it was the place where I grew up,” he said about Wang Fuk Court.

“Even if we’re done packing up, if we are allowed back, I’d still want to go back, even if it’s just to sit.”

The couple, along with his older brother and father, returned to Wang Fuk Court last month, donning hard hats and name tags. They packed up their lives at the estate into about 30-odd bags, most of which have been placed into a storage unit in a nearby industrial district.

The family first went to Carbon Yip’s home and days later to his father’s flat in Wang Tai House.

They returned to the flats weeks after the father, Yip Ka-kui, also known as Sdanni Yip, gave a moving testimony before an independent committee investigating the cause of the fire and its rapid spread.

At the hearing, Sdanni Yip, who repeatedly reported potential fire hazards at the estate to authorities, accused the government of “evading responsibility.” He also gave a heartfelt tribute to his late wife, Pak Shui-lin, who spent her final moments knocking on doors to notify other residents of the fire.

The Yip family’s designated social worker showed them photos of the flat before they returned so they would have a better idea of what to look for. However, even then, Carbon Yip couldn’t prepare himself for the weight of stepping back into his home.

“I had to collect myself before I could start packing, because the emotions were overwhelming,” he said, recalling the trip back to Wang Cheong House. “I don’t think anyone could accept seeing their home looking that way.”

Carbon Yip, 36, lost much of his Gundam and Digimon figurine collection to the fire. He discovered the models had melted and fused into a single unrecognisable lump of plastic. He had to throw out a large part of his Pokémon card collection, including limited anniversary-edition cases that warped and melted in the fire.

However, he managed to salvage a commemorative crystal block made to remember their pet dog, who died early last year after about 16 years with the family. The memento was stashed away in a box, which shielded it from the worst of the fire.

Returning home reminded him of his late mother. Pak took care of their late dog, whom she called her “granddaughter,” while he and his wife worked.

“’Your daughter isn’t eating again!’ – she used to tell me whenever [the dog] was being a picky eater,” Carbon Yip said.

Carbon Yip, his wife, and his father have moved in with the elder brother. Seven family members are crammed into a three-bedroom flat, just a 15-minute walk from Wang Fuk Court.

“Being able to get these things back, our home can now feel a little bit more complete,” Carbon Yip said.

An engineer by day, Thomas spends most of his time inspecting building projects on construction sites. At night, he unwinds by performing in bars and restaurants across Hong Kong.

The 35-year-old has always had a passion for singing – in particular, he loves performing songs by Hins Cheung, his favourite Cantopop artist.

“When I have a gig, one-third or even half of my songs are Hins’ songs,” Thomas told HKFP. “I love how he expresses himself through singing. He’s very creative, and he’s humorous too.”

Last year, he even signed up for Hins Academy music seminars, personally taught by Cheung. They were not cheap, Thomas said, costing around HK$800 or $900 per seminar.

Cheung, 45, whose music career in Hong Kong has spanned more than two decades, was born and raised in the southern Chinese city of Guangzhou. He moved to Hong Kong in 2002 to pursue music.

His hits, from old-time favourites like “Tremor” to newer songs like “Imaginary Fairground,” are karaoke staples. He has also won multiple high-profile awards, and his concert tickets sell out notoriously quickly.

Last month, Cheung made headlines after he apologised for his past criticism of the government. His comments were published in a full-page interview with state-backed newspaper Wen Wei Po, in which he said he had been “impulsive” and “ignorant” in his younger years.

The out-of-the-blue repentance contrasted with the pro-democracy stance that Cheung had been associated with. While he – like most public figures in the city’s post-security law environment – has not commented on politics in recent years, his fans remember his support for social movements dating back to the anti-national education protests in 2012.

Cheung also said in the interview that he would serve as a mentor for a Security Bureau programme targeting young people arrested for their involvement in the 2019 protests and unrest. He would lead them on trips to mainland China so they could learn more about the country, he said.

Thomas – who requested to use a pseudonym due to the sensitivity of the topic – said the recent news did not change his perception of Cheung, as he did not think the statements were made of his own free will.

“This is a 180-degree difference” from what Cheung used to be, Thomas said in Cantonese. “I think there must be reasons behind the scenes.”

His reaction echoed many comments left on Cheung’s social media posts, some of which said the Wen Wei Po interview felt “bizarre” and suggested that something “had happened.”

Political pressure

A political scientist at a university in Hong Kong, who declined to be named, said he believed there was some merit in fans’ theories. Cheung’s dramatic turn showed the increasing political pressure that artists had to cave in to in order to succeed in their field, he said.

He speculated that the government wanted a popular public figure to step forward and “admit their mistakes” to encourage others to rethink their political views. Cheung was a “suitable candidate,” the academic said.

He opined that while Cheung was believed to have a pro-democracy stance, he was not as anti-establishment as other singers who have engaged in political activism.

In fact, while the Cantopop star has expressed support for the city’s social movements, he has also made posts on Weibo celebrating China’s National Day.

“He has the brand of being anti-government in some sense, but he’s not that extreme,” the scholar said. “He’s the ideal type for the government to work with.”

The apology and collaboration with the government are also beneficial for Cheung from a business perspective, the academic added. 

In the past, artists worried that anti-establishment political statements could limit their opportunities across the border. Mainland China has been known to bar singers perceived as pro-democracy, making it difficult for them to hold concerts there.

But now that fear could be felt right at home, too, the academic said. In recent years, singers who are outspoken about their pro-democracy stance have faced difficulties securing concert venues in the city. 

Outside of Cheung’s fan circle, however, criticism is not hard to come by. Lester Shum, a pro-democracy activist who was released from jail in January after serving a four-and-a-half-year sentence for a landmark national security case, said on Threads that Cheung was doing it “for the money.”

He appeared to downplay concerns that Cheung was under any pressure.

“Don’t say he’d get arrested if he didn’t do this lmao,” Shum wrote in Chinese. “I think the chances of that happening are close to zero.” 

Another Threads user accused Cheung of “playing the victim” and trying to fish for sympathy.

‘For his music’

Comments like that do not faze long-time fan Brian, who said he has been listening to Cheung since his late primary school days.

The 29-year-old said he had been to Cheung’s concerts eight or nine times, a feat made possible by the fact that he could buy internal tickets through a friend’s relative who worked at Emperor Entertainment Group, Hong Kong’s talent management behemoth that manages the artist.

Tickets are too difficult to purchase during public sales, said Brian, who declined to disclose his full name.

“I have liked him for so many years for his music, not because of things he has said about politics in the past,” Brian told HKFP. “So I won’t stop liking him because of what he’s said about politics now.”

He told HKFP he himself is not a political person and that he does not support “either side.”

“But in Hong Kong, if you say you support the government, you will have more opportunities,” he said. “If [Cheung] still wants to develop in Hong Kong, to hold shows and appear in films, his stance must be supportive of the government.”

According to local media, Cheung appeared at a Security Bureau event at the Hong Kong Museum of History at the end of April, where he and other speakers gave talks to about 300 people. The event was aimed at young people who were arrested during the protests and unrest in 2019.

The singer shared the ups and downs of his career, including being scammed by a record company in mainland China when he was 17. In his talk, he did not mention national security.

Afterwards, participants were brought to the national security exhibition in the museum. Then, there was a lucky draw, with tickets to a star-studded concert featuring Emperor Entertainment Group’s singers among the prizes, an attendee told local media.

Thomas said he did not think that Cheung wanted to collaborate with the government on its event, but perhaps he had to as a favour to his music company, which is reportedly experiencing financial difficulties. Last year, Emperor Group actress Michelle Wai also gave a talk at a similar Security Bureau event targeting former 2019 protesters.

He also said it was “abnormal” that Cheung unfollowed many accounts on Instagram around the time the Wen Wei Po interview came out, including some of his closest artist friends like Terence Lam and Tyson Yoshi.

Thomas said he believed Cheung would not do that on his own.

He added that while Cheung had not spoken about politics in recent years, his music video for “Imaginary Fairground” – filmed in London in 2023 and depicting Hongkongers’ struggle to adapt to a new life in the UK – was interpreted by fans as a message of encouragement for those who had emigrated because of the city’s political developments.

Thomas’ friends who are also Cheung fans share his continued support for the artist, the hobbyist singer said, but some members of his own audience seem less forgiving.

Thomas had come across restaurant customers at his gigs who, upon hearing him perform Cheung’s songs, said they no longer listened to the Cantopop star.

“I think those are not his real fans,” Thomas said. “All they’ve seen are the news reports.”

As the United Arab Emirates (UAE) and other Gulf states were targeted by Iranian airstrikes, Hongkonger Oi Chau joined a chorus of other expats saying it was “business as usual” in Dubai.

She was convinced after seeing images of UAE President Sheikh Mohamed bin Zayed Al Nahyan and Dubai Crown Prince Sheikh Hamdan bin Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, who also serves as defence minister, strolling around Dubai Mall on March 2 – two days after the US-Israeli attacks on Iran triggered a military conflict in the Middle East.

Four weeks later, on Monday, the crown prince, Sheikh Hamdan, made another visit to the same mall – this time with Finance Minister Sheikh Maktoum bin Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum.

It was “as if nothing happened, as if it was business as usual,” Chau told HKFP.

The UAE, a regional economic superpower that hosts US military assets, seems to bear the brunt of Iranian strikes.

As of Wednesday, UAE air defences had intercepted 438 ballistic missiles, 19 cruise missiles, and 2,012 drones launched by Tehran. The Ministry of Defence said 12 people – nine of whom were foreign nationals – had been killed and 190 others injured.

Last month, the Hong Kong government raised travel alerts for countries in the Middle East, including the UAE and Saudi Arabia. It said that as of March 23, about 590 of the 830 Hong Kong residents who sent enquiries to the Immigration Department had left the region, while 240 remained behind in the UAE, Qatar and Saudi Arabia.

Despite growing uncertainty over the war in the Middle East, Chau was among Hongkongers – long accustomed to their home city’s insularity from armed conflicts – who have chosen to stay put.

Hong Kong to Dubai

Chau recalled hearing the initial strikes on February 28 from her flat at the Dubai Marina district.

She lives a 30-minute drive away from the Port of Jebel Ali, where one of the berths caught fire from missile debris when Iran’s airstrikes were intercepted in early March.

“I saw a crater in the side of a building from the intercepted missiles. That was when I thought my life could be in danger,” Chau told HKFP in a video call in late March.

A month into the strikes, she thought the worst of the conflict was over.

“When we were able to hear the missiles overhead, I was conflicted whether I should leave the UAE. But the strikes calmed down after the third week, so I don’t think I have to leave just yet,” she said.

Chau, who works for a regional office of a Japanese car manufacturer, said she chose to stay largely because her employer does not allow remote work.

Meanwhile, by her own estimates, some 80 per cent of her expat social circle have left. Dubai Marina, an affluent tourism and residential district where Chau lives, has fallen silent since the war broke out, with tourists gone and residents mostly staying home.

Chau transferred to Dubai two years ago for a change of scenery after getting fed up with the restrictive work culture at the automobile company in Tokyo.

What drew her to Dubai was the diverse expat crowd and the low-tax regime, which she said was reminiscent of Hong Kong’s.

Having visited twice before moving to Dubai for work, Chau had already formed an impression of the UAE as an “oasis” for political stability.

“I never had concerns that this place would be dragged into a conflict,” she said, adding that she believed the UAE would be well-protected even in the case that it did get involved.

Safe haven

However, the war has shattered the UAE’s image as a safe, low-tax haven that attracts affluent foreigners.

There are signs that the conflict may escalate even further, as Gulf nations, including Saudi Arabia and the UAE, have led calls for the US to turn up the heat on Tehran. The unpredictable nature of US President Donald Trump, which has veered from threatening to hit Iran’s civilian and energy infrastructure to announcing a pause to his threats, does not help either.

Meanwhile, the automaker Chau works for has been experiencing supply issues since Iran blocked the Strait of Hormuz in retaliation for the US-Israeli strikes.

Other companies have slashed salaries and placed employees on unpaid leave, but so far, Chau’s workplace has said it will not impose pay cuts. “But if the situation continues, nobody knows,” she said.

For Chau, choosing to stay during the first fortnight of the conflict was something of a gamble. But some factors convinced her about the city’s safety, including assurances from her Lebanese boss, who witnessed armed conflicts in his country of origin, and a friend who grew up in Dubai, as well as the crown prince’s mall visits.

“It was as if to say, the UAE isn’t affected by this war, we aren’t affected, and our development will continue,” she said of the Dubai rulers’ mall stroll.

Across the border in Saudi Arabia, Chloe Wong has also decided to stay, although the country, which hosts several US military bases, has been targeted by Iranian strikes.

“As of now, life is still normal here in Riyadh,” said the Hongkonger who moved to the Saudi capital after a stint in the UAE. “It’s almost like the war isn’t even happening.”

She added: “I believe we are still in safe hands. There were some missiles here in Riyadh, and I think it has already become… our new normal.”

Wong said she would consider leaving only if Saudi Arabia “actively participates” in the conflict. “The Gulf countries haven’t joined the war.”

‘Like propaganda’

Another Hongkonger in Dubai has a more critical view of the crown prince’s public appearance.

Kristi, who uses a pseudonym for fear of reprisals, said she believed the grandstanding was meant to reassure the UAE populace of the “Dubai dream” amid missile and drone strikes.

“The government cares a lot about its image. I’ve known this since I came here,” said Kristi, who now works as a marketer after moving to the city.

“They don’t want to let public sentiment be affected. At the end of the day, 90 per cent of the workforce are expats. If they leave, who’s left to work?”

Airstrikes are not the only worry. The UAE’s National Media Authority warned on March 2 that sharing false or unverified content was an imprisonable offence.

In mid-March, the UAE attorney general arrested 35 people from nine countries for sharing photos and videos related to the Iranian strikes on social media, from real to misleading and AI-generated content. Days later, on March 20, Abu Dhabi police announced the arrests of 109 people on suspicion of filming or posting about the Iranian attacks.

Following the arrest reports, Kristi witnessed members of a WhatsApp group consisting of hundreds of Hongkongers in Dubai deleting images from the chat. They now only resort to text descriptions of what they have seen.

Meanwhile, government-licensed influencers on TikTok and Instagram in Dubai continue to produce a steady stream of content praising the ruling royal family for ensuring their safety.

“Spreading fear doesn’t do them any favours; it actually hurts them. We understand why they have to do that, but we know it feels like propaganda,” she said, referring to the Dubai rulers.

Kristi pointed out that, as a Hongkonger, she had never experienced geopolitical conflict first-hand.

“We Hongkongers haven’t witnessed natural disasters or war,” she said, adding that one of the deciding factors for her move was that she felt Dubai was as safe as Hong Kong. However, she acknowledges that the narrative is being challenged.

While Dubai’s missile interception systems have provided a degree of reassurance, “nobody knows if they’re going to run out,” Kristi said, referring to the UAE’s Terminal High Altitude Area Defence (THAAD) system, developed by US defence giant Lockheed Martin.

“Drones also don’t care where they fall after their GPS systems are jammed,” she added.

Kristi moved to Dubai on a whim about half a decade ago. “I didn’t even know what the Middle East was back then,” she said.

“When the fighting began in Iran and with Gaza, my friends back in Hong Kong messaged me telling me to take care of myself. But in Dubai, you really couldn’t feel any of that. It was really when the missiles were intercepted that I could feel the impact of war.”

Despite the shock, Kristi has decided to stay, at least for the time being.

Her boyfriend, who is also based in Dubai, is one major reason why she is staying put. “I have a stable partner here, and we’re planning to get married. I’m not going to just leave and do this long-distance,” she said.

Even before the war, she had realised that life in Dubai “is good for a short time,” and the couple had plans to leave. For now, they want to stay, at least for a short or medium term.

“Even if they announce a ceasefire, things won’t return to normal overnight,” Kristi said. “I don’t think it’s going to stop any time soon. Iran and Trump are both stubborn… and the UAE is stuck in the middle.”

Words by James Lee.

Wielding a brush with bristles tapered to a needle-thin point, Joseph Tso applied black overglaze paint, filling the gaps in the outlines of an old Guangcai porcelain piece with a deftness that belies his age in the late seventies.

“These old ones, the outlines are all broken, and the colours have faded,” he said with his arm resting on a wooden box to keep the numbness in his hand at bay. “Back in the day, I would have just handed this to one of our painters.”

Tso is the third-generation owner of the 98-year-old Yuet Tung China Works in Kowloon Bay, the city’s oldest hand-painted porcelain factory.

He was six when he moved from mainland China to Hong Kong with his family in 1956. He grew up surrounded by porcelainware.

The factory was originally named Kam Wah Loong when it was established by Tso’s grandfather in 1928 in Kowloon City.

“Historically, there was a lot of conflict in China, whereas Hong Kong was much more stable. My grandfather saw an opportunity and realised that foreigners really liked our porcelain, so he set up the first factory,” Tso said.

Two decades later, after World War II, the factory was renamed Yuet Tung – its name to this day.

Industrial boom

The painstaking detail that goes into the Qing Dynasty-era craft, named guangcai or “Canton famille rose porcelain” in English, demands a three-year apprenticeship before craftspeople can work at the factory, Tso said.

Only after he graduated from secondary school in the late 1960s was he allowed to start learning porcelain techniques at the factory.

That was when Hong Kong’s industrial boom was in full swing, with several dozen workers hand-painting Yuet Tung’s porcelain and a client list containing the names of European royal families and overseas department stores.

“I would help with the external affairs, while my father would handle the manufacturing,” he said.

Tso attributes the factory’s success in part to his English-language education in the British colony, which helped him meet overseas buyers and expand the porcelain factory’s clientele worldwide.

At its peak, a vast majority of the factory’s business was export-driven. American department stores such as R.H. Macy – known today as Macy’s – led demand for the porcelain maker’s products, and would regularly ask the factory for new designs, while European royal families would commission the factory to have their coats of arms painted on porcelain dinnerware.

Local hotels such as the Peninsula and the Regent were also among Yuet Tung’s top clients.

The city’s industrial boom slowed after mainland China introduced economic reforms in 1978 and opened up to foreign trade and investment.

The resulting labour flight in the 1990s hit the factory hard after its painters, along with the dozens of other factories in Hong Kong, left for the mainland.

Yuet Tung is the only factory that stayed. “I didn’t want to go up for networking,” Tso said with a chuckle.

Now, only a low hum from an industrial kiln and the occasional clinking of porcelain plates punctuates the silence in the factory, as its ageing painters work quietly behind stacks of porcelainware.

After the city’s economy de-industrialised, Yuet Tung maintains its operations by serving luxury clients and selling custom pieces locally. In recent years, it has secured funding from the government’s Intangible Cultural Heritage scheme.

The human touch

Yuet Tung is still maintaining its local, hand-drawn heritage while introducing new techniques to help ease the painstaking work of its painters.

Traditional Guangcai artisans use black pigment and razor-thin brushes to draw outlines of motifs such as peonies, phoenixes, dragons, and carp on white porcelain. The outlined illustrations are then filled in with pale pinks and contrasting greens with touches of sharp vermillion and gold highlights.

After the painted wares are fired in an 800-degree-Celsius kiln, the special overglaze enamel paints are vitrified and bonded to the porcelain, taking on a transparent matte finish.

A closer look at some of the finished porcelains at the factory reveals black outlines that tend to vary in weight and coloured paints that creep beyond the dark lines.

Those distinct, organic visual imperfections are proof of Yuet Tung’s hand-painted craftsmanship and a testament to the artisans’ experience – as well as to their age, as they find it more challenging to paint with great precision.

“I was originally going to retire,” Tso said. “I’m 77, and some of the workers are over 80.”

Fully hand-drawn and painted porcelains have become far rarer, however. To take some of the strain off the elderly painters, Yuet Tung has introduced a special method of printing readymade “decals” of the outlines onto the porcelain, using a water-activated transfer paper.

The outlines are drawn on a tablet computer, then printed onto transfer paper, which is then cut out, moistened, and placed onto the porcelain. Once the outlines are transferred to the porcelain, the painters can fill in the colours by hand.

In the age of artificial intelligence, one may wonder whether they are tempted to join the AI bandwagon.

“You might say that AI can easily create a design, but AI creations are boring,” Tso said. “Even though all the old masters paint dragons, they all have their distinctive styles. AI doesn’t have that personalised touch.”

“People admire our creations for the handiwork,” he added.

The transfer paper technique retains some of the qualities of hand-painted outlines, such as a slightly raised texture, while precise linework retains a uniform thickness, Tso said. It also makes the products more affordable for customers, he added.

The technique was introduced by his daughter, Martina Tso, who runs the factory with her father.

Innovation

Martina Tso, who holds a bachelor’s degree in design from the Hong Kong Polytechnic University and a master’s degree in comparative literature from the University of Hong Kong, now manages much of Yuet Tung’s business operation.

Since joining the family business, she has modernised some of the factory’s designs for collaborations with brands such as Casetify and Lane Crawford.

She also designed a special series of tableware themed “Canton People,” displayed at the Palace Museum in Beijing in November last year during an exhibition organised by the Hong Kong Culture, Sports and Tourism Bureau.

Adopting techniques found in traditional Chinese paintings, Martina Tso depicts scenes at cha chaan teng – Hong Kong-style cafes – and dim sum restaurants with distinctive booth seats and trolleys, and the city’s skyline in the background.

Images of a modern city, such as the Hong Kong Cultural Centre and high-rises, are juxtaposed with traditional motifs like the pink rose.

“In the old days, we relied mostly on exports, but over the past decade we’ve found more local collaborations,” the fourth-generation entrepreneur said. “What we do really represents Hong Kong’s heritage.”