SI
SI
discoversearch

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor.  We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community.  If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.
Strategies & Market Trends : HONG KONG -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?


To: Tom who wrote (2788)3/31/1999 3:51:00 PM
From: Tom  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 2951
 
Lengthy content.

FOR PERSONAL USE, copyright Euromoney Publications PLC


China's Hidden Timebomb

Twelve men on bicycles pedal across the runway to our plane and start to remove our bags - the first evidence of the non-capital intensive, low-cost enterprise we have heard so much about.

This is Chengdu, capital of Sichuan, a south-western province more populous than Germany and which 2,200 years ago propelled China towards unification.

However, with 36,000 state-owned enterprises (SOEs) - more than in any other province - it is at the centre of the greatest problem besetting China's leaders - how to reform these enterprises without destroying the social fabric.

"It's all starting to unravel," says Euromoney's travelling companion, Richard Tsiang. He isn't heartened by a research report he's read on the plane: textile exports from China fell in the first 10 months of 1998 - which is unprecedented - and electricity production rose by only 2%, a strange thing in an economy supposedly growing at 8% a year. Moreover retail prices fell 0.8%.

Tsiang, a partner with Hong Kong-based fund manager Allard Partners, is a hybrid in many ways - an Australian-born Mandarin-speaker, he's an asset manager who also advises Fortune 500 companies on acquisitions. His fund has outperformed the MSCI Asia-Pacific index by 73% over the past three years.

At the airport we meet Benjamin Yi, an official with the China Council for the Promotion of International Trade. He is to be our translator and minder for the next fortnight. It is early January and the temperature hovers around zero.

The road to Chengdu is mostly complete, but hordes of workers - women as well as men - are labouring to widen it. There is no machinery, just workers - each on Rmb20 ($2.40) a day. Overlooking Chengdu's main square, a monolithic statue of Chairman Mao is covered in scaffolding - under reconstruction like his economic ideas.

At the hotel officials are waiting. We are told Beijing has sanctioned our trip and we will meet the governor of Sichuan province later, provided "there isn't a landslide or some natural disaster that diverts his attention".

Sichuan Today, a new broadsheet, proclaims that "people of all walks of life in Sichuan share a common emotion: to emancipate their minds and push forward Sichuan's opening to the outside world". Helpfully it adds: "Compared with northern Chinese, Sichuanese are not tall, but they are brave and diligent, clever and flexible, warm-hearted and honest."

Foreign investors don't seem impressed. Sichuan attracted just $900 million of the $49 billion of foreign investment that entered China last year. So the officials are delighted we're here to tell Sichuan's story. Tsiang puts them straight: "You know I can't make
investment decisions without seeing everything - warts and all. I was promised we'd see good and bad. To get some perspective I need to see a really lousy state-owned enterprise." Benjamin promises this will be arranged.


Diametrically opposed ideas

That evening we dine with an old China hand who is winding down a joint venture in Chengdu on behalf of his multinational employer. What went wrong? The Chinese partner had "diametrically opposed" ideas on strategy. Then, the central government changed a law, forcing the investor to reduce its 51% stake - which was "always a grey area anyway", he says.

Finance was also a problem: "We needed to go to a local bank to get yuan funding for our expansion. The joint venture's chairman came from the Chinese side and said we needed to fake our numbers if we wanted to get loan approvals. He told us rather heroically that he would sign it, and take the consequences. Unfortunately he didn't understand the concept that we would have responsibility for this loan too, and we couldn't risk our brand by faking the books."

After dinner he takes us to the "antique" market - devoid of antiques - and the nearby night market. "Six months ago this area was abuzz with fake CDs and video compact disks," he says, "but the local officials have clamped down, because of the WTO [World Trade Organization]."

He reckons local unemployment is 20% - the official number is 3% - and average consumption is less than a quarter of that in Shanghai and Beijing. "This place is at least five years behind the coast," he notes.

The Reunion Bar has guards outside dressed in military gear. This is appropriate since the People's Liberation Army owns the land. We ask for the local beer, Blue Sword, but are told only foreign brands are available. A Heineken girl and a San Miguel girl come over to persuade us to buy their brands.

The next morning we meet Sichuan propaganda chief Hui Changlin, dressed in a white polo shirt, cords and a leather jacket - he wants the meeting to be relaxed, he says, and mentions that Sichuan's GDP is Rmb360 billion, with 9% GDP growth in 1998.

Tsiang raises the issue of Chengdu Cable, a listed company famous in investment circles because its management lost a major contract and didn't tell anybody. The company lost over 50% of its revenue and the share price plummeted. "Was this a case of poor management and misunderstanding the share market?" asks Tsiang. "Tranparency is important and I wondered whether you would find this feedback useful."

"Thank you for your kind remarks," says Hui. Benjamin chooses this moment to tell us that the "lousy SOE" we have been promised is "too shy" to meet us. We are going to see Sichuan Dunhuang instead, a company run by an "aggressive" local lady called Leona Qiou.

Hers was the first private company in Sichuan province, established 12 years ago as a textiles manufacturer, with loans from family and friends. As we begin to ask questions, it quickly emerges that the redoubtable Madame Qiou has diversified into real estate, animal feed and pig farming. In fact the company produces 300,000 pigs annually. She says her net assets are Rmb470 million. Profit is Rmb30 million.

Tsiang is puzzled by the company's strategic direction. "You have done well to getwhere you are when the economy was closed, but now tariffs are coming down, and the economy is opening," he says. "How does a company like this compete if you're not willing to make the jump into growth areas. For example, you've gone into animal feed but the margins are getting thinner and thinner there as competition intensifies."

She replies that she is going into a plasterboard venture, which will have a 30% return on capital. Her current return is 6.4%. She adds that she has a triple A rating from the Bank of China and invites us to lunch. We drive to the restaurant in her magenta Cadillac.

Once we are seated, one of the eight officials around the table tries to disconnect the karaoke machine, which blares out cantopop invitingly. Discussion of our hostess's business resumes. She admits that her gross margins in textiles have fallen from 25% to 10% but she remains confident, as is the Sichuan government, which considers hers one of its model enterprises.

Over turtle soup we learn that Qiou bought a state-run abattoir and enjoyed a three-year tax holiday. She had the right to dismiss employees and create a bonus system.

One of the officials describes his former life as an SOE employee: "I would catch a bus at 7am; we'd pick everyone up and arrive at nine. At 11am we'd start lunch, then half the managers would spend the afternoon playing mah-jong and the buses would start leaving again at 4pm." This is referred to as the iron rice bowl mentality - a job from cradle to the grave.

Qiou's great ambition is to list in New York. As we leave there are the customary photographs before we climb into our Toyota van. Would you buy shares in that company? "No way," is Tsiang's emphatic response. "It's a collection of sunsetindustries." He didn't get a good vibe from its owner either - and he usually trusts his instincts in these matters.

That afternoon we meet the president of the recently established branch of Everbright Bank of China. When asked about the level of non-performing loans in the balance sheet, Everbright branch president Gong Pei and his colleagues confer for three minutes before
saying that it's "the lowest in China" but exact data can only be given by head office in Beijing. The branch itself, opened only seven months before, has a mere Rmb600 million of outstanding loans, with a net interest margin - set by the central bank - of 2.6%. He says his branch, being new, has no bad loans and its profit per capita at Rmb640,000 is the highest in Chengdu. When asked if he prefers to lend to SOEs or the private sector, he says he never thinks in those terms: "In our mind we don't have any idea about the ownership."

A well-placed friend of Tsiang's in Beijing had explained the government's view on this: if two enterprises, one privately owned and one an SOE, enjoy the same financial standing, the bank is "encouraged" to lend to the SOE.

That evening we go to the Tibetan Hotel for traditional Tibetan dancing and cuisine. Yak's milk tea is one of the many delicacies we are to enjoy on this trip along with bull's penis-and-dog soup. A male singer wanders from table to table shaking hands after each
melancholy song. "He's a quality-assurance civil servant," Benjamin tells us. "He does this as a hobby. He doesn't even get paid." We point out to Benjamin that tomorrow we must see some state-owned enterprises. He calls his boss to relay our anxiety.

At breakfast we're told an SOE is on the schedule: China National Erzhong group - which literally means "The Second Heavy Machinery Plant".

Its factory covers 2.4 million square metres. Last October the group was given a 37.7% stake in a Shenzhen-listed A share, Xinan Hua, so that it could "improve the management", we are told. Isn't that a retrograde step? It's a short cut, Tsiang explains: "Ultimately this company's assets will be injected into the A share. Money for this company will be raised by the A share. It's clever. It means they don't have to join the listing queue or wait for approvals from Beijing." (A shares can only be purchased by a Chinese citizen, B shares can be sold only to foreigners.)

We learn that the company owes Rmb300 million to the bank, and another Rmb300 million to creditors. Moreover it is owed Rmb600 million by other SOEs, much of which will never be paid.

The company is provided with working capital by Industrial Commercial Bank of China. What would happen if ICBC stopped lending tomorrow, Tsiang asks the manager, who's wearing a black leather overcoat. "They won't," he replies. Sales are Rmb1 billion, and net assets are Rmb300 million, while the company's profits are about Rmb50 million. Competition is forcing down prices and orders aren't coming through.

( continued in next post )



To: Tom who wrote (2788)4/1/1999 12:22:00 PM
From: Tom  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 2951
 
Lengthy content. (cont)

Russian roots

We drive to the company's hospital, passing through a market. There are shops, and even a branch of ICBC. "This is all part of the SOE," says Benjamin. It looks like a normal Chinese high street. "Look at the very narrow windows. That's so they won't break easily. Soviet design." The factory was built with Russian assistance in the 1950s.

Benjamin defends the company: "The quality of their products is very good. The question is getting orders and getting paid."

"I agree," says Tsiang. "They're capital-equipment producers. They're totally dependent on the rest of the economy doing well. If I'm a steel mill with problems of my own, the last thing I want to do is upgrade my existing equipment."

There is no heating in the hospital and people huddle together in rooms a couple of degrees above freezing. A doctor we meet - one of the hospital's 100 - is wearing six layers of clothing. The general public can use this hospital too but, unlike the firm's employees, they have to pay. Behind this Dickensian establishment stands a brand new hospital, almost completed at a cost of Rmb12 million. Each room has an air-conditioner and a television. In fact it looks like the nearest thing to luxury that an Erzhong employee will see in his lifetime. We are told this has been financed by a savvy land sale.

An MBA's pitiful powerlessness

About 50,000 people live in Deyang and 15,000 work for Erzhong. Of that number, 5,000 work in ancillary social services like schools and hospitals. The current management has been in the company for three years and one manager admits to us that they are facing the most difficult operating conditions he has ever experienced. He has an MBA from a Chinese university, and reckons he could double profits if he didn't have to carry the 5,000 "social services" staff. The company hopes the government will take the hospitals and schools off their hands.

SOE managers earn around Rmb10,000 a year. Tsiang shows a pang of sympathy: "Imagine having an MBA and not being able to fire people. No wonder he looked so worn down."

Erzhong typifies the SOE crisis facing China. According to the Brookings Institution's Nicholas Lardy - who published China's unfinished economic revolution at the end of last year - by 1995 the ratio of liabilities to assets in state firms had reached 85%, and that's excluding intercompany debt. An asset/liability ratio of 85% is equivalent to a debt/equity ratio of well over 500%, worse than any Korean chaebol. Worse still, by 1995, working capital made up 97% of borrowed funds, suggesting that most state firms were already living from hand to mouth. Things have almost certainly deteriorated since then.

The SOE problem is inextricably linked with China's pending banking crisis. Around 83% of all bank loans outstanding are to SOEs, and the four biggest banks control 60% of the loans.

None of this would be so bad had SOEs invested the money well. But by 1994 the average return on investments by SOEs had sunk to 5%, mostly because of overcapacity.

All Chinese banks have seen profits deteriorate sharply in their recently announced results - most notably Construction Bank and Bank of China. This trend looks certain to continue. But even if you look at the relatively "good" time of 1994, the numbers are terrible. In that year ICBC made a pre-tax profit of Rmb4.24 billion which translated after tax into Rmb1.65 billion of net income. In the same year its assets rose by a third. Simply to maintain its risk-weighted capital adequacy ratio of 5.7% the bank would have had to add Rmb30 billion to its capital - a sum 17 times its profits.

Central bank governor Dai Xianlong said in January last year that 25% of the big four banks' loans were classified. But only 2% were acknowledged to be bad. A more forthright recognition of the problem is a recently-announced Xinda Asset Management scheme that will take $36 billion of Construction Bank's $145 billion of loans off its books - imitating the US savings and loans rescue vehicle Resolution Trust Corporation.

But as Lardy puts it: "Until these banks have the independence to refuse to extend additional credit to failing state firms and can force these firms to exit, it will be difficult for the central bank to require banks to be fully responsible for their own profits and losses."

Welcome to Television City

State-owned TV manufacturer Chang Hong is a wannabe Japanese multinational. That's why it doesn't look like a state-owned enterprise as you walk into the foyer. Silver and chrome is everywhere. There is a waterfall, an atrium and a small café. It is clinically clean and its mid-level executives display a salaryman-like devotion to the company and to the man who turned it around in the 1980s, Ni Runfeng.

Ni took Chang Hong out of the defence industry into TVs 20 years ago, and reformed the SOE along market lines - introducing bonuses for example - before any other Chinese company had thought to do so. His achievement was to become the biggest TV-maker in China. Ni is away in Beijing, but seven salarymen sit the other side of the boardroom table to tell us why they're "ranked the kings of colour television production in China".

Chang Hong dominates the city of Mianyang. A huge inscription on the main building welcomes you to "Television City". Last year it produced 9.3 million TVs giving it nearly 40% of the Chinese market and ranking it fourth by volume globally. "This year we will
produce 11 million," says one manager. "Then we will be number three." In 1995 it produced only 3 million.

Chang Hong wants to launch itself in world markets as its Japanese predecessors did two decades ago. Whenever a foreign delegate visits the Chinese government he will be given a Chang Hong television to take home so he can see its quality. "We want to create a company that can last for 100 years."

The salarymen tell us how Ni broke the iron rice bowl mentality, and how managers can be demoted as well as promoted - with 5% "raised or sacked" each year. Wage differentials are quite big and non-productive departments have been shrunk - the party committee has been reduced by 75%. The firm employs 35,000 staff, and even has a service delivering prepared meals to their doorstep, so that they spend less time cleaning vegetables and have more time to work. This SOE is also listed in Shanghai where the A share is one of the most popular in China.

Tsiang goes through the financials. Sales are Rmb18.8 billion, pre-tax profits Rmb3.8 billion, fixed assets are Rmb10 billion, debt to equity is less than 40%. What is the share price? Rmb18. What is the market capitalization? There is a pause, and some confusion. Tsiang explains what market capitalization is and how to calculate it. They don't know. They say they will tell us later.

Like its Japanese role models this company is more concerned with market share than market value. Its strategy is to move from its success in TVs to digital video disks and into white goods such as air-conditioners - which it began producing last year. And batteries.

Asked if there is oversupply of TVs in the Chinese market, our hosts reply "a little bit" and laugh off Tsiang's assertion that there are 25 million excess sets. "In order to meet market demand you must have inventory or lose market share," they argue. That's followed by a frosty meal in the factory's on-site four-star hotel.

We are taken to the firm's in-house museum. Inside there is a mini-cinema, which shows a film about the company's travails; outside there are photographs of China president, Jiang Zemin, at the factory, as well as antique models of TV sets. "In order not to sink in the market economy," says one slogan, "a company needs to become a never sinking carrier."

Back in the van Tsiang gives his verdict: "That company has achieved remarkable things, but it's deluding itself. They're taking their brand into other areas of oversupply such as air-conditioners and assuming consumers will buy them off the back of good TVs. I'll bet they'll do washing machines and fridges soon."

He continues: "It's a company that displays the PUP syndrome - it prospered under protectionism. But I don't pay for history. I look at potential future earnings. Having said that I admire the boss, Ni. His achievement is enormous. But that's not how I make money for my clients."

Chang Hong hits the pages of China's Economic Daily a day or two later. Apparently company representatives were summoned to Beijing because, since July, Chang Hong has cornered 70% of the 21-inch cathode tube supply. Rivals have complained and officials are trying to persuade Chang Hong to release more tubes onto the market. Chang Hong's inventory is worth Rmb10 billion, the newspaper adds.

The lonely road to Chengdu

We travel back to Chengdu on the newly opened toll road - owned by a Hong Kong company. The road is so empty Porsche could use it as a test track.

That evening we catch a bus to Chongqing. The bus company is a joint venture with Daewoo of Korea. On the journey, Tsiang tells me of one of his clients who bought an SOE in northern China. They sent a Briton to reorganize the factory and he decided to close the "dog division". There was nearly a riot. The workers used the dog division to supplement their diet.

In Chongqing we are met by Jane, who is to arrange our itinerary. At dinner we ask Jane how Chongqing compares with Chengdu. "We don't compare ourselves with Chengdu," she says. "We're better." Benjamin is not too happy about this observation, but it's true. Chongqing was recently split from Sichuan province and turned into a city with the same independent status as Shanghai and Beijing. That puts the mayor of Chongqing on a par with the governor of Sichuan. The central government's reason for doing this was to compensate Chongqing for the 2 million immigrants it will receive as a result of the Three Gorges Dam project - which will flood them out of their homes. To give the city an economic boost it will be allowed to keep the tax revenues that would normally be sent to the central government. This tax holiday will last for three years.

Benjamin asks Jane what kind of TV set she has and is disappointed to hear it's a Sony. But, she adds, it needed to be repaired after three days. Benjamin can hardly control his joy.

On our way back to the Holiday Inn, we see a dozen people performing a trance-like mime. "It's called qi gong," says Benjamin: practitioners feel they can go through walls without any damage to themselves. Benjamin claims to have seen a qi gong master drill through a plate using his finger and the power of his mind.

The next morning it is raining, and the traffic is awful. The city is hilly so a subway system can't be built and the hills also mean there are fewer bicycles in Chongqing than in other major Chinese cities. The result is chronic pollution. Chongqing is a city of 30 million people and is nicknamed "coketown".

We drive down a dirt-track road, and through a mechanically controlled gate to Chongqing Wire & Cable, billed as one of the top 50 SOEs in the city. Through a door more suited to a garden shed than an office we enter a room so cold that our breath forms clouds as we speak.

Two managers come in - unfortunately without business cards - and say they will be glad to answer any questions. We discover there are 2,600 staff of whom 700 work in the factory. What do the other 1,900 do? "Some are retired, some are made redundant."

What are the financials? Return on total assets is 1%; return on capital is 3.3%; profit was Rmb3 million after tax. Tsiang says the company could do better buying state bonds. The manager smiles: he thinks profits will go to Rmb20 million this year. How? we ask, after all this is a pure commodity business.

"Last year's numbers took into account 1,000 workers," he says. But this year we will have 700 so will improve the return on net assets." Tsiang does some quick arithmetic. The average salary of a Chinese worker is Rmb800 a month, multiplied by 300 saved staff and taken over a year: that's a cost reduction of less than Rmb3 million. "How do you get Rmb20 million?" asks Tsiang. "You can't calculate the figure in your way," the manager replies.

The company has the capacity to turn over Rmb400 million but is turning over only Rmb300 million. It intends to list to raise capital. "Why," says Tsiang. "You already have excess capacity?" The company needs working capital, is the reply, of around Rmb150 million, to ensure the equipment can be operated. Who supplies the working capital now? ICBC.

(will finish in next post)



To: Tom who wrote (2788)4/2/1999 3:55:00 PM
From: Tom  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 2951
 
Lengthy content. (cont)

Getting cold feet

Verdict: this company needs money just to tick over. At this point our feet are beginning to feel cold, less because of the scary numbers we are hearing than from the temperature in the room. Like his counterpart at Erzhong, the manager looks worn down. He is from Wuhan and was assigned to the job with the assurance that it "would be spring all through the year once the Three Gorges Dam project was complete".

Suddenly he becomes candid. There is a problem working as a manager in an SOE: the pay system needs to be reformed. He cites the real example of a large and unusually profitable SOE. The chairman and financial controller of this cigarette company were paid just Rmb2,000 a month, but the company made Rmb4 billion of profit. They were caught embezzling $3 million and were recently put in jail. "The problem is, you turn an entrepreneur into a criminal."

In a brief cultural interlude, we go to the city's famed artists' colony. We are lucky, the renowned woodcut artist Lin Jun is in his studio - where he has worked for 45 years. During the Cultural Revolution the Red Guards wrecked it and made him watch while they broke his paintbrushes in two. Tsiang's sleek Nokia 8810 goes off as he is sizing up a picture of a panda. An engraving from the 1960s sits in the corner. It features a fat capitalist with a cigar eating from an overflowing plate of food while a score of poor starving workers look in through the window.

Tsiang buys a picture. Do you have fat capitalists in China today?, he asks. "We certainly do," says the 78-year-old.

As we leave the colony, we pass a "mom and pop" motorbike assembly plant. It's putting together copies of a locally made Yamaha joint-venture bike - with cheaper parts. Where the Yamaha costs Rmb5,000, this costs around Rmb3,000.

At the Chongqing Foreign Investment Bureau we meet its head, Zou Xiao Ping. She notes that Chongqing has a "heavy burden": to find jobs for all the immigrants coming from the Three Gorges project. Foreign investment is urgently needed for this. Last year it got $420 million, which led to 8% growth. Nevertheless, 3.7 million citizens live below the poverty line.

Chongqing, she says, is trying to differentiate itself from other Chinese cities by being more transparent. It lists its fees and taxes on the internet so that if an official tries to charge a spurious fee - spiritual civilization tax is a favourite - the foreign firm can come to the government and refuse to pay it. All fees are paid to the bank, and so are better audited.

But it's clear that Chongqing has serious problems. Its core industries - such as automobiles - are suffering, as is the defence industry it once relied on. Unemployment is worse than in Chengdu.

"It's clear to me now," says Tsiang as we leave: "They want foreign money just to keep the SOEs here ticking over - like that one this morning. A lot of foreign companies will be attracted here to set up regional offices and there'll be a property bubble and some people will get burnt."

We fly to Yichang in a Chinese-manufactured, Soviet-designed, Y7 prop aircraft. Benjamin tells us that in Sichuanese dialect the word wai (Y) means fake. Yichang has the smartest air terminal in China, a white, Richard Rogers-style exoskeleton. This is close to the Three Gorges Dam and we set off to see the project that employs 50% of the city's population.

Tsiang admits he's overawed. As far as the eye can see, things are being blown up, knocked down or constructed by teams of workers - around 25,000 of them. After stage one is complete in 2003, an artificial lake 500km long will be created. The construction cost is $30 billion, and thus far has been financed within China with government bonds.

The 26-million-tonne concrete dam will eventually produce 18 gigawatts of power, more than four times the capacity of any power station in Europe and eight times that of the Aswan High Dam in Egypt. But there are some risks. Hydrologists say the river throws down boulders and cobbles, which no dam devices are able to flush out, so they could cause chronic silting of the reservoir. To combat pollution, around 18 water treatment plants will need to be built in Chongqing alone; otherwise the lake is forecast to become a "reservoir of death". If the dam ever breaks, 400,000 cubic metres of water a second would explode down the Yangtze. This is hardly the "Geneva of Asia" once foreseen by former prime minister Li Peng.

Yichang's vice-mayor Zhang Jian Yi tells us the Three Gorges project is "like an incredible opportunity given by god". After our next meeting, with the Yichang Economic & Trade Commission, we conclude divine help is mightily needed. We spend 45 minutes trying to get numbers on what proportion of Yichang's Rmb38 billion GDP is produced by SOEs and how many SOE employees there are, after which we are told that 100,000 people work for SOEs, which is a mere 2.5% of the population. Then it emerges that the 100,000 denotes only those SOEs that report to Yichang prefecture. There are SOEs that report to other authorities such as the central government and they don't have figures for them here. We never get to the bottom of these numbers. "This is why due diligence is so impossible in China," fumes Tsiang. To make amends, an official at lunch confides that he has seen a qi gong master move a glass across a table from a distance of five metres.

After lunch a visit to Yichang Chemical, a listed company that makes fertilizer. Tsiang is quite at home, having previously been a chemicals analyst in Australia for Roach Tilley Grice (now Merrill Lynch Australia). "This is a company working on a price-earnings
multiple of 18, with a net profit margin of 18% and a return on fixed assets of 22%, and return on capital of 16%," he observes. "There are 47 companies of similar size. Supply and demand are equal. Prices are at an all-time low and fertilizer is a commodity business. My observation is that very few companies in the world like this earn such high margins. Most chemical companies in the west are on a PE of seven to nine."

We are 30 minutes into a meeting with the manager, who begins to explain why the profit margins are so high. He writes a complex chemical equation and explains it is a new high-margin fertilizer pioneered by the Hoechst group of Germany. It accounts for 30% of his sales and moreover the Hoechst group wants to do a joint venture with him. "They enjoy the best technology," he says. "and they want 80% of the Chinese market." We ask whether the government will approve of a foreign company taking so much market share. "The government won't oppose it," he says. "We will have 51%, so the government will agree to that." Tsiang says that if he can sustain these margins it will be a wonderful achievement.

On our drive back to Yichang, traffic going our way occupies all four lanes of a two-way highway. When our driver encounters a car quite legally coming the other way, he has the audacity to blast his horn.

That evening we hear about the bankruptcy of the Guangdong International Trust & Investment Corporation (Gitic), which casts a whole new light on our trip thus far. Western bankers are stunned to find that the Chinese-style promises and guarantees have proven worthless. Half the foreign debt wasn't approved by the State Administration for Foreign Exchange and worse - after investigation - it emerges that the Rmb35.8 billion of assets attributed to Gitic are valued at Rmb21.1 billion. All things Chinese start to melt down in Hong Kong. Tsiang has to make a detour to Chengdu to spend a day on the phone assessing his positions.

Benjamin and I left to our own devices board a hydrofoil that will carry us to Wanxian in seven hours - on a conventional boat it would take three times as long. For those uninterested in some of the most stunning scenery on the planet there are movies to watch. As we disembark at Wanxian, we are pawed by old men who want to carry our bags up the long stairway - for a fee. Wanxian is extremely poor. Prostitution and gambling have been legalized for foreigners (meaning anyone who is not a citizen of the city). It seems any attempt to reduce the chronic unemployment problem is acceptable.

Our guide used to be a civil servant in Bombay. He became a translator in Wanxian after the civil service was reformed last year and he found he no longer had a job.

He helpfully informs us of our altitude as we climb the hill in our Volkswagen. "This is 165 metres above sea level. Yes this will be under water once the Three Gorges Dam is finished. Now we're at 175. This is where the water level will be."

Sitting in Zhu's chair

In the VIP room at the Sote group's two-star hotel, the air conditioning is broken and again our breath forms clouds. On the wall the customary pictures of Jiang Zemin and Li Peng. They're still framing the photographs of Zhu Rongji who was here a couple of months ago. "You are sitting in the same chair that prime-minister Zhu sat in," translates Benjamin.

Sote is a salt factory founded in 1990, although the first salt wasn't produced until September 1992, says chairman of the trade union Chen Dexiang. The company was reasonably efficient until it was "asked" to merge with five other salt producers last year. Before the merger it produced 260,000 tonnes; afterwards 300,000. Before the merger it made Rmb14 million profit; after it made Rmb16 million. So it's safe to say the 3,600 employees that were added to the company's original 850 didn't add much value.

But the workers' wages rose 11% in 1998, says Chen, and he predicts a further 17.6% increase by the end of the century - meaning next year. Asked how he justifies an 11% increase in wages when inflation was 0.6% and by some measures prices have been falling for 13 months, he replies it is justified by the profit the group makes. It emerges that almost 100% of its profits come from edible salt, which comprises 50,000 tonnes of its output. The other 250,000 tonnes is "break-even" industrial salt.

He also points out that the factory closed for several months last year because the Yangtze flooded. When it reopened the workers worked "very hard" and miraculously produced 46% of the year's output in just 100 days. The management threw a banquet in their honour and let off firecrackers.

The company is planning to diversify. It will receive Rmb300 million from the central government for its help resettling workers displaced by the dam, and in addition intends to raise Rmb300 million when it lists. It reckons it can leverage this with bank loans to
Rmb1.2 billion. It wants to invest in a manufacturer of TV outside-broadcasting equipment in Shenzhen - Chen notes there was a shortage of such equipment when the flood happened last year. But when asked what the expected return on investment will be, he says: "It isn't clear yet".

Into the black hole

It's time to meet Tsiang in Chengdu. At the military airport two hours out of Wanxian we chat to an engineer with some investors from Thailand. He mentions a project he worked on in Wanxian that recently fell through. It was a $300 million investment to produce chlorine and PVC, with methanol as a by-product. The project was stopped by central
government auditors after the general manager had upped the project's costings in order to secure funds for real-estate speculation. Meanwhile the Japanese equipment had already arrived, a school for employees' children had been built and 3,000 were already employed. The current state of play is no less bizarre. The "workers" won't allow the Japanese company to repossess its equipment since as soon as it leaves they will be unemployed.

At the Holiday Inn in Chengdu, Tsiang is carrying today's Economic Daily, which contains a report entitled the The Black Hole": it chronicles the widespread corruption in China's 120,000 SOEs. The newspaper is quoting from a national audit report and among the sins is the extraordinary revelation that managers of the Three Gorges Dam project had embezzled nearly $28 million of funds. This is particularly galling for Benjamin who asserted, only a couple of days before, that the dam is too prestigious for the managers to behave dishonestly.

The bureaucrats in Chengdu are getting a bit nervous about our meeting the governor and we are told he "might be in Beijing" the next day. Tsiang tries to calm them by insisting it would only be a "courtesy call".

The Hope Group, reputedly China's biggest private enterprise, is run by four brothers and has a product range that includes animal feed, air conditioners, real estate and computer software. Like many emerging-market conglomerates it also has a big stake in a bank -
Minsheng Bank.

We meet two of the brothers Liu Yongyan (the eldest) and Liu Yongmei (the third eldest) at their residential complex - designed for expatriates. Just in front of the complex a five-star hotel is under construction. Refreshingly they don't look like a couple of China's richest individuals. "Look at the way I dress," says the elder brother. "I dress like a normal person." There are no Rolexes on their wrists and their clothes are the local shabby suit. Do they invest in the stock market? "No. Then other people have control."

The company began with the eldest brother selling pigeons in the early 1980s, and is now Chengdu's biggest taxpayer. "The only help the state gave us was leaving us alone," says Liu Yongmei. The brothers have been asked to take over SOEs but they have refused. Their attitude to SOE reform is simple. Do it quickly: "No pain, no gain," says Liu Yongyan.

The Holiday Inn's sky lounge bar is the closest thing to Hong Kong. One of the waitresses has a book entitled Practical English, which includes such choice lines as: "I know my job is boring but I also realize it is important to the company".

There's a television crew waiting next day as we arrive for our meeting with governor Song Baorui. They ask us whether we consider Sichuan a good place for foreigners to invest. Tsiang is non-commital. A few minutes later, the governor strolls across the
forecourt in casual dress and we enter the state meeting room.

"So far it looks like the SOE reform in China is difficult," he begins. "My personal point of view is to combine international methods with the local conditions. Enterprises in a deficit situation must lay off staff. If the costs are still too high you reduce the salary of the existing staff. If you still can't reach the objective the board of directors will fire the chief executive. The target is quite clear now, and we must implement it."

He continues: "There was deflation last year. So infrastructure development is necessary. But this should be short-term. The New Deal from Roosevelt and also Keynes's theory are appropriate in this stage but they can only work in this stage. There is a danger of a boom-bust economy. So investment in infrastructure can be done this year and last year, but if done again next year there will be a bubble economy. From my point of view we are very clear about the situation. If we invest blindly then the result could be quite serious."

Song is clearly a man in premier Zhu's mould. He notes: "If you would like a contract in Sichuan we can give it to you. Anyone is welcome. We, the government, benefit from jobs and taxes. In the past, enterprises in China were set up by the government. This is not the right way. If we set up 10 enterprises, maybe nine would be broke today."

He concludes: "We must keep a good reputation. When we sign a contract, it must be followed."

The bureaucrats are tremendously relieved that the meeting with the governor went off well and invite us to go tenpin bowling. This is something of a passion with them. One scores over 200 in a single frame.

We fly to Shanghai and meet a local investment banker for dinner. He notes that the slowdown has hit the city severely. Office rents on grade-A property have fallen from $1.50 a square foot to 60 cents. One investment bank has cut back from 1,000 square metres to 200, and driven down its rent from Rmb90,000 to Rmb7,000. The Shanghai government has apparently ordered developers in Pudong - where until recently more than half the world's construction cranes were at work - to put cladding on unfinished buildings to make them look occupied. In his luxury block only 10 apartments out of 80 are let.

Look to the townships

The banker says forget the SOEs. In his view China's entrepreneurial gems are often the township enterprises. But tracking down a suitable township enterprise is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Not all of them are good; but many are excellent. They are medium-size enterprises that lack many of the overweening social burdens of the SOEs. In fact they often understate their profits to avoid tax and hence, to the untrained eye, seem as mediocre as the SOEs. But finding out who their owners are is the biggest challenge. "You know the state owns a portion," says the banker. "But then a lot of shares are owned in one way or another by the managers or key people in the township. It's not defined in concrete terms. If you're lucky you eventually find out who is in control, and you can deal with him."

We speak of short-termism and he recalls an incident in which a foreign firm was about to buy a Chinese business for $20 million. To celebrate, the owner held a feast in his restaurant. When the bill came it was for Rmb3,000. The acquiring company offered to pay. But by the time the bill came to them it had been inflated to Rmb5,000. "There was an uproar. This guy was prepared to risk a $20 million deal just to make a lousy Rmb2,000 that evening."

A local broker has arranged visits to three B-share companies. In contrast to all the companies we've seen so far, Tsiang can buy these stocks.

First is Zhenhua Shipping. Established in 1992, it makes cargo cranes, 80% of which are exported. It has 20% of the world market and its biggest competitor is Mitsubishi of Japan. We ask about yuan devaluation, a subject the company is reluctant to talk about.
Its current sales volume is $140 million, but the firm has the capacity to turn over $170 million. There is a lot of pressure from Korean competitors. A 10% devaluation would allow the firm to run to full capacity. However, the company is 70%-owned by the state,
whose policy is against devaluation. "This is a policy we fully support," the representative says loyally.

Next we go to glass manufacturer Shanghai Yaohua Pilkington which has the British multinational as a shareholder. Tsiang is keen on this company on moral grounds. "A couple of years ago I wanted to buy their shares at $1.10. They were so honest. They said don't buy. Last year the share price was 40 cents. Again they said don't buy. They have great technology, but there's chronic oversupply."

Secretary to the board Minli Jin is a forthright lady. The stock is now trading at six cents - a 90% discount to the net asset value. "Would she recommend I bought her shares?" Tsiang asks. There is a lot of uncertainty, she replies and overcapacity will continue for
two years. There are simply too many domestic competitors.

Nor can glass be readily exported as the freight costs are prohibitive. In addition the company has Rmb100 million of accounts receivable from last year - that is to say, bad and doubtful debts. Last year the company set up a special task force to reduce this
worrying figure. The company has a profit target of Rmb4.5 million.

This seems strange given the fact that in the first half of the year the company has already made Rmb9.6 million. It turns out the company had a Rmb36 million forex gain, so in fact it lost Rmb25 million. "Under China GAAP (generally accepted accounting principles) we made Rmb9.6 million. To get international GAAP we must take out the Rmb36 million." The discrepancy can be quite big. For example, the company made a profit of Rmb33 million last year under international GAAP but under China GAAP the number was Rmb70 million.

As we emerge, Tsiang says he's not going to buy the stock. "You know it's a real shame to see a good company getting killed," he says.

Our final call is to Shanghai Narcissus Electric Appliances. "I never thought I'd walk through these gates again," says Tsiang. "This company is amazing." But not, as it turns out, for the right reasons. "It's the worst listed company I've ever visited."

Shi Zheng Ming, the vice-director of the board, is also extremely frank. Narcissus is in dire straits. It lost Rmb60 million in 1997 and Rmb50 million in 1998 and these are China GAAP numbers. Its total debt is Rmb306 million and its total triangular debt is Rmb360
million. The company has an inventory of 130,000 washing machines, its sole product. "The unsuccessful performance of Narcissus," he says "is largely due to the unsuccessful joint venture with Whirlpool [of the US]."

This is an understatement. The joint venture has accumulated losses of Rmb200 million, wiping out half of Narcissus's equity. It turns out the Whirlpool washing machines didn't fare well in competition with Japanese washing machines, which were cheaper. It doesn't
help that the capacity of the washing machine industry is twice local demand - a familiar story throughout China for most products, hence the government's desire to stimulate domestic demand.

This is an amazing fall from grace for a company that was the biggest maker of washing machines in the 1980s when it was a pure SOE. The stock is trading at six cents (its high was 40 cents) and, according to the research analyst taking us round, Shanghai's mayor, Xu Kuangdi, frequently asks multinationals to take it over but without success. Even if it got new cash it is forbidden from making fully automatic washing machines under the terms of the agreement with Whirlpool. And no-one wants semi-automatic washing machines.

Even the banks have lost confidence, a truly remarkable sign. Shi tells us that ICBC is requesting the company mortgage its assets. It has one square kilometre of land plots in Pudong. How much are these worth? "It's hard to say," he responds.

We leave for the airport to catch our flight back to Hong Kong. It is pouring with rain, the road is blocked and we are stuck in a terrible traffic jam. It is Narcissus land - which is still indirectly 35% government-owned. Our driver says the reason for the traffic hold-up is that Narcissus can't afford to repair the road.

Tsiang bought no stock on the trip nor found any investment opportunities for his fund or his Fortune 500 clients. However he concluded that the trip helped to shape his opinion on crucial issues such as the stability of the yuan and the limitations of China's pump-priming programme - two variables that are part of his macro and asset allocation for the Asian region.

END