When you mention "financial wizard" Chiu Yung-han, many people may think of a rich tycoon, toiling away day and night to amass personal wealth, motivated solely by the almighty dollar. But as soon as you go into the course of his life in any detail, you'll find that it has been shaped mostly by fortune, coincidence and even a touch of romance.
Like Confucius, unaccustomed to toil? Chiu Yung-han (his original name was Chiu Ping- nan) was born the eldest son in a well-to-do family in Tainan. His mother was Japanese, and he was attentively cared for as a child. At a time when very few Taiwanese were able to receive a higher education, he and several of his brothers and cousins were sent to college in Japan. But instead of medicine, law or business like the rest, he chose to study economics, which was a rather unpopular subject at the time.
What was especially "heterodox and rebellious" was that after the Sino-Japanese War broke out in 1937 he was determined to stay loyal to his ancestral homeland, remaining close to his fellow students from China and hoping to sneak into the mainland. As a result, he was suspected by the Japanese military police of being a spy and imprisoned for a week, which stifled the fires of enthusiasm in his breast.
When he returned to Taiwan after the war, he was unable to find a job, despite his postgraduate study in economics at prestigious Tokyo University. While unemployed, he once tried to smuggle sugar into Japan on fishing boats as others were doing, but he ended up making a big mess of it. It turned out that--like Confucius, who was "unaccustomed to toil and unacquainted with the various types of grain"--he didn't understand the sea and the tides. Loaded up in the middle of the night, their boat ran into a big wave and was left stranded. By the third time this happen ed, he had lost all his capital. This pattern for failure of a "scholar turned businessman" was repeated many times later, forming a regular motif in his life.
When the February 28 Incident of 1947 broke out, Chiu was a department chief at Hua Nan Bank. Under warrant for arrest because of his advocacy of Taiwan independence, he escaped amid the fear and confusion to Hong Kong. Alone in an unfamiliar place and not conversant with the language, he lived for a time on the down and out and had to sponge off a friend to get by.
Nurturing his creativity in Hong Kong: "Even though he didn't accomplish much careerwise, the six years he spent in Hong Kong laid the foundation for his future success," says his sister Chiu Su-chin, who knows him well.
In view of the country's destitution after the war, the government in Japan encouraged people abroad to send their friends and relatives "care packages" by exempting those below a certain weight from taxes. Having gotten the inspiration for the idea from a Taiwanese seaman, he bought daily necessities in Hong Kong, wrapped them in small parcels and sent them to his brothers and sisters in Japan, who then resold them for a profit. Pretty soon he had scraped together enough money to buy a house and a car and to marry Pan Yuan-lan, the daughter of a Hong Kong industrialist who had got his start selling Chinese cough medicine. Even now, more than 40 years later, whenever Chiu mentions this period of his past, he proudly relates, "That's why I'm so good at packing parcels -- I picked it all up back then!"
Hong Kong was truly a turning point in Chiu's life, but in the end he decided to return to Japan. The habits of a scion of the Taiwan gentry are a far cry, after all, from the money grubbing and get-rich-quick mentality common in Hong Kong business circles. Profits in the parcel business had dropped--there were more and more competitors--and his eldest daughter needed radiation therapy.
Success with the pen: After returning to Japan, he lost a lot of money in a chewing gum investment and went through a time when he "would walk several kilometers just to save the cost of a 10 yen bus ticket."
During that difficult time, he burned with an intense desire to write fiction, the chief sources of his material being the colorful setting of Hong Kong and the attitudes of the local Chinese. He wrote stories in Japanese under the pen name of Kyu Eikan (Chiu Yung-han), 50 or 60 in a half year during his most feverish period. Even though most of them weren't accepted for publication, the very next year he won the Naoki literary prize, becoming the first non-Japanese to do so.
That was quite an honor, but Chiu, as a foreigner, could never strike a chord with the public by writing in the Japanese vein. His fiction sold poorly, forcing him to seek another angle. "I finally thought, why not write as 'a bystander who understands Japan' about some of the things the Japanese care about most?" Realizing how much stress they put on introspection and how much they long to know what others think of them, Chiu congratulated himself on having found his "niche."
After that, he wrote a number of essays and articles appraising the Japanese, such as Japan: The Celestial Empire, Bureaucracy and the Rise of the Nation-State and The Japanese Samurai. Because his approach was fresh and insightful, he quickly won widespread attention. What the Japanese were concerned about most in the early postwar period was how to make money and Chiu had studied economics at Tokyo University, so investment and financial management gradually formed the center of his writing. At the same time, he began to play the stock market, even though he knew next to nothing about it on the practical level.
Choosing a stock is like choosing a wife: Maybe it's his sharp wits and native intelligence--even today, people who know him well have no better explanation for his marvelous climb to success. He not only wrote fiction like crazy for two years and won the Naoki Prize--once he had turned to the path of financial management, he again spent just two years and became so famous that the stocks he touted were known as "Chiu-brand" buys.
As a layman who had never been involved in the stock market before, he made many predictions that left the "experts" chortling but often turned out to be true. In this way, with his tireless pen and his sharp, analytical mind, he gradually established himself as a "wizard of financial management."
What's so special about Chiu Yung-han's investment philosophy? "He really does break away from the parroting of others and express unique views of his own," says an analyst named Lin at Yuta Securities Ltd.
Chiu uses Japanese sumo wrestling as an analogy, for instance. Most fans bet on a yokozuna (grand champion), but real experts keep their eyes peeled for up-and-coming no-names in the makushita (minor league) class that they can latch onto before they become famous. For a similar reason, first-rate blue-chip stocks that are popular with the mass of investors are low in risk, of course, but they won't earn much either--it's better to test your judgment on a neglected, over-the-counter stock that isn't listed on the market. With that philosophy, Chiu not only earned quite a bundle himself; he also stirred up trading in Japan's over-the-counter market.
"Investing in stocks is like choosing a wife: You should have just one or two at the most, and you should pick them carefully. If you spread yourself too thin, some will go up and some will go down, and it'll all wash out in the end" is one of his famous sayings. And another: "Don't always try to hold a stock to the last minute before you sell it. If you do that, it means the people who buy it are in for a fall. It's like selling bananas after they've gone bad--you profit yourself at the expense of others. It's not ethical, and it's not a long-term way to make money."
An explorer in the world of business: "He talks about financial management from the human angle, without making it dry or difficult or sounding too money grubbing. That's why he's so popular!" says a reader named Wang who regards Chiu's Taiwan-based Wealth Magazine as a financial management textbook, analyzing why he's partial to the Chiu-style approach.
Having plunged into the stock market for two years and published many articles on his experience, Chiu dared to buck the flow and get out when the stock market reached a peak back in the early 1960s, becoming a business consultant, based on his reputation as a wizard of finance.
The idea of a paid consultant was an innovation in Japan at the time, so he adopted a "member-ship system"--the model for today's Chiu Alumni Club, which consists of nearly a thousand top business executives. That move enabled him to transcend the narrow confines of financial management and enter the broad field of corporate management.
Besides the profession of business consultant, two other innovations of his that Chiu happily talks about are low-cost, no-frills business hotels and chain-style, do-it-yourself laundromats. Both these types of businesses can be seen all over Tokyo today, but for a man like Chiu, who would rather write and give talks than spend his time running around from outlet to outlet collecting money, neither idea has earned any great fortune.
"Chiu Yung-han is a scholar, not a businessman. He has lots of ideas on ways to make money, but he doesn't have the burning ambition to throw himself heart and soul into making them become realities." That appraisal by a Taiwan executive who has known him for many years strikes the nail right on the head.
Starting from hotels and laundromats, Chiu has invested in no fewer than 20 or 30 different businesses, large and small, covering the fields of printing, sandstone, construction and building rental, livestock, culture and education--he's even tried his hand at writing song lyrics. Restless and energetic, he was converted by a friend to a blind faith in "industrial innovation" for a time and whenever he heard of a new invention or type of technology he wanted to have a hand in it. He even put up money for investment purely out of "sympathy," to help friends in difficulty. Some of these many ventures earned money, but others changed hands or shut down, as he failed to keep an eye on them in person or gradually lost interest.
Chiu is very clear about his weaknesses. Even though he has been hailed as a guru of the corporate world, he quips that "when it comes down to brass tacks, my moneymaking talents aren't up to others." Fortunately, his interests aren't focused on amassing wealth. His involvement in all sorts of different fields is like a novelist broadening his experience by working at odd jobs in different walks of life. Exploring the world of business and then sharing his discoveries with his readers--that is Chiu Yung-han's greatest pleasure.
Another mission ahead: China: When Chiu returned to Taiwan for the first time in 24 years at the urging of the government and the business community, in1972, he brought along a large contingent of Japanese businessmen to have a look at investing. It was a big morale booster at the time, since we had just withdrawn from the United Nations.
Even so, some people accused him of "bringing in Japanese to earn money off Taiwanese" or of developing industrial districts just to run up land prices. That, and the rather strict economic regulations back then, dampened his enthusiasm for investing in Taiwan. Nonetheless, many of his books were translated into Chinese, and his magazine and newspaper articles proved illuminating for the Taiwan business community at the time.
Twenty years later, Taiwan's economy has taken off and Chiu's position in Japan as a wizard of financial management has gradually been taken over by newcomers. Even though he still enjoys considerable name recognition, his books, which used to be instant best sellers, are now hard to find in Japanese bookstores, and he no longer wields the influence he once did.
Still, Chiu Yung-han, now nearly 70, who says he has a "post-horse personality" (always chomping at the bit), has another project in mind, besides returning to Taiwan to invest in a department store and residential apartments. He has turned his focus to the mainland and is tirelessly traveling aboot with investment tour groups, working toward his next "great mission"--helping Taiwan, the mainland and Hong Kong advance toward prosperity hand in hand. Even if it is just another harebrained idea of a scholar turned businessman, it's worth waiting to see how it turns out.
[Picture Caption]
Chiu Yung-han, nearly 70, still looks hale and hearty. Here he is in front of the Chiu Building in the Shibuya district of Tokyo.
His numerous disciples have formed the Chiu Alumni Club, whose members are found in all areas of trade and industry. (photo courtesy of Wealth Magazine)
Chiu (right) as a high school student in Taipei. (photo courtesy of Chiu Yung-han)
His wedding picture with his wife, Pan Yuan-lan. (photo courtesy of Chiu Yung-han)
A family snapshot. Chiu has always maintained that children should be taught how to earn a living on their own, without being left an inheritance. (photo courtesy of Chiu Yung-han)
Chiu leads a group of prospective investors to Shanghai. (photo courtesy of Wealth Magazine)
Chiu and his wife in Peking's Tienanmen Square. (photo courtesy of Wealth Magazine)
Chiu has written a mighty stack of books--over 200, counting translations into Chinese and Korean.
The Yung Han Bookstore, located in the Chiu Building on Chung Shan North Rd., was the first bookstore in Taiwan to bring in Japanese books and periodicals on business and finance.
His numerous disciples have formed the Chiu Alumni Club, whose members are found in all areas of trade and industry. （photo courtesy of Wealth Magazine）
Chiu （right） as a high school student in Taipei. （photo courtesy of Chiu Yung-han）
His wedding picture with his wife, Pan Yuan-lan. （photo courtesy of Chiu Yung-han）
A family snapshot. Chiu has always maintained that children should be taught how to earn a living on their own, without being left an inheritance. （photo courtesy of Chiu Yung-han）
Chiu leads a group of prospective investors to Shanghai. （photo courtesy of Wealth Magazine）
Chiu and his wife in Peking's Tienanmen Square. （photo courtesy of Wealth Magazine）
Chiu and his wife in Peking's Tienanmen Square. （photo courtesy of Wealth Magazine）
Chiu has written a mighty stack of books--over 200, counting translations into Chinese and Korean.
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