Hong Kong's heritage businesses reinvent through experience, tech and brand strategy

We were looking at brand-building and opening another channel
The chairman of Lin Heung Lau explains why extending hours during the World Cup was about more than short-term revenue.
Mark

So the restaurant extended its hours during the World Cup. That's a seasonal thing, though—did it stick?

Mimi

The reporting doesn't say whether it became permanent, but the point Wong makes is interesting. He wasn't thinking quarter-to-quarter. He was thinking about whether younger people could see themselves in a place they'd never considered before.

Luke

Right, but we don't actually know if it worked financially. We know fans came. We don't know if they came back after the tournament ended, or if the extended hours were profitable, or if it's still happening now.

Mark

Fair. So what's the actual innovation here? Staying open later?

Mimi

It's more subtle than that. Wong brought nightlife industry expertise into a heritage business. He understood how to make a space feel alive to a different crowd. That's a skill transfer, not just a schedule change.

Luke

But the source material is thin on the other two businesses. We get one detailed example and then a lot of assertion about what's happening across Hong Kong's economy. We don't actually see the other two enterprises yet.

Mark

This is part two of a series, so presumably part one had more examples?

Mimi

Yes, and this piece is setting up a pattern—brand-building, new customer channels, technology adoption. But Luke's right that we're working with limited concrete evidence here.

Luke

The forward look mentions AI and modernization, but there's no example of a heritage business actually using AI. It's mentioned as a direction, not a reality.

Mark

So what we know for certain is that Lin Heung Lau tried something, it drew younger customers, and the chairman thinks about his business in terms of brand and channels, not just immediate profit.

Mimi

That's the solid ground, yes. Everything else is the framework the reporters are building to understand what that shift means.

  • Hong Kong's heritage businesses face a quiet existential pressure: their loyal, aging customer base cannot sustain them indefinitely, and younger generations have no inherited reason to walk through their doors.
  • Lin Heung Lau's chairman Rocky Wong — a nightlife veteran who once ran some of Hong Kong's most storied clubs — turned a traditional dim sum hall into a late-night World Cup venue, filling seats that would otherwise have sat empty with customers who had never considered the restaurant theirs.
  • The disruption is not only cultural but operational: established enterprises are overhauling invisible infrastructure — supply chains, inventory systems, back-office processes — while simultaneously crafting new front-of-house experiences that signal relevance to unfamiliar audiences.
  • AI adoption is accelerating across legacy industries, with businesses deploying it not to replace their identity but to free human effort for the work that identity actually requires.
  • The trajectory is one of deliberate expansion rather than reinvention: the dim sum carts still roll, the craft still happens, the family name still stands — but the business now reaches further, into new hours, new demographics, and new channels.

In Hong Kong, where tradition and transformation have long negotiated an uneasy coexistence, some of the city's oldest enterprises are discovering that heritage is not a fixed inheritance but a living practice. Lin Heung Lau, a dim sum institution whose regulars once arrived before dawn, opened its doors to football fans late into the night during the 2026 World Cup — a quiet but telling signal that legacy businesses are learning to hold multiple identities at once. Across sectors, established Hong Kong enterprises are embracing technology, reimagining customer experience, and building new channels not to abandon what they were, but to extend what they can become.

Late one night during the 2026 World Cup, Lin Heung Lau — a restaurant long defined by elderly regulars arriving before dawn for dim sum and tea — was packed with football fans in their twenties, thirties, and forties, watching matches on screens that had no place in the restaurant's traditional logic. The shift was entirely deliberate.

Rocky Wong Hei-yan, the restaurant's chairman, built his career running some of Hong Kong's most prominent nightlife venues. He understood how to make a space feel alive after dark, and he applied that knowledge to a heritage institution that had never needed to think about it before. His goal was not to extract maximum revenue from a single night. "We were not calculating money only," he said. "We were looking at brand-building and opening another channel through which we could find customers."

That distinction — between squeezing an existing customer base and cultivating a new one — sits at the heart of what Hong Kong's established enterprises are attempting across sectors. Some are rebuilding back-office infrastructure their customers never see. Some are layering new experiences onto traditional offerings. Many are adopting AI to handle tasks that once demanded manual labor or human judgment. What connects them is a refusal to treat heritage and modernity as opposites.

The World Cup experiment worked. Younger customers came, stayed, and returned. The dim sum remained; the carts still rolled. But the business proved it could hold two identities at once — and that flexibility, more than any single innovation, is what separates legacy enterprises that adapt from those that slowly calcify.

The broader pattern emerging across Hong Kong's established businesses is consistent: those that thrive are treating adaptation not as a threat to who they are, but as an extension of it. They are not trying to become something new. They are trying to become something more.

Hong Kong's oldest businesses are not disappearing. They are learning to move.

Late one night during the World Cup in the summer of 2026, Lin Heung Lau—a restaurant known for decades as a place where elderly regulars arrived before dawn for dim sum and tea—was full of football fans in their twenties, thirties, and forties. They came not for pints but for dumplings, watching matches on screens that had no business being there by the restaurant's traditional logic. The shift was deliberate. Rocky Wong Hei-yan, the chairman, had spent his career in Hong Kong's nightlife industry, running venues like Club No. 9, Club Beijing, and Magnum during their peak years. He knew how to draw crowds after dark. He knew how to make a space feel alive at hours when it would otherwise be closed.

Wong's decision to extend Lin Heung Lau's hours was not primarily about maximizing revenue from a single transaction. "On that occasion, we were not calculating money only," he said. "We were looking at brand-building and opening another channel through which we could find customers." The distinction matters. A heritage business does not survive by squeezing the same customer base harder. It survives by finding new ones—by proving it can be relevant to people who have no memory of what it once was.

This is the work Hong Kong's established enterprises are undertaking across sectors. The formula is not uniform. Some are rebuilding the unglamorous infrastructure that customers never see—supply chains, inventory systems, back-office operations. Some are creating entirely new experiences that sit alongside their traditional offerings. Many are adopting artificial intelligence to handle tasks that once required human judgment or manual labor. What unites them is a recognition that heritage and modernity are not opposites. They are tools that can be deployed together.

The restaurant's nighttime experiment during the World Cup was a test of whether a brand built on morning rituals could expand into evening ones. It worked. Younger customers came. They stayed. They returned. The business did not abandon what it was—the dim sum remained, the carts still rolled—but it proved it could be something else too, at least for a season, at least for a specific event. That flexibility, that willingness to hold two identities at once, is what separates legacy businesses that adapt from those that calcify.

Wong's background in the nightlife industry gave him an advantage many heritage business owners do not have: he understood how to create atmosphere, how to signal to a new demographic that a space was for them. But the principle applies across industries. A century-old manufacturer might adopt AI to optimize its supply chain. A traditional craftsman might open a studio where customers can watch the work happen. A family-run shop might hire a social media manager to tell its story to people who would never walk past its storefront. None of these moves requires abandoning the core business. They require understanding that the core business exists in a world that has changed, and that survival means changing with it.

The second part of a two-part series on Hong Kong's economic transformation, this reporting profiles three established enterprises that have rejuvenated their brands and reinvented their operations. The pattern emerging across them is clear: the businesses that thrive are those that treat adaptation not as a threat to their identity but as an extension of it. They are not trying to become something new. They are trying to become something more.

On that occasion, we were not calculating money only. We were looking at brand-building and opening another channel through which we could find customers.
— Rocky Wong Hei-yan, chairman of Lin Heung Lau
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