People often ask why I traded my chef’s whites for biodegradable plastics.
Hunger and Hustle: Childhood Entrepreneurship Forged in Poverty
My story begins with hunger. At 13, driven by poverty, I started my first business: buying apples for one dime per pound in one town, then trudging ten kilometers to sell them in another. That summer’s earnings—40 yuan—paid my school fees.
After two years of juggling junior high studies with farm chores (tending cattle, cutting grass, hauling water), I left for Chongqing at 15. A three-month stint in a textile factory awakened me to the power of skill. Fate then led me to Chongqing University’s cafeteria—first cooking tons of rice daily, then mastering the knife and wok. By 1991, I’d earned my first-grade chef certification.
Guangzhou came next. My sister and I opened a breakfast shop, selling cheung fun (rice rolls). I once worked for five days and nights without sleep, but the venture folded within months due to complex social pressures. In 1994, I cooked at a Dongguan plant—a job that felt like a dead end. In 1995, I took a chance on opening my restaurant.
And it soared. My mastery of Sichuan cuisine—honed through relentless study and top-tier certifications—drew crowds queuing daily. During Lunar New Year, a single morning selling 3-yuan bowls of tangyuan (sweet dumplings) raked in 4,000–5,000 yuan. This was my “first pot of gold.”
Woks to Polymers: An Unlikely Bioplastics Discovery
When I was a chef, I noticed that I needed to use a lot of plastic bags every day to deal with kitchen waste. This inspired me.
The dragon year 2000 brought revelation: a friend’s plastic bag factory. Intrigued by its deceptively simple craft, I founded a plastic bag factory. Early profits were sweet—6,000 yuan of materials yielded 10,000 yuan/ton.
Then, in 2005, a tiny classified ad (under 11mm wide!) in Dongguan’s phone book changed everything. A technician introduced me to biodegradable materials. While others ignored this niche (traditional plastics still ruled), my chef’s curiosity ignited. Cornstarch-infused plastic spoke to me—a fusion of my culinary past and an uncharted future. I think this is the career I truly want to pursue: to be a useful person to society, not just to make money.
20-Year Degradation Odyssey: Starch, Loneliness, and Dawn
The challenge? Starch gelatinizes under heat, yet plastic bags require heat to form. We spent years refining temperatures and techniques. As rivals chased quick profits, we persevered. By 2016, our name echoed across China’s biodegradable circles: “Ocean Yang—the one who studies.”
In 2011, China’s PBAT polymer emerged. We bought it, modified it, and launched Dongguan Xinhai Environment-Friendly Materials Co., Ltd. Certifications bled us dry (2011–2013), but the 2013 Alibaba Success Camp revolutionized me. I visited every classmate’s factory, learning export secrets. I rebuilt my team—five overseas sales warriors strong—only to fracture again by 2015.
So I became the student-leader. I mastered emails, management, and client needs—reading correspondence nightly, even after drinks, and at dawn. By 2016, we turned profitable.
Hands-On Legacy: Degradable Plastic, Degrading Impossible
Twenty years later, this truth holds: small business owners must immerse themselves to survive. From clueless novice to industry pioneer, what sustained me was the chef’s spirit—relentless experimentation and hands-on grit.
Today, Xinhai isn’t just a supplier. It’s my covenant with the Earth. From perfecting flavors for the palate to crafting plastics that vanish without a trace, my stage changed—but not my soul. That same obsession with excellence, that same duty to leave blue skies and green hills for our children, drives me onward.
With a chef’s artistry and an entrepreneur’s resolve, I walk this path still: degrading pollution, degrading the impossible, forging a future where sustainability isn’t a dream—but the only legacy worth leaving.
