In an age of opportunity, some businesses shoot to fame overnight while others go broke in the blink of an eye. Very few businesses can last for more than a century, most people would agree. Wars, revolutions, changes in technology, competition from other firms, buyouts and periodic economic recessions—these and other factors all conspire to make longevity a difficult goal.
For a small company with limited resources, survival is especially difficult. But Qian Yuan Apothecary, a traditional Chinese herbal pharmacy, is one store that has managed the feat.
The pharmacy was first set up in the Dadaocheng section of Taipei City in 1875. Back then, Dadaocheng was a pivotal trading hub in northern Taiwan. Ideally situated along the Danshui River, it was popular with merchants from mainland China, who would sail up the river and put in at the Dadaocheng Port nearby.
The merchants traded in fabrics, salt and tea. Enchanted by the scenery, some also settled down in Dadaocheng.
According to statistics provided by the Taipei City Government, more than 31,533 people from mainland China had resided in Dadaocheng by 1898, making it the second largest settlement in Taiwan, only after Tainan in southern Taiwan.
As more and more people came to call Dadaocheng home, the need for medical services arose. “The pharmacy was brought to existence by a man named Chang Ching-ho, who moved to the site to trade in Chinese medicine,” said Chen Chien-chong, the current owner of the store. “In fact, Chang built the very building that we are still using now.”
On the outside, the store has a modernist stucco front and a conspicuous bull’s eye window, flanked by two carved stone ginsengs—indicating that the store was a pharmacy, a sign that any passerby would have instantly recognized.
“The stone carvings you see are almost the same as they were a century ago,” Chen said. “Only once was a stonemason hired to cement the plaster, but its style, color and texture remain unchanged.”
On the inside, Qian Yuan Apothecary houses five tiers of medical ceramic pots, in accordance with the layout of traditional Chinese pharmacies. Behind the check-out counter, several huge shelves store herbal ingredients.
The whole place seems a little cramped. But according to Chen the urns and layout of the place have been purposely kept unchanged since 1875. One might say the entire store is a family heirloom, he said.
“After the founder died, the store was run by several proprietors, and in 1949, when it came across difficulties, my grandfather Chen Ching-fu bought the store’s shares and turned it into a family business,” he added.
Many other family businesses operate in the vicinity of the same shop. As a matter of fact, many well-known enterprises in Taiwan—such as Shin Kong Group, Far Eastern Group and Kuang Chuan Dairy Co. Ltd.—originated on the very same road that Qian Yuan Apothecary is on, the famous Dihua Street.
It was a posh district, and when Chen was growing up in the 1970s, his parents lived in constant fear that he might be kidnapped. They instructed him not to reveal his true identity to strangers.
“I was taught to keep a low profile,” Chen said. “We were famous, and if I mentioned our family business to anyone, you could tell by their reaction that they had heard of us before.
“When I was a teenager, I wanted to work part time at a certain store, but the owner refused to hire me. He said, ‘Someone from your background and so used to leisure would never want to work hard.’”
The prosperous scene did not last, however. After the 1980s, Dihua Street went into a decline from which it never recovered. The Danshui River had become a silted waterway; bridges and elevated roads engulfed the street, turning shoppers away.
The whole district simply could not compete with other more fashionable shopping areas in Taipei. Fewer and fewer households there had any expectations that their children would eventually take over the family business.
“Although I was born to this store, never did I imagine that I would one day come to own it,” Chen said. “My grandfather ran this shop until 1980, and then my father ran it though he did not make as much money.
“After my father retired, the eldest male in our family, my older brother, took over, in accordance with Chinese tradition. But he quit in 2005, saying the pharmacy would not last. I felt duty bound to do what I could to keep the store going.”
Becoming the boss forced Chen to draw on resources he never knew he had. “It is true that I grew up in the aroma of Chinese medicine and that I was deeply familiar with the store’s operation. But when I started running the store and had to consider the bottom line, my whole perspective changed. I decided I needed to learn the trade by doing the most basic and menial tasks.”
For example, he had to learn how to cut the decoction pieces. At times he stood by the scorching oven and tended to the fires, with his clothes drenched in sweat.
“Only then did I understand why my parents always told me to work hard,” he said, adding that the physical toil he experienced in preparing those herbal parts taught him how to be patient—which has turned him into a good listener when customers ask him for advice.
“I think the most important thing in serving customers is to identify with them,” Chen said.
Patrons of the store come from all parts of Taiwan; some even travel from overseas. “A married couple from Japan,” Chen said, “visits my store every year to collect hard-to-find herbal materials.
“And once it happened that an elderly man drove a really long way to arrive at my door. He threw a pile of bills on the counter, about NT$100,000 (US$3,216), to buy a huge amount of ginseng and Chinese caterpillar fungus.”
Chen said he is not surprised by the devotion of his customers. Such brand loyalty is only to be expected, Chen said, because he always pays close attention to the quality of his herbs. “I inspect the imported materials. I can guarantee none of my medicine has been adulterated by chemical preservatives.”
This insistence on product quality helps explain why the pharmacy has endured. But it is faced with difficult challenges, leaving its long-term survival in question.
In 2000, the Legislature passed an amendment to the Regulations for Senior Qualification Examination for Professionals and Technical Personnel, which stated that traditional pharmacies without a licensed Chinese medicine physician must confine themselves to retailing. This prohibited both Chen and his brother from engaging in health counseling and offering medical treatments.
The situation can still be remedied. A special provision to the qualification exam regulations allows persons who have not graduated from accredited Chinese medical schools to practice traditional Chinese medicine, provided they can pass a difficult licensing exam.
After discussing the matter over, Chen and his wife decided that she would take the exam instead of him.
But time is running out. The special provision finishes at the end of July this year, which means that Chen’s wife has less than two months to prepare for the exam. She is not optimistic she can pass.
Without the physician’s license, the pharmacy is indeed a common retailer, rather than a medical center serving the public as it used to be. In addition, as Dihua Street continues to decline, other Chinese pharmacies in the area have had no choice but to engage in price cuts, making the business even less profitable.
“Honestly, I do not expect my child to take over the store,” said Chen. “Its prospects are dim, and the historical weight on the brand is all too heavy.”
“Customers still expect much of Qian Yuan Apothecary, but it takes great effort to meet their expectations. In 10 years or 20 years when I become old and feeble, maybe I will shut the place down. Then all that will be left of our century-old store will be good memories.”
It would be a pity if his words turned out to be prophetic. (HZW)
Write to Aaron Hsu at pj1210meister@mail.gio.gov.tw