義生紙箱 — the Ngai Sang Paper Box Factory — operated at this address from 1982. The name means righteousness and life. The building shows it: heavy corrugated iron, a gate that was never designed to welcome strangers, concrete walls that absorbed four decades of quiet, focused work.

The new founders are not reinventing the space. They are continuing it. The iron gate stays. The walls stay. The name stays — inscribed in the cellar ledger as the factory kept its own paper records. One framed box template remains on the wall. Not as decoration. As a document.

The space runs from morning to night without interruption of spirit: bright and precise at dawn, dark and unhurried by evening. Coffee becomes wine. The same walls, different light.