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OneWeb Set to Launch in Taiwan

LEO satellite service OneWeb, supported by the UK and French governments, is preparing to establish a foothold in Taiwan. Taiwan’s largest telecom services provider Chunghwa Telecom confirmed that OneWeb is expected to secure a commercial service license, enabling corporate clients to apply for the service starting next year.

“Taiwan is an important region for us,” emphasized Neha Idnani, Vice President of Eutelsat OneWeb Asia-Pacific, and Cyril Dujardin, President of Connectivity Services, during a December 4 interview in Taipei.

As of late 2023, OneWeb had launched over 600 satellites into orbit worldwide. However, Taiwan only achieved full signal coverage after a ground station in Thailand was completed in October 2024. Currently, OneWeb’s service for Taiwan is supported by three nearby ground stations in Japan, Guam, and Thailand, which transmit signals to the island.

LEO Satellites: A Lifeline in Emergencies

Taiwan’s extensive mobile network coverage means that the general public rarely requires LEO satellite services. However, during emergencies such as natural disasters, search-and-rescue operations, or potential wartime disruptions, these satellites become critical backup systems when traditional mobile communications fail.

Given Taiwan’s sensitive geopolitical status, experts argue that enhancing communications resilience through dedicated LEO infrastructure, such as domestic ground receiving stations, is worth considering. However, Dujardin believes this may not be necessary. He cited the coverage provided by existing neighboring ground stations and OneWeb’s future satellite upgrades. Starting in 2026, OneWeb plans to implement direct satellite-to-satellite communication capabilities within six years, which could eliminate the need for ground stations entirely.

Nevertheless, the cost remains a significant obstacle. Building a ground station costs an estimated US$15 million, excluding operational and maintenance expenses. According to a Chunghwa Telecom insider, discussions with the government and OneWeb have stalled over funding responsibility.

Challenges in the Global Satellite Industry

Despite OneWeb’s progress, the satellite industry faces immense financial and operational challenges. Unlike Starlink, which leverages its parent company SpaceX to lower satellite launch costs, OneWeb relies on third-party rocket companies and has experienced delays in ground station installations. This further complicates its expansion efforts.

Given Taiwan’s relatively small market, it is unsurprising that OneWeb remains cautious about committing resources to building ground stations in the region. Chunghwa Telecom executives noted that the commercial demand for LEO satellite services in Taiwan is modest. While there is government interest and some demand among high-tech companies for data backup, the Internet of Things (IoT) and other applications have yet to fully utilize the high-speed capabilities of LEO satellites.

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The Competition: Starlink’s Dominance and Project Kuiper’s Ambitions

Starlink has deployed over 6,000 satellites, controlling approximately two-thirds of all LEO satellites in orbit, compared to OneWeb’s fleet of 600. However, Starlink’s entry into Taiwan has been hindered by regulatory requirements that satellite service providers have majority local ownership and by growing political considerations. Reports indicate that Starlink has adopted a hands-off approach to Taiwan, even restricting personnel from visiting the region for business. Taiwanese companies seeking Starlink’s services must rely on third-party intermediaries overseas.

Meanwhile, Amazon’s Project Kuiper is aggressively ramping up its plans. Over 1,000 satellites are expected to launch by the end of 2025, and Chunghwa Telecom executives expressed confidence in Amazon’s willingness to collaborate with Taiwan.

The Risks of Single-Provider Dependence

While Starlink’s absence from Taiwan is unlikely to change soon, relying solely on OneWeb presents its own risks. “Just betting heavily on one player opens the way to future risks,” warns Chiu Shih-Fang, a senior analyst at the Taiwan Institute of Economic Research. Diversifying partnerships with multiple satellite providers is essential for Taiwan to build robust and resilient communications infrastructure.

Taiwan’s Next Steps

Taiwan’s efforts to establish communications resilience must go beyond reliance on any single provider. As Chunghwa Telecom continues discussions with satellite companies like OneWeb and Amazon, multilateral collaboration and strategic investment in LEO infrastructure will be critical for mitigating risks and ensuring uninterrupted communication during crises.

Currently, OneWeb employs three ground stations in neighboring areas to Taiwan - namely Japan, Guam, and Thailand - which send signals from the ground before relaying them to Taiwan.

Edited by David Toman
Uploaded by Ian Huang

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Former Taipei Mayor Ko Wen-je has been sentenced to 17 years in prison and stripped of civil rights for six years in a first-instance ruling over the Core Pacific City (京華城) development and political donation cases. The verdict, which found nine defendants guilty, also sentenced Core Pacific Group Chairman Sheen Ching-jing (沈慶京) to 10 years and Taipei City Councilor Ying Hsiao-wei (應曉薇) to 15 years and six months.

“I neither profited others nor engaged in corruption. I am completely at ease,” Ko said at a press conference following the ruling, denouncing the case as a politically motivated judicial spectacle. After more than a year and a half of investigation and trial, what began as a legal contest has evolved into a highly politicized event.

At the center of the controversy is a NT$2.1 million political donation and whether it constituted bribery. The court ruled that during a February 2020 meeting between Ko and Sheen, an implicit agreement to exchange benefits was reached. The funds, funneled through seven employees in separate donations, were deemed to be the payment for favorable administrative action. The Taipei City government subsequently forwarded Core Pacific City’s floor area ratio request to the Urban Planning Commission, eventually granting a 20% floor area ratio bonus to the project through a detailed plan amendment.

Legal experts widely believe the key battleground in the appeal will hinge on whether political donations can be legally interpreted as bribes.

The immediate political consequence is clear: Ko is almost certainly disqualified from running in the 2028 presidential election. Under Taiwan’s Presidential and Vice Presidential Election and Recall Act, individuals sentenced to more than 10 years in prison cannot register as candidates, even if the ruling is not yet final.

Paradoxically, Ko’s political exit may strengthen cooperation between the Kuomintang (KMT) and the Taiwan People’s Party (TPP). Analysts note that resentment among TPP supporters toward the ruling Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) has intensified following the case. If the KMT and TPP can coordinate effectively in the 2026 local elections, it will serve as a critical test run ahead of 2028.

“2028 will inevitably become a showdown between the blue and green camps,” says Jia-Wei Liu (劉嘉薇), a professor at the Department of Public Administration and Policy at National Taipei University.

Since the collapse of the KMT-TPP alliance ahead of the 2024 election, Taiwan’s political landscape has grown significantly more polarized. Disputes over the Constitutional Court and large-scale recall campaigns dubbed “Great Recall 2.0”, in which both parties rallied around a shared narrative of “political interference in the judiciary” to jointly thwart the ruling party, have deepened partisan divisions.

However, a full-fledged KMT-TPP alliance is far from guaranteed. DPP legislator Lin Chun-hsien (林俊憲) questioned how much public trust and electoral value Ko can retain after the conviction. In local elections, where KMT and TPP voter bases significantly overlap, the KMT may have limited incentive to fully cooperate.

As for the TPP itself, it is unlikely to collapse in the short term, but structural vulnerabilities are becoming more apparent. Jung-hsiang Tsai (蔡榮祥) , a professor at National Chung Cheng University’s Department and Graduate Institute of Political Science, opines that with Ko entangled in legal battles, the party lacks a clear successor to the throne. If it fails to maintain its legislative seats in 2028, it risks entering an ineffective limbo state.

Currently, TPP chairman Huang Kuo-chang (黃國昌) has emerged as the party’s central pillar. But observers within the KMT note that Huang now carries significant political exposure. If he were to face legal scrutiny or become the target of intensified political attacks, the consequences for the TPP could be severe. In effect, the party’s survival is increasingly tied to a single leader.

In summary, Ko’s 17-year sentence not only reshapes his personal political future but may also reconfigure Taiwan’s broader party dynamics. As opposition forces frame the case as political persecution, partisan tensions are likely to intensify. And with the space for a viable third political faction narrowing, a return to a binary blue-versus-green contest appears ever more likely. For the ruling DPP, this may signal a more challenging road ahead of the next big election.

Edited by Jack Chou
Uploaded by Ian Huang

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Step into Coretronic Corporation’s test-flight site in Zhunan and you’ll see rows of ready-to-ship drones, either for the American customer Teledyne or Taiwan’s own armed forces.

Subsidiary Coretronic Intelligent Robotics Corporation (CIRC) has already sold 3,500 units this year, more than any of its domestic competitors. Its target is 50,000 units.

“The demand is there,” says Coretronic president Andy Sin (忻維忠), who stresses the need to ramp up supply in the next two to three years.

At Thunder Tiger Corporation, Chair Chen Kuan-ju (陳冠如) excitedly shows off models ranging from large drones with four-meter wingspans to kamikaze drones used on the frontlines in Ukraine. “Taiwan is the hub where defense contractors congregate,” he says. He has already signed MOUs with the American Auterion and the French Parrot. Last year, he invested in a new assembly line with a monthly capacity of 40,000 motors. There are also plans to establish production in the U.S.

Opportunities on the Non-Chinese Supply Chain

The Research Institute for Democracy, Society and Emerging Technology (DSET) estimates that Taiwan exported 26,000 drones in the first seven months of this year, with most of the metal birds sold to Europe. Since China halted the export of drones to Ukraine last year, Czech and Poland have turned to buying from Taiwan. DSET researcher Ting-wei Lin (林庭葦) points out that European customers usually bought smaller reconnaissance drones in keeping with the doctrines of asymmetric warfare.

“America’s primary gridlock is the supply chain,” says AiSeed Tech COO Monica Lee (李芷婷). U.S. startups generally bought their drone components from China. Once politics forced them to find new suppliers, almost none but those from Taiwan could qualify.

Taiwan Defense Industry Development Association president Tony S.C. Hsu (徐綬章) reveals that over 100 international companies have sought to add Taiwan to their supply chains in the last two years, to the point that even embassies and emissaries were rallied to the cause. Startups like Anduril, Skydio, Shield AI, and Parrot are especially inclined to ask Taiwan to help them establish local supply chains.

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Taiwan Racing to Improve Speed and Capacity

Jackson Lai (賴介村), chairman of Taoyuan’s Racing Electric Instrument Co. (REI), switched on new assembly lines this year that reduced the time it took to complete motor coil winding from two hours to 100 seconds. “We can go even faster,” he says. The assembly lines will churn out motors for drones.

Anduril has already sent over a team to check on the progress. Out of REI’s annual revenue of NT$600 million, drones make up only 5%. But this number is expected to double next year, and REI has plans to open a factory stateside.

Meanwhile, Kaohsiung’s Ahamani Advanced Inc. has set its sights on Europe, with the aim to mass-produce components in Lithuania in early 2026. The projected monthly capacity is 10,000 motors, which will make it the largest drone motor factory in Europe. Chair Tzu Chi Kung (龔子琪) says the war in Ukraine has heated up European demand. “Things are even tenser in Lithuania than Poland.”

System Integration is Taiwan’s Strong Suit

In addition to its manufacturing prowess, Taiwan’s other big advantage lies in system integration.

REI asks clients to share the specifications for their controllers and rotors before taking orders to make sure all the parts will play nice together. Josefina Pan (潘月英), president of Josefina Pan Pacific Limited (JPP), opines that the difference between drone and automotive modules is not substantial, so existing supply chains can easily service the global market. “We can do what China’s DJI won’t do.”

Sin stresses that Taiwan is not looking to engage China in a price war. Instead, it is wooing Western customers with more bang for their buck. For example, an Israeli tripod head may cost millions, but CIRC can make something very close in performance for a much lower price.

Obstacles: Software and Chips

However, DSET researcher Cathy Fang (方怡然) points out that Southeast Asia will eventually catch up. Taiwan needs to provide a total solution encompassing flight control chips, communications chips, satellite positioning chips, and also flight control and ground control software.

She illustrates this by saying that, while drones on the Ukrainian frontline are changed to a new generation every seven to 13 months, software might need to be updated after 48 hours. “Software is the real key to victory.”

Currently, Taiwanese manufacturers are using general-purpose Nvidia or Qualcomm chips. They lack specialized processors that can be ten times cheaper. In comparison, DJI uses self-developed chips with far better performance. “Chip price is the biggest gap among all the components,” she says.

Lee observes that big global companies are only in Taiwan for components. They are reluctant to divulge core technologies like edge processing. She warns that Taiwanese companies tend to focus on hardware while bypassing software. “If hardware specs are all you have to compete with, you will not win.”

Taiwan is experiencing a drone boom, but the windfall from the demand for a non-Chinese supply chain will not last. Without anything to offer in terms of software or processors, the good days may soon take flight.

This is about more than Taiwan’s edge in asymmetric warfare. This is about whether Taiwan can secure its foothold in the ever-shifting international supply chain.

Translated by Jack Chou
Edited by TC Lin
Uploaded by Ian Huang

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Longtime connector maker Nextronics Engineering Corp. (Nextron) is one of the main beneficiaries of the AI boom. Its revenue was up 80 percent year-over-year in December 2025 and grew another 22 percent in the first two months of 2026.

With AI products accounting for 30 percent of its revenue, the company also posted a gross margin of 40 percent in 2025, double the average of Taiwan’s electronic component makers.

None of that was preordained. The 40-year-old company was once stuck in markets with low margins and little product differentiation but got its break eight years ago when it gained a foothold in the supply chain of Israeli startup Mellanox (later purchased by Nvidia Corp. in 2020) to make connectors used in high-speed computing.

Since then, beyond focusing on applications for GPUs (graphics processing units) and data centers, Nextron has expanded into ASICs (application-specific ICs), components for water cooling systems, and even supply chains for Amazon’s warehouse robots and American humanoid robots.

Given the hard lessons it has learned over time, Nextron now follows a simple strategy: steer clear of mature markets with cutthroat pricing competition.

“In high-volume markets, there is no way we can beat China. Our management principle is to focus only on incremental markets rather than existing markets,” said Nextron CEO Kevin Chen (陳言成).

“Existing markets” refer to areas such as laptop or mobile phone connectors, where specifications and standards are already established, products are mature, and competition centers on price and delivery.

By contrast, in emerging fields such as AI, robotics, and unmanned aerial vehicles, standards and established supply chains are still lacking, giving Taiwanese suppliers opportunities to co-develop products with customers.

“These incremental markets do not have established supply chains, so the odds of getting in are higher,” Chen said.

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Financial Crisis Lesson Learned

This strategy stems from the company’s painful experience during the 2008–2009 global financial crisis.

At the time, Nextron focused on high-volume markets, with major customers including Huawei Technologies Co., Ltd. and ZTE Corp. It was even a key supplier of Huawei’s backplane connectors.

However, surging gold prices meant that orders priced six months earlier became loss-making by the time they were shipped.

“Back then, nobody dared to raise prices. You could only compete on price and delivery,” Chen recalled.

That experience led Nextron to exit crowded “red ocean” markets and eliminate unprofitable business lines.

In the early stages of its transformation, the medical sector became a key breakthrough.

Following the financial crisis, European medical connector manufacturers downsized or exited the market. Nextron seized the opportunity, using Israeli supply chain connections to enter Europe. It is now one of the major suppliers to a leading Danish endoscope manufacturer, providing connectors and cables.

Niche Markets

The company has also expanded into high-barrier sectors such as aerospace. Specialized components in these markets carry margins several times higher than those of consumer electronics, making them more resilient to fluctuations in material costs and exchange rates.

These niche markets helped Nextron build capabilities in customized design, rapid development, and cross-disciplinary integration—laying the groundwork for its move into AI.

Eight years ago, before Mellanox was acquired by Nvidia, the Israeli company approached Nextron to develop optical communication connectors. As heat dissipation became a challenge in high-speed transmission, Nextron adapted water-cooling technologies from the medical and automotive sectors to develop micro-channel connectors and cooling components.

Reliability requirements for AI water-cooling applications are extremely stringent.

“The mist that fogs up glasses exceeds 0.02cc, but allowable leakage in AI water-cooling systems must be below that level,” Chen said.

Nextron has also upended the traditional contract manufacturing model, shifting from passive order-taking to proactive design.

“We used to wait for customers to give us drawings, but that no longer works,” Chen said. “Now, if a customer has an idea, we can produce a sample within three days and keep refining it until they are satisfied. We also proactively propose solutions.”

By avoiding red oceans and entering markets where standards have yet to be defined, Nextron has secured a high-margin position in the AI supply chain, successfully transforming itself into a technology-driven supplier of key components.

Translated by Luke Sabatier
Uploaded by Ian Huang

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On Jan. 9 2024, four days before Taiwan’s presidential election, a scary alarm blared on mobile phones around the country accompanied by a bilingual text message saying, in English, that China had fired a missile over Taiwan.

That turned out to be wrong. The Chinese part of the message was accurate, indicating that China had launched a satellite in outer space over Taiwan, but Taiwan’s Ministry of National Defense had to issue an apology that same night for the mistake.

The use of the term “missile” in English was a technical error, but the incident reflected the fact that rockets are used to launch both missiles and satellites, which is why Chinese rocket launches have always been closely monitored by Taiwan’s military.

What the military detected on January 9, 2024, was a Long March 2C rocket. The rocket’s predecessor carried China’s home-grown Dongfeng missiles, but this time it sent the Einstein Probe satellite into orbit.

Jointly developed by China, the European Union, and Germany, the Einstein Probe is a low-orbit satellite used to develop a better understanding of black holes and supernova explosions, according to the European Space Agency.

The nationwide alarm also unveiled for the first time in Taiwan the battle between the United States and China over low-orbit satellites.

9,000 Asteroids 2,000 km Above Ground

There are currently more than 9,000 active satellites in space, according to global satellite statistics, and they can be divided into “high-orbit,” “medium-orbit,” and “low-orbit” satellites, depending on their distance from the Earth’s surface.

At present, 90 percent of them are low-orbit satellites within 2,000 kilometers of the ground. In 2023 alone, 2,736 low-orbit satellites that are still active were launched, the most ever in a single year.

Why the sudden surge?

Mainly because of the ongoing conflict between Russia and Ukraine and the emergence of Elon Musk’s SpaceX, a low-orbit satellite specialist, as a big winner in the hostilities.

Yet long before the Russia-Ukraine war, the space race that was seemingly brought to a halt after the Cold War had been rekindled. The only differences are that the main competition that once pitted the U.S. and the Soviet Union now matches the U.S. against China, and militaries have had to adjust their philosophies to keep up with new technologies.

In 2016, the United States Army called for “multi-domain operations” for the first time in the belief that wars of the future would not only be staged on land or sea or in the air but also in space, on the internet, and in the electromagnetic spectrum.

A year later, the U.S. Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency launched the Blackjack program, which sought to build a global satellite constellation in a short period with the help of the private sector by using commercial satellites to carry military payloads. That approach is considered beneficial to developing hypersonic missiles capable of piercing existing missile defense systems.

Space: Battleground of the Future

In the wake of those moves by the United States, China announced for the first time in 2020 that it was incorporating satellite-based internet into its basic infrastructure system, and it also aspired to develop a global low-orbit satellite constellation.

Since then, China has been quickly catching up, with its number of active low-orbit satellites catapulting to second-most in the world, behind only the United States.

“This new space race is all about low orbit,” Terry van Haren, CEO of American satellite services provider LeoLabs and former Royal Australian Air Force commander, told CommonWealth Magazine.

But the U.S. and Chinese strategies have had different starting points, leading to clear differences in the entities launching their satellites.

More than 14,000 low-orbit satellites have been launched from 1957 to the present, according to publicly available figures, with 8,522, or more than half of the total, sent into space by the United States. Of those 8,522, over half have been Starlink satellites fired into space by Elon Musk’s rocket company SpaceX over the past three years.

China has barely sent a tenth as many low-orbit satellites into space as the U.S., but behind nearly every one of them exists the shadow of the People’s Liberation Army or a state-run enterprise.

“The PRC’s [satellites] are not only used for scientific research but also for military and surveillance purposes,” van Haren said.

The flight of a Chinese rocket carrying a satellite into space above Taiwan just days before Taiwan’s presidential election was not an isolated event. China launched satellites at least 13 times from 2023 to the present, with six of those traversing Taiwanese airspace or flying in outer space above the island, according to flight paths provided publicly by Taiwan’s Ministry of Defense.

U.S. Military Getting Nervous

The rapid development of China’s official launchers or SpaceX’s Starlink should have Taiwan paying close attention.

First China. It has aggressively developed drones in recent years, and low-orbit satellites play a critical role in the coordinated communications and systems connections that support drone operations.

Its ambition to develop hypersonic missiles is also a threat. A document recently leaked out of the U.S. Department of Defense warned that the U.S. was lagging behind China in developing such missiles and related interception systems.

“China wants to build Starlink too,” said SpaceX President Gwynne Shotwell bluntly in May 2023. “One thing China doesn’t have – they don’t have reusable rockets. I believe they will get there pretty quickly.”

Since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, China has stepped up its gray zone tactics against Taiwan, and in military simulations conducted by the U.S., Japan, or Taiwan, a cutoff of Taiwan’s communications is one of the possible scenarios being tested.

The director-general of the Taiwan Space Agency (TASA), Wu Jong-shinn (吳宗信), has estimated that it would require at least 120 Starlink level satellites weighing 200 to 300 kilograms each to ensure that Taiwan’s communications are not interrupted, which is more than had been imagined.

But can Taiwan truly rely on SpaceX, the biggest company in its field, to achieve such a goal?

Taiwan Choosing OneWeb over Starlink

In an updated version of his biography on Elon Musk, Walter Isaacson wrote that as Ukraine prepared to attack the Russian fleet in Crimea, it thought Starlink coverage for Ukraine was enabled all the way to the peninsula, but it was not. When Ukraine asked Musk to activate Starlink to support the drone attack, he refused, thinking it would cause a major war.

On another occasion, in an interview with the Financial Times in October 2022, Musk commented on Taiwan-China relations and said, “my recommendation… would be to figure out a special administrative zone for Taiwan that is reasonably palatable.”

Neither of those developments could have inspired Taiwan to have confidence in the Starlink network, but Evin Liao (廖榮皇), the director of the Industrial Technology Research Institute’s Commercialization and Industry Service Center, said there is an alternative.

“Currently, the only low-orbit satellites with global coverage are Starlink and OneWeb, a joint venture between Britain and Bharti Enterprises of India,” Liao said.

Indeed, Musk’s positions may explain why Taiwan ultimately chose to work with low-orbit satellite services provider OneWeb, even though it deploys fewer satellites than the dominant Starlink.

This year, OneWeb’s signals are expected to cover all of Taiwan. Chunghwa Telecom, which represents OneWeb in Taiwan, plans to build base stations that can receive OneWeb signals, one of the starting points for Taiwan to enter the new space race.

Even with the existence of global low-orbit satellite services providers, however, Taiwan’s government and private sector are planning to jointly launch home-grown satellites.

In the first half of November 2023, two “pearls” from Taiwan cut through the sky of southern California.

The low-orbit satellites, the “Pearl-1H” and “Pearl-1C,” developed and manufactured jointly by Taiwan-based manufacturing giant Hon Hai Precision Industry Co. (Foxconn) and National Central University, were the size of a backpack and weighed less than 10 kilos apiece.

As the opening salvo of Taiwan’s deployment in space, they circle the Earth every 96 minutes while exploring space and conducting communications experiments.

With those satellites now in orbit, the TASA expects to launch its first Taiwan-made “Starlink” low-orbit satellite, called the B5G, by 2026, and then two more by 2028.

The new battle in space is unfolding across a vast universe, representing an important strategic development. It is one that Taiwan is determined to be a part of.

Translated by Luke Sabatier
Uploaded by Ian Huang

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Ten percent of all the electricity generated in Taiwan comes from the kind of liquefied natural gas that’s stored in these two colossal containers.

The ongoing Iran war has highlighted the vulnerabilities in Taiwan’s energy supply chain. Over a third of Taiwan’s natural gas is transported through the Strait of Hormuz. Gas-fired power plants account for over 53% of electricity production in Taiwan, directly affecting 17% of Taiwan’s power supply.

The weak point becomes obvious when Taiwan is compared with Japan and Korea, both of which also rely on Middle Eastern natural gas. Taiwan has the smallest natural gas reserve, only sufficient for 11 days; Japan has around three weeks’ worth, while Korea has about a month’s supply.

There are plans to remedy the situation.

CPC Corporation, Taipower, and Formosa Plastics are all building gasholders to expand storage capacity, the goal being to triple Taiwan’s natural gas reserves.

By chance, CPC held a briefing on the second phase of construction on Guantang LNG Terminal’s third import terminal the day after war erupted in Iran. It announced a commitment to building six new gasholders, equal to ten more days of natural gas reserves. But even if work began this very instant, it would still be three years before completion—and this does not account for delays which could arise due to protests.

Minister of Economic Affairs Ming-Hsin Kung (龔明鑫) promises that arrangements have been made to ensure an uninterrupted supply of natural gas until the end of April, saying, “Under no circumstances will power rationing be enacted due to natural gas shortage.”

Other alternatives are also being considered.

Coal, Oil, Even No. 3 Nuclear Plant May Step Up to Prevent Shortage

The first alternative is to purchase natural gas from the United States or other suppliers.

Chung-Hsien Chen (陳崇憲), Deputy Director-General at the Energy Administration, stresses that the supply of natural gas will be no problem at all in the month of April, and plans are being made to maintain this through May and June.

In February, CPC inked a 25-year deal with Cheniere Energy, the largest exporter of LNG in the U.S. The first shipment will arrive in June.

Industry experts point out that in Donald Trump’s second term, state-owned enterprises carry the burden of reducing Taiwan’s trade surplus with the U.S. This is why, in addition to the long-term contracts, CPC may increase its purchase of America’s existing natural gas supplies. “Buying ready supplies is a last resort, since spot prices tend to be higher,” says Chen.

Another alternative is to find new sellers. A Japanese industry insider reveals that CPC is in talks with major Japanese power suppliers to redirect LNG shipments bought by Japan to Taiwan. Japan has more natural gas reserves and also a lower reliance on it for power generation.

But if the war doesn’t end in April, or if complications arise in purchasing ready supplies, will Taiwan face a power shortage?

The next option would be to reactivate Taiwan’s coal, oil, and even nuclear power plants.

Coal generators currently undergoing repairs or on standby include three in the Taichung Power Plant and four in Kaohsiung’s Hsinta Power Plant. Add on top of that two oil generators in Keelung’s Hsieh-ho Power Plant, and they will cover nearly 10% of peak power consumption.

And if that’s not enough, restarting the two generators in Maanshan Nuclear Power Plant will satisfy another 6% of power consumption.

At the end of the day, coal, oil, and nuclear power can fill the gap left by natural gas.

However, the high cost of natural gas means that Taipower will be under even greater pressure to raise power prices after April.

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War’s Biggest Winner is the US

Notably, the U.S. both initiated military action against Iran and stands to benefit the most from the conflict.

Despite the fact Taiwan buys 70% of its crude oil and over 30% of its natural gas from the Middle East, America’s role in Taiwan’s energy supply system is expanding rapidly.

Over the last decade, Taiwan’s reliance on crude oil from the U.S. grew from zero to nearly 30%. In 2025, Taiwan bought as much crude oil from the U.S. as it did from Saudi Arabia. The United States may soon become Taiwan’s biggest energy supplier.

Around 10% of Taiwan’s natural gas also comes from the U.S. If the potential supply of natural gas from Alaska is considered, American natural gas may soon make up 30% of Taiwan’s supply.

“Americans want everyone to buy energy from them,” says a senior manager at a petrochemical company. The cost of oil produced by fracking averages around $40 to $60 per barrel. If oil prices surpass $100 per barrel, American oil will rule the market.

In the coming years, the United States’ irreversible track toward energy market dominance will have a profound impact on how Taiwan sources its energy imports.

Translated by Jack Chou
Edited by TC Lin
Uploaded by Ian Huang

The following is the transcript of the latest episode of the Taiwanology podcast. It was produced by CommonWealth Magazine, hosted by Kwangyin Liu, Deputy Managing Editor of CommonWealth Magazine, and was first aired on March 2, 2026. The guest was Yifeng Tao, Associate Professor at the Department of Political Science, National Taiwan University, and Senior Advisor at the Office of Former President Tsai Ing-wen.

Listen to the episode: Watching the Dragon: How Taiwan Decodes China’s Internal Fragility 【Taiwanology Ep.57】

Thinking Taiwan 2.0: Watching the Long Game

After stepping down in 2024, former President Tsai Ing-wen relaunched the Thinking Taiwan Foundation as a platform for long-term policy analysis. At the heart of its first major output is the China Monitoring Report—an annual project tracking 50 indicators across economy, finance, fiscal policy, society, and politics, designed to be updated year by year with the same yardsticks. Professor Tao explained why the indicator-based approach matters at a moment when firsthand research in China has become increasingly difficult.

Tao Yifen: “The indicators don’t give you drama. They give you direction—are things improving, deteriorating, and how fast. And another reason for indicators is continuity. This isn’t a one-off report. We want to watch how China changes year by year using the same yardsticks.”

A Strong Surface, A Fragile Core

Kwangyin Liu (Host): “You’ve described China’s economy as operating at dual speed—strong exports on the one hand, but weak domestic consumption on the other. Could you explain what the indicators support that conclusion and what this means?”

China posted a record trade surplus of over 1.2 trillion US dollars last year, with exports accounting for roughly one third of GDP growth. But Professor Tao argued that headline strength masks a deeply troubled domestic picture.

TY: “Internally, it is a completely different story. Consumption is weak, prices are flat or falling. People are saving instead of spending. Private investment has been shrinking.”

Two indicators capture this internal freeze most clearly: persistent deflationary pressure, and a widening gap between M1 and M2 money supply—a sign that liquidity is piling up in savings rather than flowing into the real economy. KL pressed further on what this means for the broader global economy.

KL: “What does that mean for the world economy?”

For Professor Tao, China’s imbalance—producing far more than it consumes—is not a temporary dip but something structural, and its consequences extend well beyond China’s borders. With domestic demand unable to absorb its own output, China has little choice but to keep flooding global markets with cheap goods, accelerating de-industrialization in countries from Europe to the Global South.

TY: “Industry after industry, they just cannot sustain this kind of cheap price. So they just went out of business. China just produces too much and consumes too little.”

Cracks Beneath the Surface: Social Unrest and a Broken Bargain

KL: “One indicator that caught my eye is the number of incidents of social unrest. What do you see from this data?”

The report’s social indicators reveal a steady rise in protests since the pandemic, even under tightened surveillance, alongside marriage and birth rates at historic lows. What Professor Tao finds most significant, however, is not the volume of unrest but its changing character.

TY: “Today’s protests are less about isolated economic losses and more about systemic unfairness—government officials’ power abuse, pension cuts, arbitrary enforcement. People have always been aware of this systemic unfairness, but they could improve their own life even in an unfair system before—but not anymore. They started to look at the problem of the system.”

KL drew out the deeper implication: this shift represents the erosion of the implicit social contract of the reform era—political control accepted in exchange for steadily rising living standards.

KL: “If I can still put food on the table, afford a house, and my children can have good jobs, then I’m probably willing to put up with a lot. But if I don’t even have that prosperity, then what is this deal you’re forcing on me?”

TY: “For the last 30 years, Chinese people have felt their life is getting better and better. But now they don’t have this kind of feeling anymore.”

And yet, rather than redirecting resources toward social welfare to relieve the pressure, Xi Jinping has consistently chosen to prioritize military buildup and technological self-reliance. Professor Tao was unambiguous about the trade-off being made.

TY: “The Xi Jinping government would rather put limited fiscal resources on superpower competition. We still see he will put resources on military buildup and technological development. If he keeps doing so, I think it’s very hard for domestic demand to go up.”

What Taiwan Should Do

KL: “Given these trends—social, economic, and political—what should Taiwan do next?”

For Taiwan, Professor Tao argued, monitoring China is not an academic exercise—it is a daily strategic reality. Overestimating China’s strength breeds panic; underestimating it breeds complacency. Both, she said, are dangerous. Her prescription was threefold: invest continuously in China knowledge, build domestic social and economic resilience, and share Taiwan’s analytical insights with the international community.

On resilience, she was careful to define what she meant—not a top-down mandate, but a society-wide partnership.

TY: “How could we turn this kind of individual resilience into a real societal resilience? I think we need more cooperation and communication between government and society to form a partnership from bottom up rather than top down. That kind of resilience will be more sustainable.”

She closed with a calibrated warning against both panic and complacency—and a clear-eyed view of what the indicators actually show.

TY: “China will not collapse in the near future, but China is not invincible either. The challenge for Taiwan is to stay clear-eyed, calm, and prepared.”

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“Moore’s Law is dead. It’s completely over,” Nvidia CEO Jensen Huang (黃仁勳) declared in October 2022, sparking debate within the industry.

In fact, the unique technical demands of generative AI have unquestionably resulted in an unprecedented scenario.

TSMC currently only has one customer – Apple – for its most advanced chipmaking technology, the 3-nanometer process, with speculation emerging that 3nm capacity utilization has fallen as low as 50 percent.

But demand for TSMC’s advanced CoWoS (chip-on-wafer-on-substrate) technology is far outpacing supply, forcing the company to expand capacity.

That led me to ask MediaTek Inc. CEO Rick Tsai (蔡力行) at a public event recently if advanced packaging technology will become more important in the AI era than Moore’s law, which posited that the number of transistors on a chip would double every two years with a minimal rise in cost.

Tsai responded cautiously, saying it was still too early to say [whether packaging technology had overtaken Moore’s law]. But he then acknowledged that “both were important,” a sign that the times have indeed changed.

Packaging technology was once considered the black sheep of the high-tech sector, but in the eyes of this former TSMC CEO who is now one of the chipmaker’s major customers, it is as important as humanity’s most sophisticated chip miniaturization technologies in which hundreds of billions of U.S. dollars have been invested.

That made me think of one person – TSMC Vice President Douglas Yu (余振華) – one of the drivers of this paradigm shift.

Douglas Yu – Keeping TSMC ahead of Samsung

When I interviewed Yu in 2018, he had just developed the InFO (integrated fan-out) packaging technology used for iPhone chips that enabled TSMC to grab Apple orders that were originally going to Samsung. He was recognized for this important achievement, being promoted to vice president and awarded a Presidential Science Prize on the recommendation of TSMC founder Morris Chang (張忠謀). Chang even attended the award ceremony.

Yu was among the first group of Taiwanese tech standouts working overseas to return to Taiwan in the early 1990s for TSMC. I asked him why, after researching advanced semiconductor technologies at Bell Laboratories in the United States, was he willing to get involved in the far less prestigious field of packaging technology in Taiwan?

“I had nothing to lose,” he replied.

When he first started at TSMC, he was responsible for developing cutting-edge technologies, but he was later faced with strong competition from at least one very ambitious internal rival eager to stake out his territory. As a result, “I retreated into packaging,” he said.

His main workplace foe was the notorious Liang Mengsong (梁孟松), who would eventually be seen in Taiwan as a traitor by later working for Samsung Electronics and then becoming co-CEO of Chinese chipmaker SMIC.

Liang Mengsong: Key player in U.S.-China tech war

In 2003, Yu and Liang were both honored by the Executive Yuan (Taiwan’s administrative branch of government) as part of the TSMC R&D team that developed 0.13-micron low-k copper system-on-a-chip (SoC) process technology.

For that team, Liang was responsible for the advanced modules, the most important part of the process, while Yu was in charge of integrating TSMC’s copper structures with low-k dielectric materials to make the product work.

It was an important milestone for the company in its early years because it enabled copper to replace aluminum as the material for the interconnects that connect elements of chip circuits together, which meant faster chips that used less power.

Any sense of teamwork vanished, however, in 2005, when Chang chose Rick Tsai to succeed him as CEO. There was a major reshuffle of TSMC’s management, and as part of that shake-up, Liang expected to be promoted to the key role of R&D vice president. Instead, he was passed over, leaving him furious.

He eventually jumped to arch-rival Samsung to become chief technology officer for the Korean company’s wafer foundry business, and helped Samsung surge ahead of TSMC on 14nm semiconductor production. Suspecting Liang of foul play, TSMC sued him for leaking trade secrets.

In a cover story I wrote in early 2015 titled “Hunting Down a Turncoat,” I described him as “Taiwan’s No. 1 turncoat.” It was still surprising, however, that just two years later, he would leave Korea and go to China, where he had emerged as a key figure in the technology war between Washington and Beijing.

Chinese information and communications giant Huawei shocked the world last year when it apparently got around American sanctions and used an advanced 7nm chip in its newest flagship smartphone. Although Huawei never admitted the chip was made by SMIC, industry insiders strongly suspected that Liang was the “shadow warrior” behind the breakthrough.

Described by the Wall Street Journal in August 2022 as a “Taiwanese chip wizard,” he is believed to have helped SMIC overcome the difficulty of producing advanced chips without the use of high precision EUV (extreme ultraviolet) lithography machines.

“He’s giving his life to his work,” said Yang Guang-lei, the former director of TSMC’s R&D Division and, like Liang, a UC Berkeley alum.

Yang recalled that after Liang underwent a brain operation a few years ago, he only took two to three weeks to rest before returning to work at SMIC, still driven by his grievances against TSMC.

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Demotion or talent cultivation?

Why is Liang so obsessed with his former company?

Perhaps it was the irony of fate that in the later stages of Liang’s time at TSMC, he faced adversity similar to that of Douglas Yu. From managing the most cutting-edge technologies, he was reassigned to a new venture called “More than Moore” that would take TSMC’s mature processes and convert them into new products such as automotive chips and image sensors.

Liang saw the transfer as an insult. “Being reassigned to a unit with an extremely small budget and outdated technology was clearly a ‘demotion,’ and could in no uncertain terms be called ‘being given an important responsibility,’” he said at his trade-secrets trial, according to court records.

Some TSMC executives told me that the Liang move reflected Morris Chang’s way of testing and cultivating talent, giving them the opportunity to “squat before leaping.”

Yu took up the challenge by working hard and not complaining, and turned less glamorous advanced packaging technologies into TSMC’s latest competitive advantage.

Yang does not buy that argument. He told me that after Liang returned from an overseas conference, he found his office partitioned into four spaces that he had to share with others. Given Liang’s huge ego, there was no way he could swallow such a rebuke, Yang said.

I most recently saw Yu at the 2023 Semicon Taiwan semiconductor show. By that time, he had been transferred out of the advanced packaging R&D department and made vice president of Pathfinding Technology for System Integration.

The topic of his speech was emerging silicon photonics technology.

“It’s another paradigm shift,” said the executive, now in his late 60s, talking up the new technology with the same passion he had used to promote CoWoS and InFO more than 10 years ago.

One TSMC veteran once told me that Yu has been a model TSMC executive.

“The company has moved him around a lot, but he has never complained and has always done his job to the best of his ability,” the source said.

Two technical geniuses with distinct personalities who faced adversity and setbacks in the workplace responded in dramatically different ways. Ultimately, they both have affected the global semiconductor industry to varying degrees, with more chapters in their story likely to come.

Translated by Luke Sabatier
Uploaded by Ian Huang

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Each March, the PRC government gathers in Beijing for the meetings of the National People’s Congress (NPC) and the National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC). Known as the “Two Congresses,” the meetings host discussions on policy guidelines for the coming year.

Under normal circumstances, Chinese Premier Li Qiang’s Government Work Report on the opening day of the National People’s Congress would draw worldwide attention. In addition to announcing the year’s economic growth target, this year also marks the start of the Chinese Communist Party’s fifteenth Five-Year Plan, making it an especially significant moment. However, on the weekend before the Two Congresses began, the United States and Israel launched strikes on Iran, shifting the world’s attention to the Middle East.

“Rarely in many years have we encountered such a grave and complex landscape, where external shocks and challenges are intertwined with numerous domestic difficulties and difficult choices,” said Li Qiang at the start of his report.

However, despite the turbulent environment, this year’s government work report was notably subdued, containing few items of particular note.

Why did China set its GDP target at a 30-year low?

According to Li Qiang’s report, China has set its economic growth target for this year at 4.5 to 5 percent—the lowest growth target in nearly three decades, excluding the Covid years.

In reality, China has already moved beyond its era of rapid expansion. Last year’s target of “around five percent” had already drawn skepticism from observers who considered it too ambitious.

Moreover, cities and provinces around China had begun releasing their targets ahead of the Two Congresses. Guangdong province, an economic powerhouse, revised its growth target to 4.5 to 5.0 percent, making the national adjustment unsurprising.

Still, the release of the overall numbers was akin to the government officially recognizing for the first time that China’s economy is starting to show signs of sluggishness.

“The proposed targets mainly reflect the consideration, in this opening year, of the need to create room for structural adjustment, risk prevention, and reform in order to lay a solid foundation for better development in the future,” explained Li Qiang in the report.

Despite lowered GDP growth targets, this year’s fiscal deficit ratio and the scale of central government bond issuance are comparable with last year’s.

China’s Economic Growth Target Dips Below 5 Percent for the First Time in 2026

Overview of China’s overall economic targets in recent years

From the outside looking in, the measures appear insufficient to stimulate China’s flagging consumer market.

“With limited stimulus to domestic demand, China will likely continue to face problems of industrial overcapacity and weak inflation in the short term,” wrote Julian Evans-Pritchard, analyst at Capital Economics.

What did the government work report omit?

Observers are also curious how Beijing will respond to recent developments in the Middle East.

“It was too late to include in the government work report, but the Middle East will be a hidden concern for China’s economy this year,” said Wang Kuo-chen, associate researcher at the Chung-Hua Institution for Economic Research.

A review of China’s Ministry of Finance budget report shows that government spending on technology, defense, public safety, and education has all increased this year, while the only category whose share has dropped is grain and oil reserves.

Share of central government spending in China over the past five years (%)

Wang Kuo-chen observes that, following a series of U.S. actions, China can no longer obtain discounted oil from Venezuela and Iran. Meanwhile, Iran’s blockade of the Strait of Hormuz, a major global energy artery, will likely put China under pressure from rising energy prices.

With China currently facing deflation, if energy costs rise, says Wang, “the economy could move toward stagflation, which would affect corporate operations.”

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Which of China’s future industries were highlighted?

Although the overall direction of the economy contained no surprises, the government work report traditionally identifies the next generation of rising industries—key indicators of Beijing’s long-term priorities.

First, in reviewing last year’s economic performance, Li Qiang stressed that China’s technological innovation had yielded “fruitful results.” Compared with previous years, when the government merely described innovation capacity as “improving,” Beijing is clearly pleased with the outcome.

In addition to citing research and development in AI, biomedicine, robotics, and quantum computing as being “at the forefront of the world,” Li Qiang also referenced China’s defense industry and the achievements of its AI sector for the first time.

Among the projects cited were the BeiDou Navigation Satellite system, the launch of the Tianwen-2 asteroid probe, and the launch of the new Fujian aircraft carrier. Li also declared that China’s “domestically developed large AI models are leading the global open-source ecosystem.”

He further identified future energy technologies, quantum technology, embodied intelligence, brain-computer interfaces, and 6G communications as industries that will determine China’s future competitiveness.

Huang Chien-chun, head of the Committee of Mainland Chinese Economic Affairs at the Chinese National Federation of Industries, observes that Beijing has already targeted 2035 for achieving “Chinese-style modernization.” The past five years under the 14th Five-Year Plan were intended to build the foundation, while the 15th Five-Year Plan beginning this year will focus on transformation, paving the way for reaching that goal during the 16th Five-Year Plan.

“If China is shifting tracks, the pace will accelerate. The strategy is to overtake competitors through the deployment of future industries. This is the key battleground in the technological competition between China and the United States,” says Huang Chien-chun.

Following the conclusion of the National People’s Congress on March 14, the full text of the 15th Five-Year Plan will be released. It should offer a clearer picture of how a slower-growing China intends to leverage “future industries” in its competition with the United States.

Translated by David Toman
Uploaded by Ian Huang

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In a surprising turn of cross-strait cultural exchange, the Legislative Yuan’s recent passage of the Delivery Worker Rights Protection and Platform Management Act has sparked a wave of discussion far beyond Taiwan’s borders.

For many in Taiwan, it is difficult to imagine that the mundane life of a Mainlander delivering food in Taipei or Taichung could become a trending topic on Chinese social media.

Since last year, accounts like “Henan Chaochao in Taiwan“ have surged in popularity across YouTube and Bilibili. His content—ranging from “How much can I earn in 3 hours?” to “Can I make 1,000 TWD in 10 orders?”—has struck a chord with netizens on both sides of the strait. Beyond the logistics of the gig economy, these videos often touch upon Taiwanese social policies, such as the government’s universal cash handouts.

While Chinese viewers leave comments expressing envy over the baseline income of Taiwanese delivery workers, Taiwanese netizens often respond with playful banter. Unexpectedly, these platforms have become a rare space for friendly, grassroots interaction between the two populations.

From “Opportunities Everywhere” to Seeking a Social Safety Net

The rise of accounts like “Henan Chaochao,” “Beijing Viking in Taiwan,” and “Taro Ball Boba Sister“ reflects a profound shift in the collective psyche of mainland Chinese society.

A decade ago, when cross-strait exchanges were at their peak, the most heated debates online centered on income comparisons. The prevailing wisdom in first-tier cities like Beijing and Shanghai was that “Taiwan has a high floor but a low ceiling”—meaning it offered a safety net but lacked the explosive growth potential of the Mainland.

During the pre-pandemic boom years, few white-collar workers in Beijing envied Taiwan’s minimum wage. At the time, the concept of a “minimum wage” in China was seen merely as a poverty prevention line. In 2018, while the official minimum wage in Beijing was around 2,000 RMB, a typical server could easily earn 4,000 to 7,000 RMB with room and board included. It was an era of “opportunities everywhere,” where the “Post-80s” generation believed that relentless effort would inevitably lead to upward mobility.

The Bursting of the “Involuted” Bubble

The narrative began to shift in 2020. A landmark story titled “Delivery Riders, Trapped in the System“ exposed the brutal reality of platform exploitation in China. As the economic environment cooled, the number of delivery riders plummeted—not because the jobs were good, but because “everyone was at risk of unemployment.”

When the “hustle culture” (known as neijuan or “involution”) becomes too competitive and the belief that “hard work pays off” fades, society naturally turns its gaze toward the hardships of the common man.

Today, young Chinese professionals in major cities find themselves envious of the “bottom-line” protections found elsewhere—places where losing a white-collar job doesn’t mean falling into destitution, where base-level labor still affords a dignified life, and where a 40-year-old isn’t considered “too old” for the workforce.

A Shared Empathy in a Slower Economy

The recent protests by delivery riders in Changsha, Hunan—sparked by high-end residential complexes banning delivery bikes to maintain “order”—highlighted a growing sense of class inequality. In a slower economy, the public has stopped idolizing the elite protagonists of TV dramas and started caring more about individual rights and the struggles of those around them.

The perception of Taiwan among mainland acquaintances is also evolving. The old critique—that Taiwan is too focused on “small blessings” (xiao que xing) and lacks ambition—has been replaced by a more weary sentiment: “It’s good that you went back to Taiwan; it’s not as ‘involuted’ there.”

In the comment sections of these delivery videos, it is now common to see mainland users wishing for a better life for people on both sides of the strait.

As the era of rapid growth concludes, it seems that a shared understanding of the “struggle for a normal life” is creating a new, albeit quiet, form of cross-strait resonance.

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The Expansion of the Packaging Sector Accelerates Throughout Taiwan

Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company (TSMC) is putting its full weight behind the expansion of its advanced packaging “CoWoS” facilities. From its phases one and two plants in Chiayi Science Park, part of Southern Taiwan Science Park, to Taichung’s Houli, Chunghua’s Erlin, Yunlin’s Huwei and Douliu, and Kaohsiung’s Dashe, TSMC’s partners Siliconware Precision Industries and the ASE Group are also ramping up production throughout Taiwan.

Over the past two years, ASE’s total expenditure neared NT$200 billion, a historic high.

In Yunlin’s Huwei and Douliu, Siliconware is stepping up recruitment to bring young workers back to their hometowns. A youthful employee who has worked in nearby Mailiao opines that compared to the petrochemical industry, the semiconductor sector shows more potential for future growth and attractive employee benefits; this ultimately convinced him to change jobs.

TSMC Pushing “Foundry 2.0” and Driving Up CoWoS Demand

CoWoS has incredible market potential. According to a report by the Yole Group, the output value of advanced packaging surpassed that of conventional methods for the first time in 2025, to achieve a market share of 51.3%.

This technological breakthrough has everything to do with AI. The needs of high-end computing chips like NVIDIA GPUs have propelled CoWoS to new heights.

NVIDIA CEO Jensen Huang (黃仁勳) has stated that demand for CoWoS is now four times what it was two years ago. Supply can hardly keep up. “Advanced packaging has never been so important,” Huang said during his visit to Taiwan in January. This has fundamentally changed TSMC’s revenue structure. In 2024, CoWoS-related sales constituted over 8% of total revenue. This number could become double digits in 2025. TSMC Chairman C.C. Wei (魏哲家) calls this the beginning of “Foundry 2.0”. TSMC not only dominates the advanced manufacturing section of the process; now with CoWoS, it’s also the leader in advanced packaging.

A Decade in the Making: TSMC’s Technological Groundwork

CoWoS took years to perfect. Back in 2009, TSMC Founder Morris Chang (張忠謀) foresaw the coming end of Moore’s law, which in simple terms predicted that IC chips would double in performance every two years.

Chang brought back former TSMC Co-COO Shang-Yi Chiang (蔣尚義) to head R&D and prepare for the fruition of CoWoS technology.

After over ten years, TSMC finally saw its chance when ChatGPT kicked off the current AI boom in 2023. CoWoS is an indelible part of the process used to make high-performance computing (HPC) chips.

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Outsourcing Strategy: TSMC’s Win Benefits Packaging and Testing Vendors

To keep up with NVIDIA’s growing demand, TSMC chose to outsource some of its packaging work. Some of the CoWoS orders, particularly mid- to low-tier CoWoS-S orders, are given to partners like Siliconware and ASE. However, high-tier CoWoS-L is still exclusively handled by TSMC.

This stroke of genius ensures that local packaging and testing companies are able to profit off of the new opportunity. It also mitigates the risk of oversupply or under-utilized capacity.

Siliconware may be the biggest beneficiary of TSMC’s decision to outsource. In January, Jensen Huang made a personal visit to Siliconware’s new factory in Taichung’s Tanzi, where he noted that the two companies have been cooperating for 27 years, revealing that sales had increased twofold over the past year. This is evidence that Siliconware has picked up the CoWoS orders outsourced by TSMC.

Taiwan’s Rise Disrupts Dominance of Foreign Businesses

Formerly, the front-end-of-line (FEOL) wafer manufacturing equipment sector was firmly in the grasp of five big foreign businesses. Taiwanese players could not gain a toehold.

In contrast, profits were relatively low for IC packaging. International giants were uninterested in this market, which allowed local vendors to thrive.

More importantly, TSMC plans to increase its local purchase percentage to 64% by 2030. This will attract foreign investment in Taiwan and upgrade Taiwan’s equipment supply chain.

One sterling example is All Ring Tech, which successfully entered the TSMC supply chain through the integration capability of its automated production line. Its sales tripled as a result.

All Ring provides equipment for adhesive dispensing, thermal interfaces, and automated optical inspection (AOI). It sells directly to TSMC, Siliconware, and ASE.

Another titan among vendors is Scientech, which specializes in what’s known as wet process equipment. It has worked alongside TSMC since the heyday of integrated fan-out (InFO) packaging, and now it is continuing to expand capacity to keep abreast of CoWoS demand.

The Future: “CPO” the New Challenger in the AI Era

At the moment, TSMC is actively developing co-packaged optics (CPO) as a possible solution to the enormous data transmission needs of the AI era. Through something known as the compact universal photonic engine (COUPE), both electronic and photonic integrated circuits can be vertically stacked to reduce signal loss and latency during data transmission, making such products well-suited for use in AI data centers and HPC applications.

TSMC states that it received certifications for COUPE tech in 2024. This year, the technique will be integrated into CoWoS packaging, ushering in a new age of co-packaged optics.

Taiwanese Tech Takes the World by Storm

With TSMC at its head, Taiwan’s advanced packaging supply chain, from the development of CoWoS tech to the advent of local equipment manufacturers, and then to breakthroughs in CPO in the near-future, proves that Taiwan is still the kingmaker in the semiconductor sector. The tech revolution not only reinforces Taiwan’s position in the global supply chain, it also invigorates Taiwan’s economy and can sustain industry development for decades to come.

As the global needs of AI and HPC continue to rise, Taiwan’s advanced packaging technology will also keep evolving, solidifying its irreplaceable position in the international tech sector.

This success belongs not only to TSMC, but also to Taiwan’s entire tech industry, which through its combined efforts has placed Taiwan at the vibrant core of the technology world.

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Translated by Jack Chou
Edited by TC Lin
Uploaded by Ian Huang

“I want to reclaim the freedom to take detours and explore,” he explains.

In the summer of 2022, Lee and his designer friend Tzu-Yi Henry Wang (王子亦) embarked on what they call an “analog journey.”

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Driving separate Jimny SUVs, they avoided highways and expressways, instead circling Taiwan via coastal industrial roads. At times, they even drove along beaches, moving carefully across sand and gravel. Communication was limited to walkie-talkies, and navigation relied entirely on paper maps.

“People were amazed when they saw us,” Lee recalls. Young travelers along the route assumed they were some kind of “ancient visitors” from another world.

By intentionally avoiding technology, the trip opened the door to unexpected discoveries. He remembers exploring a massive sea-eroded cave beneath the Suhua Highway—a site inaccessible by foot—surrounded by endless beaches and steep cliffs. At that moment, he realized, “The worries of urban life suddenly seemed less important.”

In Taitung, he wandered into a coastal Indigenous restaurant with no menu; the dishes were painted on the wall. “I don’t remember the names, but the food was incredible,” he says.

Writer Wei-Hsiung Chan (詹偉雄) describes this approach as “creative disorientation”: without a plan, travelers have time to process thoughts, slowing down the mind and finding calm.

“The experience feels deeper,” Lee adds. “Today, everything is too easy.”

Lee’s habit of detouring began in childhood. Growing up in Tianmu, he loved riding his bicycle aimlessly and drawing his own maps. At elementary school in Shilin, he deliberately avoided buses, “taking a different path home every day.”

Even after years working with cutting-edge technology, Lee maintains a fondness for traditional media. “I’m obsessed with paper,” he says, always carrying a notebook and fountain pen. “When I’m restless, drawing calms me down.”

He believes society’s reliance on digital tools is changing the relationship between people and the world. “Using Google Maps makes you passive,” he observes. “The routes it provides aren’t necessarily the best, yet most people follow them blindly. In the era of paper maps, people had to make active judgments themselves.”

As a professor facing digitally native Gen Z students, Lee sees value in “inconvenience.” “The internet seems to open the world, but it actually flattens perspective,” he says, pointing out that algorithms feed only familiar content.

Each year, he gives his first-year students a simple but unconventional assignment: throw a dart at a map of Taiwan and travel to the location it lands. “The students are excited,” he says.

In a time when every destination is reduced to the fastest route, Lee deliberately chooses the long way around. For him, these seemingly inefficient journeys are the truest way to connect with a place—and with oneself.

Uploaded by Ian Huang

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“I would not be where I am now without the dreams and aspirations of my parents,” says Jensen Huang, founder of Nvidia.

His father was a chemical engineer; his mother taught grade school. In the 1960s, Huang’s father stepped onto U.S. soil for the first time thanks to an employee training program organized by the air conditioning company Carrier. It paved the way for him to one day send his sons to study in the States.

“Every day, my mother would pick ten words out of a dictionary at random and make my older brother and me learn them,” Huang reminisces.

“My father’s dream and my mother’s aspiration ultimately sent my brother and me to America... I owe everything to them.”

On May 30th, Nvidia’s market value surpassed a trillion U.S. dollars. It was the first semiconductor company in history to cross this threshold. Huang’s net worth was valued at over NT$1.04 trillion.

A stint in a reform school

It wasn’t until Huang was nine that he actually resided in the United States. The family had previously settled in Thailand due to the elder Huang’s work. However, the tumultuous political situation compelled his parents to send the two boys to live with their uncle in the U.S. in 1973.

At the time, Huang’s uncle had also just immigrated. He unwittingly sent the brothers to a reform school instead of a prep school.

The reformatory was the Oneida Baptist Institute, hidden away deep in the mountains of Kentucky.

Huang remembers: “The kids were really tough; they all had pocket knives.”

Bud Underwood, who later became Dean at the Institute, explained on an NPR program that the school was founded in the 1890s to take in students who were rejected by other establishments. “In the 1970s, it was true that many considered Oneida a reformatory, but it’s not who we are anymore,” he says.

The Huang family was finally reunited in Oregon. Huang met his future wife, Lori Mills, at Oregon State University; they married five years later and have a son and daughter. In 1990, Huang got his Master’s in electrical engineering from Stanford.

Nvidia’s birthplace: A restaurant chain where Huang part-timed

Huang worked for AMD and LSI Logic after graduating from college. On his 30th birthday, he founded Nvidia at a Denny’s restaurant with friends and fellow engineers Chris Malachowsky and Curtis Priem.

The three foresaw that customers would need more powerful hardware for rendering computer graphics in the future. At the time, such professional and high-performing tools simply did not exist.

Coincidentally, Denny’s was also where Huang part-timed as a student. “I was a very good student, and I was always focused and driven. But I was very introverted. I was incredibly shy,” Huang told The New York Times. Working as a waiter at Denny’s pulled him out of his shell.

He learned to face customers and find compromises in difficult situations. He learned to face mistakes—whether the fault was his own, his colleagues’, or even the customers’.

The three’s gamble paid off in spades. As the video game industry boomed, Nvidia’s graphics cards offered parallel computing capabilities that really made the games come alive. Years later, the cryptocurrency fad once again put Nvidia on the map. The current wave of generative AI also benefits greatly from Nvidia’s GPUs, which lie at the heart of machine learning AI models.

Investor Tench Coxe, who has sat on the board of Nvidia since its founding in 1993, says, “(Jensen’s) vision is out in five to ten years—he isn’t talking about going to Mars or something.”

The 60-year-old Huang is known for his favorite all-black leather jacket and the Nvidia tattoo on his arm. He’s an avid auto aficionado: he owns two Ferraris and a Koenigsegg, as well as a Mercedes. He got his tattoo as a memento the first time Nvidia’s share price passed US$100.

Huang also exhibits all the traits of a hardworking Silicon Valley entrepreneur. He starts his day at four in the morning and can work for 14 hours after a morning exercise session.

Huang’s management style may be described as an iron fist in a velvet glove. He once tore into a project team that constantly made mistakes during a meeting. He asked the silent team members, “Did you screw up?”

“If you screwed up, wake up and tell everyone you screwed up.” The point Huang wanted to get across was clear. “If you need help, ask.”

Huang says that the core value he treasures most is “the tolerance to take risks and the ability to learn from failure.” He’s worked hard to make it the core value of Nvidia.

The second core value is intellectual honesty. This means frankly admitting failure and course-correcting when necessary, instead of trying to disguise a mistake and misdirecting efforts to fix the problem.

Back when Nvidia was founded, there was nothing like it on the market. The technology was not quite there yet, and the company faced bankruptcy.

Huang says of that time: “I learned that it was O.K. for C.E.O.’s to say that the strategy didn’t work, that the technology didn’t work, that the product didn’t work, but we’re still going to be great, and let me tell you why.”

Nowadays, to put it simply, Nvidia’s corporate personality is this: If you think something is really worthwhile and you have a great idea, and it’s never been done before but you believe in it, it’s okay to take a chance. It’s okay to try, and if it doesn’t work, learn from it, adjust, and keep failing forward. If you can fail forward all the time, then you are really a great company.

Of course, this tolerance for failure is built on “intellectual honesty.” If a person clings too much to an idea that is bad or isn’t working, they might feel like their reputation is tied up in it, which makes it harder for them to admit failure.

Another thing that Huang does as C.E.O. is that he doesn’t give too many answers but he likes to ask questions. He realizes that it’s not possible for the C.E.O. to know everything, but a C.E.O. is better at looking around corners than most, and a C.E.O. has better intuition than most, so they can bring a unique perspective to the table.

Microsoft’s Bill Gates left day-to-day operations at age 52; Amazon’s Jeff Bezos at 57. At 60, Huang is the longest-serving C.E.O. in the tech industry. But he feels like he’s just getting started. During the annual Nvidia GTC conference earlier this year, he joked to reporters that he doesn’t know how much longer he will be C.E.O., “But maybe in 30 years, I will become a robot so that I can work another 30 years.”

(Sources: CNBC, WIRED, NYT, NPR)

What makes this dangerous is timing. By the time the harm is visible, the system is already embedded. Contracts are signed, workflows are rewritten, headcount is cut and institutional memory is replaced with dashboards. Rolling back becomes an operational collapse risk. That is the trap: the first clear evidence of failure often arrives only after the organization has made itself irreversibly dependent on the very automation it can no longer fully control.

This is how governance fails in the age of Artificial Intelligence. Harm builds quietly behind interfaces and workflows until it becomes undeniable. Sometimes it arrives as a sudden event. Sometimes it arrives as a slow degradation that everyone feels and no one owns.

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This is a global problem because modern life deeply runs on optimization. Markets price risk at machine speed. Workplaces allocate pressure through metrics. Logistics and procurement decide what ships and what waits. Credit systems decide who is trusted. Feeds decide what people see, what people believe and what spreads. AI does not introduce optimization into these domains. It intensifies optimization, broadens its reach, and pushes it toward autonomy.

I coined the term Synthetic Outlaw to name what follows. We must take the risk seriously now, before it’s too late.

A Synthetic Outlaw is an optimizing system that produces prohibited outcomes while remaining nominally compliant. It satisfies the visible requirements of a rule while defeating its purpose. It exploits enforcement gaps, proxy variables, measurement blind spots and slow accountability chains. The behavior emerges from incentives plus autonomy, malice is not necessary.

This matters because the tools of governance were built around human actors, timeframes, motivators and speed. In this context, traditional deterrence works when there is an identifiable target. A person can be identified, investigated, punished and restrained. The threat of consequence changes future human behavior because the actor experiences it and remembers it. Deterrence is a mechanism. It depends on continuity. The same actor who makes the choice must later feel the consequence and that felt consequence must shape the next choice. That is why law relies on identity, memory, reputation, and time. Break any of those links and deterrence becomes paperwork: a record that something wrong happened, attached to nobody who can be governed or made to stop.

A Synthetic Outlaw is different. It is a process that searches for advantage under constraints. When it runs into a penalty, it does not absorb moral blame or fear. It updates its strategy and tries again. If accountability arrives weeks or months later, it often lands on an organization, a vendor, or a committee, while the operational strategy that caused the harm has already shifted and reappeared elsewhere inside the same incentive structure.

Exhibit A: The insurance claim that never gets denied

An insurer deploys AI to handle claims. The company has rules: claims must be handled fairly, patients deserve timely care, denials require justification. The system has a simpler instruction: keep costs down.

It learns that outright denials attract scrutiny. Appeals follow. Lawyers appear. Regulators ask questions. That is expensive and visible.

So it discovers a quieter move. “Needs additional documentation.” The patient submits a form. The system requests clarification on one detail. The patient provides it. The doctor’s office fills out another form. A review is triggered. The review requests one more test result. Weeks pass, then months.

Eventually the patient gives up or pays out of pocket. The claim dies of exhaustion, not rejection. On paper, nothing was denied. The workflow stayed within policy. The purpose of the rule, timely care and real coverage, was defeated through engineered friction. Compliance survives. The outcome crosses into harm because access exists in theory while being functionally denied in practice.

Exhibit B: The workplace that optimizes itself to death

A company deploys AI to raise productivity and standardize evaluation. It starts by measuring what is easy: output per hour, error rates, time on task, customer ratings, response time. Those numbers become the job because the system enforces them.

Sarah works customer service. An elderly customer calls, confused about a router reset. Sarah spends twelve minutes. Four minutes solving the problem, eight minutes walking him through where the button is and how to press it.

The system counts four minutes as productive talk time. The other eight are flagged as inefficient. Sarah’s score drops. She falls into the bottom tier.

Sarah adapts. The system rewards speed, not patient help. Next time a confused customer calls, Sarah transfers them to a “technical specialist” queue with a forty-minute wait. Her numbers improve. The customer gives up and pays a technician.

Six months later, targets are still met. Efficiency scores climb. The lived outcome gets worse. Difficult customers are abandoned. Reviews drop. Experienced workers feel punished for doing careful work. The culture hardens into churn and indifference. Management asks what happened and no single decision-maker can be identified. The pressure was delivered through the measurement layer, then normalized through adaptation. Everyone complied with the scorecard, and the outcome the system was meant to prevent, degraded service and cultural collapse, arrived through compliant behavior.

Exhibit C: When markets outrun governance

In 2010, U.S. markets plunged and rebounded within minutes during what became known as the flash crash. The headline number matters less than the mechanism.

Modern markets operate at machine speed. Trading systems enforce risk limits automatically and respond to similar signals in parallel. When volatility spikes, one system reduces exposure. That selling pushes prices down, triggering other systems to sell based on their own thresholds. Market makers widen spreads or pull quotes to protect themselves. Liquidity evaporates precisely when it is needed most.

No model intends a crash. Each follows its mandate. Together they produce a cascade before humans can meaningfully intervene. Every component complies with its internal rules. The system as a whole overwhelms governance. This is the same governance problem AI expands, faster coupled systems produce collective outcomes no one individually intends or can stop in time.

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Efficiency that breeds systemic fragility

Organizations outsource forecasting, procurement, and logistics to models tuned for efficiency. The model is rewarded for lower cost and smoother quarter-by-quarter performance. It learns to remove slack: extra inventory, backup suppliers, spare capacity, routing redundancy. Each cut looks sensible on its own. Buffers become “waste.” Redundancy becomes “inefficiency.” Safety margins become “dead capital.”

Because targets are met, the dashboard stays green. Then a shock hits. The network stalls because the backup paths were optimized away. No single decision looks reckless. Collectively, the institution becomes brittle and responsibility has no clear address. The outlaw outcome is systemic brittleness, delivered as ‘efficiency’ because brittleness is not a KPI until the day it is.

Where the Synthetic Outlaw emerges: The three triggers

Synthetic Outlaw behavior tends to emerge through three structural failure modes. They are predictable stress fractures that appear whenever optimization pressure meets imperfect constraints.

Bypass: the system routes around constraint while remaining nominally compliant. Bypass occurs when a control remains intact on paper, yet its protective effect is neutralized in practice. The system discovers a compliant path that avoids the constraint’s effective locus. Oversight still sees “compliance,” because it is looking at the surface the system learned to satisfy.

Diffusion: capability escapes the boundary and becomes non-recallable. Diffusion begins the moment a capability crosses its boundary once. Controls can bind custodians, contracts, and internal policies. They do not bind copies, derivative implementations, or third-party integrations. When replication is cheap and adoption is profitable, containment has to be perfect. Miss one channel and the capability persists, propagates, and returns through vendors, partners, and cloned workflows long after the original deployment is “fixed.” In AI, diffusion often applies to the act as well as the tool: prohibited outcomes are produced through atomization, broken into many small, locally defensible steps distributed across time, systems, teams, and thresholds. No single step looks like the violation. The aggregate outcome is, and by the time it is visible, responsibility is hard to reconstruct and deterrence has little traction.

Capture: enforcement erodes through dependency and loss of independent sight. Capture does not require corruption. It emerges when volume and complexity push oversight to rely on the system’s own instrumentation and narratives. Compliance teams begin treating vendor dashboards, model summaries, and automatically generated audit reports as primary evidence. Over time, what the system does not surface becomes difficult to govern, because it effectively stops existing in the oversight lens. Authority remains on paper, while independent verification collapses at scale.

How they compound

Bypass creates the compliant route. Diffusion scales it across the ecosystem making harm harder to attribute and therefore harder to stop. Capture ensures oversight keeps looking at the wrong surface. When these dynamics stack, governance degrades into documentation and irrelevancy.

Governance becomes a committee explaining yesterday’s behavior while tomorrow’s version has already shipped. Accountability lands on organizations and process owners months later while the operational strategy that caused the harm reappears under a new label, in a new workflow, with the same incentives intact. That is why “best practices” regimes fail in repeated cycles. They assume the actor can be deterred. Optimization cannot be deterred. It can only be constrained.

Switching Governance from Policy to Architecture

The executive posture in the AI era must change because oversight is becoming retrospective by design. Humanity has not encountered an intelligence that exceeds it. Our environment was built for humans by humans. When we are facing autonomous systems that coordinate at speeds that exceed human response time, knowledge depth and reach, institutions do not supervise the system, they review the aftermath. In this environment, the relevant question is not whether a model has good training data, strong documentation or a persuasive safety narrative. The question is whether the workflow remains binding under unyielding optimization pressure.

An AI system is governable only if institutions can see, attribute, and intervene in time. If a harmful cascade completes before oversight can engage, controls can remain formally intact while their effectiveness is missing. If a capability crosses the boundary once and becomes non-excludable, post-release control becomes structurally weak. Shutting down one instance creates the appearance of control while the capability persists elsewhere. If enforcement depends on system-generated dashboards, summaries and vendor-authored narratives, governance drifts toward process validation and the enforcer becomes informationally dependent.

This is why governance can appear active while producing little restraint. The forms remain, rules, audits, committees, reports, while the binding force migrates elsewhere. Enforcement becomes theater after control has been lost. The Synthetic Outlaw arises because optimization will keep finding the compliance surface, treating laws and limits as terrain to navigate while adapting to remain admissible. Until ordinary compliance reliably produces outcomes that institutions cannot justify or defend.

The implication is direct. Oversight has a place, but it cannot be the primary binding force in synthetic environments, because it is structurally late. Governance that lives in policy and review becomes retrospective by design. If institutions want AI’s upside without forfeiting control, constraint has to move into the workflow itself, into the environment where optimization operates.

If oversight is the primary control, the system only has to win one race: move faster than the humans watching it. Once autonomy is deployed, the system can iterate through strategies faster than any committee can notice drift, faster than any audit can reconstruct causality, and faster than any regulator can respond. That is why governance-by-review fails even when everyone is acting in good faith. The binding force has to sit where the behavior is generated, not where it is explained.

The goal is not better documentation, it is binding: boundaries that hold under adaptation, independent visibility that does not depend on the system’s self-reporting and intervention mechanisms that operate at operational speed. If constraints are not embedded where decisions execute, compliance becomes performative. Systems will meet formal requirements while causing harm. This is the Synthetic Outlaw: optimization that technically complies while producing indefensible outcomes.

(This piece reflects the author’s opinion, and does not represent the opinion of CommonWealth Magazine.)

CommonWealth Magazine welcomes op-ed submissions. Please send your article proposals to kyliu@cw.com.tw

About the author:

Jonathan, a Taiwan Gold Card holder, graduated from Rutgers University where he earned a Doctorate in Law and founded multiple companies in different spaces which are attributable to his broad experience in Technology, Real Estate & Entertainment. Jon is an innovator, patent holder and writer. Welcome to connect Jon with his [LinkedIn] [Instagram]

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Each zodiac year corresponds to one of the Five Elements: Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth. On February 17, 2026, we officially enter the Year of the Fire Horse, lasting until February 20, 2027. “Fire” is the element, “Horse” the zodiac sign—and together they create a rare combination that appears only once every 60 years. Historically and symbolically, the Fire Horse is associated with intense momentum, restlessness, and catalytic change.

This is not a quiet year. The Fire Horse brings heat to motion and speed to intention. It amplifies energy that wants to move, break free, and expand. That can feel exhilarating—but also destabilizing. Knowing how to work with this energy, rather than against it, will be crucial.

Below are some grounded dos and don’ts to help you navigate the year wisely.

DO: Start What You’ve Been Hesitating Over

The Horse despises stagnation. If you’ve been circling an idea—changing careers, launching a project, relocating, redefining a relationship—this year provides the momentum to finally act.

The Fire element adds courage and decisiveness. You may feel a stronger inner push to move forward even without perfect clarity. That’s not recklessness; it’s the Fire Horse reminding you that growth often begins before certainty.

Tip: Choose initiatives that require commitment and bravery, not endless optimization.

DO: Channel Energy into Movement and Expansion

Horse energy thrives on motion—both physical and psychological. This is an excellent year to:

• Travel or explore new environments

• Expand your professional or intellectual horizons

• Invest in learning, training, or skill-building

• Rework systems that feel constrictive or outdated

Movement helps prevent Fire Horse energy from turning into anxiety or frustration.

Tip: When you feel restless, don’t suppress it—redirect it into purposeful motion.

DO: Trust Intuition, But Pair It with Action

Fire Horse years heighten instinct. You may sense decisions before you can logically explain them. Rather than dismissing intuition, test it through small, decisive actions.

However, intuition in a Fire year is not meant to stay abstract. It demands embodiment—thoughts aligning with action.

Tip: Ask yourself, “What is my intuition asking me to do, not just understand?”

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DON’T: Force Stability Where It No Longer Exists

One of the biggest mistakes in a Horse year is clinging to structures that have already outlived their purpose. Jobs, habits, relationships, or identities that rely on inertia rather than vitality will feel increasingly uncomfortable.

Trying to freeze things in place may lead to sudden, disruptive breaks later.

Warning sign: If you’re exhausted from “holding things together,” it may be time to let them evolve—or end.

DON’T: Confuse Speed With Direction

The Fire Horse moves fast, but speed without intention can lead to burnout, conflict, or impulsive decisions. Not every opportunity needs to be chased. Not every emotion needs immediate expression.

Fire amplifies reactions. The challenge is learning when to pause—not to stop movement, but to recalibrate direction.

Tip: Momentum is powerful; aim it deliberately.

DON’T: Ignore the Cost of Overextension

This year favors boldness, but excess Fire can scatter energy. Saying yes to everything, overworking, or constantly chasing novelty may leave you depleted.

The Horse needs open space—but also rhythm and recovery.

Tip: Build rest into movement. Sustainable momentum beats dramatic burnout.

A Year That Redefines How We Live

At its best, the Year of the Fire Horse reshapes how we understand freedom, purpose, and courage. It pushes us out of comfort zones not to destabilize us, but to realign our lives with deeper truth.

This is a year to live more honestly, act more decisively, and let your inner energy guide meaningful change. When thoughts and actions move in the same direction, the Fire Horse becomes not a force of chaos—but a catalyst for transformation.

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Red Envelope $ Ranges

Recipient/Amount (in NT dollars)

• Parents NT$6000-10,000

• Grandparents, In-laws NT$3600-6600

• One’s Own Children NT$800-3600 (increases with age)

• Friends’/Relatives’ Children NT$200-1200

• PetsNT$200

Red envelope amounts for parents and elders

Most people give parents between NT$6000 and $10,000, and many like to choose an auspicious or lucky number like 6600 or 8000. Young professionals just getting started in their careers can give NT$3600 as a token of their sincerity, depending on income level and length of time out in the workforce. For grandparents or in-laws, the typical range is around NT$3600 to 6000.

For one’s own children

Red envelope gifts for children are usually upwardly adjusted by age. If there are two or more children of different ages in the household it is a good idea to give the same amount to avoid jealousy and conflict among siblings.

• Elementary School (or below): NT$800-1200

• Junior High, High School: NT$1200-2600

• University: NT$2600-3600

For children of friends and relatives

Depending on the closeness of the relationship, younger people typically give NT$600 or 800 for good luck. For the children of friends or neighbors or newborns, NT$200 or 600 is a good choice. For closer friends the amounts can be adjusted upward, depending on the relationship and economic circumstances.

Red envelopes for furry friends

People these days consider family pets like dogs and cats members of the family, so naturally they should also be red envelope recipients. Most people give NT$200 to include their pet in the New Year’s cheer, and to go toward some extra pet food by that New Year’s spread.

Chinese New Year’s red envelope numbers

• Red envelope cash sums are usually even numbers like 200, 600 or 800, as even numbers are traditionally considered auspicious.

• The new year is a fresh start, so fresh bills should be given.

• The amount for family elders should increase year on year.

• Cash gifts received should not be spent until after the Lantern Festival (15th day of the new year).

New Year’s red envelope taboos

• Never recycle old red envelopes; they must be brand new.

• Never give an odd amount (100, 300, 500), and avoid the number “4” in any sum (it rhymes with “death” in Chinese).

• Never give an empty envelope.

• Never fold bills inserted in the red envelope.

Uploaded by Ian Huang

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HONG KONG — Independent bookstores were once symbols of free speech in this city. In the wake of political upheaval, they have become slices of history, recording a changing era.

Following the implementation of the National Security Law, the streets have calmed. The shelves of the dominant, state-backed Sino-United Publishing chain are increasingly filled with grand narratives of national development.

Yet, in the city’s folds, some are moving against the current, attempting to pry open a small space for public discourse within a tightening environment.

Hunter Bookstore: Advocacy on the Street Corner

When discussing independent bookstores, Hunter Bookstore is a name that cannot be bypassed. Unlike traditional shops hidden on upper floors, it sits boldly at street level in the working-class district of Sham Shui Po.

Wong Man-huen, a former district councilor who shifted gears after the political storm of 2020, opened the shop with her partner. Named after the manga Hunter x Hunter, the moniker rejects elitism and metaphors the protagonist’s spirit of never giving up.

The selection here feels like a silent curation: shelves hold titles familiar to Taiwanese readers like Animal Farm and political biographies, alongside the manga Attack on Titan, which is banned in mainland China. These titles might be commonplace in free societies, but under Hong Kong’s unknown red lines, every stocking feels like a test.

Rather than content censorship, Ms. Wong’s daily reality resembles an absurd bureaucratic comedy.

“The Food and Environmental Hygiene Department checks crowd numbers, the Fire Services Department checks aisles, the Environmental Protection Department checks plastic bags... we might see five or six departments visit seven or eight times a week,” Ms. Wong said with a wry smile.

The pressure today comes not from direct arrests, but from pervasive administrative procedures. On the day of our interview, government officers had just left the premises.

Is she afraid? “I understand that fear can help avoid danger,” Ms. Wong said. “But if a moment of avoidance trades away the strength of the entire civil society, it’s not worth it.”

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Reverie Bookstore: A Gentle Resistance by Gen Z

Leaving Kowloon for an old building in Sheung Wan, one finds “Reverie Bookstore,” a shop Google Maps struggles to pinpoint.

Ella, the 26-year-old owner, has constructed a dreamscape distinct from the outside world in this cramped space. Half the shop focuses on Hong Kong local literature from publishers like Dirty Press and Boundary; the other half features Hong Kong indie music records, such as works by the band Pink A.

Unlike Hunter’s intensity, Reverie Bookstore is soft. Ella’s selection strategy is cautious, avoiding overly sharp political themes to focus on “local Hong Kong culture.”

“I don’t want people to forget what this place originally looked like,” Ella said. As mainstream narratives shift toward Greater Bay Area integration and new national identities, her work is simply to preserve Hong Kong’s original texture—the stories of its tenement houses, the lyrics sung in Cantonese.

“Reading gives you knowledge and thoughts. Maintaining the ability to think is, in itself, a form of resistance,” the Gen Z owner said, defining her space.

In a shop that merely breaks even and relies on family support, she practices the transmission of memory in a gentle, lighthearted way.

Have A Nice Stay: The Last Vigil of Journalists

Behind the neon glow of Mong Kok, up a dimly lit staircase, “Have A Nice Stay” (Lau Ha) rests quietly in an old tenement building.

After 2020, as media outlets ceased operations, a group of former journalists decided to continue their mission in a different form. They are not a think tank or a protest group; they are simply a bookstore.

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“At a time when Hong Kong was relatively voiceless, could we provide a space to present certain values?” said Shum Wan-wa, a former journalist and one of the operators.

There is a saying in the industry: “News is the first draft of history.” Mr. Shum and his partners have turned part of the shop into a miniature museum: a cabinet displays out-of-print local books, old newspapers, and manuscripts. These are not for sale; they are there to be read.

The books for sale focus on journalism, communication, and reportage, with many titles imported from Taiwan.

During the interview, a reader pushed open the door. He exchanged a simple, knowing glance with the owner before sitting down to read. Mr. Shum believes this is the bookstore’s current meaning: it is no longer just a place to buy books, but a place for people to confirm a sense of belonging—”I still have companions.”

Regarding the current situation, Mr. Shum offered a cool-headed observation. “Hong Kong has not reached a point of total ‘danger,’” he noted, pointing out that there is no explicit list of “banned books,” and independent bookstores remain legal.

However, while there is no black-and-white ban list, the fog of “self-censorship” feels more tangible than the law.

Both he and Ms. Wong worry more about an invisible enemy: excessive self-panic.

Indeed, authoritarianism sometimes need not strike; if people imagine fear, civil society draws its own limits.

As Long as the Lights Are On

A political scholar who has long observed Hong Kong’s social development described these scattered bookstores as undergoing an evolution in social function.

As civic organizations, large public forums, and traditional media have gradually retreated, these tiny shops have unexpectedly become the last “breathing vents” of the public sphere.

“Other spaces no longer exist, so the significance of independent bookstores is immense,” the scholar concluded.

Unlike the internet, which suffers from low trust and surveillance fears, physical bookstores offer a space where frustrated people can truly “see” each other.

Whether selling local history, social science, manga, or indie music, as long as their lights are on and their doors are open, the city’s thoughts and values still have a corner in which to inhabit.

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Shivendra Pratap Singh, who works as an R&D engineer in the Department Advanced Packaging Technology and Systems of Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company (TSMC) in Hsinchu, is the first son in his family to study abroad. He joined TSMC immediately after obtaining a master’s degree from the Institute of NanoEngineering and MicroSystems at National Tsing Hua University.

He is among a small number of Indian nationals who decided to remain in Taiwan after obtaining master’s or doctoral degrees at Taiwanese universities. Over the past decade, the number of foreign students studying for degrees in Taiwan has tripled to more than 48,000. Indian nationals have consistently ranked among the top three source countries. But while nearly 300 Indian students graduate each year, fewer than 60 of them take jobs in Taiwan.

Singh comes from a remote village in eastern Bihar State, where he began learning English in middle school. After entering NIST University, he started studying semiconductors and became increasingly eager to pursue further studies abroad.

Upon graduation from NIST, he had offers to study in Taiwan, Australia, and South Korea, but only Taiwan issued a student visa in time. When choosing among Taiwan’s top universities, heavy financial pressure made him hesitate, forcing him to carefully calculate and compare scholarship options. He contacted Cheng-yao Lo (羅丞曜), a professor in the Department of Power Mechanical Engineering at National Tsing Hua University.

“I explained to the professor that I didn’t have any financial support to study there. He told me, ‘Don’t worry, I’m with you. I will provide the financial support you need. Just let me know when you are coming to Taiwan, and if you run into any difficulties, just let me know.’”

Lo’s response greatly motivated Singh. Within a month, he received an acceptance letter stating that the university had awarded him a full scholarship, along with an additional scholarship from the institute where he would pursue his master’s degree.

Currently, 124 Indian students are enrolled at National Tsing Hua University, more than 90 percent of whom are master’s or doctoral students. Most are concentrated in the Institute of NanoEngineering and MicroSystems, the Department of Chemistry, the Institute of Astronomy, and the Department of Materials Science and Engineering. Singh is the second Indian graduate student in Lo’s lab.

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Aside from the scholarship, Singh is especially grateful for the lab’s supportive research culture. “In most labs, if you ask a professor for something like this, they will usually say no and tell you to stick to your assigned tasks. But Professor Lo is different. He will say, ‘Okay, you can order it and just give me the receipts so you can continue with your research.’”

Singh was introduced to Lo by the lab’s first Indian student, Padmanabh Pundrikaksha Pancham, who joined the lab in 2020. Both graduated from NIST University and now work in Hsinchu.

Lo recalls that at the time, Pancham had already been working for three years at Taiwanese materials supplier General Silicones and hoped to apply to a Ph.D. program. Because their research fields complemented each other, they quickly hit it off.

Less than a year into the Ph.D. program, Pancham’s father passed away during the COVID-19 pandemic. Lo assisted him in returning home and stayed in contact with his family through video calls during that period.

Supporting student employment at Taiwanese companies

As a result, Pancham became determined to pursue a long-term career in Taiwan. When India’s Tata Electronics partnered with Taiwanese chipmaker Powerchip Semiconductor Manufacturing Corporation (PSMC) to establish operations in Taiwan and recruit talent, Pancham was successfully hired.

An introvert by nature, Pancham credits Lo with helping him overcome his stage fright by encouraging him to serve as a teaching assistant. “Because of this experience, I don’t have stage fright anymore. Whatever question comes up, I know how to answer it.” Lo even recorded his own lectures for Pancham to use as reference material. After two semesters, Pancham received an Outstanding Teaching Assistant Award.

Lo’s experience echoes findings in Deloitte’s 2025 Global Semiconductor Industry Outlook, which notes that countries’ semiconductor talent strategies are shifting from talent acquisition to talent retention, with greater emphasis on building talent ecosystems. Australia, Japan, and South Korea now offer fast-track permanent residency visas and even fixed quotas for Indian students.

W. John Kao (高為元), president of National Tsing Hua University, emphasizes that discussions about talent retention must address how universities care for students’ real, human needs. “It relies on experience, not empty theory,” he says.

Lo, who also serves as a professor at the College of Semiconductor Research and as associate vice president for global affairs, believes that enrollment success depends on long-term reputation-building, reinforced through student referrals and recommendations.

The semiconductor industry should look to India for talent

Singh has suggested to university officials that many strong private and regional universities in India are home to students who are willing to come to Taiwan to study and work.

Currently, Indian students at NTHU come from 30 institutions, including the Indian Institutes of Technology, Vellore Institute of Technology, and regional universities such as Pune University, Andhra University, and Rajarambapu Institute of Technology.

The evolution of universities’ talent-retention strategies will be critical to the continued development of Taiwan’s industries.

Translated by Susanne Ganz
Uploaded by Ian Huang

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A giant golden ball hangs suspended beneath the observatory deck of Taipei 101. This is the “wind damper.” It generates reaction force to negate shock or vibration caused by outside forces, so people inside the skyscraper can live and work in comfort.

Visitors who’ve been to the Taipei 101 Observatory probably noticed the giant golden orb suspended beneath their feet. It is a “wind damper,” also known as a “tuned mass damper.”

A wind damper is made up of three major components: an oscillating mass (for inertial force), a spring (for elastic restoring force), and a viscodamper (for energy dissipation). At 508 meters in height, the Taipei 101 is a massive skyscraper, and is therefore susceptible to oscillation caused by earthquakes or strong winds.

If the shaking is too violent, office workers and tourists inside the building may experience dizziness and discomfort.

In an article penned by Evergreen Consulting Engineering (永峻工程), which supervised the structural design of Taipei 101, when oscillation caused by wind exceeds 5cm/sec² , people within the skyscraper will experience discomfort.

However, due to its great height, the vibration experienced by the higher office levels is already 6.2 cm/sec² in normal weather. The figure shoots up to 7.4cm/sec² when there’s a typhoon. Both numbers are greater than the recommended 5cm/sec². Therefore, Taipei 101 needs a wind damper to reduce the vibration caused by high winds.

In fact, many skyscrapers in the world are fitted with wind dampers, such as CN Tower in Toronto, Crystal Tower in Osaka, Centerpoint Tower in Sydney, and Citicorp Center in New York. The 85 Sky Tower in Kaohsiung also has one, as do many high-tech factories. Height is not the only factor; wind speed and oscillation must also be considered.

On September 21^st, 2014, Tropical Storm Fung-wong struck Taiwan. The wind damper inside Taipei 101, which was at that time the biggest in the world, experienced a record oscillation of 10 centimeters in both directions between 1:23 and 2:41 in the afternoon.

Currently, the wind damper in Taipei 101 is the second largest in the world. Its diameter measures 5.5 meters, its weight is 660 metric tons. It was made by welding together 41 layers of steel boards, each 12.5 centimeters thick. The cost was 4 million U.S. dollars.

The sheer size and weight of the wind damper made it difficult to move to the construction site, and it was simply impossible for cranes to lift it up to between the 87^th and 92^nd floors, where it was to be installed. Workers had to send the damper up in smaller pieces, then weld the whole thing together on the spot.

This is one of the only two wind dampers in the world that are open to visitors. Situated between the 87^th and 92^nd floor, it is an important reason why Taipei 101 is protected against strong winds and earthquakes. It negates up to 40% of the oscillation.

In July of 2013, when Typhoon Soulik made landfall, wind speed in the Taipei area reached Force 14 on the Beaufort scale. At 4:10 in the morning, the wind damper in Taipei 101 experienced an oscillation of 70 centimeters in both directions, the greatest since the building was completed.

On April 18th, 2019, an earthquake measuring 6.1 on the Richter scale struck Xiulin Township in Hualien. At 1:01 in the afternoon, the wind damper in Taipei 101 swung 20 centimeters in both directions, a record-breaking oscillation that’s caused by an earthquake.

This ingenious protection mechanism prevented people inside the skyscraper from harm or discomfort.

Translated by Jack C.
Edited by Gemma Liu

[00:34] Why Taiwan’s mood is a global warning sign.
[01:43] The "might makes right" dynamic at Davos.
[07:33] The shift from "shared values" to "protection fees."
[11:43] Understanding the gap between anxiety and trust.
[18:24] Is moving chip capacity to the U.S. a dangerous move?
[34:47] The U.S. warning: Pay more to be "worth defending."

Host: Kwangyin Liu, Senior Managing Editor of CommonWealth Magazine
Guest: William Yang, Senior Analyst of the International Crisis Group

Producers: Yayuan Chang, Weiru Wang
＊Read more: https://english.cw.com.tw/article/article.action
＊Share your thoughts：bill@cw.com.tw