The Real Deal: Sealed with Baijiu, Not Signatures

When people in Europe talk about doing business in China, they usually imagine factories, spreadsheets, endless meetings, and maybe a few PowerPoint slides. What they don’t imagine is that half of the real business happens after the meeting. At dinner. With alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

My first months in China, I thought business was simple. You go to a factory, you discuss price, quality, delivery, shake hands, and that’s it. Very European. Very structured. Very slow. The Chinese side listened politely, nodded a lot, smiled, served tea… and nothing happened. No decision. No follow up. No contract. In Europe, this would already mean ten emails, three meetings, and a legal department involved. In China, it simply meant the real meeting had not started yet.

Then one evening a supplier smiled and said, tonight we eat together. I thought, great, finally a nice dinner. After being there since morning, after a big breakfast, a big lunch, countless teas, factory tours and small snacks in between, of course the logical next step was another huge meal. Because why stop eating now. What I didn’t know was that this dinner was actually the business meeting.

We sat at a huge round table with about twelve people. Dishes kept coming nonstop. Fish, meat, vegetables, soups I couldn’t identify, things still moving slightly, and in the middle of the table a big bottle of clear liquid. Baijiu. If you don’t know baijiu, imagine something between very angry vodka and industrial glue. The kind of smell that reminds you of Pattex, that famous European super glue, just with more regret afterwards.

Before I could even properly taste my food, someone stood up, raised a glass and said something in Chinese. Everyone looked at me. Ganbei.

Now these were not normal glasses. They were tiny little cups, called xiaobei, about the size of those small measuring caps on cough syrup bottles. The kind where you think, that’s nothing, easy. That thought is also a mistake.

The big bottle stayed in the middle of the table and slowly got emptier, while the baijiu was poured into small glass jugs, about 200 milliliters each. With these little jugs in hand, people started coming to me personally. They poured from the jug into my tiny xiaobei, smiled, looked straight into my eyes and said, ganbei. Drink. Next person arrived with the next glass jug. Ganbei again. Drink. Next one. And the next.

It wasn’t one toast. It was a parade.

In China, when people toast you, you drink. Not a sip. The whole thing. Refusing is rude. Drinking slowly is suspicious. So I drank.

After a few rounds, something else happened. If you were not a smoker before, congratulations, now you were about to become one. As if guided by invisible hands, cigarettes appeared from every corner of the table, from jackets, pockets, bags, from people you hadn’t even noticed before. This was not a polite would you like one situation. You didn’t get asked. You got handed one. Sometimes already lit. You finished one cigarette, and before the smoke had even disappeared, someone else pushed the next one straight into your hand. Not as an offer. As a fact. Smoke, drink, ganbei, cigarette, ganbei again. At some point you stopped counting the glasses completely.

That’s also the moment when the atmosphere changed. People became louder, friendlier, laughing, telling stories, putting arms around shoulders like we had known each other for ten years. This is where China becomes the opposite of Europe. In Europe, the more serious the deal, the more serious the faces. In China, the more serious the deal, the more they party.

Suddenly, the boss leaned over and said, tomorrow we start project. Just like that. No contracts yet. No lawyers. No twenty page agreements. Just a handshake from a man who was already slightly drunk. In Germany, you would now prepare documents for weeks. In China, production probably already started while we were still eating dessert.

Later that night we went to karaoke. Yes, karaoke. Imagine your serious supplier manager suddenly singing a love song from the 90s with full emotion while you hold a beer and clap politely. Ten minutes later he turns to you and says, machine no problem, price no problem, we do everything. Magic.

Over the years I learned that parties in China are not just parties. They are negotiations, loyalty tests, and trust builders in one. In Europe you prove reliability with contracts. In China you prove it by showing up, drinking, laughing, and staying until late. If you can party with them, you are considered one of them. If you only come for meetings, you stay a foreign customer forever.

Some of my biggest projects started not in an office, but at a hotpot restaurant at 11 pm with sweat running down my back and a glass of baijiu in my hand. Of course, you don’t have to drink yourself under the table, you learn survival strategies later, but you do have to be present. Show respect. Share time. Share food.

In China, business is emotional before it is logical. People want to know who are you, can I trust you, are you here short term or for the long run. And strangely enough, one wild dinner answers these questions faster than a hundred emails.

And the funny thing is, after more than twenty years in China, nothing has really changed. The factories are bigger, the cities are faster, the technology is crazier, but business still starts the same way. With a round table, too much food, tiny glasses, little glass jugs, and someone shouting ganbei.

In Europe you sign contracts to start working. In China you start working while everyone is still pouring the next glass.

Chris Gassner