He Asked Where to Buy Japanese Tengsu, but Got Stuck on the Fine Print on the Packaging First

When A-Hong turned his laptop around, the screen was filled with a row of tabs, each with a title that looked almost identical, differing only in the year tacked on at the end and a few English words he couldn't understand. His wife, Mei-Hui, glanced at it and said, "You've got twenty windows open—how is that any different from just one?" A-Hong said it was different; he felt more at ease checking a few more sites. Mei-Hui said, "Then tell me—do you feel at ease now?" A-Hong went silent for three seconds and closed the laptop.

It all started with something small. A-Hong saw someone share an image in a group chat—a box of something with Japanese on the packaging. Below it, someone asked, "Where to buy Japanese Tengsu," and then a string of links started flying around. He clicked the first one. The page was beautifully designed, with a countdown timer, a "Only 3 left" notice, and a customer service window that popped up automatically asking what he needed. He closed it. The second page was even more bizarre—the whole page was covered in exclamation marks, with claims more exaggerated than the last, which only made him more uneasy.

Mei-Hui asked him what he was actually looking for. A-Hong said he wasn't trying to buy anything—he just wanted to know how this kind of thing is classified in Taiwan. Is it food, a health supplement, or something that requires a prescription? Mei-Hui said, "Then go ask a pharmacy." A-Hong said he was afraid that the moment he opened his mouth, they'd think he wanted to buy it. Mei-Hui said, "Then just keep those windows open at home until dawn." That comment made A-Hong actually walk into the pharmacy at the end of the alley the next day—but he stepped back out from the doorway because two neighbors were inside chatting.

The second time, he wised up and wrote his questions on paper at home first. What he wrote wasn't "Where to buy Japanese Tengsu," but three lines: What category does this type of product fall under in Taiwan, what labeling is required on the packaging, and if I want to figure this out, who should I ask? He folded the paper and put it in his pocket, as if he were going to take care of serious business. Mei-Hui saw the paper and laughed, saying, "Are you going to the household registration office?" A-Hong said, "At least it's better than randomly clicking around online."

There was only a young pharmacist stocking shelves in the pharmacy. A-Hong took out the paper. After reading it, the pharmacist first asked him one question: "Are you looking to buy, or looking to understand?" A-Hong said he wanted to understand. The pharmacist nodded and said that was the right way to ask, then asked him to go through everything—what he was currently taking, his daily routine, whether he had regular check-ups. Halfway through, A-Hong realized he couldn't even name the brand of the B-complex vitamins at home. The pharmacist said, "Then go home first and take photos of all the bottles and jars you have. Bring them next time. That's more useful than comparing prices online."

What really stumped A-Hong was when he reopened those web pages after getting home. He noticed that the same name was categorized differently on different pages—some said imported food, some said health supplement, and some didn't say anything at all, just "Made in Japan." He stared at one page for a long time before noticing a line of fine print on the packaging photo, shrunk down to a blur, looking like ingredients or warnings. He zoomed in on the image but still couldn't read it clearly, so he did something he'd never done before: he copied the URL of that page and looked up where the website was registered, whether it had contact information, and what the return policy said. After checking, he felt even more certain he didn't want to place an order there.

Mei-Hui later asked him if he'd actually found an answer. A-Hong said what he found wasn't an answer—it was an order of judgment. Now he first checks whether the source dares to clearly list its company information, then whether it conflates "food" and "medicine," and only last how it describes the effects. If a page is nothing but adjectives from top to bottom—no sources, no labeling, no one to ask—then no matter what ranking it holds, he won't keep it open. He even closed those tabs one by one, keeping only the list the pharmacist had asked him to photograph.

The following week, A-Hong went to the pharmacy again, this time with photos on his phone and that piece of paper with three lines on it. After looking at the photos, the pharmacist circled the duplicates for him and reminded him that some things should be checked with a professional before taking together. He also told him that if he really wants to understand a certain type of product in the future, he should first confirm what category it falls under in Taiwan, then look at the labeling and source on the packaging—rather than asking where to buy it first. When A-Hong walked out of the pharmacy, the paper in his pocket was already crumpled, but he felt that piece of paper was more useful than the twenty tabs he'd had open all night. After hearing the whole story, Mei-Hui said just one thing: "So those twenty windows of yours ended up getting you a piece of paper." A-Hong said, "Yep—and there's no countdown timer on that paper."