Eu Yan Sang

When jealous uncles sold Eu Yan Sang to property developers in 1990, the 111-year-old Chinese medicine company seemed destined for asset-stripping. Instead, fourth-generation heir Richard Eu mortgaged his future to buy it back—then spent three decades transforming dusty medicine halls into Southeast Asia’s largest integrated TCM wellness enterprise, valued at S$808 million when Japanese partners acquired it in 2024.

A Mission Born from Crisis

The name Eu Yan Sang (余仁生) translates to “Caring for Mankind”—a philosophy that emerged from suffering. In 1879, Hakka immigrant Eu Kong arrived in Gopeng, a Malaysian tin-mining town where Chinese laborers worked brutal hours under tropical sun. Many sought relief in opium, the only readily available painkiller. Eu Kong, trained in traditional Chinese medicine, saw both tragedy and purpose. He opened a medicine shop not to profit from addiction but to cure it, mixing herbal formulas that offered workers an alternative to the pipe.

The business survived its founder’s early death in 1890, when 13-year-old Eu Tong Sen inherited both the medicine shop and his father’s tin mining operations. By age 21, Eu Tong Sen had transformed the modest enterprise into an empire spanning Malaysia, Singapore, and Hong Kong. He opened remittance offices that let migrant workers send money home to China, founded banks, built theaters, and expanded the medicine business into a regional network. Singapore honored him in 1919 by renaming Wayang Street after the family—Eu Tong Sen Street still bears that name today.

The Inheritance Trap

Eu Tong Sen’s success planted the seeds of future crisis. When the patriarch died in 1941, he left behind 11 wives and 13 sons—a recipe for fragmentation. The siblings divided into factions, each with claims on different pieces of the empire. By 1973, most family assets had been liquidated: Lee Wah Bank merged with United Overseas Bank, properties were sold, and the tin mines closed. Only Eu Yan Sang remained in family hands, though barely—the medicine business had stagnated for decades.

The third generation viewed TCM as a sunset industry. The medicine halls remained frozen in time: dim interiors, wooden drawers stuffed with dried herbs, elderly shopkeepers who spoke only Cantonese dialects. No new stores had opened in sixty years. When fourth-generation cousin Richard Eu joined as general manager in 1989, some uncles saw a threat rather than salvation. Within months of his arrival, they organized a sellout.

Betrayal and Buyback

On March 29, 1990, Richard Eu received a phone call at 8:30 AM from a merchant bank. Lum Chang, a property developer, had acquired majority control of Eu Yan Sang Holdings. The hostile takeover blindsided the family. Richard’s uncles—men who had dismissed TCM as worthless—had sold their shares to outsiders who wanted only the listed company shell and the valuable real estate underneath those dusty shops.

The irony proved fortunate. Lum Chang had no interest in actually running a Chinese medicine business. They promised to sell the TCM operations back to the Eu family once they had extracted what they wanted. Richard waited three years, then struck. In 1993, he allied with cousins Robert and Clifford Eu to engineer a S$21 million leveraged buyout—using their own capital and deliberately excluding the older generation whose politics had caused the crisis.

The fourth generation now controlled Eu Yan Sang. They had inherited not a thriving business but a mandate to reinvent one.

Proving the Skeptics Wrong

Everyone told Richard Eu that traditional Chinese medicine was finished. Younger Singaporeans saw TCM as their grandparents’ superstition—unscientific, old-fashioned, irrelevant. Medical professionals dismissed it as placebo at best, dangerous quackery at worst. The Asian Financial Crisis of 1997 would soon test every business in the region. To bet on TCM modernization in the early 1990s required either delusion or conviction.

Richard held what he called “a totally contrarian view.” He believed the problem wasn’t TCM itself but how it was presented. The dusty halls, the mysterious herbs, the practitioners who couldn’t explain their treatments in modern terms—all of this could change. Ancient formulas that had worked for centuries could be validated by modern science. Traditional retail experiences that repelled younger consumers could be reimagined.

The transformation began with retail. Richard studied luxury boutiques—the clean lines of Chanel, the welcoming brightness of LVMH flagships—and applied their principles to medicine halls. Out went the dim interiors and wooden signage. In came bright lighting, clean displays, and trained staff who could explain products in English as well as Chinese. The six inconsistent logos used across different shops became one unified brand identity with the crane symbol that now marks every Eu Yan Sang store.

Product formats evolved to match modern lifestyles. Loose herbs requiring hours of preparation became convenient teabags for office workers. Traditional formulas were encapsulated for easy dosing. Ready-to-drink bird’s nest in elegant bottles replaced the laborious home preparation that younger generations had neither time nor knowledge to attempt. Each innovation preserved the therapeutic value while removing barriers to consumption.

Scientific validation became the strategic centerpiece. Eu Yan Sang established partnerships with leading universities—the Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong Baptist University, the National University of Singapore—to conduct clinical research on traditional formulas. The century-old Bak Foong Pills for women’s health underwent modern randomized controlled trials, generating peer-reviewed publications that silenced skeptics. The company adopted Australia’s TGA standard, among the world’s strictest pharmaceutical regulations, long before competitors saw the value in compliance. Herb fingerprinting technology—essentially DNA testing for plants—verified ingredient authenticity and purity in ways that traditional sourcing could never guarantee.

From Retail to Healthcare

The 2000 listing on the Singapore Exchange provided capital and credibility for the next phase: vertical integration. Eu Yan Sang opened TCM clinics in 2001, first in Malaysia, then Singapore. These weren’t traditional medicine halls with herbalists dispensing treatments from behind counters. They were modern healthcare facilities where licensed practitioners—many with degrees from accredited TCM universities in China—combined Eastern diagnosis methods like pulse-reading with Western diagnostic tools. Patients could receive acupuncture treatments in the morning and return with X-ray results in the afternoon. The integrative model created a flywheel: clinics drove retail sales, retail customers discovered clinic services, and both generated data that informed product development.

The manufacturing strategy proved equally ambitious. In 2006, a HK$110 million facility opened in Hong Kong’s Yuen Long district—130,000 square feet of GMP-certified production capacity. This wasn’t simply a factory; it was a statement of pharmaceutical-grade commitment. The company developed EYSGAP-Herbs, a proprietary certification scheme that applied Good Agricultural Practice principles to traditional herb sourcing. Suppliers who couldn’t meet the standard lost their contracts. Quality became a competitive moat.

By 2006, Forbes Asia named Eu Yan Sang among its “Best Under a Billion” companies, validation from a publication that had once dismissed TCM alongside other traditional practices. The recognition signaled that modernization worked—that heritage and growth need not conflict.

The company now controlled the entire value chain from field to patient. Sourcing happened through EYSGAP-certified suppliers. Manufacturing occurred in four owned factories across Hong Kong and Malaysia. Distribution flowed through 170+ retail outlets and e-commerce platforms. Patient relationships developed through 30 clinics offering everything from acupuncture to integrative cancer support. No other TCM company in Southeast Asia had achieved this level of integration.

Richard Eu’s contrarian bet had paid off. Revenue reached S$297 million with S$18.7 million profit by 2023. The workforce grew to 1,357 employees including more than 50 licensed TCM practitioners serving patients daily. The product range expanded to 900 SKUs spanning traditional medicines, modern supplements, health foods, premium bird’s nest, and the ZING spa brand. What his uncles had dismissed as worthless now generated hundreds of millions in annual revenue.

The Art of Letting Go

In 2016, Eu Yan Sang delisted from the Singapore Exchange through a privatization with Tower Capital Asia and Temasek. The decision reflected Richard Eu’s evolving philosophy about family businesses. Public markets demanded quarterly results, but TCM modernization required patient capital. Private ownership freed the company to invest in initiatives that might take years to pay off—new clinic formats, e-commerce platforms, product research partnerships that wouldn’t show returns until formulas completed clinical trials.

Richard stepped down as CEO in 2017 after 24 years, handing daily operations to professional management while remaining Chairman. The transition embodied a distinction he had articulated repeatedly: “We are not a family business, we are a business family. Because the business might change but the family stays.” Letting go of operational control didn’t mean abandoning the heritage. It meant preparing the company for its next chapter.

That chapter arrived in 2024. A Japanese consortium led by Rohto Pharmaceutical and Mitsui & Co. offered S$695 million for 86% of Eu Yan Sang, valuing the company at S$808 million—roughly 38 times the 1993 buyback price and triple the 2016 privatization value. The acquirers wanted exactly what Richard had spent three decades building: a heritage brand with scientific validation, vertical integration, and regional footprint that could serve as a platform for Asian expansion.

Rohto brought pharmaceutical R&D capabilities and Japanese distribution networks. Mitsui contributed supply chain expertise and connections across Asia. Together with Eu Yan Sang’s established operations, the combination promised something no partner could achieve alone: a TCM enterprise with the credibility to expand beyond traditional Chinese diaspora markets.

Richard Eu structured the exit to preserve what mattered. The Eu family retained 10% ownership and Richard continues as Chairman, ensuring continuity of vision. The founding mission—余仁生, “Caring for Mankind”—remains the brand’s north star under new ownership with family guidance. His philosophy explains the decision: “If you want to institutionalize the business, it cannot be in family hands forever.”

The 145-year journey from opium cure in Malaysian tin mines to S$808 million acquisition by Japanese partners traces an arc of resilience. Four generations of crisis—founder death, generational fragmentation, hostile takeover, market skepticism—tested the brand’s survival. Each crisis was overcome not by inheritance but by conviction: the conviction that traditional Chinese medicine could serve modern consumers, that heritage and growth could coexist, and that family mission matters more than family control.

Last updated: January 23, 2026