Feature: Cultivating trust in China's organic food

"Seven yuan (1.13 U.S. dollars) for two cucumbers? Do they sing and dance?"

An elderly woman stared at the price tag with wide eyes, sarcastically questioning Yu Chung-cheng when his vegetable shop opened a decade ago.

Even today, at 7 yuan, the cucumbers are still more than twice as expensive as those in many supermarkets in Beijing. The high price has scared away price-sensitive Chinese customers who are accustomed to bargaining.

But Yu firmly believes the vegetables he sells are worth it, because his vegetables -- though smaller than average and sometimes home to worms -- are free of pesticides and chemical fertilizers.

They are organic.

However, the greengrocer is selling to a cynical market. For 10 years, the world's second largest economy has been rocked by frequent food safety scandals, including tainted infant powder, water-injected pork and contaminated chicken feet.

"I have been consistent in one thing: establishing trust in my produce," says Yu.

The 40-year-old Taiwanese stands out from the typical scruffy Beijing vegetable sellers. He has a neat mustache, and always wears jeans and a white shirt. He looks more like a CEO of an Internet company.

Yu came to the mainland in 2000 to sell computers and took over an organic farm of 20,000 hectares in the suburbs of Beijing five years later. His produce was popular among family and friends. Realizing its vast potential, Yu quit his job and devoted himself to organic food. ( Other organic vendors have come and gone while Yu has persevered, but he admits it has been tough.

"Not one day in the past decade was good," says Yu with a wry smile.

"Organic" was a new concept in China when Yu started his business. According to China's Ministry of Commerce, organic food had less than 0.02 percent of the market in 2004, compared with the world's average of 2 percent.

Most of Yu's customers were expatriates in Beijing.

At that time, the government also announced a plan to raise organic food production by five to 10 times within five to 10 years, giving Yu encouragement.

As people earn more and become more aware of healthy eating, they have been more willing to try Yu's expensive but chemical-free vegetables.

Yu's business has expanded, as awareness of organic produce grows. The International Organic Food Exhibition estimated in January that the market share of organic food would reach 2 percent this year.

But food safety scandals and fabrication of organic certificates keep many shoppers skeptical. "People keep asking, 'Is your organic veg real or not?'" says Yu.

"Scandals have destroyed people's trust in vegetable dealers. The ones who will be hurt the most are not the liars, but the honest ones," Yu says, striking the table with his fingers.

He believes the organic market is doomed to develop very slowly in China. "With the best will in the world, you can't win trust -- it's disheartening," Yu said in a post on China's Weibo social network.

Yet he is reluctant to give up. Someone recently tried to persuade him to treat his vegetables with pesticides, but he shook his head. "I didn't do it a decade ago. Why would I wait until now?"

His refusal to keep his produce fresh through artificial means has drawn ridicule from competitors.

"I definitely believe that determined people can turn a winding path into a wide and straight one," he says.

While he is waiting for people's trust, his business adapts. His 40-plus stores in Beijing, Tianjin, Shanghai, Shenzhen and Chengdu are now just two, and most of the business is online.

Chinese people used to handpick vegetables at markets, "but now, more people like to buy food online and have it delivered to their homes," Yu says.

He started sales on online shopping platforms and advertised through social media. Once, to boost the sales, he changed a millet package to the shape of a hot-selling Xiaomi smartphone. Xiaomi also means millet in Chinese, and the company has grown into the world's third largest smartphone producer.

Online business requires greater efforts to maintain quality and reputation, but Yu is determined to stand his ground.

His best-selling online product is hawthorn candy. Though it tastes sour, is relatively expensive and has a very short shelf life, the sales volume looks set to soar "because it contains no additives."

When Yu and his colleagues gave their hawthorns to factories for processing, they were shocked: "The factory workers asked, 'How much preservative do you need? Which brand of pigments do you want? How about saccharin?'"

"I replied, 'None of them'," he says.

"You can imagine their expressions -- as if they were talking with an idiot," he says with a laugh.

Yu had wavered over adding preservatives in his candy. "But I thought of my two kids. When they want the candies, I can't say to them, 'Don't eat the candies Dad brings home.' What I want is just to give my children safe and healthy food."

Yu named his business Lohao's, an acronym of "Lifestyle of Health and Organic." To him, Lohao's embodies a simple and happy life. "Health is what everybody aspires to. Going organic is one way to achieve that," Yu says.

"I will continue down this rough path, and I believe it is the right path." Enditem (Wong Tsz Sang contributed to the sto