“That means I can grow them, too!” he recalls yelping.

Wei promptly cut down some of his betel nut palms and planted 400 durian trees in their place.

Never mind his own initial disgust with durians, a spiky fruit native to Southeast Asia, whose yellow flesh some have likened to “vomit-flavored custard.” The excitement was driven by Wei’s 1.4 billion countrymen, many of whom are crazy for the stinky delicacy.

The fruit has become so beloved in China that it consumed $4.2 billion worth of durians last year, about four times the value from 2018. To get its fix, however, China relies almost exclusively—for now—on Southeast Asia, where conditions are perfect for the fickle fruit.

Now, Wei is part of China’s quest to become more self-reliant in durian production. As Beijing has done with other critical technologies it hopes to master, such as semiconductors and quantum computing, Wei and other Chinese are racing to unlock the secrets of durian cultivation. It is a challenging quest.

While the durian fruit is hard and sturdy on the outside, the tree itself is extremely sensitive to cold and dryness. Only the very southernmost parts of China—like Hainan island—have the tropical climate suitable to grow durian.

Even then, success is far from assured. Only a combination of patience and technique can coax the durian from its spiky shell.

That’s where Gerald Miow comes in.

Miow is a 62-year-old fertilizer entrepreneur in Malaysia, and author of a 200-page treatise on the durian.

Over the decades, through painstaking trial and error, Miow says he has deciphered just the right mixes of fertilizers to deal with the worms, ants, bitter tastes, reluctant blossoms and slow growth that have hamstrung other would-be durian cultivators.

Early this year, Wei and other farmers in Hainan reached out to him, extending an invitation for the durian sage to visit, and hopefully share some of his secrets.

Miow obliged. China, he says, lacks “indigenous durian talent.”

Over 10 days in April and May, Miow roamed Hainan’s durian orchards, pruning shear in hand, dispensing advice and insights about ant attacks, air circulation and soil degradation. As he shared nuggets of durian wisdom, researchers and farmers peppered the guru with questions, diligently recording Miow’s every word on their smartphones.

Miow’s opinions aren’t always orthodox, and indeed sometimes clash with the recommendations of institutions such as the Hainan Academy of Agricultural Sciences’ Tropical Fruit Research Institute.

Scientists there have been working on breeding new durian seeds that aren’t just more cold-resistant but that will also produce dwarf versions of durian trees, which otherwise can grow up to 165 feet tall—a problem in typhoon-prone Hainan. Hainan durian farmers have also taken to erecting iron scaffolds around their trees. 

Balderdash, says Miow. He maintains that no dwarf tree can produce the same delicious fruit as a regular durian tree. Iron, he adds, oxidizes, allowing zinc to seep into the soil and contaminate the durian.

Wei has already taken some of Miow’s advice, for instance replacing his iron scaffolding with nonrusting alternatives.

But not everyone behind Hainan’s durian-growing aspirations has been as receptive to Miow’s recommendations. Some local farmers have dismissed his advice, he says. 

Back home in Malaysia, some have accused Miow of betraying his country by sharing the dark arts of durian cultivation to potential competitors.

China’s durian fixation has been transformative for many farmers in Malaysia in recent years. Streets in Bentong District, 10 miles northwest of Malaysia’s capital, are lined with newly built freezing facilities and packing stations. 

Others say Malaysia doesn’t have much to worry about—for the time being. The first attempt by Chinese farmers to grow durian ended in failure when the first tree, planted in 1958, produced only a single durian fruit, according to state media reports.

As consumers’ appetite for durian surged again recently, Chinese farmers have renewed bids at achieving what China’s media has dubbed “durian freedom”—the ability to grow one’s own durians at an affordable price. This year, the breakthrough finally came when Chinese farmers succeeded in breeding the country’s first commercially-viable batch of homegrown durians.

Still, China is projected to harvest just 50 metric tons of its own durians this year—well short of the goal of 2,450 metric tons initially touted by state media, and just 0.005% of Chinese durian consumption last year. 

“Once people like durians, they are addicted to them,” says Dennis Lo, a Malaysian durian exporter who co-authored Miow’s durian book and who founded a company called Durian Duke Group. (Its motto: “The AMAZING fruit—toward the AMAZING freedom.”)

He says even if Hainan were covered only with durian trees, it still wouldn’t be enough to satisfy Chinese demand.

Lo also believes Beijing would never shut its door to Southeast Asian durian producers, knowing the diplomatic value of leveraging China’s domestic market to cement ties with its southern neighbors. “China has panda diplomacy and now they also have durian diplomacy,’” he says.

In recent years, durians have become a mainstay of diplomatic meetings between China and its Southeast Asian neighbors. In July 2022, China’s Foreign Minister Wang Yi raved over a durian cheesecake his Malaysian hosts served him, and declared China’s intent to import more tropical fruit from Malaysia.

Wei, for his part, has come to love the taste of durian and says he hopes simply to offer Chinese customers more varieties of durians to choose from.

“We are just promoting durian love and growing the durian business pie for everyone,” he says.