Lei's Man Was Planted at the Factory! He Turned to the Export Warehouses!

At five-thirty Saturday morning, the lights had just come on in the long-distance bus terminal. The first bus to Wenzhou was already boarding.

Lin Fan chose a window seat and held his backpack in his lap. Inside was a shoebox containing the sample boot Wu Factory had sent him.

He had something else wrapped around his waist: 21,000 yuan in cash. He had withdrawn it from the bank during his lunch break yesterday, wrapped it in two layers of newspaper, and tied it against his stomach with an old towel. It dug into him when he sat down, but that discomfort was reassuring.

He had a little over seven thousand left in his account. That was his safety net, and he couldn't touch it whether this trip succeeded or failed.

The bus pulled out while it was still dark. He leaned back and ran through the trip from start to finish.

Five days had passed since Boss Wu's call. Once he lost his source of production, he hadn't wasted another evening dwelling on it. Thinking wouldn't produce boots. He needed to get to Wenzhou.

Scarves had kept the shop going this week, while Leggings sat at a high price, selling when they sold. Plenty of people on the team cared more than he did about how far the numbers had fallen. On this trip, he had one job: find stock.

He needed two thousand pairs of short boots with fur-trimmed cuffs that matched the sample, at less than the direct factory price. The lower, the better.

He had three advantages. First was the cash in his pocket: he could make a deal on the spot, and what export factories craved most right now was ready money to get them through the year-end crunch. Second was the genuine sample in his bag. Set any boots beside it, and a mismatch would show at once. Third was something no one else could copy: he knew what these ugly, clunky boots would sell for a month from now.

If things went well, there was another upside. Export goods were made to foreign buyers' inspection standards, with strict requirements for stitching and glue. The buyers might have rejected the orders, but that didn't undo the workmanship. The boots might even be sturdier than the domestic stock bought straight from the factory.

The deadline was tight. Double Eleven was November 11, twenty days away. A week of warm-up sales before listing and another two or three days in transit left him today and tomorrow to find the boots.

He had to see the stock before dark tomorrow, because at nine the following morning, he needed to be back at his desk checking merchant qualifications.

There would be no shortage of boot buyers heading to Wenzhou these days. Of those who had to rush back to Hangzhou and clock in on Monday morning, he was probably the only one.

The bus reached Wenzhou a little after ten. A taxi took another half hour or so to reach Wu Factory on the outskirts. Before they even got to the gate, a large truck blocked the road.

Its bed was open, and loaders were stacking cardboard boxes layer upon layer until they rose higher than the cab. Sewing machines rattled inside the factory. Even through the wall, he could hear the workshop rushing to fill orders.

Beside the truck sat a young man in his early twenties on a folding stool. He wore a jacket and had a hardback notebook open on his knees. Each time a box went onto the truck, he made a tick with his pen.

Lin Fan walked past carrying his shoebox. The young man glanced up, then went back to his tally. Strangers weren't his concern. Boxes were.

Boss Wu came out of the office to meet him. He was in his fifties, with a round face and a firm handshake.

"Boss Ma! What a rare visit. You said you'd come, and here you are. Young people don't waste time."

"I was in the area, so I thought I'd see you and the factory."

Lin Fan had three things to do at Wu Factory.

First, he needed to firm up what Boss Wu had left open on the phone. When that surplus became available in mid-November, Boss Wu's first call would depend on the rapport they built face-to-face. A phone conversation alone wasn't enough.

Second, he wanted to see for himself just how completely the factories had been locked down. Hearing about a rival's methods was one thing; seeing them was another.

Third, he wanted a few pointers from a man who had made boots for twenty years. When he inspected stock at the export factories that afternoon, he needed to know what he was looking at.

Boss Wu led him inside. At the workshop entrance, he tipped his chin toward the truck and lowered his voice.

"See that young fellow by the gate? Lei stationed him at our factory. He eats and sleeps here. However many pairs come off the line, that's how many go in his notebook. Even the tape sealing the boxes is printed with their own lettering."

"Not a single pair stays overnight?"

"Loaded the same day and driven straight to Hangzhou." Boss Wu smacked his lips, pride showing through his frustration. "To tell you the truth, Boss Ma, I've run this factory for twenty years and never seen anyone buy stock like this. His people arrived in early October, opened a briefcase, and stacked bundles of cash on the table. The deposit on our factory alone was six figures. The contract's airtight, too. Sell even one pair on the side, and the damages multiply."

"Did they sign up every factory around here that makes fur-trimmed boots?"

"Five or six. Not one got away." Boss Wu held up a hand. "They went door to door and locked down every factory they found. In our trade, prices get bargained down cent by cent. They didn't bargain. They bought out our entire production schedule through early next spring."

Both production lines were running. The women bent over their sewing machines. Finished boots went into boxes, boxes went onto carts, and the carts rolled out the door to the truck.

Lin Fan stood at the entrance for a while.

In his previous life, all he had known about Lei Xiangdong was that he had seized the opportunity. Today, he saw what that meant: moving in early October, leading with cash, planting a man in each factory, and collecting every pair the moment it was made. Before the market had even stirred, Lei had taken control of the supply.

This rival carried far more weight than the name Lin Fan had heard in his previous life.

Yet the clearer Lin Fan saw Lei's operation, the clearer his own path became.

Every eye in that operation was fixed on production—on the new stock coming off the lines each day for the next two months. Lei Xiangdong was guarding against competitors trying to snatch up factories and machines.

He couldn't guard against goods already sitting in warehouses.

The financial crisis had battered export factories for a whole year. Some orders had been canceled halfway through production; other buyers had abandoned finished goods. Who knew how many boxes were gathering dust in warehouses? That stock wouldn't pass through the local factories making these boots, nor would it appear on the platform. That entire area was missing from Lei Xiangdong's map.

That was where Lin Fan was headed today.

They sat down for tea in the office. As Boss Wu refilled his cup, he asked casually,

"Boss Ma, why the rush? If I do have surplus stock in mid-November, I promise you'll be my first call."

"I can't wait." Lin Fan set down his cup. "Boss Wu, it's getting colder by the day. Boots have barely a month of prime selling time. By mid-November, it'll be too late."

"True. You sellers understand the market better than us manufacturers." Boss Wu nodded. "So you came all this way today to...?"

"To ask you for some straight answers." Lin Fan opened the shoebox and set the sample on the coffee table. "I'm thinking of trying my luck at the export factories, buying stock left over from canceled orders. Tell me how to spot a good boot."

Boss Wu picked up one of his own boots and turned it over in his hands. Then the advice poured out.

"Four things. First, the fur. Stick your hand into the turned-down cuff, grab a handful, and let go. Cheap fur stays flattened; good fur springs back. Second, feel the weight. With shoes, better usually means lighter. If it's dead heavy, they've packed the sole with filler. Third, look at the fur around the cuff. It should be continuous with the lining. If they've sewn a separate strip on afterward, it'll start coming apart in half a month."

"What about the smell of the glue?"

"Oh, so you do know a thing or two." Boss Wu smiled. "If it hits you in the nose, it's rubbish glue. Come spring, the sole will peel away. You can barely smell good glue. Remember those four things, and nobody can pass off inferior stock on you."

"Do you know the export factories around here?"

"No." Boss Wu waved the question away. "Export manufacturers and domestic manufacturers run in different circles. They earn dollars. In past years, they looked down their noses at small factories like ours. Most of them are clustered in the development zones on the west side of town, but I honestly couldn't tell you whose warehouse has stock piled up."

He paused, then offered another candid warning.

"I'll tell you this: getting through their doors won't be easy right now."

"How so?"

"Unsold stock is a dirty secret." Boss Wu lowered his voice further. "If word gets out that they've got hundreds of thousands of yuan worth of goods sitting in a warehouse, their material suppliers will come demanding payment, their lenders will block the gates, and their competitors will be waiting to laugh. The more stock they have, the harder they insist they have none. Walk in as a stranger and ask about the warehouse, and they'll assume you're there to size up their troubles. You'll be lucky if they don't have security throw you out."

Lin Fan nodded and committed every word to memory.

Getting in would be hard. But looked at another way, that was good news. If the doors were easy to open, sellers from all over Wenzhou would have worn a path through them already. The barrier meant the stock inside might still be untouched.

When Lin Fan left, Boss Wu walked him to the factory gate. The truck was full, and workers were pulling a tarpaulin over it. The young man from the folding stool had stood up and was counting the strips of tape along the boxes.

"I'll remember what you said about mid-November." Lin Fan shook Boss Wu's hand. "Call me, and I'll have a vehicle here that same day."

"Of course. You'll be the first."

Outside the factory, Lin Fan hailed a motorcycle taxi and told the driver to take him to the western development zone.

They passed a small shop at the town entrance, where he bought two steamed buns and ate them on the back seat. The wind made the plastic bag crackle. He pulled his backpack around to his chest and held it there, the corner of the shoebox pressing against him.

From that afternoon on, the boot in his bag would be his measuring stick. He had two thousand pairs to judge against it.

A little over half an hour later, the motorcycle taxi stopped at an intersection in an industrial district. Factory walls stretched out of sight on both sides of the road, their signs lined up one after another. He counted seven or eight shoe manufacturers along this stretch alone. Half had "export" on their signs.

It was half past one, and the sun was still high. He had time to try four or five factories before dark.

He tightened a backpack strap over his shoulder and walked toward the first gate bearing an export footwear sign.