Mr. Lei's Men Were Nailed to the Factory! He Turned to Search the Foreign Trade Warehouses!

At five-thirty on Saturday morning, the long-distance bus station's waiting hall had just turned on its lights, and the first bus to Wenzhou was already checking tickets.

Lin Fan chose a window seat, hugging his backpack to his chest. Inside was a shoebox, and inside that shoebox lay the sample boot Boss Wu had mailed him.

Something else was wrapped around his waist: 21,000 yuan in cash, withdrawn from the bank counter during yesterday's lunch break. It was wrapped in two layers of newspaper, cinched tight with an old towel, and pressed against his stomach. It dug into him whenever he sat down, but that discomfort made him feel secure.

There were still a little over 7,000 yuan left on his card, money for emergencies. Whether this trip succeeded or failed, he could not touch it.

The bus left the station while it was still dark. Leaning back in his seat, he went through the whole job from beginning to end.

Five days had passed since Boss Wu's call. He had not wasted even one extra night dwelling on the loss of a supply source. Thinking was useless; goods would not appear by thinking. He had to get to Wenzhou first.

The shop had been held up by scarves this week, while thermal leggings were hanging at high prices and selling whenever fate allowed. Plenty of people in the group cared more than he did about how badly the numbers had fallen. On this trip, he only cared about the goods.

There was only one thing to accomplish: secure 2,000 pairs of the right style of short boots with fur cuffs, at below wholesale price—the lower, the better.

He had three advantages. First was the cash in his pocket. He could close the deal on the spot, and what foreign trade factories craved most right now was ready money to get through the year. Second was the genuine sample in his bag. Whether the goods matched or not would be obvious the moment they were placed beside it. Third was something no one else could copy: he knew what the market for these ugly, clunky things would look like in a month.

If things went smoothly, there might even be an unexpected upside. Foreign trade goods were made to foreign inspection standards, with strict requirements for stitching and glue. What foreigners returned were orders, not workmanship. These might even be sturdier than domestic wholesale goods.

The timing was brutally tight. Double Eleven fell on November 11, with only twenty days left. Listing and pre-sale promotion would take a week, shipping would take another two or three days, leaving only today and tomorrow to find stock.

He had to see the goods before dark tomorrow, because at nine the morning after that, he had to be back at his desk reviewing merchant qualifications.

There would be no shortage of people heading to Wenzhou these days to buy boots. But among those who had to rush back to Hangzhou to clock in at work on Monday morning, he was probably the only one.

The bus reached Wenzhou a little after ten, and the taxi drove for another half hour. Boss Wu's factory was in the outskirts. Before they even reached the gate, a large cargo truck blocked the road.

Its bed was open as loaders stacked cardboard boxes inside, layer upon layer, piled higher than the cab. Sewing machines roared within the factory walls, and even from outside, it was clear the workshop was rushing production.

A small folding stool stood beside the truck. A young man in his early twenties sat on it, wearing a jacket with a hardbound notebook spread across his knees. Every time a box was loaded, he made a tick with his pen.

Lin Fan carried the shoebox past the truck. The young man glanced up at him, then lowered his head and continued tallying. Strangers were none of his concern. He only watched the boxes.

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

"Boss Ma, what a rare guest. You said you were coming, and here you are. Young people really do get things done fast."

"I happened to be passing by, so I thought I'd visit you, Boss Wu, and take a look at the factory too."

He had three things to do on this visit to Boss Wu's factory.

First, he needed to hammer out in person what had only been loosely discussed over the phone. When Boss Wu had surplus stock in mid-November, who would he think of first? That depended on the relationship built face-to-face. A call record alone was not enough.

Second, he needed to see for himself just how thoroughly the warehouses had been locked down. What he heard about his rival's moves and what he saw with his own eyes carried entirely different weight.

Third, he needed to get some insider knowledge from a man who had made boots for twenty years. When he inspected goods at foreign trade factories that afternoon, he needed to bring an expert's eye.

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

"See that young guy by the gate? Mr. Lei planted him in our factory. He eats and sleeps here. However many pairs come off the line, that's how many he writes in his notebook. Even the tape sealing the boxes has their own printing on it."

"Not a single pair stays overnight?"

"They're loaded onto trucks the same day and hauled straight to Hangzhou." Boss Wu clicked his tongue. There was undisguised pride mixed into his discomfort. "To be honest, Boss Ma, I've run a factory for twenty years, and this is the first time I've seen anyone buy goods like this. His people arrived at the start of October, opened their briefcases, and stacked bundles of cash right on the table. The deposit for our factory alone was six figures. The contract was airtight. If we secretly diverted even one pair, the penalty would multiply several times over."

"All the factories around here making fur-cuffed boots signed deals like that?"

"Five or six of them. Not one got away." Boss Wu held up one hand. "They went door to door, wrapping up every factory they saw. Prices in our industry are usually negotiated penny by penny. They didn't negotiate. They simply bought out every day before next spring."

Both production lines in the workshop were running at full speed. Female workers bent over their machines, boots came off the line and were stuffed into boxes, the boxes were stacked onto carts, and the carts rolled straight out to the trucks.

Lin Fan stood at the entrance for a while.

In his previous life, all he knew of Lei Xiangdong could be summed up in four words: seize the trend. Today, he finally saw what lay beneath those words. He had moved at the start of October, clearing the way with cash, planting one person in each factory, taking in every pair produced. Before the market had even begun to rise, he had already carried the scales home.

This opponent was far weightier than the name Lin Fan had heard in his previous life.

But once he understood the whole setup, the path in his mind grew clearer instead.

This entire operation had its eyes fixed on production capacity—on new goods coming off assembly lines every day for the next two months. Lei Xiangdong was guarding against competitors, against competitors coming to snatch factories and machines.

But he could not guard against goods already lying in warehouses.

The financial crisis had battered foreign trade factories for an entire year. Orders had been canceled halfway through production, finished goods abandoned by buyers overseas. Countless boxes had been left gathering dust in warehouses. Those goods did not come from these local factories, nor could they be listed on the platform. This territory had not even been drawn on Lei Xiangdong's map.

That was the path Lin Fan would take today.

After they sat down in the office for tea, Boss Wu refilled his cup and casually asked, "Boss Ma, why are you in such a hurry? If I really free up some extra stock in mid-November, I guarantee you'll be the first person I call."

"I can't wait." Lin Fan set down his teacup. "Boss Wu, it gets colder by the day. Boots are only valuable for this one month or so. By mid-November, it'll be too late."

"That's true. You sellers understand the market better than us manufacturers." Boss Wu nodded. "Then what did you come all this way for today?"

"To ask you a few honest questions." Lin Fan opened the shoebox and placed the sample boot on the coffee table. "I want to try my luck at foreign trade factories and buy some canceled-order stock that's been sitting in warehouses. Tell me, how do you judge whether a boot is good or bad?"

Boss Wu picked up one of his own boots, turning it over as he began talking.

"Four places. First, check the fur. Stick your hand into the cuff, grab a handful, then let go. If it stays flattened, it's inferior fur. Good fur stands back up by itself. Second, feel the weight. The better the shoe, the lighter it is. If it's dead heavy, they definitely packed filler into the sole. Third, look at the fur around the cuff. It needs to be integrated with the lining. If they sewed on a separate strip afterward, it'll start shedding within half a month."

"What about the glue smell?"

"Oh, you really do know a thing or two." Boss Wu laughed. "If it stings your nose, it's trash glue. The soles will come apart by spring. Good glue hardly has any smell. Remember those four things, and no one will be able to fool you with inferior goods anywhere."

"Do you know the foreign trade factory area well, Boss Wu?"

"No." Boss Wu waved his hand decisively. "Foreign trade and domestic sales are two different circles. Those people earn dollars. In past years, they looked down their noses at little factories like ours. Most of their factories are clustered in those development zones west of the city. As for whose warehouse is holding stock, I honestly couldn't tell you."

He paused, then gave him another piece of blunt advice.

"I should warn you. Their doors aren't easy to get through right now."

"How so?"

"Overstock is family shame." Boss Wu lowered his voice even further. "If a warehouse is sitting on hundreds of thousands worth of goods and word gets out, suppliers will come demanding payment, lenders will block the doors, and competitors will wait to laugh at them. So the more stock they have sitting around, the more stubbornly they insist they have none. If an unfamiliar face walks in and starts asking about warehouses, they'll assume you're there to probe their situation. If they don't have security throw you out, they're already being polite."

Lin Fan nodded and stored those words away exactly as they were.

It was true that the door would be hard to enter. But looked at another way, that was good news. If it were easy to enter, sellers all over Wenzhou would have trampled the threshold flat long ago. The threshold standing there was proof that the goods inside had not yet been touched.

When he left, Boss Wu saw him to the factory gate. The truck was already fully loaded and workers were pulling a tarp over it. The young man on the folding stool stood up and walked around the truck, counting the strips of sealing tape one by one.

"I'll remember what you said about mid-November." Lin Fan reached out and shook his hand. "The moment your call comes, my vehicle will arrive that same day."

"Absolutely. You'll be the first."

After leaving the factory, he flagged down a motorcycle taxi by the roadside and gave the address of the western development zone.

He bought two steamed buns from a small shop near the town entrance and ate them on the back seat. The wind made the plastic bag rustle loudly. He swung his backpack around to hug it against his chest, the sharp corners of the shoebox pressing against his heart.

From that afternoon onward, the boot in his bag would be his scale. He would use it to weigh every single pair among the 2,000 pairs of goods.

More than half an hour later, the motorcycle taxi stopped at the entrance to an industrial district. The walls on both sides of the road stretched beyond sight, factory signs stood one after another, and he counted seven or eight signs for shoe factories along this stretch alone. Half of them bore the words Foreign Trade.

It was one-thirty in the afternoon. The sun was still high, and he had enough time to visit four or five factories before dark.

He tightened the strap over his shoulder and headed toward the gate of the first factory with a Foreign Trade Footwear sign.