Two Hundred Thousand? No-Twenty-One Thousand in Cash on the Table, and Factory Director Ye's Hands Shook as He Counted!

At 2:20 on Sunday afternoon, a blue pickup truck stopped outside a rusty iron gate in the old industrial district south of the city.

"This is it, Ye's Shoe Factory." The driver nodded toward the gate. "Go in and talk to them yourself. I'll be back along this road at four-thirty after I finish my delivery. If you make it, wait for me at the intersection and I'll give you a lift to the station."

Lin Fan thanked him and jumped down. He stood at the gate and looked around.

The iron gate stood half-open. Paint had peeled off the factory sign on the gatepost, and waist-high weeds grew through cracks in the concrete yard. Two work jackets hung from a clothesline. A scrawny dog lay outside the gatehouse, its ribs plainly visible. It couldn't even be bothered to bark at a stranger.

Compared with the roar of machines and the line of trucks outside Wu Factory yesterday, this place felt like another world, though it was in the same business.

One factory had already pocketed its money through next spring. The other could barely afford to feed its dog.

Before going in, he ran through the last battle of this trip in his head.

He needed to confirm the goods matched the sample, drive the price down to just over ten yuan, load two thousand pairs, settle payment on the spot, and catch the five-thirty bus.

He had plenty to work with: twenty-one thousand yuan in cash around his waist, payment in full on the day, an authentic sample in his bag that would expose any mismatch, and what the driver had told him. Late wages, the year-end crunch, borrowing money from anyone who would listen—together, those told him exactly where Factory Director Ye stood. When negotiating price, that mattered more than the goods.

If things went well, he could secure one more thing. If there were more than two thousand pairs in the warehouse, he would find a way to hold the rest. Once sales brought money back in, he would have a source for a second batch.

"What do you want?"

A man in his fifties emerged from the gatehouse. He wore a blue work jacket with cuffs worn white and held half a cigarette between his fingers. His gaze raked Lin Fan from head to toe.

"I'm here to see Factory Director Ye about buying some stock."

"That's me." The man stubbed out his cigarette, his face showing no warmth. "Buying stock? A few buyers have come by already. They offered five yuan a pair and wanted three months' credit. If that's your game, you can leave now. I'd rather let the stock grow mold than take that kind of insult."

Lin Fan had expected this on the way over. Doors had been hard to open all over the city, and behind this one stood a man who had already been offered insulting prices.

He didn't answer. He took off his backpack, unzipped it, and held out the sample boot.

"Factory Director Ye, I've spent two days looking around Wenzhou for this exact style: fur-trimmed opening, short shaft, round toe, women's sizes. If that's what you have in your warehouse, let's sit down and talk. If it isn't, I won't waste another word of your time. I'll turn around and leave."

Factory Director Ye stared at the boot for a full five seconds.

"Come in."

The warehouse was an old factory building with a sloped roof. Its hinges were so rusty the door was hard to push open. Light slanted through high windows onto stacks of cardboard boxes reaching the rafters. Dust coated the boxes, and foreign lettering was printed on their sides.

"Three thousand pairs. A Japanese trading company ordered them last year. We finished the whole lot and passed inspection, then the company disappeared." Factory Director Ye's voice sounded dull in the empty warehouse. "I never saw a cent of the final payment. They've been sitting here ever since."

Lin Fan said nothing. He walked up to the stacks and pointed at one in the middle.

"This box, and the one right at the top. Open them."

He hadn't let the man choose the boxes, picking awkward ones instead. Factory Director Ye glanced at him, fetched a ladder, and pried them open.

The first thing Lin Fan did was check the sizes on the shoeboxes.

Thirty-six, thirty-seven. In the other box: thirty-five, thirty-eight. A full range of women's sizes.

Those three thousand pairs of oversized boots yesterday had taught him a lesson, and he was putting it to use.

Only then did he examine the boots. He pushed his hand into a cuff and squeezed the lining. When he let go, the fleece sprang back. He weighed a boot in one hand: light. He ran his fingers around the fur at the opening; it joined seamlessly with the lining. He brought it to his nose and caught almost no smell.

Finally, he took his own sample from his bag and set it beside a boot from the box.

They looked like brothers from the same mold. The stitching on the boxed boot was even tighter.

Export stock, made to meet a foreign buyer's inspection standards. Sure enough, it was sturdier than the boots made for the domestic market.

The whole inspection took less than five minutes, and Lin Fan never said a word. Factory Director Ye went from watching with folded arms to crouching beside him. His expression changed bit by bit.

"You make boots, young man?"

"I sell them." Lin Fan put his sample back in his bag. "Factory Director Ye, the goods check out. Let's talk price."

"Eighteen." Factory Director Ye held up two fingers, then folded one down. "These cost me over twenty yuan a pair to make. At eighteen, I'm already taking a loss."

"At eighteen, I turn around and leave." Lin Fan looked at him. "Factory Director Ye, let me lay out the numbers. Hear me out before you counter."

"These are good boots, but they're winter boots. Snow boots have one season to sell. If they don't move before the New Year, come spring they're three thousand pairs of wastepaper. Every day they sit here, they lose value."

"And as for buyers, there aren't many in Wenzhou who can take the whole lot at once. Clearance dealers offer you five yuan and still want credit. I'm offering cash today, counted out on the spot. With that money, you can pay your workers, get through the New Year, and have the factory running again come spring."

Factory Director Ye's Adam's apple bobbed. He said nothing.

His reaction told Lin Fan he had hit the mark with the workers' wages.

"Fourteen," Factory Director Ye said at last, his voice hoarse. "I can't go lower. Any less, and I couldn't face the people who've worked in my shop for ten years."

Lin Fan didn't counter. He undid his coat, unwound the bundle around his waist, and set it on a cardboard box. Then he opened the newspaper wrapping.

Stacks of cash lay neatly lined up.

"Twenty-one thousand. Everything I have, not a cent more." He spread the newspaper flat. "Ten yuan fifty a pair. I'll take two thousand pairs. Hold the other thousand for me, and I'll be back for them within half a month at the same price. You won't lose a cent on a single pair."

"If you think that's too little, I'll pack up and leave now. I can still catch the five-thirty bus back to Hangzhou. You can wait for the next buyer offering five."

The warehouse fell quiet enough to hear sparrows fluttering in the rafters.

Factory Director Ye stared at the pile of money, then looked back at the boxes stacked to the rafters and out toward the idle workshop beyond the warehouse door. His shoulders slowly slumped. At last, he let out a long breath.

"Let's count it."

Factory Director Ye switched on the light in the gatehouse and called over an older worker who had stayed on. Each took a stack and counted, wetting their fingers with saliva.

By the third stack, the older worker's hands were shaking. He lost count and started again. Farther in, he stopped altogether and turned to Factory Director Ye.

"Director Ye, this... this is enough to pay everyone's wages. There'll even be some left."

"Just count the money." Factory Director Ye snapped at him, though his own hands were hardly steady.

They counted the twenty-one thousand twice. Not a cent was missing.

Lin Fan wrote the receipt himself: payment settled in full for two thousand pairs. Factory Director Ye would personally accompany the truck to the freight depot the next morning and ship them on the direct line to Hangzhou, then text over the waybill number. At the signature line, Lin Fan wrote three characters: Manager Ma. Factory Director Ye pressed his thumbprint onto it, and Lin Fan did the same.

"Manager Ma." Factory Director Ye folded the receipt and tucked it into his pocket. He rubbed his hands together, working the words around in his mouth before they came out. "Truth is, yesterday I was at my father-in-law's, smiling and begging for a loan. Today... ah, you've made this New Year possible for us."

"Factory Director Ye, good stock deserves a buyer. This is business, not a favor." Lin Fan shouldered his bag. "Keep that last thousand pairs for me. I'll be back within half a month."

"Don't worry. I won't let anyone touch them. I'll keep them stacked here till New Year if I have to."

At 4:20, Factory Director Ye insisted on driving him in the factory's old van. At the intersection, they met the blue pickup returning from its delivery, and the two drivers honked at each other.

At 5:25, the last bus pulled away. Lin Fan sat by the window. His waist was bare now, but he felt more settled than before.

Twenty-one thousand for two thousand pairs, a purchase price of ten yuan fifty each. He had already settled on a shelf price: thirty-nine yuan. That put them a notch below the price of the first-hand stock on the market and left him more than twenty yuan a pair. For two thousand pairs, he didn't need a calculator to know what that came to.

More importantly, Lei Xiangdong had used cash to lock down five or six factories in the production area. He had guarded against competitors so tightly that not one new pair of boots could slip through. But he would never dream that, thirty miles away, two thousand pairs sturdier than his first-hand stock had changed hands that afternoon in a dusty warehouse.

Where had this batch come from? Even if someone turned Wenzhou upside down, no one would have an answer.

As the bus passed the tollbooth, Lin Fan took out his phone and texted Ma Le.

Got the boots. Two thousand pairs. They'll reach Hangzhou Wednesday. Clear out the garage for me.

His phone vibrated almost at once. He could practically see Ma Le's face through the screen.

Two thousand pairs?! Have you lost your mind, man? Scarves are taking up half the garage! Where are we supposed to put two thousand pairs?!