Twenty Thousand in Cash Slapped on the Table, Factory Manager Ye's Hands Shook as He Counted!

At 2:20 p.m. on Sunday, in the old industrial district south of the city, a blue mini truck stopped in front of a rusty iron gate.

"This is it, Ye's Shoe Factory." The driver jerked his chin inward. "Go in and talk to them yourself. I'll come back down this road at 4:30 after I unload. If you can make it, wait for me at the intersection and I'll give you a ride to the station."

Lin Fan thanked him, jumped down from the truck, and stood at the entrance to look around first.

The iron gate stood half-open, the paint on the factory sign nailed to its pillar had peeled away, and waist-high weeds sprouted from cracks in the courtyard cement. Two work uniforms hung from a clothesline. A mutt lay outside the guardroom, so skinny each rib showed clearly. It could not even be bothered to bark at a stranger.

Compared with the bustling scene outside Factory Manager Wu's place yesterday, with machinery roaring and freight trucks lined up, this place felt like another world despite being in the same business.

One had already pocketed all the money it would make before next spring. The other could barely afford to feed its dog.

Before entering, he ran through the final battle of this trip in his head.

He had to verify that the goods matched the sample, push the price down to just over ten yuan, load two thousand pairs onto a truck, settle cash and goods in full, and catch the 5:30 train.

What he had in hand was solid too: twenty-one thousand yuan strapped around his waist, full payment in cash to be counted on the spot; an authentic sample in his bag, which would expose any discrepancy the moment the goods were compared; and what the driver had said—wages were overdue, year-end was approaching, and the factory was borrowing money wherever it could. Put those three things together, and that was Factory Manager Ye's situation. When negotiating, a man's circumstances were worth more than the goods.

If things went smoothly, he might even secure one more thing. If the warehouse held more than two thousand pairs, he could reserve the rest. Once the first batch sold and the money came back, he would have a source for the second batch.

"What do you want?"

A man in his fifties came out of the guardroom. He wore a blue work jacket with cuffs faded white from wear, pinched a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, and swept Lin Fan from head to toe with his eyes.

"I'm looking for Factory Manager Ye to discuss buying goods."

"That's me." The man crushed out his cigarette, his face utterly devoid of warmth. "Buying goods? A few groups came before you saying the same thing. They offered five yuan a pair and wanted to hold payment for three months. If that's what you're here for, you can leave now. I'd rather let these goods rot in the warehouse than suffer that humiliation."

Lin Fan had expected this on the way here. Half the doors in the city had been hard to enter; the man behind this one was someone whose prices had been trampled before.

He did not respond. He slipped off his backpack, unzipped it, took out the sample boot, and held it in his palm.

"Factory Manager Ye, I've spent two days searching Wenzhou for this exact style: fur trim, short shaft, round toe, women's sizes. If you have this in your warehouse, we can sit down and talk. If not, I won't waste a word—I'll turn around and leave without holding you up."

Factory Manager Ye's gaze fell on the boot, and he stared at it for a full five seconds.

"Come in."

The warehouse was an old factory building with a sloped roof. The hinges were so rusty that opening the door took effort. Light slanted in through high windows, shining on stacks of cartons piled all the way to the rafters. Dust coated the boxes, and a string of foreign lettering was printed on their sides.

"Three thousand pairs. A Japanese trading company placed the order last year. We finished the goods, even completed the inspection, then the company went under." Factory Manager Ye's voice sounded muffled in the empty warehouse. "We never saw a cent of the remaining payment. The goods have been sitting here ever since."

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

"This one, and the one at the very top. Pry them open."

He would not let anyone choose the cartons; he specifically picked the inconvenient ones. Factory Manager Ye glanced at him, then fetched a ladder and pried them open.

Once the cartons were open, the first thing Lin Fan did was flip through the shoeboxes to check the sizes.

Thirty-six, thirty-seven. In the other carton, thirty-five, thirty-eight. Women's sizes, all there.

Yesterday's three thousand pairs of oversized shoes had taught him a lesson, and today he put it to use immediately.

Only then did he inspect the goods. He pushed his hand into the folded fur trim and gripped it, then let go. The fur sprang back on its own. He weighed the boot one-handed—it was light. He smoothed the ring of fur all the way down and found it seamlessly joined to the lining. Bringing it to his nose, he detected almost no smell.

Finally, he took out his own sample and placed it beside one from the carton.

They were brothers from the same mold, except the stitching on the warehouse boot was even denser.

Export goods—goods that had passed foreign inspection standards—were indeed sturdier than domestic-market products.

He spent less than five minutes looking them over without saying a word. Factory Manager Ye had begun by standing there with his arms folded, but gradually crouched down to inspect them alongside him. His expression changed bit by bit.

"Kid, do you make boots?"

"I sell boots." Lin Fan put the sample back into his bag. "Factory Manager Ye, I approve of the goods. Name your price."

"Eighteen." Factory Manager Ye held up two fingers, then lowered one. "I put more than twenty yuan per pair into the cost of this batch. At eighteen, I'm already cutting flesh."

"At eighteen, I turn around and leave." Lin Fan looked at him. "Factory Manager Ye, let me lay out the numbers for you. Listen first, then counteroffer."

"These are good goods, but they're winter goods. Snow boots only have one season. If they don't sell before the New Year, by spring they'll be three thousand pairs of waste paper. Every day they sit, they lose value."

"And then there are the buyers. There aren't many people in Wenzhou who can swallow this whole batch in one bite. The clearance-goods dealers offered you five yuan and still wanted a payment term. I'm offering cash today, counted and settled on the spot. With this money, you can pay your workers, get through the year-end, and keep the factory running when spring comes."

Factory Manager Ye's Adam's apple bobbed, but he said nothing.

Whether the word wages had struck home was obvious from his reaction.

"Fourteen." After a long pause, Factory Manager Ye spoke hoarsely. "I can't go any lower. Any lower, and I'd be letting down those people in the workshop who've worked with me for ten years."

Lin Fan did not counter. He unbuttoned his coat, untied the bundle wrapped around his waist, placed it on a carton still wrapped in newspaper, and opened it.

Stacks upon stacks of cash, arranged neatly.

"Twenty-one thousand. Everything I own, not a cent more." He spread the newspaper flat. "Ten fifty a pair. I'll take two thousand pairs. Reserve the remaining thousand for me. I'll come back for them within half a month, at the same price, and I won't short you by a single pair."

"If you think you're losing out, I'll pack up and leave right now. I can still catch the 5:30 train back to Hangzhou. You can keep waiting for the next person to offer five yuan."

The warehouse went silent, so quiet they could hear sparrows fluttering their wings atop the rafters.

Factory Manager Ye stared at the pile of money, then turned to look at the cartons stacked to the roof behind him, then at the idle workshop outside the warehouse. His shoulders sank little by little, and at last he let out a long breath.

"Count it."

The light in the guardroom was switched on. Factory Manager Ye called over the old master worker left behind to watch the place. The two men each took a stack, wetting their fingers with spit as they counted.

By the third stack, the old worker's hands started shaking. He lost count, started over, and when he reached the end, he stopped counting and turned to Factory Manager Ye.

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

"Count your money." Factory Manager Ye snapped at him, but the hand clutching his own stack was no steadier.

Twenty-one thousand yuan. They counted it twice, and it was not a cent short.

Lin Fan wrote the receipt himself: full payment for goods, two thousand pairs. The next morning, Factory Manager Ye would personally escort the shipment to the freight department and send it on the Hangzhou route, then text over the waybill number. At the signature line, Lin Fan wrote three words: Manager Ma. Factory Manager Ye pressed his fingerprint beside it, and so did Lin Fan.

"Manager Ma." Factory Manager Ye folded the receipt and tucked it into his pocket. Rubbing his hands together, he rolled the words around in his mouth twice before speaking. "To be honest, yesterday I was at my father-in-law's house, smiling and begging to borrow money. Today... ah, this year, you're the one who gave it to me."

"Factory Manager Ye, good goods deserve payment. This is business, not a favor." Lin Fan slung on his backpack. "Keep an eye on those remaining thousand pairs. I'll definitely come back within half a month."

"Don't worry. No matter who comes, I won't touch them. I'll keep them stacked for you even through the New Year."

At 4:20, Factory Manager Ye insisted on driving him over in the factory's old van. At the intersection, they ran into the returning blue mini truck, and the two drivers honked at each other.

At 5:25, the last bus pulled out. Lin Fan sat by the window. The money was gone from around his waist, yet he felt more secure than ever.

Twenty-one thousand yuan for two thousand pairs, an acquisition cost of ten fifty per pair. He had already calculated the selling price for this batch once it hit the shelves: thirty-nine, a good margin below the market price of the first-hand goods. More than twenty yuan profit per pair—what that meant across two thousand pairs did not require a calculator.

More importantly, Lei Xiangdong had locked down five or six factories at the source with cash, guarding against competitors so tightly that not even one new boot could slip out. But he would never dream that in a dust-covered warehouse thirty li away, two thousand pairs of goods even sturdier than the first-hand stock had changed owners that afternoon.

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

After the bus passed the toll station, he took out his phone and texted Ma Le.

The boots are secured. Two thousand pairs. They'll arrive in Hangzhou on Wednesday. Clear out the garage for me.

His phone buzzed back almost immediately. He could practically see Ma Le's face through the screen.

Two thousand pairs?! Bro, are you insane? Half the garage is stuffed with scarves! Where are we supposed to put two thousand pairs?!