If You Can't Sell Them, Sleep in a Pile of Boots!

At 9:40 on Sunday night, the coach pulled into Hangzhou East Railway Station.

Lin Fan got off with his half-empty backpack slung over one shoulder. After taking two buses back to the residential complex, he found that the stairwell light was still broken and felt his way up to the second floor in the dark.

The moment the door opened, Ma Le sprang up from the sofa, still clutching the remote.

"Two thousand pairs? You've got to be kidding me, right?"

"Twenty-one thousand, paid in full. They'll arrive in Hangzhou on Wednesday." Lin Fan tossed his bag onto the shoe cabinet. "Factory Manager Ye will personally escort the shipment to the freight line tomorrow morning."

Ma Le stood there with his mouth hanging open, counting on his fingers. Halfway through, he started panicking himself.

"Bro, we only have thirty-three thousand in total. Last week, you told me the money was turning over in inventory. This time, great—the money's gone straight to sleep in the boots."

"There's still seven thousand on the card."

"Seven thousand?" Ma Le dropped back onto the sofa. "What can seven thousand do? Aren't you paying Old He the remaining balance for the scarves? And didn't you promise your cousin the boots? If my mom asks what I've been doing these past six months, am I supposed to tell her I rented out the garage to a lunatic?"

Lin Fan went to the kitchen, poured himself some water, and drank half a cup in one go.

The cold wind from the train station had blown over him all the way back. He was tired, but his mind was clear.

From tomorrow until November 11, there were only twenty days left. He had to get three things done.

First, those two hundred-odd boxes needed somewhere to stay. Half the garage wouldn't hold them, so renting a place was the most urgent matter.

Second, manpower. If they really got several thousand orders on Double Eleven, he and Ma Le could package until the twelfth lunar month and still not finish shipping them. They needed to line people up in advance.

Third, the listing had to go up before Double Eleven. Whether it sold was another matter, but they first needed to build up sales and reviews. Search rankings didn't recognize new listings.

As for what that day would look like, he didn't need to guess. The marketplace stores couldn't squeeze into the official event hall run by the mall, but people across the entire internet would flood onto Taobao that day. And the people who came in wouldn't just browse the event hall. What these fur-cuffed short boots would become in twenty days, he was the only one in this room who knew.

"Bro, say something already."

"Take half a day off on Wednesday and come pick up the shipment with me."

"Pick up my ass."

At nine the next morning, he was back at his desk.

Zhou Bin slapped over a stack of merchant qualification documents and said he had to submit that conclusion before the end of the month. He told Lin Fan to keep pulling the weekly data reports for that store, submit one each week, and not let it lapse.

Lin Fan answered, "Okay."

That evening, he placed the two sample pairs on the windowsill and borrowed Ma Le's digital camera to take more than forty photos—white background, side views, inner lining, sole patterns. He picked out seven, edited them, and worked on the product page until 1:30 in the morning.

The listing was ready but not yet live. He was waiting for the goods.

At two on Wednesday afternoon, the two of them stood at the freight depot in Jianqiao, facing the loading platform.

"How many boxes?" Ma Le's throat was dry.

"One hundred ninety-six."

The boxes were stacked beside the metal racks, piled into a wall. A string of foreign letters was printed on their sides, coated in dust from the Wenzhou warehouse.

The rear seats of the van Ma Le had rented had all been removed. It could hold around forty boxes a trip. They made five round trips, and by the time they returned the van after the last one, it was already dark.

The problem came during the third trip.

The scarves still occupied most of that half of the garage. The boot boxes were stacked one pile after another, and by the time they reached chest height, they were already at the entrance. The rolling shutter got stuck halfway down; if they forced it shut, it would crush the outermost stack.

"Look at this yourself, the door won't even close!" Ma Le stood at the garage entrance, panting, a patch of dust on the knees of his work pants. "Bro, look at this mess. Is this our garage or a shipping container?"

"If it won't close, leave it open for now. I'll guard it here tonight."

"Guard it?" Ma Le raised his voice even higher. "My mom's coming back next Wednesday to get her two jars of pickled vegetables. She opens the door and two hundred boxes smack her in the face—what am I supposed to say? That her son changed careers and became someone's warehouse keeper?"

Lin Fan didn't answer. He squatted down and opened a box from the outermost stack.

He sliced through the tape with a blade. Ten pairs of boots lay neatly side by side. He took out two pairs, thrust his hand into the cuff and squeezed, then let go. The fur sprang back up on its own. He pinched the soles and counted the rows of stitching one by one. Tight.

"Feel it."

Ma Le was halfway through cursing when, as if possessed, he reached in and squeezed it once, then again.

"The fur really isn't bad," he muttered. "Way better than the ones my cousin showed me online last time, the ones selling for a hundred twenty."

"Ten fifty a pair wholesale."

"How much?"

"Ten fifty." Lin Fan stuffed the boots back in. "List them at thirty-nine."

An expression had just started to appear on Ma Le's face before he forcefully swallowed it back down.

"Even at thirty-nine, someone has to buy them, bro." He counted on his fingers. "Two thousand pairs. Do you know what two thousand pairs even means? On our store's best day, we got a thousand orders, and that was scarves, pants, and socks all added together. Boots are different. Whose shop sells two thousand pairs of boots in a day? It's not like these are cabbages."

"What if they don't sell?"

"If they don't sell, you can sleep in a pile of boots. I'll give you the garage, and you can sleep there all you want."

Lin Fan smiled and sealed the box again.

Ma Le's mouth was saying exactly what the ledger in his own mind said. He would list them tomorrow. He knew how many pairs would sell in a day. The worse it looked, the better. The data for the end-of-month report needed to look bad anyway. If both sides looked bad together, that would be perfect.

"That empty apartment." He stood and dusted off his hands. "Your mom's place in the west side of town—the tenant moved out half a year ago, right?"

Ma Le froze.

"Don't even think about it."

"It's on the first floor with a yard, around sixty square meters. It's sitting empty anyway."

"That place is my mom's baby. Even when it's empty, she goes over once a week to open the windows and air it out. If you stack two hundred boxes of boots in there, she'll chase both of us out with a mop."

"I'll pay rent. A place like that goes for seven or eight hundred a month. I'll give her one thousand, one month's deposit and one month's rent upfront, cash." Lin Fan looked at him. "You'll still get your nominal-owner fee at the end of the month. The apartment is separate. You talk to your mom. If you get her to agree, I'll give you two hundred out of that thousand every month from now on."

Ma Le clenched his back teeth. The reluctance on his face wrestled with something else for a long while.

"Two-fifty."

"Two-fifty."

At eight that night, the two of them rode their bikes to the west side of town.

Ma Le's mother opened the door, looked at her son first, then at Lin Fan, and wiped her hands twice on her apron.

"Little Lin, have you eaten?"

"Yes, Auntie, I have." Lin Fan placed the fruit he had brought on the shoe cabinet.

Ma Le's mother fired off question after question. What did they need the apartment for? What goods were they storing? Was it anything proper? Would lots of people be coming and going? Would they damage the flooring? Would anyone be living there?

"Mom, didn't I tell you? I run an online shop." Ma Le squeezed forward. "Winter boots. We brought in a batch, and there's no room at home. We'll just keep them there for the winter, then clear them all out when spring comes."

"Wasn't your shop selling pants?"

"The pants sold out, so now we're selling boots."

"You've really got skills now, huh?" Ma Le's mother looked him over, then turned to inspect Lin Fan. "Little Lin, you're involved in this too?"

"I'm giving Ma Le a hand. I'll watch over the warehouse, but I won't keep a key. Ma Le will open the door every time we go in or out." Lin Fan spoke in a proper, orderly manner. "Auntie, we'll cover the entire floor with cardboard. The boxes won't touch the floor. No one will live there, and there won't be any cooking. You can inspect it anytime you want."

The old woman didn't say anything. She went inside, brought out a plate of sunflower seeds, sat down, and cracked two.

"Twelve hundred."

"Mom!" Ma Le cried.

"Twelve hundred, plus a twelve-hundred deposit. I'll go open the door for you tomorrow morning." She tossed the shells into the trash. "My place is nice. Whoever rents it pays that price."

"Fine, twelve hundred." Lin Fan counted the cash out of his inner pocket on the spot.

After the old woman finished counting the money, her eyes shifted to the sample box on the floor beside them, its opening torn open. She reached in and pulled out a boot, turned it over to inspect the sole, then reached into the cuff to feel the lining.

"Oh, this fur's pretty thick. Is it real wool?"

"It's imitation, but the materials are solid."

"Save me a pair. I wear a size thirty-seven."

"Mom, give it a rest already."

The next morning, Lin Fan took half a day of annual leave, hired a tricycle, and moved one hundred twenty boxes from the garage to the apartment in the west side of town with Ma Le.

The first-floor living room was covered in cardboard. The boxes were stacked along the walls up to windowsill height, with a path left down the middle for people to walk through.

The seventy-odd boxes left in the garage were the ones they planned to sell first, making them easier to access.

After hauling the final load, Ma Le sat on the steps outside the door. He had two blisters on his palms, and his shoes were soaked with sweat.

"Bro, I did the math. Between the rent, freight, and tricycle, you've spent twenty-three thousand this trip."

"Twenty-three thousand four hundred."

"How much is left on the card?"

"A little over five thousand."

Ma Le looked up at the sky and let out a long sigh.

"And my mom's pair has to be free."

"Free."

At eight on Thursday night, the listing went live.

He revised the title seven times before settling on the final version, arranging phrases like fur cuff, short boots, thickened fleece lining, and genuine leather sole in the order people commonly searched for them. The main image was the pair photographed on the windowsill. The price was thirty-nine, shipping was five, and a small line on the page read: Returning customers who place an order can have the price adjusted for an additional two-yuan discount.

The shop announcement was updated, and messages were sent to returning customers.

Nine orders came in on the first night.

Twenty-six on Friday.

Forty-seven across Saturday and Sunday combined.

Every night, Ma Le squatted by the garage door and helped pack orders. He wrapped tape while calling out the numbers. By the third day, he was getting impatient.

"At this pace, forty pairs a day, it'll take you until next Qingming Festival to sell two thousand pairs." He stacked a sealed box to the side. "Bro, tell me the truth. Did that Ye guy scam you?"

Lin Fan didn't look up as he stuck on the shipping labels.

Forty pairs a day meant he could recover the cost. The reviews were climbing, the sales numbers were gradually building up, and over the past two days, the listing had already made it onto the second page of search results.

Slow was fine. What the listing needed was momentum, not the money from these few days.

After finishing work Sunday night, he went upstairs, turned on the computer, and pulled up the backend data to review it.

October's sales had dropped from eleven hundred a day at the start of the month to just over two hundred now. The few new boot orders couldn't pull it back up. The month's entire trend line lay flat on its way down, like a snapped rope.

Tomorrow was Monday, the twenty-sixth.

Zhou Bin's store-investigation conclusion had to be submitted before the end of the month. The words he had declared in front of the whole department were written in black and white in the meeting minutes: if sales were down by half by the end of October, the store would be gone before the New Year.

Now, it looked like sales had fallen by far more than half.

And Lin Fan himself was the one compiling this weekly report.