132,000 on the books, 33,000 in hand!

At nine on Sunday morning, November 22, the garage door stood half open, with a dozen or so bags still waiting to ship on the floor.

When the last truck left on the afternoon of the twentieth, the backlog shown on the shop page had hit zero. Boss Wu's three thousand pairs had arrived in Jianqiao on the nineteenth. Half were packed that night and the rest during the twentieth, finishing half a day ahead of the deadline Lin Fan himself had posted.

Ma Le squatted by the door, adding codes to the bags with a marker, yawning after each one.

Lin Fan spread Ma Le's ledger across his knees and flipped forward from the page for the eleventh.

He had only one thing to do today: work through all ten days of accounts from beginning to end.

Without doing that, how much money he had and what he could afford to do were just guesses. Everything ahead would cost more than the last. If he went into it with guessed figures, he would run out halfway through.

From the eleventh through the twentieth, they had taken a little over 5,920 orders. Sizes above thirty-nine couldn't be replenished, so 240 orders were refunded. They had actually shipped 5,680.

At thirty-nine per order, plus the five the buyer paid for shipping, receipts came to a little over 249,000.

There were four categories of outgoing payments.

The shoes cost 92,500: 31,500 for three thousand pairs from Ye's Factory, 60,000 for three thousand from Wu Factory, and 1,000 for those two hundred pairs in incomplete size runs. Shipping was 19,880; Old Xu hadn't charged a penny extra. Bags, tape, shipping labels, ink pads, stamp carving, and those late-night meals totaled 3,800. Wages were 1,400: 600 for the night of the eleventh, and 800 for the two later sessions.

The four came to 117,580.

That left him 132,300.

He copied that figure onto a blank page in the ledger and looked at it for a while.

On the night of the eleventh, the figure he had worked out in this ledger was 160,000. The missing 28,000 came from Boss Wu's three thousand pairs. Ye's Factory charged ten fifty a pair; Wu Factory charged twenty. An extra nine fifty per pair meant an extra 28,500 for three thousand pairs.

That night, he had calculated everything at ten fifty a pair because the batch from Ye's Factory was the only one he had a price for.

What that extra 28,500 had bought him was the deadline on the twentieth.

"What's that you wrote in the ledger, bro?" Ma Le tucked the marker into his pocket and came over.

"Finished the accounts."

"How much?"

"132,000."

Ma Le froze for a moment.

"What happened to 160,000?"

"Boss Wu's three thousand pairs cost twenty each. Nine fifty more than Ye's Factory."

"Nine fifty times three thousand." Ma Le stopped halfway through counting on his fingers, his face scrunching up. "Twenty-eight thousand? Bro, you just handed someone twenty-eight thousand?"

"If that last truck hadn't left on the afternoon of the twentieth, what do you think the reviews would've looked like?"

Ma Le opened his mouth, then squatted back down and resumed marking codes.

Of the 627 people who wanted sizes above thirty-nine, those who wanted refunds had received them that same day, and those willing to change sizes had waited for the second batch. The rest, who refused either option, had each received a scarf. Each scarf cost eleven twenty. He had given away over 110, costing more than 1,200.

What that twelve hundred and change had bought him was the absence of a whole swath of bad reviews.

With the money accounted for, he went through everything else, item by item.

Stock: seventy-odd pairs of boots remained in incomplete size runs, all above size forty. Scarves were listed, with another batch still held at Old He's. Three hundred or so pairs of leggings were listed at a high price, selling whenever they happened to sell. Storage: two locations, half a garage, and the sixty-odd-square-meter place in the west of town, now more than half empty.

Supplies: over eight hundred of the two thousand shipping labels remained, along with one rubber stamp and two unopened bundles of waterproof bags. The five-hundred shipping deposit was still in Old Xu's drawer.

The shop: last Friday night, its reputation score had passed ten thousand, turning five diamonds into a crown. Another batch of ratings had yet to come through when the fifteen-day automatic positive-review period expired.

Back in late August, he had crouched before the computer every day, watching that number creep up one point at a time. Going from one heart to two had taken a whole month.

Know-how: what he had gained this time was solid. How to prove his innocence after a counterfeit-goods report, and which supporting documents to keep. Setting inventory to decrease only upon payment, so unpaid orders couldn't tie it up. Posting a deadline on the page after overselling, making it clear and taking the abuse. Splitting packing into three stages, getting twelve people's work out of six. Campaign pages drew traffic that spilled over elsewhere; he had watched that happen for seventeen years in his previous life, and this time he had verified it himself with 5,381 orders.

Connections: Factory Director Ye trusted that thumbprinted receipt enough to extend him credit for a thousand pairs. Boss Wu had been willing to divert three thousand pairs in breach of contract, and had even helped cover for him. Old Xu had kept a truck available for him despite the gridlock across the city. Old He could keep the scarves supplied. The six students brought by Ma Le's cousin would come whenever called.

Information: after Double Eleven, order backlogs across the internet lasted ten or twenty days. That, too, had been verified.

There was one more thing only he and the readers knew.

Those five or six factories in Wenzhou had been questioned one by one, each swearing they hadn't diverted a single pair. Instead, the factory records kept by the questioner's own representatives had backed him up. To this day, no one could say where this batch had come from.

He closed the ledger.

That day in late August, everything he owned amounted to five thousand. Two thousand was tied up in the first batch of leggings, leaving three thousand accessible in his bank account. Back then, nine orders in a day could keep him sitting there admiring them for half an hour.

In three months, five thousand had become 132,000.

But not all of that 132,000 was available to use.

Buyers were confirming receipt one by one. The first batch of payments had cleared within three to five days, and later ones were arriving daily. As of this morning, a little over 151,000 had become available in his bank account and Alipay. After paying out 117,500, he currently had just over 33,000 in usable cash, with another 98,000 waiting in Alipay for buyers to click that button.

He looked at the figure of 33,000 twice.

When Ma Le had asked him at the end of September how much money they had altogether, his answer had been 33,000.

Back then, 33,000 was everything he owned. Today, it was merely the ready cash left in his hands, apart from the money that hadn't cleared yet.

The same number, but not the same thing.

First, he had three old debts to settle with the 33,000 in hand.

He went upstairs and took care of the first.

He transferred Factory Director Ye's remaining 8,500 through online banking, then called him.

"Factory Director Ye, the 8,500 has arrived. Please check. That settles the three thousand pairs."

"I know, I know." The man's voice rose with his smile. "I've been waiting for this call the past couple of days. I advanced the workers' pay last week. Now that your payment's here, I can rest easy heading into year-end."

"Factory Director Ye, could I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Do you still have the machines at your factory?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"Yes." Factory Director Ye's voice dropped a little. "Both production lines are still there. The workshop's locked up. I go in every three days to look around, and I've kept the belts oiled. Half the workers have scattered. The rest are doing odd jobs nearby. If I call them, seventy or eighty percent could be back within a week."

"Just no orders."

"No orders." Factory Director Ye smacked his lips. "It's the same for everyone making exports now. The foreigners haven't placed orders in over a year. We don't know the domestic market, and there's nobody to show us the way."

Lin Fan left it there, thanked him, and hung up.

Ye's Factory's machines, its veteran craftsmen, and the stitching quality honed by its export standards—all three were currently locked inside an empty compound in southern Wenzhou.

He made a mental note of that and didn't rush to take it further.

The second payment came that afternoon.

Ma Le came downstairs carrying instant noodles and sat on the stool by the garage door.

"Bro." He slurped a mouthful. "You still remember that thing, right?"

"What thing?"

"The fee for using my name." Ma Le rested the bowl on his legs. "Last month you said you'd raise it from five hundred to a thousand, then discuss doubling it again at year-end. It's the twenty-second today. That's pretty much year-end, isn't it?"

Lin Fan counted out four five-hundred notes from his pocket and pressed them onto the stool beside Ma Le's bowl.

"Two thousand."

Ma Le stared at the four notes, forgetting even to slurp his noodles.

"For this month?"

"For this month. Two thousand every month from now on."

Ma Le picked up the money and counted it, then counted it again.

"When you raised it to a thousand last time, my mom said I earned more just lending my name than I would working." He folded the money and stuffed it into his trouser pocket. "Bro, let me ask you something. Don't get annoyed."

"Ask."

"How much money does our shop actually have now?"

"132,000 on the books, 33,000 in hand."

Ma Le's mouth fell open, and the noodle bowl wobbled on his legs.

"33,000?" He looked stunned. "Bro, isn't that the same figure you gave me at the end of September?"

"It is."

"Then what am I supposed to make of that?" Ma Le braced one hand on the stool. "132,000 on the books, but still 33,000 in hand. Where's your money?"

"With the buyers." Lin Fan moved the bags toward the door. "It only becomes ours when they confirm receipt. Ninety-eight thousand is still held there, clearing a bit each day."

"Oh." Ma Le bit his fork and thought for two seconds. "So the money's still rolling around in the stock."

"This time it's rolling around in other people's hands."

Ma Le laughed and carried his bowl upstairs, then turned back at the foot of the stairs.

"Bro, don't go spending that 33,000 on stock again."

He carried the third payment himself to the west of town.

Ma Le's mother had come to inspect the vacant room today. Seeing half the floor cleared when she entered, she stood there beaming for ages, saying it finally looked like a room.

He handed her the cardboard box he was carrying.

"Auntie, size thirty-seven. The pair you asked for last time."

Sizes thirty-six and thirty-seven had sold fastest. For a while, he hadn't had a single pair left, and he had owed her these for two months. He had tucked a scarf into the box too, an off-white one, the thickest in the batch from Old He.

Ma Le's mother took the boots out, turned them over to inspect the soles, then slipped a hand inside a folded cuff and squeezed the lining.

"This fleece is nice." She tried them on and walked a couple of steps around the room. "The little shop downstairs from us sells these for fifty-eight."

"Yours are thirty-nine, Auntie. Cost price."

"I don't care what price it is. I just want to ask one thing." Ma Le's mother took the boots off and put them back in the box. "Those six young girls last week—whose children were they?"

"Classmates Ma Le's cousin brought over. They're all students. They helped pack bags for two nights."

"Students are good. They know how to keep their mouths shut." Ma Le's mother hugged the box. "Next time you need people, call them again. Don't hire strangers off the street. With all this stuff piled in here, the fewer people coming in, the better."

"I'll remember."

It was already growing dark when he left the west side. Riding back, he went over the days ahead in his mind.

He had accomplished the goal he set himself in late August. He had earned his first substantial sum on Double Eleven. The shop hadn't closed, his name hadn't surfaced, and not a single word had implicated him.

There were still more than two months left in winter, and boots were right in season. For now, he had only one problem: stock.

The three thousand pairs from Ye's Factory were leftovers from someone else's canceled order. The three thousand from Wu Factory had been diverted in breach of contract. Both batches had been lucky finds. He had reached the end of that road. Someone had combed through Wenzhou, and next winter there wouldn't be another dusty warehouse waiting for him.

He had 130,000 now.

Someone with 130,000 didn't have to wait for other people to get stuck with stock. He could have them make exactly what he wanted.

He knew how to choose styles and allocate sizes, and he had a good idea how much he could sell. What he lacked was a factory willing to follow his instructions.

That factory stood locked in southern Wenzhou, its machines oiled, seventy or eighty percent of its workers ready to return with one call.

At the entrance to the residential compound, he got off and pushed his bike inside. Ma Le was moving the last few bags into the garage.

"Bro, are we still selling boots after this?"

"Yes."

"Where's the stock coming from? Didn't you say last time someone had searched all over Wenzhou?"

"No more scavenging." Lin Fan leaned the bike against the wall. "For the next batch, I'll place the order myself and have them made."