One Hundred Thirty Thousand Invested in a Factory That Had Been Shut Down for Half a Year!

At 7:40 on the evening of Thursday, November 26, the light by the garage entrance was still on. Three flattened cardboard boxes lay on the ground, uncollected.

The call had ended ten minutes ago, but he was still standing at the door.

There was only one thing to decide tonight: where the 130,000 yuan would go next month.

If he did not nail it down, then the trip to Wenzhou next week would be pointless. They would call the veteran workers back, get the machines running idle, and then he would stand in the middle of the workshop unable to say what he wanted, how much he would pay, or when he needed delivery. That would just be going there to sightsee.

He went inside, opened Ma Le's ledger, and turned to the page where they had done the accounts on Sunday.

There was 132,300 yuan on the books. He had a little over 31,000 yuan he could move, less than on Sunday by another chunk: 2,000 yuan for nominal fees and 1,200 yuan in scarves he had given away. The remaining 98,000 yuan was still tied up in Alipay. Buyers were confirming receipt one by one, with one payment dropping in each day. It would all clear by the middle of next month.

There were only around seventy pairs of boots left in the store, all broken sizes above 40. That was as good as having nothing. The listing was still up, bringing in dozens of orders a day, but it was selling only the last scraps of inventory.

There were just over two months of winter left. Once the twelfth lunar month began, the boots would run out. Whatever remained in his hands after the New Year would be worthless paper.

Every factory in Wenzhou had already been picked over. There would not be another dusty warehouse waiting for him. He had figured it out on Sunday: the road of scavenging stock had reached its end.

The difference between picking up stock and placing an order was who got to call the shots.

When picking up stock, he sold whatever was lying in someone else's warehouse. They decided the size range, the thickness of the fleece, the cuff mold, and how many pairs went into a box. His only choice was whether to take it or leave it.

When placing an order, he said what he wanted, and they made it accordingly.

He turned on the computer and pulled up the return records from the ten days of Double Eleven again.

Six hundred and twenty-seven orders had been for sizes above 39, and 240 of them had ultimately been refunded.

Those 240 people had all paid, waited ten days, and finally gotten their money back. Those willing to wait a little longer had also received a scarf.

That night, as he messaged them one by one on Wangwang, he had copied the size breakdown onto the back of his notebook. There were more than a hundred orders for size 39, nearly a hundred for size 40, and twenty or thirty combined for sizes 41 and 42.

On Sunday night, he had gone through the entire category from the beginning to page eight. Every store selling short boots with fur cuffs carried sizes 36 through 38 across the board. Fewer than ten percent went up to 39, and not a single one carried sizes 40 and above.

People in those sizes needed to get through winter too. Two hundred and forty people had paid him, only to end up with no boots.

Not a single factory in all of Wenzhou made these sizes. There had to be a reason for that. He did not know what it was, but those 240 orders were real.

Sizes 39 through 42, four sizes total. That was what he wanted to make.

The retail price would be 49 yuan. The last batch had sold for 39 because it was scavenged clearance stock. He could not get the cost that low by placing his own order. People who could not buy boots would not fuss over ten yuan.

All that remained was finding a factory willing to listen to him.

Ye's Factory's two production lines were the only factory he could reach right now.

The machines sat locked in the workshop, oiled and idle. Factory Director Ye went in every few days to look around. Half the workers had scattered, while the rest were doing odd jobs nearby. If called back, seventy or eighty percent could return within a week. The factory had done export work for over a decade. Foreign inspection standards had forced their stitching to be tighter by one stitch than domestic products, and the fur around the cuff was connected to the lining. When he clenched and released the sample from Ye's Factory in his hand, the fleece sprang back up on its own.

He had weighed up Factory Director Ye twice. With a receipt bearing a thumbprint, he had let him take a thousand pairs on credit without hesitation. On the morning of the twelfth, he had personally escorted that truckload to the freight depot and sent it on a dedicated route. The tracking number had arrived that same day.

The first order would be around three thousand pairs. Any fewer and it would not cover the cost of starting the lines. Any more and he would not be able to sell them all before the New Year.

He could not name a price per pair yet. Material costs, processing fees, how many pairs a line could produce in a day—he had never done this before, so he needed to ask on the spot in the workshop. He had only one hard limit in mind: with a retail price of 49 yuan, the cost per pair had to stay under 20. If it could not, he would not do it.

He would pay half up front so the factory could buy materials and start the lines, then pay the balance once the goods were finished.

Three thousand pairs would cost fifty or sixty thousand yuan. Half up front meant around thirty thousand. The moment that money left his hands, he would not have a single pair of boots to show for it.

He accepted that risk. The factory had been shut down for half a year, and its accounts were empty. If Factory Director Ye had enough money to buy materials, he would have resumed production long ago. Without money up front, those two lines were just two piles of iron.

He would not put his real name on the order or go through a corporate account. The money would go out from Ma Le's card, and the receipt would still bear a thumbprint. From start to finish, Lin Fan's name would not appear anywhere.

There was another risk he accepted. Wu had passed along someone's warning: sooner or later, he would find out which factory had produced this batch of goods. Once he did, that factory could forget about surviving in the industry.

Once Ye's Factory started its two lines, how many pairs it produced each day would be impossible to hide within Wenzhou's shoemaking circle.

He had no intention of telling Factory Director Ye that. If the factory reopened, the workers returned, and those people had money in their hands before the New Year, that was all he could offer right now. The future could wait until the future.

He had also gone over the worst-case scenario. If all three thousand pairs of large-size boots really got stuck in his hands, he still had the Crown foundation, more than 5,600 customers who had bought from him, and a batch of scarves still held by Old He. As long as he left fifty or sixty thousand untouched, only the money from this batch would be at risk.

"Bro."

Ma Le came down the stairs holding half a bowl of instant noodles. His voice arrived before he did.

"I heard part of your phone call from the window." He stopped on the last two steps. "You're going to have someone make boots for you?"

"Yeah."

"Which factory?"

"South Wenzhou. A man surnamed Ye."

Ma Le set his bowl on the stool by the door.

"Ye's Factory?" He stopped short. "The one that let you take a thousand pairs on credit last time? Wasn't his factory shut down?"

"For half a year."

"What can a factory that's been shut down for half a year use to make boots for you?"

"The workers can be called back. The machines are there."

Ma Le laughed once.

"Bro, hold on." He took two steps forward. "The factory has been shut down for half a year, all the workers have scattered, and you're placing an order with a factory like that?"

"Three thousand pairs."

"How much for three thousand pairs?"

"Fifty or sixty thousand. We haven't settled the price yet."

Ma Le opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"How are you paying?"

"Half up front so he can buy materials and start the lines. The rest when the goods are finished."

The moment those words landed, the smile disappeared from Ma Le's face.

"Half up front." He repeated it. "You hand over thirty thousand, and you haven't even seen a single boot."

"Yeah."

"Bro, you know how much money you have in hand right now, don't you?"

"Thirty-one thousand."

"You've got thirty-one thousand, and you're taking out thirty thousand?" Ma Le's voice abruptly rose.

"The other ninety-eight thousand is still clearing. It'll all clear by the middle of next month."

"When it clears is another matter." Ma Le braced one hand on the stool. "I'm talking about right now. Once that money goes out, you'll have barely a thousand left in your pocket."

He squatted down, then stood again.

"When have I ever stopped you from spending money? In October, you took twenty-one thousand and rode the overnight train to Wenzhou. What did I say? Not a word. You were going to inspect stock. The goods were piled in their yard, you could touch them, and once you paid, the boots went onto the truck."

He pointed outside, though it was unclear what direction he was pointing in.

"But this time, once you hand over the money, where are the boots? In someone's head."

"That factory's been shut down for half a year, bro." Ma Le picked up the bowl, then put it back down. "Think about it. Does he have any money left in his accounts? Your money will be used to bail him out. He takes it, calls the workers back, and then what if the stuff he makes isn't what you wanted? Or he works too slowly and misses the New Year rush? Who are you going to find? Wenzhou's so far away. Are you going to squat in his workshop every day?"

"I'll go."

"How many days can you go?"

Lin Fan did not answer that.

Ma Le sat on the stool, balancing the bowl on his lap.

"There's one more thing." He looked up. "Where's this money going through?"

"Your card."

"I knew it." Ma Le slapped the side of his knee. "Bro, the money going in and out of my card every month is more than I make in a year. Last week, when I went to withdraw money, that girl at the counter asked me three times where it came from."

"What did you tell her?"

"I said my family runs a business." Ma Le picked up the bowl again. "She gave me another couple looks too."

"Ma Le."

"Yeah?"

"Those three thousand pairs from Ye's Factory were return orders that someone else got stuck with. Those three thousand pairs from Wu's factory were stock someone had diverted in breach of contract." He closed the ledger. "Both batches were picked up by luck. Tell me, where am I supposed to pick up another batch next month?"

Ma Le said nothing.

"There are only around seventy pairs left in the store, all sizes above 40. By next week, the listing will have nothing left to ship."

"Then take a break first." Ma Le said. "Until spring."

"Who am I going to sell boots to in spring?"

Ma Le shut his mouth.

They were silent for half a minute.

"Bro, I don't understand your business." He picked up the now-cold instant noodles. "Three months, five thousand turned into 130,000. I respect that, I really do. But my mom once said something: money only counts when it's in your own pocket."

"She's right."

"If she's right, why are you still throwing it in?"

"If the money doesn't move, it won't decrease." Lin Fan tucked the ledger under his arm. "But once this winter ends, it'll be gone. By this time next year, who knows how many more people will be selling boots."

Ma Le squatted there and thought for a while longer.

"What day are you going?"

"Next Wednesday night. I'll spend Thursday at the factory and come back Thursday night."

"You're not going to work on Thursday?"

"I'll take a day off."

Ma Le looked up.

"You're taking leave at a time like this?" he said. "Isn't that material of yours due before the New Year?"

Originally, he had told Wenzhou he would need two days. This afternoon, he had looked over that document again. By mid-December, employee-related accounts would be reviewed. There were still half a month until the internal cleanup. During those two weeks, he should avoid doing anything that might draw another look.

Two days had to be compressed into one.

And he had to choose a reason for leave that no one would want to question too closely.

"Dentist."

"A dentist visit takes a whole day?"

"Wisdom tooth extraction."

Ma Le carried his bowl upstairs and paused at the corner.

"Bro."

"Yeah."

"If you really hand over the money, don't tell me the amount." He did not turn around. "I don't want to know."

The upstairs door closed.

There were still five days before next Wednesday. How thick the fleece should be, where the cuff should fold to, how tall the shaft should be, how many pairs went in a box—he had to decide all of it in his head.

Once he stood in their workshop, he had to be able to say what he wanted without hesitation. For anything he could not explain clearly, the factory would have the final say.