Three Thousand Pairs Sold Out in Two Days, and Orders Kept Coming!

December 19th, Saturday night, a little after nine. In the yard of Jianqiao Freight Station, a blue truck backed up against the wall to unload.

More than sixty boxes were passed down from the truck bed one by one. The cartons were new, with sizes written on them in thick, large black marker.

Thirty-one boxes of size 39, twenty-three boxes of size 40, and six boxes combined of sizes 41 and 42.

Fifty pairs per box, sixty boxes, three thousand pairs.

He had worked out that assortment himself. Of the 627 orders stuck at size 39 and above during those ten days of Double Eleven, more than a hundred were for size 39, nearly a hundred for size 40, and twenty or thirty combined for sizes 41 and 42. He scaled the proportions down and reported the resulting box count to Wenzhou.

On the morning of the 12th, the second version of the sample shoes arrived in Hangzhou. The tops had been drawn in, so they would not slip off when worn; when folded down, the cuffs covered the ankles just right. He called back at noon that day, and Factory Director Ye started the production line that afternoon.

They had loaded the truck on the 17th. It arrived today.

Each pair cost 18.6 yuan. Three thousand pairs came to 55,800 yuan, plus the dedicated shipping fee to Hangzhou. He listed them at 49.

Ma Le crouched beside a box, staring at the size 42 written on it for a long while.

"Bro."

"Yeah."

"All sixty of these boxes are size 40 and up."

"Size 39 and up."

"What's the difference between size 39 and up and size 40 and up?" Ma Le stood and clapped the dust from his hands. "My mom thought the last batch you sold was too big."

On the night of November 26th, Ma Le had stopped him outside the garage once and said money only counted if it was in your own pocket. Yet today, as these sixty boxes were loaded onto the truck, he had not carried a single box less than anyone else.

Sunday morning, December 20th. The empty room in the west of the city.

The boxes were stacked along the wall up to the windowsill. Sixty boxes took up most of the room.

He opened a box of size 39s, took out a pair, and placed it on the windowsill. Using a white bedsheet as a backdrop, he held up his phone and took seven photos.

He smoothed the fur around the folded cuff and fluffed up the lining. At 49 yuan, they looked worth the price.

There was one more thing to do before listing them.

The link was still alive.

On the 13th, after the shop sold its last few dozen leftover sizes above 40, he had not taken down the listing. He had raised the price from 39 straight to 99 yuan. It could not sell a pair a day that way, but it would not show as sold out, either. The listing had dropped some in the rankings, but not too far.

The more than 5,300 sales were still there, and so were the more than 2,300 reviews. Those reviews had been built up one order at a time since August. Lose even one, and it could never be replaced.

At two thirty in the afternoon, he changed the price back to 49, revised the title, and changed the size range from 36 to 40 into 39 to 42.

He replaced the main image. The first photo showed a size 42 shoe with a ruler placed beside it.

A few minutes after three, the listing came back to life.

New customers would not come. The listing had dropped down, and search traffic was no help these past two days.

But he had something else in hand.

Those 240 names, copied onto the back of his notebook—one Wangwang account after another. During those ten days of Double Eleven, he had sent each of them a refund. They had paid, waited ten days, then left with their money back.

At 3:10, he began sending messages.

The first person did not reply after two minutes. The second replied with, "Are you there?" The third directly asked whether they had size 41.

By the time he had messaged around forty people, the machine beside him started chiming.

Orders were coming in.

From 3:10 in the afternoon until 11:40 at night, he messaged all 240 people without stopping once.

They received 387 orders that day.

Monday, the 21st. He sat on the sixth floor all day. At noon, he went downstairs and called Ma Le.

"Over twelve hundred, bro." Behind Ma Le, the sound of packing tape being ripped filled the line. "My cousin and her four friends arrived at noon. My mom even cleared out her room."

"How many size 41s and 42s are left?"

"They've been gone for ages. Sold out last night."

There had only been three hundred pairs combined of sizes 41 and 42. Six boxes.

He stood outside the cafeteria and calculated it once. Three hundred eighty-seven on the first day, over twelve hundred by noon on the second. At this rate, they would pass two thousand by tonight.

Tuesday noon, the 22nd. The last box of size 39s was opened. Fifty pairs, gone in forty minutes.

Three thousand pairs, two and a half days.

Old Xu's truck came four times over those two days. On the third trip, he stood at the door of that room in the west of the city, watching the six people spread shoes and waterproof shipping bags across the floor for quite a while.

"Your shop..."

"Yeah?"

"I asked you about it once last month." Old Xu tucked the shipping labels under his arm. "I'm not asking today."

A notice was posted on the listing, one line: This batch is sold out. Restock dates will be announced later.

The notice went up, but Wangwang did not stop.

People came in wave after wave, asking when it would restock, how much stock there would be, whether they could pay first to reserve a spot. Some sent screenshots of last month's refund, saying they had tried to buy here in November but failed to get a pair.

A little after ten that night, someone popped up.

"Boss, do you have size 43?"

He sat up straight.

On the iron racks along the west wall of Ye's Factory, there were still two levels above size 42—sizes 43 and 44, left over from the men's styles, several lasts for each size.

He would not take orders for those sizes yet. The three thousand pairs had just been cleared out, and the second order had not even been placed.

He replied that they did not have any for now, but to keep an eye out later.

At 10:40, he called Wenzhou.

The call connected after half a ring. Factory Director Ye's voice was louder than the machines on the workshop floor.

"Manager Ma! How are sales?"

"Cleared out."

"Cleared out?"

"Three thousand pairs in two and a half days. Not one pair left."

The other end went silent.

Two seconds later, Factory Director Ye shouted something to someone. He was calling Old Chen's name.

The phone changed hands.

"Manager Ma."

"Master Chen."

"I just heard Old Ye mention a number." Old Chen's voice was a little hoarse. "Three thousand pairs in two and a half days."

"Yes."

"Three thousand pairs, size 39 and up."

"One thousand five hundred fifty pairs of size 39, one thousand one hundred fifty pairs of size 40, and three hundred pairs combined of sizes 41 and 42," he said. "Sizes 41 and 42 sold out on the first night. I made too few of those two sizes."

The other end fell quiet.

On the morning of December 3rd, this man had stood by the office doorframe and said that nobody wore sizes above 39. He had made shoes for thirty years, handled who knew how many domestic orders, and surely he knew that. Then he had turned and gone into the workshop, tossing out one last sentence: Don't blame the factory if you botch it.

He had not been wrong. That was the lesson those five or six factories had learned over more than a decade.

The lesson was old.

"Master Chen, you were the one who checked the stitching on that batch, and you were the one who drew in the cuffs," he said. "I'll read you a couple of reviews tomorrow."

"Doesn't matter whether you read them or not." Old Chen coughed. "I've made shoes for thirty years. I always thought people with big feet simply chose not to buy."

"It's that they can't buy them."

"They can't buy them." Old Chen repeated those words heavily.

There was the sound of a pen scratching across paper on the other end.

"How many for the next batch? I'll arrange the workers right away."

"Five thousand."

"Five thousand." Old Chen's pen paused. "We'll have to call in both stitching teams. There's still more than twenty days before the New Year. We can make it."

"Increase the share of sizes 41 and 42 this time."

"I'll remember."

"Is Factory Director Ye beside you?"

The phone changed hands again.

"Manager Ma, five thousand pairs!" Factory Director Ye's voice trembled. "I'll call everyone in right away."

"The material payment will reach Boss Cai's account within three days."

"Right, right."

After hanging up, he did not get up.

Materials for five thousand pairs, 14.6 yuan per pair, came to 73,000. The processing deposit, calculated at half, was 10,000.

The money he could use was 22,000 in his card account, plus the payment from the order settled in mid-month, making 68,000 in total.

The 147,000 yuan sold today was held in Alipay, payment after payment. Buyers had to confirm receipt one by one, and it would all settle in early January.

He was short 6,000.

Three days.