Processing Fee, I'll Pay Five Yuan!

On Wednesday evening, December 23, a little after seven, at the garage entrance, Ma Le spread the ledger across his knees and flipped through it.

Materials for five thousand pairs, fourteen yuan sixty per pair—seventy-three thousand.

There were sixty-eight thousand on the card.

Short by five thousand.

The 147,000 yuan from yesterday's sales was all tied up in Alipay. Only when buyers clicked to confirm receipt would each payment come through. Goods shipped from the 20th to the 22nd would take two days to arrive within the city and Jiangsu-Zhejiang, while farther destinations would take four or five days.

The first batch of more than thirteen thousand had come through today.

He remembered the payment pattern from the Double Eleven batch. The most people confirmed receipt within the first three days after delivery; after that, fewer did so each day. The scraps were those that dragged on until automatic confirmation after fifteen days. With three thousand pairs following that pattern, another ten thousand or so would come through tomorrow and the day after.

He could scrape together the seventy-three thousand and get it into Old Cai's account before the 25th. There was still time.

Money wasn't the hurdle.

The hurdle was how to get those seventy-three thousand out of Ma Le's card.

Last time, for 43,800, the girl at the counter had rung a bell. A supervisor with a badge had come out from the back and gone through every transaction on that card from September until now. Ma Le had stood there for twenty minutes.

This time it was seventy-three thousand, more than half again as much as last time.

The same card, the same recipient surnamed Cai, only twenty days apart.

Splitting it into two transfers would be worse. Repeated large transfers to the same person within a short period would still make the counter review those same months. Better to have them review it once than twice.

Transfer it all at once.

If they were going to ask questions, let them ask everything at once.

"Ma Le."

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow morning, take three things with you. The original business license, your phone with the store backend open, and that receipt of yours."

Ma Le reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper folded four times, its edges already fuzzy.

"How did you know I still had it on me?"

"You said yourself you wanted to keep it."

"I kept it, but even I don't know what for." Ma Le unfolded and smoothed the paper. "Will this do the trick?"

"Last time, the 43,000 was payment for materials. The goods arrived in Hangzhou and sold out. This time it's still for materials, still to that man surnamed Cai," he said. "If they ask something, answer it truthfully. Exactly the same as last time."

"So what do I say?"

"The truth."

Ma Le lowered his head and looked at the receipt for a while.

"Seventy-three thousand." He folded the paper again. "Last time was forty-three thousand. This time is seventy-three thousand."

"Next time will be even more."

"Bro, back in November, I said something. When you send money out, don't tell me the amount."

"You asked today."

Ma Le didn't answer that. He stuffed the receipt back into his rear pocket and patted it twice.

"Today, I wanted to know."

At ten-thirty Thursday morning, December 24, at the bank diagonally across from the residential complex.

When the badge-wearing supervisor came out from the back, he froze for a moment before recognizing him.

Ma Le pushed the business license, ID card, and receipt under the counter window together.

They pulled up the record for that 43,800 transfer and matched it against the receipt. The recipient's name was identical, letter for letter.

"This one is also for materials," Ma Le said. "Three thousand pairs last time, and they all sold. Five thousand pairs this time."

"It's still your store?"

Ma Le held up his phone and turned the screen toward him.

It took ten minutes for the seventy-three thousand to go through.

As the supervisor pushed the receipt back, he added one more thing.

"Mr. Ma, all these incoming and outgoing transactions of yours have to be recorded on our end."

"I know," Ma Le said. "You told me that last time."

"This time, the record will be longer than last time."

A little after two that same afternoon, in southern Wenzhou, a black car turned into the slag-strewn alley where Ye's Factory stood.

The iron gate was wide open. A red notice was pasted to the frame: Hiring upper stitchers. Hiring sewing-machine operators. Below it was Factory Director Ye's phone number.

Both lines in the workshop were running, with more than forty workers inside. The clatter of the machines drowned out conversation.

The man who got out of the car looked to be in his forties. Standing in the middle of the yard, he inspected both production lines from end to end for a full two minutes.

Factory Director Ye came out of the office, wiping his hands.

"Who are you looking for, boss?"

"I'm from Hangzhou. I make boots." The man handed over a business card. "I've spent the past half month going all over Wenzhou. Everywhere in the west of the city, whole blocks were locked up tight. I visited seven places in this southern district today."

"How were the seven?"

"Six had rusty locks on the doors." The man jerked his chin toward the workshop. "You're the only one still running."

Once they sat down in the office, before the tea had even been poured, the man named his price.

"Your two lines—I'll book them all the way through the New Year. Processing fee: five yuan per pair."

Factory Director Ye rubbed his hand against his trouser leg.

The work they were doing now paid four yuan. One extra yuan per pair meant five thousand extra yuan for five thousand pairs. The workers' wages before the New Year had yet to be settled, and Old Cai's old debt had been deferred until after the New Year—but it would have to be repaid then.

Five thousand yuan was no small sum.

"Boss, these two lines already have an owner."

"I know they do, otherwise why would you have a hiring notice posted outside?" The man smiled. "That extra yuan is exactly what I'm offering."

Factory Director Ye stood and pulled a sheet of paper from beneath the glass tabletop.

The paper had been folded. When spread open, it contained two short lines about half the length of a cigarette pack, with a date stamped below and a fingerprint pressed beneath the date.

From December 3 until the New Year, the two lines would produce goods for only one client. No orders from anyone else would be accepted, no matter who came knocking or how much they offered.

"There's a fingerprint on this."

The man looked at it twice, and his smile disappeared.

"Factory Director Ye, it's just a piece of paper."

"My factory has done export work for over ten years." Factory Director Ye folded the paper back up. "I don't have any special talent, but once I give my word, I don't take it back."

"How much deposit did they give you? I'll double it."

"I didn't take a deposit this time."

The man paused.

"They paid for the materials upfront. They don't owe me a single cent." Factory Director Ye slid the paper back beneath the glass. "What these two lines are making right now is their goods."

The man leaned back in his chair and tapped the table's edge twice with his fingers.

"Who booked your two lines?"

"Someone from Hangzhou."

"Which company in Hangzhou?"

Factory Director Ye opened his mouth.

He couldn't answer which company in Hangzhou. He didn't know the man's surname, which part of Hangzhou he was from, or whether he even ran his own store. Everyone at the factory had called him Manager Ma for over three months. The receipt bore the three characters for Manager Ma, and his phone number was from Hangzhou.

"They told me not to say."

The man looked at him for two seconds, then stood.

When he reached the yard, he turned back to look at the two lines again, then at the red notice on the iron gate.

"Factory Director Ye, every place in this southern district is shut down, but your door is open." He opened the car door. "Once I mention this when I get back today, I won't be the only one coming to ask."

At seven-forty that evening, in Hangzhou, the phone rang.

There was machine noise in the background on Factory Director Ye's end. He shouted a couple of times before walking out of the workshop.

"Manager Ma! A boss from Hangzhou came by today and offered me five yuan for the processing fee!"

"What did you tell him?"

"I showed him the receipt." Factory Director Ye's voice was louder than the machines. "I told him there was a fingerprint pressed on it."

"Factory Director Ye."

"Yes?"

"For this month's processing fee deposit, I'll have someone bring it over tomorrow."

"No need." Factory Director Ye laughed on the other end. "You've already paid for the materials, and I can pay the workers this month. Give me the processing fee after the goods are loaded onto the truck. Twenty thousand for five thousand pairs, not a cent less."

The ten thousand yuan stayed with him.

For the first order, with a processing fee of twelve thousand, he hadn't delayed a cent. The final payment had arrived the day the goods left on the truck. Now this factory was willing to start twenty thousand yuan's worth of work and wait until shipment to collect.

The factory had spent more than ten years doing exports, collecting money from foreign clients—money that could be held up for half a year or a full year. Factory Director Ye understood better than he did what it felt like to receive a payment that landed in the account that very day.

"Factory Director Ye, what else did that man ask?"

"He asked who had booked my two lines."

"What did you say?"

"I said they told me not to say." Factory Director Ye paused. "Manager Ma, I really couldn't tell him anyway."

That was the line he had wanted to hear today.

"If anyone else comes in the future, do the same," he said. "The work schedule is full. Four words. Don't say a single word more. And don't take out the receipt to show anyone."

"I'll remember that."

"Even if they raise it to six or seven yuan, don't say anything."

"Even if they offered ten yuan, I wouldn't take it." Factory Director Ye laughed. "When that man left today, he said mine was the only factory still open in this whole southern district, and once he told people when he got back, more than just him would come asking. Manager Ma, it made me feel pretty good."

More than just him would come asking. That part was true.

He wasn't afraid of people offering six or seven yuan. Before the New Year, competitors desperate for production capacity were all over Wenzhou. They came with money to buy capacity, and if they couldn't get it, they left.

What he feared was that the people who came weren't there to buy capacity.

Back in November, Boss Wu had passed on a message. Sooner or later, that man would find out which factory had produced that batch of goods. Once he did, that factory could forget about staying in the business.

He had never told Factory Director Ye that part.

He wouldn't tell him now, either.

If he did, Factory Director Ye would get scared. The man was stubborn by nature; once scared, he would start asking questions. If he couldn't get answers, he would shut down the lines—and once shut down, those two lines would become nothing but two piles of iron.

The factory staying open, the workers returning, and money in hand before the New Year—those were the only things he could provide right now.

The day that man truly came knocking, both lines had to be full.

Only full lines could hold him back.

"Factory Director Ye, when can the five thousand pairs ship?"

"The materials will arrive the day after tomorrow, and we'll start the lines on the 26th." Papers rustled on the other end. "They'll be loaded on January 5. I'm leaving you three days of buffer."

"Don't take down that hiring notice."

"I won't," Factory Director Ye said. "I'm hoping another ten people come back."