Who Is President Ma, Then Who Am I?

At 7:50 on Sunday morning, Lin Fan sat before the computer, picking up and setting down the phone with the new number as he waited for eight o'clock.

Calling a businessman too early would make him seem anxious. He wasn't anxious, but this call really couldn't be delayed any longer.

More than sixty orders had come in last night. At this rate, the stock in the garage would last four or five days at most. Once the listing ran out of stock, its ranking would drop that very day, and the sales and reviews built up over the past month would have been for nothing. He had to settle the restocking today.

There was only one thing to handle: two thousand pairs, hold the price at 2.9 yuan, and get the goods as quickly as possible.

He had worked out his leverage before bed. Last time, for a thousand pairs, he had counted out the cash on the spot and hadn't made the man wait a second. To a businessman, that kind of decisiveness was worth more than anything. Besides, this was the season when scattered autumn and winter orders were just starting to emerge. Thirty pairs from one buyer, fifty from another—throwing down a cash order for two thousand pairs, there was no reason Old He wouldn't take it.

He had scraped the money together too. Payments kept flowing into Ma Le's card one after another. Another payment had arrived last night; added to what was already there, it came to just over 2,900 yuan—exactly enough to pay for the first truckload of a thousand pairs. The remaining thousand would be covered by this week's incoming payments. As soon as the money arrived, one truckload would ship. Old He dealt in cash orders, and there was no need to break that rule—nor could he afford to.

Once this call was made, the supply line would be welded shut. No matter how cold it got or how many orders came in, there would be a factory standing behind him.

At exactly eight, he dialed.

It connected after two rings. The other end was noisy, with the clattering of overlock machines underneath the voices.

"Hello? Who's this?"

"Boss He, this is Ma from Hangzhou."

The other end fell quiet for half a second, then the man's voice shot up.

"Oh, President Ma!" Old He sounded like he was radiating heat even through the receiver. "I was just talking about you these past two days. As soon as the weather turned cold, I thought, President Ma's batch must be moving by now. How is it? Selling all right?"

Three weeks ago, this man had squatted outside the factory gates, flicking ash from his cigarette without even bothering to raise his eyelids. One sentence—The factory doesn't sell retail—and he had nearly sent him packing to the wholesale market.

Today, before he had even fully introduced himself on the phone, the words President Ma had already come out.

He was still the same person. What had changed was the money in his pocket and the volume in his hands.

"Sales are good. I need to restock."

"How many?"

"Two thousand pairs. Same three colors—black, gray, and coffee. Same size breakdown as last time."

The other end went silent for a second, then exploded.

"Two thousand pairs? Done! Done, done, done!" Old He's voice twisted with excitement as he shouted toward the workshop. "Little Xu! Start up Machines Three and Four! Prioritize the Hangzhou order!"

After shouting, he returned to the phone, breathing heavily.

"President Ma, you can put a hundred hearts at ease about the price. Same as last time, 2.9 yuan—not a cent different. If someone else quotes you lower later, don't believe them. The yarn isn't the same. Wash them twice and you'll see the difference."

Lin Fan held the phone without saying anything, letting the words pass through his ears first.

Last time, he had pushed a calculator back and forth, haggled for half an hour, and slapped a stack of cash onto the table before forcing that price down.

This time, he hadn't said a word about money. The other party had chased after him to offer the same price, even throwing in a jab at competitors.

"Fine, that price works," he said. "I'll pay in two installments. I'll transfer 2,900 today. Send a thousand pairs first, as fast as possible. For the other thousand, I'll transfer the money as soon as it comes in this week. Once you receive it, you ship."

"You need them urgently, President Ma?"

"Urgently."

"Done!" There was a sharp slap on the other end. "I'll sort the stock and load the truck this afternoon. It'll definitely arrive downstairs at your apartment tomorrow morning. Same regular driver. He'll call you when he gets there!"

"One more question. Does your factory make scarves?"

"We do! I've got all kinds of knitted goods here." Old He's voice rose another notch. "President Ma, are you looking to test the waters? I'll toss a bag of samples onto the truck for you. If they sell well, just say the word, and I can start the machines anytime!"

"Fine. Add a bag."

"Absolutely! President Ma, from now on, your orders will be first in my production schedule. You can put your mind at ease!"

After he hung up, the room suddenly fell quiet.

"Hold on."

Ma Le stood in the doorway with a mess of bedhead, holding a cup of water. Who knew how long he had been listening.

"President Ma?" He pointed at the phone, then at Lin Fan. "Who's President Ma?"

"Me."

"Since when are you a president? Isn't your surname Lin?"

"The store is under your name. The business license is yours, and the card receiving payments is yours. To outsiders, this is the Ma family's business." Lin Fan set down the phone. "I'm the manager hired by the Ma family, in charge of purchasing and sales. They're being polite by calling me president."

Ma Le stood there with his cup, processing it for a few seconds before suddenly grinning.

"Then what am I, the chairman?"

"Right. Chairman Ma."

"Chairman Ma." He rolled the words around in his mouth, so pleased he practically swayed. After taking two steps, he turned back around. "Wait, that's not right. You earn the money, you do the work, and all I contributed was a surname?"

"You also contributed five hundred yuan in name."

"Then it's fine." Ma Le waved a hand and turned to leave, only to stop at the door. He looked Lin Fan up and down. "I think I get it now. From the factory in Yiwu to the shipping labels downstairs, the name Lin Fan has never appeared anywhere. You've kept yourself really clean."

"It's less trouble."

"Less trouble." Ma Le snorted and didn't ask any further questions. Dragging his slippers, he went back to his room to catch up on sleep.

Lazy as the kid was, his eyes were sharp.

What Ma Le knew was already the hottest piece of information. There was a store in his name, tied to his identity, and the company's rules. Now he had also heard about daily sales breaking a hundred and the title Manager Ma. This bomb was visibly getting bigger.

Fortunately, the money went through his card and the store was under his name. They were tied to the same rope. Ma Le might look carefree, but when it counted, he could hold his ground. That shout in the stairwell last time was proof enough.

If he could muddle through it, he would. If he couldn't, then one more day was one more day.

After thinking it through, Lin Fan rolled up his sleeves and crouched back down beside the pile of packages.

There were still nearly a hundred orders left over from last night that hadn't been packed, and new orders kept pouring in that morning. He tore off a strip of tape with a sharp rip.

The President Ma from that phone call had mobilized an entire factory for two thousand pairs with a single sentence. Suppliers chased after him with quotes and scrambled to prioritize his production.

This President Ma was crouching on a concrete floor, wrapping tape around 9.9-yuan leggings, red marks pressed into the pads of his fingers.

If Old He saw this scene, his eyes would probably pop out of his head.

Crouching there, he enjoyed the title President Ma for a little while.

Not bad. It was worth more than Little Lin.

Last Wednesday, he had stood at his workstation with his head down, getting chewed out. The words neglecting his proper work had been nailed into the ears of half the office. That score was still fresh, and sooner or later, it would be settled. There was no rush right now. Right now, every package was money.

The orders didn't stop all day. They broke a hundred by noon and passed two hundred by dusk. Ma Le woke up and helped out for half the day. After wrapping package after package, he straightened his back.

"At this rate, you need to hire someone."

"Hold out a little longer. Soon."

At nine that night, 2,900 yuan was transferred from Ma Le's card to Yiwu. Less than ten minutes later, Old He's text came in: Money received. The goods are being loaded tonight. Just wait and see, President Ma!!! There were three exclamation marks after it.

After reading it, Lin Fan recorded the day's numbers in his notebook.

Two hundred and thirteen orders.

Before bed, he opened the search page again and typed in leggings. His own listing stood on the first screen, and the number in the sales column had grown another layer thicker since daytime.

Buyers saw that number as hot sales, as reassurance to place an order.

But to the people on Taobao who manipulated sales data, it was an outlier emerging on the seasonal rankings. A small shop that had been nonexistent just last month had shot up to this position. Anyone in their line of work would take another look.

There was no way to hide this kind of movement, and he had no intention of hiding it. The shop belonged to the Ma family in Hangzhou and sold women's clothing accessories. It was a hundred thousand miles away from that unfocused newcomer in the 3C Group.

He set his alarm for six thirty.

Tomorrow was Monday. Time to be Little Lin again.