The Dark Horse Shop's Owner Is Next Door!

It was a little past nine on Monday morning. Lin Fan had just finished replying to the backlog of merchant messages from the weekend when a commotion broke out in the women's apparel group next door.

"Everyone, come look at this, quick!"

The cubicle partitions were not soundproof; a single shout could be heard across half the floor. This was followed by the sound of rolling office chairs, and a crowd swarmed over.

"A dark horse has shot up in the leggings category. Did any of you spot it?"

"Which shop?"

"Right here. Last month, this shop didn't even exist. Yesterday, it hit over two hundred sales. Look at this curve—it's like it took a rocket."

Lin Fan's fingers didn't stop typing. His eyes remained on his own screen, but his ears pricked up.

He didn't need to lean over to see what that curve looked like; he could draw it with his eyes closed. Two hundred and thirteen orders yesterday, one by one, all packed by him while hunkered down in the garage.

The discussion next door continued.

"Over eight hundred reviews, all accumulated in just this month. They started laying the groundwork at the beginning of August."

"The price is only nine-ninety, and it includes shipping. None of the merchants I manage can hit that price point. They're playing with first-hand stock."

"The weirdest part is the stocking time. Late August, in thirty-seven or thirty-eight-degree heat, they went heavy on winter goods. They're working by the calendar."

Listening to each point, every observation hit the mark. The women's apparel group knew their stuff; they had dissected the shop perfectly.

It was just that no one could have guessed the answer was sitting right next door, separated by a four-foot partition.

The attention he had anticipated had arrived, and it was even more boisterous than he had imagined.

A successful shop was bound to make noise. He had thought about this from the start. He wasn't afraid of people talking about the shop; he was afraid of someone linking the shop to him. Judging by the chatter, the whole room was guessing which hidden master in the industry had emerged, and not a single person was looking within the office.

That was fine. Let them keep talking.

The excitement lasted for nearly half an hour before the crowd dispersed, everyone returning to their seats as the sound of typing resumed in a steady rhythm.

After ten o'clock, a figure rounded the partition and stood directly beside his workstation.

"Are you Lin Fan?"

He looked up. It was Su Qing, wearing a women's apparel group badge. The name sounded familiar; he had seen it on the roster during the new hire training days. They had joined at the same time.

"I am. Hello."

"Su Qing, from the group next door." She placed a few printed sheets on his desk and got straight to the point. "I heard the 3C Group got someone who's incredibly sharp with data. As it happens, I have something here I can't quite figure out. I'd like to pick your brain."

On the paper was a sales curve: flat for over half a month, then a line shooting straight into the sky.

His own shop's curve, printed out and slapped onto his desk.

Lin Fan picked up his mug and took a sip, using the half-second to compose himself.

The visitor was not here with good intentions. "Picking his brain" was just a pretext; she was here to size him up. The news of his two consecutive hits had reached the next group, and a peer from his own intake couldn't sit still—she had come to weigh his worth.

"Is this the shop your group was just talking about?"

"You're well-informed." Su Qing pulled over an empty chair and sat down, not standing on ceremony. "I've stripped this shop from top to bottom. The listing time, the pricing, the growth rate of the reviews—none of it follows common logic. Loading up on winter stock in late August, the timing is devious. It stayed dead silent for over a month before the volume took off, just burying its head to accumulate sales. A newcomer doesn't have that kind of discipline."

She tapped her finger on the line that shot to the sky.

"My guess? Either it's a side account for a big seller testing the waters, or an offline wholesaler hired a pro to run the operations. What do you think?"

The question was direct and sharp, her eyes pinned to his face.

That look was waiting for a confession.

If he answered too deeply, it would be suspicious that a "weird" newcomer who hit two home runs would know the ins and outs of women's apparel so well. If she thought about it later, it would be trouble. If he answered too shallowly, that was perfect; the reputation of being "weird" should have its boundaries.

"I work in 3C. I don't really understand women's apparel." Lin Fan pushed the printed sheets back. "But seasonal spikes happen every year. This shop probably just prepared their stock early and caught a sudden cold snap. It's mostly luck."

"Luck?" Su Qing raised an eyebrow. "Luck can time a purchase for late August? Luck can drive the price down to nine-ninety and still make a profit?"

"Then I wouldn't know."

Su Qing stared at him for two seconds, took back the printouts, and gave a faint laugh as she stood up.

"Everyone says you're a weirdo. I think you're just average."

The provocation was out there, but Lin Fan kept his head down and continued typing, ignoring it.

"Believe whatever you want."

"I don't care how you see this shop, but I don't believe in luck." Su Qing stood by the partition holding the papers, as if speaking to him, or perhaps to herself. "The performance review is coming up, and we need to submit a seasonal case study. Everyone else is handing in the same old stuff, but I'm handing in this. I'm going to dig up the bottom of this shop—who's behind it, how they're running the operations—and write it all down. Our group can't have nothing to show for the first round of permanent staff promotions."

She took two steps, then turned back to add, "Your group had someone hit two home runs; you've already driven the market expectations through the roof."

She left, the sound of her heels clicking crisply all the way back to the next room.

Lin Fan replayed her words in his mind and tapped his fingers lightly on the edge of the desk.

Trouble.

The way Zhou Bin investigated, he could search for ten years and still just be spinning his wheels at the entrance. This woman was different. She started by stripping the data. Her approach was correct, and her drive was genuine. Once the performance review was tied to this, it wasn't just a passing interest; she was going to produce results.

How deep could she dig?

The shop's real-name registration, the license, the payment card, the shipping address—if she followed it to the end, she would find a young man named Ma Le from the Ma family in Hangzhou. Digging deeper, the logistics slips used aliases, the supplier in Yiwu only recognized "Manager Ma," and who was sitting behind the Wangwang account? Even a god couldn't see that; the trail was cut.

The real thorn was on the other side. This shop fell under the women's apparel category, and she was a category manager. It would be a simple matter for her to use her official capacity to chat with the shop. Whoever was manning the Wangwang account would have to be on high alert starting today.

There was another layer: the seasonal promotion he had applied for was currently in the review pool of her group. The schedule should be posted in the next two days.

His shop's "book of life and death" was now sitting on his opponent's desk.

Thinking it through, the back of his neck felt tight. He finished the cold water in his mug to calm himself.

Panic wouldn't solve anything. Looking at the current situation, she was investigating the shop, not the person. On the shop's end, everything that could be seen belonged to the Ma family and could withstand scrutiny. There was only one thing he needed to do: from this day forward, the Lin Fan at work must not have anything to do with the words "women's apparel."

That comment earlier about not understanding women's apparel was the first brick in that wall.

At noon, his phone buzzed—a text from Ma Le.

The goods arrived, one thousand pairs. Uncle Wang moved them. Eighteen yuan. You owe me another barbecue.

A minute later, another message followed.

Boss He stuffed in a big bag of scarves and said to send them to "Manager Ma" for a trial run. Who is Manager Ma? Did you get a promotion again?

Lin Fan shoved his phone back into his pocket and went back to work.

He got home at seven in the evening and went straight to the garage. The six new woven bags were stacked in the corner. He opened the sample bag of scarves and took a look. The knitwork was decent. He put them into inventory; they could be listed as soon as the weather turned colder.

Two hundred and forty-one orders today, one layer thicker than yesterday.

They packed until ten. Ma Le went to take a shower, and Lin Fan sat back in front of the computer, habitually opening the search page and typing in "leggings."

His own link was still standing firm on the first page.

He scrolled down. In the middle of the second page, a link caught his eye.

The main image was the one he had taken himself at the garage entrance: the black, gray, and coffee-colored pants laid flat. Even the creases were identical. The title was mostly copied, with only two characters changed.

In the price column, it read: eight-eighty.

Lin Fan stared at the link for a few seconds, scrolled to the bottom of the page, and then scrolled back up.

The competition had arrived.