“Mm.”
Jiang Luo lay there with his eyes closed. He’d had a bit to drink, and his head was foggy.
“You drunk?”
Huo Zongzhuo’s voice was gentle. “Then hang up and get some sleep.”
Jiang Luo didn’t hang up. He asked, “How’s things on your side?”
“The plane arrived at the airport today,” Huo Zongzhuo replied.
Jiang Luo let out a small laugh. “Congrats. You’re almost done then.”
“And congrats to you,” Huo Zongzhuo said. “You’ve made quite a bit lately, haven’t you?”
“Nothing much,” Jiang Luo said. “Can’t compare to you.”
“You could’ve come work with me, but you refuse,” Huo said.
Jiang Luo snorted a laugh. “I just won’t work with you.”
Just like that, Jiang Luo decisively wrapped up their small-market business.
In a bit over half a month, after subtracting the small costs—vehicle rental, gas, meals—he and Wang Chuang cleared a little over two hundred thousand.
Two hundred thousand. Half each—one hundred thousand apiece.
Before they’d gone to the disco that night, Jiang Luo had already given Wang Chuang his share. Wang Chuang even made a trip home and handed everything to Bai Ting.
Jiang Luo deposited his own hundred thousand in the bank.
On the paper passbook, there were now two deposit entries: one in June for forty-five thousand, and today’s—one hundred thousand.
And one withdrawal entry: early July, forty thousand, which he’d used to buy that small voltage-regulator workshop in Leqing.
From late April to late July—not even three months—Jiang Luo now owned a small workshop and still had a bit over a hundred thousand in cash.
Not bad, but nothing amazing either.
That was his self-assessment.
There was time, and there would be chances. Just take it step by step.
The next day, Jiang Luo took Wang Chuang to return the rented truck.
When they returned it, Wang Chuang even brought along Wang Junwei’s camera from home and asked someone to take a few photos of him and Jiang Luo standing in front of the truck.
After the photos, Jiang Luo laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
Wang Chuang held the camera, ran his hand along the truck’s body with reluctance. “Goodbye, old partner.”
He walked off with Jiang Luo, but kept turning around to look at the truck.
Seeing the license plate ended in “269,” he said, “From now on, our lucky number is 269.”
“Sure,” Jiang Luo said with a smile. “269 it is.”
Arm-in-arm, they left together.
Then Jiang Luo hailed a cab and took Wang Chuang somewhere.
It was a mid-aged office building, with an elevator.
They rode up to the eleventh floor. When they stepped out, Jiang Luo led the way. Wang Chuang followed, looking around—and only then realized both sides of the hallway were lined with companies.
…?
He didn’t understand why they were here.
Until Jiang Luo stopped at a glass door and said, “We’re here.”
Wang Chuang stopped too, looked up—stunned.
Inside, mounted on the wall, was a gold plaque.
It read: Shengfei Trading Co., Ltd.
Wang Chuang froze, turning to Jiang Luo. “Isn’t that… your company’s name?”
“It’s yours too,” Jiang Luo said, stepping forward and pushing the door open.
Inside, past the entry wall, was a modest office with several desks. People sat working, heads down, writing, drawing.
At the outermost desk sat an older man with half-white hair.
He had glasses perched on his nose. Hearing footsteps, he looked up, peered over the frames, recognized Jiang Luo, and then fully raised his head.
“Well, well,” the old man said. “Our big boss finally shows up.”
He twisted around, clapped his hands, and called out, “Come on, everyone, pause what you’re doing. The boss is here.”
A few people looked up—first at Wang Chuang, then at Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo looked relaxed and casual. Wang Chuang stared back at them, quietly taking it all in.
What the hell?
There really was a company?
Holy crap.
Meanwhile, back at the small market, You Junyu had parked his truck by the back road. Seeing no sign of Jiang Luo, he snorted, ready for another clash when they arrived.
Except they never showed up. And the stall owners who came to buy weren’t many either.
Asking around, he learned that after he left yesterday, Jiang Luo and Wang Chuang had discounted everything and cleared out all their stock. Most stall owners weren’t short on goods today.
Not only that—the ones who did come kept haggling.
Some said, “This costs five yuan to produce and you’re selling it to me for fifteen? Come on.”
Others said, “This stuff’s from Wencheng factories, isn’t it?”
“If I’m paying that much, might as well buy straight from the factory.”
“No thanks. Too expensive.”
You Junyu: “…”
That’s when it hit him—Jiang Luo wasn’t late. Jiang Luo wasn’t coming at all.
Not only had he quit the small-market game—he’d smashed the whole pot on his way out, not leaving a single bite for anyone else.
Damn. Damn it.
You Junyu was so angry he nearly jumped. He kicked a carton—and managed to hit his own big toe. Pain shot up his leg and he bent over grabbing his foot.
“Shit—shit—!!!”
Jiang Shao! You Jiang bastard! Just wait! Damn it!!!
Over at the company, Wang Chuang slowly realized their business hadn’t stopped just because they quit the small market.
Turns out Jiang Luo had been quietly taking dolls from Zhang Zhiqiang’s factory and selling them at Yong’an Department Store. Not only were they selling well, but that batch of dolls even carried a new registered trademark—Qiqiao Childhood.
And it wasn’t just dolls. Jiang Luo had brought in a batch of other goods from Wencheng under the Shengfei trademark, specifically for Yong’an.
And these items were exactly the trendy new things circulating in Haicheng lately.
Shocked, Wang Chuang asked, “Those… those knockoff foreign Hong Kong-style goods of ours—those actually made it into a department store?!”
In the private office, Jiang Luo leaned back in his chair, lips curved. “Selling at the small market was always temporary.”
“A big city like Haicheng—you think people are all poor, earning a few hundred a month and only able to shop at small markets?”
“This is Haicheng.”
“Our products belong in major department stores.”
“And later, we’re going to sell nationwide.”
Back when Jiang Luo sold those boxed dolls, he’d already arranged real business with Manager Yu from Yong’an: the dolls had to have a brand, and contracts had to be formal.
So Jiang Luo had people register a toy company and the “Qiqiao Childhood” trademark early on.
And after the small market opened up the Haishi market for new products, Jiang Luo started using the “Shengfei” brand on various items that could be sold through Yong’an—handheld fans, portable bottles, automatic umbrellas, pocket radios, hairpins, headbands, and so on.
The company already had several payments sitting on the books.
Jiang Luo led Wang Chuang into the private office; two desks sat inside. Jiang Luo went to the one by the window and gestured for Wang Chuang to take the other.
Wang Chuang sat down, touched the desk, leaned back in the leather chair, opened the drawers—everything felt new and exciting. “Wow… really a boss now, huh.”
But when they started talking about the small-market business again, Wang Chuang got irritated. “I mean, sure, we quit, and we told the stall owners where we sourced our goods—but that You brat will definitely find a way to keep doing it. He just won’t be able to set prices like we did. Won’t make as much.”
“He snatched our business and made us quit. Just thinking about it pisses me off.”
“What’s there to be mad about?”
Jiang Luo leaned back, steady. “It was impossible for one shop to dominate and last long anyway.”
Unhurriedly, he said, “I never planned on doing this for long. Just wanted to earn some startup capital.”
Wang Chuang had his own thoughts. “Since we were the first ones to ‘eat the crab,’ even if we don’t run Haicheng or the small market anymore, we can go to other cities. Hangcheng, Jinling—big cities too.”
“And like you said yesterday—even if Wencheng factories push their products all over the country, and other cities copy and sell too—as long as we move fast, we can do hit-and-run. Sell half a month in one place, move to the next.”
Jiang Luo thought: if he hadn’t lived a whole life once already, he might’ve done exactly that.
“You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “You can make money that way.”
“But you know what the problem is?”
Wang Chuang waved a hand. “Who cares about problems—we make money first.”
Jiang Luo laughed. That was exactly how he used to think too.
So he broke it all down for him.
“Old Wang, a person’s energy and attention are limited. Same with time.”
“You make the money you just talked about, but then there’s other money you’ll miss. Or you’ll only realize it two years later—too late to grab it.”
“Okay, choose now,” Jiang Luo said. “Do you want to keep flipping Wencheng factory goods, earning the middleman margin like we did at the small market? Or do you want to build a brand early, sell in big department stores, expand nationwide, and eventually have your own factory?”
Wang Chuang froze.
Jiang Luo added, “Remember what you told Ma Bo in the car on the way to that factory in Wencheng—back when we first arrived?”