You Junyu said, “Shenzhen’s a bit far. You could have your factories in Haicheng or Haimen ship to me, I’ll cover the trucking and fuel costs.”
Jiang Luo replied calmly, “The Haimen and Haicheng factories can’t spare any stock. Local demand isn’t even met—there’s nothing left for you. Shenzhen it is.”
You Junyu got a little heated. “Can you even handle this or not?”
Jiang Luo shot back, “Keep whining, and Shenzhen still won’t have stock for you. Go sell your dad’s electronic parts instead.”
“Alright, alright. My bad, I spoke too fast,” You Junyu said.
“So what about me?” he asked.
“Give it a few days. The factory needs time to make and ship the clothes. Wang Chuang will contact you then.”
This trip back to Haicheng was mainly for Jiang Luo to hand over the Fall/Winter designs of Vilanido to Zhang Ningfu, and to check the books for Shengfei and Hongming factories.
The numbers looked excellent—Jiang Luo was satisfied—and he immediately returned to Shenzhen.
Back in Shenzhen, he held a small meeting. Mo Wanzhen reported on Shengfei’s daily garment output and the current sales channels in Shenzhen.
Mo Wanzhen added, “I also sent samples to some friends I used to work with at the market stalls. They love our clothes and have already placed pre-orders.”
Wang Chuang said, “The Shenzhen factory only started recently. The output has just caught up. Most of the previous warehouse stock was taken by You Junyu; only a small portion went to those Shenzhen channels you mentioned.”
“I still don’t quite get it. Where are the clothes from Shenzhen mainly meant to go?”
“You Junyu is selling to Wuhan—it won’t last long there, right?”
Jiang Luo replied decisively, “Of course, the Shenzhen factory supplies the south. Wuhan’s not your concern—I have other plans.”
Immediately, Mo Wanzhen brought in several local store owners from Shenzhen.
At first, the owners didn’t pay much attention—there were plenty of factories in Guangzhou and Shenzhen, and proximity to Macau and Hong Kong meant clothes and styles weren’t scarce. What could a new factory offer?
They came, browsed the warehouse, and were pleasantly surprised: “Wow! These clothes are really nice!”
“Let’s buy some stock and see how it sells.”
No need to argue.
Mo Wanzhen also sent stock to her old contacts at the Guangzhou wholesale market.
Bagged, packed, and transported—some went to Shenzhen, some to Guangzhou wholesale markets, and even farther to Wuhan. Shengfei Factory was finally running smoothly.
The market response was immediate. All the stock sold well, and within days, factory orders started increasing non-stop.
The good news: Shengfei Factory had the capacity to handle it.
The bad news: Jiang Luo wasn’t satisfied.
Soon, local daily and evening newspapers in Shenzhen ran ads for Shengfei clothing.
He also spent money producing color advertisement leaflets, like the Vilanido clothing catalog, and distributed them across key clothing-selling areas in Shenzhen. Colorful booklets were also sent to Guangzhou wholesale markets.
Clothes are simple: good-looking, reasonably priced—they sell.
Sure enough, soon the number of customers calling or visiting the factory increased.
The garment warehouse had many buyers standing at the selection tables, each picking what they wanted.
Where was Jiang Luo at this time?
In Haicheng.
He had spent money and contacted a currently rising young actress, Fang Linjun, who had starred as the lead in a popular domestic drama last year, to shoot an ad for his clothes.
The domestic TV industry wasn’t very developed at the time, and TV commercials were rare. Very few people hired actors for ads.
Fang Linjun initially resisted when she heard about the offer. She considered herself an actress—actors acted in dramas and films, not commercials.
A single commercial didn’t pay much, she thought.
Jiang Luo was decisive and generous. He offered a high fee: 500,000 yuan per ad.
Fang Linjun immediately agreed—jokingly, that was a huge sum. Even high-paid Hong Kong stars got only this much for dramas or films. 500,000 for a single ad—who could refuse?
For the next two days, Jiang Luo stayed in Haicheng, meeting with Fang Linjun and negotiating the ad. He also hired a temporary production team and coordinated with TV stations, keeping busy nonstop.
Zheng Bin called at this time: “President Jiang, wanna go hang out?”
Jiang Luo said he didn’t have time. Zheng Bin was disappointed at first, then heard Jiang Luo had hired Fang Linjun for the ad. Shocked, he said, “Woah, Fang Linjun? The one playing the female teacher in that drama?”
Jiang Luo replied, “Come watch her shoot the ad?”
Excited, Zheng Bin abandoned his other invitations and went to watch Fang Linjun shoot the ad.
On the lawn with the fountain as a backdrop, Fang Linjun, wearing beautiful Shengfei clothes, walked forward step by step, paused, delivered lines, and struck poses, surrounded by cameramen, directors, and makeup artists. Jiang Luo and Zheng Bin were also present.
Click.
After each take, an assistant held an umbrella over Fang Linjun to shield her from the sun, and a makeup artist touched up her makeup. Jiang Luo and Zheng Bin went over as well.
Jiang Luo introduced Zheng Bin to Fang Linjun. The three, similar in age, chatted together.
When Huo Zongzhuo arrived, he saw the scene: an assistant holding an umbrella, a makeup artist touching up, and beneath it, a young woman in beautiful clothes chatting and laughing with Jiang Luo and Zheng Bin.
They all laughed at something, Zheng Bin bent over laughing, and the young woman lightly rested her hand on Jiang Luo’s arm as they laughed and talked.
Huo Zongzhuo stood nearby. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that Jiang Luo and the young actress looked quite good together.
Seeing them so happy, he didn’t go over.
Jiang Luo seemed to notice him, turned, and immediately walked over. “You’re here. Why didn’t you call me?”
Huo Zongzhuo’s expression was gentle. “I saw you guys were talking happily.”
He asked, “How’s the shoot going?”
Jiang Luo said, “It’s fine. Just a short ad, not long, with barely any lines.”
He added, “You free today? I thought you’d be too busy to come.”
That evening at home on Wukang Road, after a busy day, Jiang Luo lay down next to Huo Zongzhuo, eyes closing from fatigue, listening drowsily as Huo Zongzhuo read poetry and coaxed him to sleep.
Halfway through the poem, just as he was about to drift off, Jiang Luo heard a soft voice near his ear: “The actress today—you seemed very happy chatting with her. Do you like her?”
Huh?
Jiang Luo blinked, confused. “Who?”
Realizing who Huo Zongzhuo meant, he laughed and lightly patted him, muttering, “Yes, yes, yes… fine, I like her. Happy now?”
He patted again, half in exasperation, fully awake, eyes glancing sideways. “Last time it was Yu Dong, right? You asked me then too.”
“I just like girls in general,” he said.
“Just asking,” Huo Zongzhuo said casually, tone soft, as if it really was just a casual question.
“You’re ridiculous,” Jiang Luo muttered, closing his eyes again.
Huo Zongzhuo’s voice spoke again: “Next time you meet a girl you like, remember to tell me.”
“Mm, got it!”
Jiang Luo turned over, back to Huo Zongzhuo.
But once turned over, he opened his eyes again, completely awake, staring. He thought: how could he possibly have a girl he likes?
I obviously like you.
But he couldn’t speak those words aloud.
Jiang Luo quietly sighed, closing his eyes as Huo Zongzhuo’s arm wrapped around him.
After a moment, he turned back, leaned into Huo Zongzhuo’s chest, and said with closed eyes, “If you like someone, you have to tell me too.”
Huo Zongzhuo said nothing.
Jiang Luo: “Hm?”
He had to ask himself to get an answer—if he didn’t hear it, he felt restless; if he did, his heart ached.
Feeling that ache, Jiang Luo turned over again, back to Huo Zongzhuo.
Huo Zongzhuo draped his arm over him. For some reason, Jiang Luo picked him up and tossed him aside.
Hmph!
After that mental huff, he wondered why he was fussing about it—he was ridiculous too. So he turned back again.
Still unhappy, he flipped back, showing his back.
Huo Zongzhuo, watching him toss and turn, leaned over, arm draping over him again. “What’s wrong? Roasting sweet potatoes in the fire?”
Jiang Luo turned back again. “What kind of girl do you like anyway?”
He immediately regretted asking—why was he talking about this?
He quickly corrected himself: “Forget it. Don’t answer me.”
“Anyway, if you like someone, just remember to tell me.”