Even though each doll cost fifteen to buy, selling them for twenty still made five yuan apiece—better profit than most other goods. So the stall owners at the little market still came to buy dolls.
But none of them expected that the moment the truck’s back doors swung open today, the two young bosses they all knew climbed out with box after box, stacking them behind the truck.
The handsome one called out while lifting boxes, “Take a look yourselves. If you want something, come to me to register.”
He added, “There isn’t much of each item. First come, first served.”
The vendors crowded around the boxes and glanced inside. They saw all kinds of things: women’s clothing, shoes, hair ties, hats, cute trendy watches, tiny handheld fans, cassette tapes, pretty jewelry—stuff the market had never seen before, all looking very fashionable.
Naturally someone asked, “These aren’t Hong Kong goods again, are they?”
Jiang Luo was still moving boxes with Wang Chuang. Without stopping, he replied, “More or less. Don’t worry about it. No one else has these anyway—only us.”
“Just pick what you want.”
“Same rule—small batch, so grab it while you can.”
A female vendor immediately exclaimed, “Are these earrings? They’re so pretty! And this hair tie for braids!”
“Boss, I want this one, and this one. Give me thirty of each, okay? What’s the wholesale price? Don’t make it too expensive, or I won’t be able to sell them.”
Jiang Luo set down the boxes, tied on his waist pouch, took out his notebook and pen, and walked over. “Sure. These aren’t expensive. Two yuan each.”
Wang Chuang was helping others. “That one? Ten yuan. This one, eight.”
And so the vendors picked goods from the boxes while the two of them collected money and bagged items.
The vendors were thrilled; most of these things they had never seen before. Everything looked new and fresh, the prices were reasonable, not too high, and they felt confident they’d sell well.
Jiang Luo and Wang Chuang worked fast, busy nonstop—because nothing needed selling; everything sold itself.
From time to time, someone would hold something up and ask, “Boss, what’s this?”
Jiang Luo glanced over. “False eyelashes.”
“False eyelashes? What does that mean? How do you use them?”
Jiang Luo said, “Bring them here, I’ll show you.”
…
By dinnertime, every stall in the little market was displaying goods they’d never carried before—clothes, shoes, earrings, necklaces, water bottles, handheld hair dryers, and more.
Even the fabric stall at the entrance had replaced its most prominent display with dolls, lipstick, necklaces.
A woman walked in planning to buy fabric, but something else caught her eye.
She picked up a small clear package with something black inside, frowned in confusion, and asked the fabric stall owner, “Boss, what’s this?”
“Oh, that?”
The woman explained, “Fake eyelashes.”
“You see the glue here? You dab some glue on the band, stick it onto your eyelid, and it’ll look like you’re wearing makeup—makes your eyes look really pretty.”
“That’s how it works?”
The woman was amazed, turning the little clear box in her hand.
She looked again and asked, “How much is this?”
“Not much—three yuan.”
“What? Something this tiny costs three yuan?”
“It makes you look prettier! If you don’t believe me, I can put them on you. You’ll look like you’re wearing makeup.”
Elsewhere, at another stall, a young man picked up something about the size of a canned drink. “Boss, what’s this?”
The stall owner, cracking sunflower seeds, said, “Oh, that’s a portable thermos. Keeps water hot like a regular flask.”
The young man examined the bottle, intrigued—he’d never seen one before.
“How much?”
“Ten yuan.”
“Ten? That’s expensive! My big thermos didn’t even cost that much.”
“It’s different! This is Hong Kong goods. And you can’t carry a big thermos everywhere.”
The young man still held the bottle. “Lower the price.”
“Well, how much are you thinking?”
The little market was no longer the simple place that only sold fabric, clothes, shoes, and everyday items. Overnight, it was filled with things even large department stores didn’t carry.
Behind the market, Wang Chuang and Jiang Luo hauled the empty boxes back into the truck. Their waist pouches were stuffed full.
A cigarette tucked behind his ear, Wang Chuang sang loudly, “Let’s row the boat together~~”
Jiang Luo joined in, “The little boat pushes aside the waves~~”
They’d sold more than half the new stock, their pouches bulging with cash. Just singing while they worked—no hands-on-hips cackling at the sky—that was already them being modest.
Wang Chuang grew even more pumped, singing, “Later we’ll pick up my parents, and dinner’s on me—Huating! We’re going to Huating!”
Jiang Luo snorted, “What a show-off.”
So they drove back to the textile factory dorms to pick up Wang Junwei and Bai Ting.
But when they reached the building, they noticed a different truck parked in their usual spot.
“Who’s that?”
Wang Chuang muttered from the passenger seat, “If they parked there, where are we supposed to park?”
But it wasn’t a big problem; neither of them cared much.
When Bai Ting and Wang Junwei got off work, they picked them up and headed for Huating.
On the road, Wang Chuang excitedly told them how well the goods sold this time, and both Bai Ting and Wang Junwei were delighted.
He even chatted about Zhongying Street in Shenzhen, saying that one day he’d take them there, maybe even to Hong Kong.
Bai Ting laughed. “I haven’t even been to Haicheng.”
Wang Junwei chuckled. “Hong Kong must be quite the place.”
Jiang Luo drove with a lollipop in his mouth. “Later, let Wang Chuang buy you two a house in Hong Kong. You can retire there.”
Wang Chuang slapped his thigh. “Yes! We’ll live in Hong Kong!”
The couple laughed so hard their faces rounded.
At Huating, they were wide-eyed with curiosity, amazed by how fancy everything looked.
Inside the restaurant, once seated, they opened the menu—instantly stunned. “What kind of dishes cost this much?”
It was their second time, and Wang Chuang already pointed confidently at the menu, ordering, “This, this, and this.”
His father hurried to stop him. “Son, don’t order so much—we’re only four people.”
Bai Ting muttered under her breath at the prices. So expensive! This meal would cost hundreds.
But Wang Chuang waved her off. “Mom, whatever you want to eat—order it.”
He pointed at more dishes. “This one, this one—”
“Enough! Enough!”
The couple scrambled to stop him.
Jiang Luo calmly sipped his tea, smiling faintly.
When Bai Ting looked to him—clearly hoping he’d rein Wang Chuang in—Jiang Luo said, “Just let him order. Money’s for spending. And he’s spending it on you two, not strangers.”
“Exactly!” Wang Chuang echoed triumphantly.
The four of them enjoyed a fancy meal, chatting comfortably.
But midway through, Bai Ting suddenly remembered something. “Right, Luo, did you see a truck downstairs when you got home today?”
Jiang Luo looked at her.
She explained, “Your biological parents and older brother brought it for you.”
Jiang Luo’s expression didn’t change. Internally, he rolled his eyes.
Not knowing how he really felt about the Zhao family, Bai Ting said gently, “Your birth parents are actually quite well-off. I talked to them—they seem like good people, much better than Zhang Xiangping. They really care about you. They heard you needed a truck for business, and since your old one got its window smashed by Jiang Jianmin, they went out of their way to get you a new one.”
At that, Wang Chuang immediately kicked her under the table: Stop! Stop talking!
She looked at him, confused. “Why are you kicking me?”
Still puzzled, she turned back to Jiang Luo. “Auntie just thinks your birth parents are pretty nice. You even have an older brother. If you go back to them—”
“Ting Auntie.”
Jiang Luo cut her off, calm. “I don’t want the truck. And I don’t want any so-called parents or brother either.”
Bai Ting froze, startled.
“What…?”
She looked at Wang Junwei, then at Wang Chuang, bewildered.
Wang Junwei also looked confused, while Wang Chuang kept gesturing wildly: Didn’t I tell you to stop? Stop! Stop!
“Oh. Oh.”
Bai Ting finally understood and dropped the subject, telling him gently, “Eat, eat. We won’t talk about that. Here, have some vegetables.”
She served both boys with her chopsticks.
After dinner, on the way home, climbing the stairs, Wang Chuang complained, “Mom! Seriously, why’d you bring that up during dinner?”