Chapter 62: If You Don’t Hand It Over, Someone’s Going to Get Hurt

Yang Yang from Magnolia Bakery asked her boss for a day off to go shopping with her best friend, Li Dan. She was planning to dress up nicely for an old classmate’s wedding the next day. The two wandered from a shopping mall near Moling Road all the way to a street by the market.

“Yang Yang, all the jeans are around thirty yuan now. There really aren’t any cheaper ones,” Li Dan complained, her heels aching from all the walking. “Let’s check out two more shops. If we still don’t find anything cheaper, just grab any pair.”

Yang Yang was reluctant to spend the money, but seeing her friend’s impatience, she agreed, “Alright.”

They strolled along the east-west street and spotted a clothing store. Just as they were about to turn in, Yang Yang noticed a larger shop ahead—“Baihui Fashions”—and pulled Li Dan along.

As they were about to push the door open, two people came out.

“Xiao Wang, what do you want for dinner?”

“Anything’s fine. Let’s check out the market later. Let’s pick up the jeans first.”

“Alright.”

Yang Yang glanced at the two men, noticing they rode a motorcycle. For her and many others, a motorcycle was a luxury. But she only spared them a glance before Li Dan tugged her inside.

Inside, the owner seemed busy with other customers, so Yang Yang and Li Dan stood by the door, searching for where the jeans were displayed. They had already bought tops earlier.

Suddenly, Li Dan called out in surprise, “Yang Yang, come here!”

“What’s up?” Yang Yang replied, looking over. She was stunned—could she believe her eyes? Jeans for twenty yuan?

Li Dan was already unwrapping a pair, inspecting them. “These jeans are so stylish—high-waisted, too.”

Yang Yang touched the fabric, unable to hide her delight. They really were nice—trendier than anything they’d seen at the mall. And at just twenty yuan, she eagerly searched for her size, only to be disappointed—none seemed to fit her.

“Boss,” Yang Yang called out.

The owner, Mr. Yao, had just finished helping another young woman pick out pants. Hearing the call, he turned around with a big smile. “Yes, coming, coming!”

He hurried over to Yang Yang and Li Dan. “Which one caught your eye?”

Yang Yang held up the jeans in her hand. “Do you have this style in a size twenty-one?”

Mr. Yao eyed the jeans, finding them unfamiliar—he didn’t remember stocking this style. Then, with a slap to his forehead, he realized they must be some of the jeans left by Boss Zhu’s cousin, Xiao Wang. He’d only been worried about selling off over a hundred pairs and hadn’t paid attention to the styles. Now, seeing them, he thought they looked pretty good.

“If you want them, you’ll have to wait a bit. I’ll have someone bring them over,” Mr. Yao explained. Since they hadn’t found the right size, it clearly wasn’t in stock; he’d have to wait for Xiao Wang to deliver more.

Just then, Li Dan held up a pair. “Boss, I’ll take these jeans. Twenty yuan, right?”

“Uh…” Mr. Yao instinctively nodded, then suddenly snapped to attention. “Twenty?”

Li Dan pointed at the price tag in confusion. “Doesn’t it say twenty yuan for jeans?”

Before Mr. Yao could answer, a young man nearby called out, “Twenty-yuan jeans? Do you have any for men?”

Yang Yang replied, “Yes, come look for yourself,” pointing to the rack.

The young man walked over, grumbling, “Boss, that’s not fair. You didn’t tell me you had twenty-yuan jeans!”

Mr. Yao was completely bewildered. He hadn’t even known himself that there were twenty-yuan jeans in the store. In Shanghai, the wholesale price for jeans ranged from eighteen to twenty-two yuan, and retail markup was usually forty to sixty percent. Mr. Yao bought his at twenty yuan and sold them for thirty. Yet now, Wang Qiang’s jeans were being sold at his cost price.

Mr. Yao suddenly felt as if someone was trying to sabotage his business.

...

At the Friendship Guesthouse, Wang Qiang and Old Zhu walked in.

“You’re back?” the hostess asked. “How did it go?”

Old Zhu replied sulkily, “Old Yao isn’t much of a friend.”

Wang Qiang chimed in with a smile, “Boss Yao agreed to sell them for me, so the problem’s pretty much solved, right?”

“What do you mean solved? I was hoping he’d just buy them outright.” Old Zhu felt a bit slighted.

The hostess rolled her eyes. “You think people don’t want to make money? What if they’re stuck with more than a hundred pairs of jeans?”

She was right; that was reality. At Baihui Fashions, Wang Qiang had already figured it out—no one’s money grows on trees. If Mr. Yao had agreed without a word, Wang Qiang would have felt indebted.

Just then, the phone rang.

“Who could that be?” the hostess muttered, picking up the phone. At the time, domestic landlines didn’t have caller ID. She lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

On the other end, Mr. Yao’s anxious voice shouted, “Is this the missus? Is Old Zhu back?”

“He’s back. What’s wrong?” the hostess replied.

It was noisy in the background, making it hard to hear. Mr. Yao shouted desperately, “Get him to bring the jeans over, quick! If you don’t bring them now, there’s going to be trouble!”

After hanging up, the hostess stood there, stunned.

“What’s gotten into you?” Old Zhu asked.

Wang Qiang was about to step out, thinking it was a family matter, but the hostess’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

She frowned and said, “Old Yao’s urging Xiao Wang to bring the jeans over—he even said if they don’t, there’ll be trouble. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wang Qiang and Old Zhu exchanged bewildered glances; neither understood.

But they’d planned to deliver the jeans anyway, so without delay, Wang Qiang and Old Zhu hurried to their room, each shouldering a huge bundle, stuffing them into burlap sacks, tying them to the motorcycle, and setting off for Baihui Fashions.

...

With the sacks of jeans tied to the back, the motorcycle couldn’t go very fast. It took them about fifteen minutes to reach the store again.

They hadn’t even dismounted when Mr. Yao, who had been waiting at the door, rushed over, shouting, “Old Zhu, what took you so long?”

Old Zhu snapped, “Would you rather we have a crash speeding here?”

“Hurry up and help me carry the jeans inside, quick!” Mr. Yao was already untying the ropes himself.

Wang Qiang blinked. “Is it really that urgent?”

“See for yourself—do you think I’m overreacting?” Mr. Yao forced a smile.

Looking in the direction he pointed, Wang Qiang was startled—over a dozen people were crowding around the glass window. “What’s with all these people?”

Why so many? It was all because of the twenty-yuan jeans.

If only you’d discussed the price with me before writing it down… But Mr. Yao felt a bit sheepish; earlier, when he’d heard customers calling him, it was music to his ears. He’d only wanted to avoid Old Zhu, afraid he’d be pressured into something, and hadn’t had time to discuss anything with Wang Qiang.

He hadn’t expected Wang Qiang’s jeans to be so cheap.

The moment the girls shouted about it, all the customers pressed to the front, demanding to know if there were more sizes. New customers, seeing the crowd, joined in as well, and soon the store was packed with more than a dozen people all waiting for jeans.

Mr. Yao couldn’t worry about whether the sack was heavy or not. He threw his strength into lifting the hundred-plus jin bag—but it didn’t budge.

“Give me a hand!” he called anxiously.

Wang Qiang hurried over to help lift the other end.

Struggling, the two of them finally carried the sack inside, with Old Zhu following after parking the bike.

As soon as they entered, the waiting customers started clamoring.

“The jeans are here?”

“Put them down, let me pick!”

“Twenty yuan a pair—that’s so cheap, I’ll take two!”

“Boss, you should’ve stocked up better. How do you expect to do business like this?”

“Ah! I found my size!”

The place devolved into chaos, as noisy as a market.

At that time in Shanghai, cotton trousers sold for around fifteen yuan and jeans for about thirty, with little price variation. Even if there were differences, they rarely exceeded two or three yuan.

But now, they saw jeans for around twenty yuan a pair, and after inspecting them, found the quality no worse than those in major malls—maybe even more fashionable. After all, Wang Qiang had brought the jeans from Shenzhen, where the latest trends arrived from the south, making the styles fresher than what was available locally. It was a matter of information asymmetry; once the information age truly arrived, situations like this would become impossible.

But for now, being able to buy something worth thirty yuan for twenty—how could anyone resist? People love a bargain, afraid to miss a rare opportunity. Everyone wanted to buy a pair for themselves, and maybe another for family.

They all felt the same: buying was earning.

Sold out so fast?

It was like a frenzy.

Wang Qiang and Old Zhu hadn’t expected it either. They looked at each other in astonishment.