Chapter 81: The Lucrative Deal Brought by Old Yao

Friendship Hostel.

He had just parked his motorcycle and was about to step inside when he heard two familiar voices from within.

“…He might be in the game room.” That was the proprietress.

Then Old Yao’s voice followed, “Alright, I’ll go look for him.”

Wang Qiang thought they were searching for Old Zhu and didn’t give it much thought. Entering, he saw the proprietress, apron-clad and sweating, presumably from cooking, and Old Yao turning so hurriedly he nearly bumped right into Wang Qiang.

“Well, Little Wang!” Old Yao greeted cheerfully.

The proprietress, standing behind the counter, pointed, “Look, he’s here. You two chat, I’m going back to the kitchen. Still have meals to deliver to the guests later.” She turned and went inside.

Wang Qiang felt a bit lost in the conversation—were they not looking for Brother Zhu, but for him?

“Brother Yao,” he greeted.

Old Yao grinned. “I was just looking for you.”

So it was true.

But for what?

Wang Qiang was puzzled; he didn’t have much interaction with Old Yao except for selling him some jeans last time and sharing a meal the night before. Did Old Yao want a Walkman for his daughter too? Besides that, nothing else came to mind.

“Is there something you need?” he asked.

Perhaps feeling the heat, Old Yao shook his collar. “I meant to talk to you last night, but after drinking I forgot.”

Now Wang Qiang recalled: yesterday Old Yao mentioned needing something, but they were interrupted by dinner. He himself had been eager to grab the Walkman for his delivery and hadn’t had time for small talk, so he asked straightforwardly, “What is it you need? Please, just say it.”

“Too many people here, not the right place to talk. How about we find somewhere quieter?” Old Yao suggested politely.

Although Wang Qiang was busy, it would be rude to refuse outright, especially for Old Zhu’s sake. He needed to fetch the Walkman from his room anyway, so he invited Old Yao along.

…

In the room.

Sunlight streaming through the window filled the room with a warm, sunny scent. Wang Qiang tossed his motorcycle keys onto the pillow and turned, “Brother Yao, sit anywhere you like.”

Old Yao closed the door, sat at the edge of the bed, and took out a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead,” Wang Qiang replied, though inwardly he was impatient—just get to the point, I’ve got things to do.

Yet Old Yao remained unhurried, lighting his cigarette and taking a leisurely drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke. Finally, he said, “Remember those jeans you sold me last time?”

Could it be a quality issue?

Coming to claim compensation now?

The more Wang Qiang thought about it, the more anxious he became. He asked tightly, “Were the jeans not any good?”

“They’re good, very good,” Old Yao replied, surprised. “Who said otherwise?”

Relieved, Wang Qiang laughed, “Then why bring up the jeans?”

Old Yao leaned in conspiratorially, “Can you get more jeans at that price?”

Wang Qiang paused, finally understanding why Old Yao had sought him out—it was about the jeans. Normally, he’d agree without hesitation, but with school starting soon and a trip home imminent, he didn’t have time to go to Shen Town.

“I can, but I’m a bit busy lately,” he replied, gently declining.

Old Yao looked disappointed, but persisted, “When will you have time?”

“About a week or so,” Wang Qiang answered honestly.

Old Yao pondered for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Whatever it was, Wang Qiang didn’t ask; if Old Yao wanted to share, he would, and if not, asking wouldn’t help. Besides, Wang Qiang wasn’t interested. Selling jeans was slow business; last time he’d sold Old Yao nearly a hundred pairs and only made a few hundred yuan. He’d rather spend that time selling more Walkmans.

“A week is fine,” Old Yao decided, then asked seriously, “I’ll need a larger quantity. How many can you get?”

Wang Qiang didn’t answer immediately, instead asking, “How many do you need?”

“A thousand, maybe eight hundred,” Old Yao replied.

That number startled Wang Qiang. Even buying at cost, a thousand pairs would require seven or eight thousand yuan. Why did Old Yao need so many? After Old Zhu’s warning, Wang Qiang was wary, wondering if Old Yao was planning to pull some trick. But if Old Yao was serious, a thousand pairs could earn him several thousand yuan—a tempting prospect.

Seeing Wang Qiang’s silence, Old Yao sighed, “If you can’t get them, forget it.”

“I can get them,” Wang Qiang finally replied, half truthfully. “A thousand pairs isn’t a small order; just sourcing them would cost over ten thousand. I’ve just opened the game room and don’t have that much cash. If you want them, I’ll need half the payment as a deposit.”

At fifteen yuan per pair, half the deposit would cover his costs, so even if Old Yao reneged, Wang Qiang wouldn’t lose. He’d thought it through carefully.

“Money’s not an issue,” Old Yao’s mood brightened and he laughed. “The jeans you sold me last time, I sold them for twenty-eight yuan each. They were gone in two or three days. Then a friend heard about it, asked how I managed such a low price. I told him my costs were low, he got interested and wanted some. As a friend, I couldn’t refuse. But he blabbed, and soon several others came to me. I didn’t dare promise anything, so I came to ask you.”

Is that so?

Wang Qiang didn’t quite buy it. Did Old Yao really have so many friends running clothing stores? Even if he did, were they close enough for him to help them make a fortune? Wang Qiang suspected Old Yao wanted to make some money for himself; how exactly, he didn’t know, but it probably wasn’t just helping friends.

“Alright, I’ll get them for you once I’m less busy,” Wang Qiang agreed.

Old Yao stubbed out his cigarette. “One more thing.”

Just as Wang Qiang was about to ask when the deposit would be paid, he had to change course, “What else?”

“How’s the game room you and Old Zhu opened doing?” Old Yao’s gaze was intense.

Wang Qiang felt a bit annoyed at this question and replied vaguely, “It’s just opened, hard to say if it’s promising yet.”

Old Yao stared at him, then suddenly asked, “What’s the cost price for the game machines and game cards?”

“Huh?” Wang Qiang was taken aback, then subtly frowned. He disliked this line of questioning.

Information asymmetry wasn’t entirely in his hands; a handful of others knew too. But he and Old Yao had only met twice—not even friends—so why should he reveal his “business secrets”? Old Yao, however, kept probing, making Wang Qiang uncomfortable regardless of the motive.

“I’ll be straight with you,” Old Yao lowered his voice. “If you and Old Zhu’s game room does well, I want to open one in Pudong. But machines in the mall are too expensive; I checked this morning, cheapest is over two hundred, game cards even crazier, eighty to one hundred fifty each.” He gave Wang Qiang a knowing look. “I know you’ve got connections for cheaper goods, so I’d like your help getting some machines and cards.”

Truthfully, Wang Qiang didn’t want to help. Old Zhu and Old Yao were childhood friends, yet Old Yao was going behind Old Zhu’s back, planning to open a game room in Pudong. No wonder Old Zhu said he was overly calculating.

Calling him calculating was an understatement—he’d do anything for money.

But the chance to earn was not something to refuse.

Wang Qiang, as calm as ever, spun a tale, “I’ve got some connections. Game machines cost about one hundred fifty each, regular game cards sixty a box, intelligence cards one hundred.”

He felt no guilt taking advantage of Old Yao.

“I knew it,” Old Yao replied, looking smug, as though he’d uncovered Wang Qiang’s secret. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Old Zhu.”

Wang Qiang was amused. Even if he told Brother Zhu, so what? At the prices he’d just quoted, twenty machines would cost three thousand, sixty boxes of regular cards three thousand six hundred, ten boxes of intelligence cards a thousand—over seven thousand in total. Old Zhu had put up three thousand for thirty percent of the shares; it was fair enough, especially since the idea was Wang Qiang’s. So he wasn’t worried about Old Yao making trouble, and asked, “How many machines and cards do you want?”

Old Yao smacked his lips, “Hard to say right now. I’ll watch for a week. If your business is good, I’ll match your game room’s size. If not, I might not buy any.”

Wang Qiang had figured him out and nodded, “Alright, see how things go. When will you give me the jeans deposit?”

“Once you’re less busy, I’ll pay it.”

“Fine. I’ve got to head out. Is that alright?”

“Go ahead. Oh, and don’t tell Old Zhu about anything we discussed today, okay?”

“Understood.”

With that, Old Yao got up, opened the door, and left.

Staring at the empty corridor, Wang Qiang’s smile slowly faded; Old Yao really was a schemer.

But he didn’t dwell on it.

A thousand pairs of jeans could earn him several thousand yuan—definitely worth doing. As for game machines and cards, it was up to fate. If the game room did well, Old Yao would want them, and that would mean another few thousand in profit. Combine that with the jeans, and he’d break ten thousand.

Wang Qiang looked forward to the game room thriving—not just to earn from Old Yao, but because selling Walkmans alone wouldn’t meet his promise of ten thousand to his mother. Besides, if the game room failed, his first entrepreneurial venture would be a bust, and he wasn’t ready to taste defeat.