Chapter 112 A Big Profit

“A hundred copies?” The post office staff were startled, all wearing bewildered expressions. One older worker even dug at his ear. “Ma’am, how many newspapers did you say you wanted?”

“A hundred!” Grandma Li pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, seemingly ready to count money. One of the staff, seeing this, couldn’t help but advise, “Ma’am, a hundred newspapers isn’t cheap. If you’re planning to use them for wall covering, there’s no need to buy new ones. Go to the recycling station—ten cents can get you several pounds of old papers.”

Before he finished speaking, Grandma Li slapped a wad of big denomination bills onto the counter from her handkerchief. “Is a hundred yuan enough for a hundred newspapers?”

Even the older staff member was stunned. You have a hundred yuan, and you’re still carrying it in a handkerchief instead of a wallet? That really messes with our ability to judge people.

Seeing everyone staring at her blankly, Grandma Li rapped on the counter. “What are you all looking at? Start counting the papers! Not enough money? I’ll go home and get more.”

“It’s enough, enough.” The staff member left one bill on the counter and quickly stuffed the rest back into her hand. “Hold on tight, don’t let the wind blow it away.” As he sent a young worker off to count the newspapers, he watched Grandma Li wrap the money back up in the handkerchief and tuck it into her pocket. “Ma’am, if you’re carrying that much cash, wouldn’t it be better to have a wallet? It’s so easy to lose it like this.”

“Not a chance.” Grandma Li pulled out a safety pin and pinned her pocket shut. “A wallet doesn’t fit in my pocket. This handkerchief is great—I’ve wrapped my money in it all my life and never lost a cent.”

The China Daily had arrived around six in the morning and was still in its original bundle—one hundred copies per pack. The young man’s hands were red from carrying the bundle in, and he placed the stack on the counter. He couldn’t help asking, “Ma’am, why are you buying so many newspapers? Even though we don’t need ration tickets anymore, no one’s ever bought this many at once.”

At that, Grandma Li broke into a beaming smile and proudly patted the stack of newspapers. “My granddaughter’s article was published in it.”

The staff were taken aback. “Really? That’s amazing! How old is your granddaughter?”

“She’s twenty-two, graduated from the Imperial Capital University. She was top of her class every year.” Once Grandma Li started talking about Zhenzhen, she couldn’t stop. “Let me tell you, my granddaughter’s got real talent. Not only is she smart and beautiful, she can also hunt—strong as an ox! She once kicked over a wild boar.”

The young man, who had been listening with admiration, suddenly felt like he’d been doused with cold water. He didn’t believe a girl who could kick over a wild boar could possibly be good-looking. Wouldn’t she be like a female Li Kui?

{T/N: Li Kui is a fierce, axe-wielding warrior in Water Margin, known for his brute strength and hot temper. Loyal to his friends, he kills tigers and enemies alike. He dies tragically after being poisoned following the outlaws’ surrender. }

The older staff member pulled a copy of China Daily from the bundle and placed it in front of Grandma Li. “Ma’am, which article is your granddaughter’s? Show us. We’ve never met someone whose writing is published in the paper.”

Grandma Li couldn’t read. She squinted and flipped a couple pages before pushing it back. “Forgot my reading glasses. You find it for me. Her name is Li Mingzhen.”

The articles on the front page were few. The staff member scanned quickly, flipped to the second page, and his eyes landed on the headline—there it was, the name Li Mingzhen. “Here it is,” he said, pointing to the name. “Ma’am, is it ‘Ming’ as in tomorrow and ‘Zhen’ with the grass radical?”

Grandma Li leaned in and nodded excitedly. “That’s her! My eldest granddaughter, Li Mingzhen!”

“Good, as long as we’re sure.” The older staff member patted the young man. “The paper’s too heavy. Help her take it home.”

The Li family had never subscribed to the newspaper. Grandma Li hadn’t expected a hundred copies to be so heavy, so she didn’t refuse the help and nodded cheerfully. “Thanks, young man.” The young worker pushed out his bike and strapped the bundle to the back seat.

The post office wasn’t far from the Li home—just around Beiyang Lake. Grandma Li opened her courtyard gate and directed the young man to carry the newspapers into her room.

Wang Sufen was mopping the floor. Seeing the young man bring in the huge stack of newspapers, she looked up. “What’s all this?”

“Newspapers,” Grandma Li replied, pleased. “Zhenzhen’s article is in it. I bought a hundred copies.”

Wang Sufen was happy to hear that her daughter had an article published but was puzzled by the quantity. “Mom, why buy a hundred? Isn’t one copy enough to keep?”

“What if it gets damaged?” Grandma Li glared at her. “I need extras. In the future, every one of Zhenzhen’s descendants will have one.”

Wang Sufen imagined the scene and shuddered. “But Zhenzhen’s a journalist now. She’s going to have a lot of articles published. Are you going to buy a hundred every time?”

Grandma Li fell into deep thought. The young man wiped his sweat and offered a suggestion. “Ma’am, why don’t you make a scrapbook? Cut out your granddaughter’s articles and paste them in a notebook. That way they won’t get lost or damaged. Make two or three copies—you’ll have something to pass down.”

“You’re a smart one.” Grandma Li gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “We’ll do it your way. I’ll have my grandson help me make the scrapbook.”

Wang Sufen, seeing that the young man had been so helpful and was covered in dust from moving the newspapers, quickly led him to wash his hands. When they returned, Grandma Li had a plate of sliced melon ready. “I grew this myself in the garden. Try it!”

The young man was about to decline, but Grandma Li forcefully shoved the plate into his hands. “Eat. You came all the way here, and you’re not going to eat some fruit? Go on, eat it—it’s been cooling in the well since last night. Perfect time to eat it now.”

The young man had been sweating all the way and was already hot and tired. Seeing the melon with its cool condensation, he couldn’t resist. He picked up a piece and took a bite—sweet and refreshing. He quickly reached for a second.

Wang Sufen took a photo album from the cabinet and handed it to Grandma Li. “Mom, you said you wanted another set of Zhenzhen’s photos. Junjie brought this over this morning. Everything you wanted is in here.”

Grandma Li flipped through it—every photo was of Zhenzhen. Judging by the thickness, there must have been over a hundred. She put on her reading glasses and admired the photos joyfully. “My Zhenzhen’s so pretty, even prettier in pictures.”

The young man from the post office, curious about what a girl who could kick a boar looked like, couldn’t help but peek. That one look nearly took his soul. A chunk of melon went down the wrong way, and he almost choked. But even so, his eyes never left the photo. She was stunning—nothing like the old lady.

“Gr… Grandma…” He started to call her ‘Ma’am’ but caught himself and corrected, “Grandma, is this your granddaughter?”

“Mm.” Grandma Li nodded, eyes still glued to the photo. “She’s a real beauty.”

“She really is.” The young man’s eyes sparkled. He offered the melon plate to her with a fawning smile. “Grandma, I remember you said at the post office your granddaughter just graduated and she’s twenty-two… does she have a boyfriend?”

“She does.” Grandma Li flipped to a photo of Zhenzhen and Xi Junjie together and pointed. “This is him. They’re getting married in a couple of months.”

Looking at the handsome young man in the photo, the post office boy instantly deflated like a defeated rooster. He put down the plate and trudged out, dejected.

Grandma Li looked up. “Leaving already? Zhenzhen’s mother, give this young man a few melons to take back for the folks at the post office. They’re good people—helped me find her article.”

Wang Sufen agreed, packed six melons in a bag, and handed them to the young man as she walked him out.

The young man wandered back to the post office in a daze and handed the bag of melons to his supervisor, still stunned.

“What’s the matter? How did delivering some newspapers mess you up like this?”

The young man gave a smile more pitiful than crying. “The girl who kicked the boar is gorgeous—but she’s already taken. Master, I got my heart broken.”

The older worker scratched his head. “How does delivering papers end in heartbreak? When did you even fall in love?”

The young man was heartbroken. “Half a minute before I got rejected.”

At the Huaguo Press, Li Mingzhen was reading the newspaper, examining the article she had written. She even pulled out the original draft to compare the two, carefully marking the parts revised by Yu Shoujing and studying them repeatedly.

Yu Shoujing particularly appreciated young people who were both talented and hardworking. Li Mingzhen adapted quickly and produced high-quality articles. As a result, Yu Shoujing began taking her along on interviews and eventually let her draft the articles herself, with him only making final edits. With this hands-on training, Mingzhen soon became the first among the new hires to receive an official journalist license and employee ID.

The interview days were hectic, and Mingzhen left everything else to Sun Rende and Wang Xinzhi. After more than half a month of nonstop production, Baixing Garment Factory finally completed the order of ten thousand “Yukiko Shirts” on schedule. After Wang Xinzhi randomly inspected ten percent of the batch and found no issues, he paid the remaining balance without hesitation.

With the payment in hand, Factory Director Si Yaren of Baixing Garment Factory was so thrilled his hands trembled. Now he no longer had to worry about workers’ wages for the next two months. Looking at the young man in front of him, Si Yaren practically saw him as the God of Wealth—his eyes were shining. “Director Wang, do you have any new styles of clothing you’d like us to produce? You can count on the quality. We’re the largest garment factory in the capital area—an official state-owned enterprise.”

Wang Xinzhi had already discussed things with Mingzhen before coming to pick up the goods, so he was well prepared. He took out two photographs. “Can you manufacture sweaters?”

“Sweaters?” Si Yaren took the photos with a puzzled expression. “Aren’t sweaters usually knitted at home by the womenfolk?”

The two photos were stills that Wang Xinzhi had asked a friend at the TV station to develop from footage. The designs were set to become all the rage, inspired by the TV drama Blood Suspicion.

“If you can make them, I want five thousand of each. Also, I want ten thousand sets of this tracksuit.” Wang Xinzhi casually handed over another design sketch. “Same as last time—fifty percent deposit upfront, but all three batches must be delivered before autumn.”

Si Yaren quickly calculated in his head. Although the deadline was tight, securing the order would not only cover wages but also fund future fabric procurement.

He gritted his teeth and nodded. “Alright, I agree.”

Wang Xinzhi pulled out a prepared contract from his bag. “Here’s the contract. Shall we finalize the pricing?”

Half an hour later, Wang Xinzhi left Baixing Garment Factory. The accountant beamed from ear to ear at the pile of money on the desk. Si Yaren grinned and scolded him, “Don’t just sit there giggling. Hurry and notify the procurement office to start buying raw materials. We’ve got a tight deadline, and don’t forget—we’re fined one percent for every day we’re late.”

Mingzhen told Wang Xinzhi to store the “Yukiko Shirts” in an empty warehouse at the furniture factory for the time being. Two days later, Blood Suspicion finally aired, just as she had eagerly awaited. Back then, television stations were few, and people watched whatever Huaguo TV aired—they didn’t have much choice.

About a week after the show’s premiere, the expected frenzy hit. Whether Mingzhen was eating breakfast on the street or at work listening to her colleagues chat, 80% of the conversations were about the drama. Some discussed the plot; others couldn’t stop exclaiming, “How come the clothes they wear look so good?”

Mingzhen smiled faintly. She distributed 9,000 “Yukiko Shirts” among her five shops nationwide and sent the remaining 1,000 to Guihua’s clothing store—she couldn’t leave her sister-in-law out of the profits.

When she was still a student, Mingzhen hadn’t paid much attention to the five stores. She would set a base price for each item after calculating profits and let the clerks handle sales however they saw fit. Some turned in all proceeds honestly; others just paid the base price. Since her designs were the most fashionable in Guangdong and Hong Kong, these shops had grown rapidly.

Earlier this year, Mingzhen expanded the shops again, hired new clerks, and established new rules. From then on, every item would be clearly labeled with a fixed price. No haggling allowed. Clerks earned commissions from sales, and each store had a capable manager who took a percentage of total store revenue.

In those days, TVs were still a luxury. Maybe one in ten households owned one. Every evening, the house with a TV became the most popular spot. Neighbors and relatives brought stools, sunflower seeds, or a couple of sweet melons and crowded in—dozens of people would pack a small room. Some even dragged their TVs into the courtyard to watch.

The clerks had all watched Blood Suspicion at neighbors’ houses. During slow hours at the shop, they’d discuss the plot together. When Mingzhen brought out the new shirts, the female clerks squealed with excitement and each grabbed one to hold up against themselves.

Mingzhen glanced at them, picked up a tag, and wrote with her fountain pen: “Yukiko Shirt” — Price: 25 yuan.

That price was about half a young woman’s monthly wage. Most of the clerks earned just 20 yuan in base pay, with the rest coming from commissions. They looked at the tag, then at the shirts in their hands, hesitating. But letting go was even harder. These were the very shirts worn by the heroine on TV.

The shop manager, who earned a bit more, stood in front of a mirror with the shirt for a long time before finally trying it on. She already had a short haircut like Yukiko, and once she put on the shirt, she looked just like a TV star. The others immediately rushed to the fitting rooms.

Though five years older than Mingzhen, the manager always felt like a junior in her presence. She lowered her voice shyly. “Boss, I didn’t bring that much money today. Can I wear it now and pay you tomorrow?”

Having the clerks wear the “Yukiko Shirts” was essentially free advertising. Mingzhen nodded. “As long as it’s paid by month’s end when we settle accounts.”

The manager nodded eagerly. “Don’t worry.” Then she counted the shirts, signed the delivery sheet, hung ten of them up, changed the mannequin in the display window, and posted a huge sign outside.

By closing time, a female worker passed by the boutique and instinctively glanced inside. She spotted the mannequin wearing a “Yukiko Shirt,” jumped off her bike, locked it up, and rushed inside, breathless. “How much is the shirt Yukiko wore?”

Word spread quickly. Within just a few days, the boutique shops were packed with customers. The clerks had a system in place—some wrote receipts, others supervised fitting rooms, and one watched from above for shoplifters. The scene was bustling beyond belief.

Mingzhen had timed it perfectly. The drama was at peak popularity, and any girl who had watched it was tempted. Some clothing factories were tempted too, but going from sampling to full production and retail would take at least a month and a half—by then it would be too cold to sell short-sleeved shirts.
—

To fulfill orders for sweaters and jackets, Si Yaren had the workers eating and sleeping at the factory. When he finally went home after two weeks to bathe and get a haircut, he saw his daughter, Si Jingyi, walk in wearing a very familiar-looking shirt.

He called her over and checked the embroidery and label behind the collar. It was definitely from the batch Wang Xinzhi had ordered. “Wow, this shirt really sells? It’s not as good as our old plain white ones.” He sipped some tea and casually asked, “How much did it cost? Two or three yuan?”

“Two or three?” Si Jingyi’s voice jumped. “You’re the factory director and you still can’t tell? That wouldn’t even cover the change! This shirt costs twenty-five yuan, and it’s non-negotiable.”

“How much?” Si Yaren jumped off the sofa. Tea splashed all over his leg, and he frantically set the cup down while rubbing his thigh and hopping around.

“Dad, slow down.” Si Jingyi grabbed a cool towel to cover his leg. As the pain eased, Si Yaren yanked her back. “How much did you say this shirt costs?”

“Twenty-five. What’s wrong?” Seeing his face darken, she immediately lowered her voice. “Dad, I know it’s a bit expensive, but the quality’s really good—look at it.”

Si Yaren nearly spat out a mouthful of blood. Still fuming, he glared at Si Jingyi. “Of course I know this is a good-quality piece of clothing. It was made in our factory.”

Si Jingyi gave an awkward laugh and sat down timidly beside him. “It’s mainly that the style is great. It’s exactly like what the heroine wears in the TV drama Blood Suspicion. I went through a lot just to get it.” Seeing that Si Yaren still looked furious, Si Jingyi suddenly slapped her thigh in realization. “Aiya, if I’d known it was made in your factory, I would’ve just asked you to bring me one! Buying it directly from you guys would’ve saved me at least a couple of yuan, right?”

Si Yaren felt so stifled he didn’t even want to talk. A couple of yuan cheaper? The thing doesn’t even sell for two yuan a piece when I’m selling it myself. Thinking about his own shirts going for one yuan thirty cents while others are selling for twenty-five, he thumped his chest in frustration, wishing he could howl at the sky. “How can it sell for that much?! It’s not worth that kind of money! Who in their right mind would spend twenty-five yuan on a short-sleeved shirt?” His gaze fell on his daughter, and his tone grew even harsher. “I’m talking about you, you fool! What, got money burning a hole in your pocket? Spending twenty-five yuan on a short-sleeved shirt—do you know that’s half your monthly salary? In winter, that kind of money could buy you a whole cotton-padded outfit!”

Si Jingyi couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Who even wears those big padded outfits anymore? Besides, I’ve made some money, so why shouldn’t I treat myself to something pretty? Aren’t you always nagging me to find a boyfriend? If I don’t dress up a little, how am I supposed to attract a good one?”

Si Yaren didn’t want to say another word. He waved her off, signaling her to scram. Si Jingyi stuck out her tongue, took a few steps, then couldn’t resist turning back. “Dad, how much does it cost per shirt if I buy it directly from your factory? If it’s cheap, I’d like to get another one to rotate.”

Si Yaren’s heart sank. But remembering the contract terms, he kept his mouth shut and didn’t give her the number. He waved her off wearily and went back to his room to lie down on the bed. But no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn’t make sense of it: same material, same workmanship—why couldn’t he sell his shirts for even one yuan, while someone else could sell the same thing for twenty-five just by changing the style? Was style really that important? Then what kind of style would actually sell?

While Si Yaren lay in bed pondering the meaning of life, Zhenzhen, thanks to that short-sleeved shirt alone, made over 200,000 yuan in just one month. As for the other clothes that sold alongside it, they were too many to count. When the Yukiko shirts finally sold out, Mitsuo’s sweater and the beige wool coat Yukiko wore were listed in the shop next. The shop assistants, seeing only half the quantity of goods compared to last time, were a bit skeptical, but by the time they were halfway sold out and saw similar styles appearing in other stores, they understood what was going on. Two months later, knitting books for Mitsuo’s sweater started popping up in the market. Those who couldn’t afford the sweater bought the books and knitted their own, joining the trend in their own way.

Although the number of sweaters and coats Zhenzhen ordered this time was less than the short-sleeved shirts, the higher prices of these garments meant she made even more profit. By the time the TV drama finished airing, Zhenzhen had already made 500,000 yuan from the venture.

Si Yaren had initially been excited about landing a big order, but after a few rounds of distribution to the market, he became dejected again. Not only were the imitation clothes selling well, even the 10,000 custom sportswear sets ordered by Wang Xinzhi were selling like hotcakes. Si Yaren watched the young men and women on the streets—everyone seemed to love throwing on a sports jacket over a sweater, as if it made them look especially cool.

Back in his office, Si Yaren mulled things over for several days before finally picking up the phone and calling Wang Xinzhi. “Brother Wang, you’re like a money-making machine! You flip a piece of clothing and sell it for ten or twenty times the cost. Weren’t you afraid it wouldn’t sell?”

“Of course not,” Wang Xinzhi said with a calm laugh. “Because I know what the market wants. Actually, the one who wasn’t confident was you, Director Si.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I just don’t get what people are thinking these days.” Si Yaren had been planning to quickly purchase a batch of corduroy to make jackets since he finally had some money on the books, but the more he thought about it these past few days, the more hesitant he became—what if the clothes flopped again?

He sighed and tried a more conciliatory tone. “Brother, help me out here. Tell me how to turn this factory around. It’s not just for me, it’s for the hundred-some workers here who rely on it to eat.”

Wang Xinzhi chuckled. “Director Si, we’ve worked together more than once. Let me be blunt—you’re already out of touch with today’s trends. If the factory stays in your hands, it’s only a matter of time before it goes under. If you really want my advice, here it is: talk to the higher-ups and sell the factory to my boss. That’s the only way to revive it.”

“Your boss?” Si Yaren hesitated.

Wang Xinzhi let out a small laugh. “I forgot to properly introduce myself. I’m also the deputy director of Tengda Furniture Factory. These clothing ventures were just side projects—our boss wanted to make some pocket money, nothing serious.”

“Tengda Furniture Factory…” Si Yaren was dazed. Having been a state-owned factory director for so many years, he naturally knew all about Tengda Furniture Factory’s past. Back then, the factory had gone bankrupt due to poor management and was bought by a private owner. In just a few short months, it went from loss to profit, and now it had become a leading name in the furniture industry in China.

But still…

Si Yaren couldn’t make sense of it. “What does furniture have to do with clothing? Why does your boss want to buy everything?”

Wang Xinzhi laughed. “In our boss’s words—he’s rich, and he does what he wants.”