Chapter 67: The Right Gamble

After inquiring about the address of Weijia Electronics from the lady shopkeeper, Wang Qiang bought two or three packs of Red Pagoda cigarettes at a nearby store and slipped them into his pocket.

The factory was a bit far, so he hailed a rickshaw. If he were alone, Wang Qiang wouldn’t mind walking, but since Fang Yueqing was accompanying him, and she had already spent money on the ride and lunch, he felt obliged to reciprocate. Besides, it was around noon, the sun was scorching outside, and walking in such heat could easily lead to heatstroke.

Speaking of rickshaws, many people might picture the old human-powered kind, but that was no longer the case. Now, rickshaws had evolved into tricycle-like bicycles with a canopy at the back to shade passengers—a common sight at the time, though by the new century, they gradually disappeared from daily life, only occasionally seen at tourist spots.

About ten minutes later, the rickshaw entered the industrial district.

The area was sparsely populated, but factories abounded. New facilities were being constructed here and there, testament to the rapid development of Shen Town—“changing with each passing day” was no exaggeration.

After a few turns, the driver pulled the brake and pointed ahead at a factory with blue walls, saying, “Here you are—Weijia Electronics.”

Wang Qiang got off first, then helped Fang Yueqing down, taking the initiative to pay for the ride.

Once the rickshaw had departed, Fang Yueqing whispered, “Brother Qiang, are you really going to buy goods directly from the factory? The lady who sold clothes said the minimum batch is five hundred units—the price is twenty yuan each, so that’s ten thousand yuan.”

Ten thousand yuan nowadays was a staggering sum for most people.

Few ordinary families could afford it, unlike later years when inflation rendered ten thousand yuan trivial.

Wang Qiang replied vaguely, “I have my ways.” Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to bring Fang Yueqing along, since his methods would soon be less than honorable.

They walked along the concrete path and soon reached the factory gate.

The security guard, a man in his forties, saw Wang Qiang approach the window and impatiently waved him off. “We don’t hire male workers here. Try somewhere else.”

It was an odd phenomenon—many electronics factories in Shen Town only hired women, not men, leading to a tide of female migrant workers, a trend that continued well into the new century.

But Wang Qiang wasn’t here to apply for a job. Smiling, he fished out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it over.

The guard paused, looked up, then down at the cigarettes—Red Pagoda. He discreetly slipped them into his pocket, his tone improving. “Is there something you need?”

Wang Qiang leaned against the window and asked directly, “How many people are in your sales department?”

“Why do you ask?” the guard retorted, then continued, “About a dozen or so.”

Wang Qiang pressed, “Who’s the most senior, apart from the manager?”

The guard furrowed his brow and thought, “Old Su—Su Weiming.”

Wang Qiang said, “Could you call him out for me?”

The guard hesitated, clearly uncertain.

Seeing this, Wang Qiang took out two ten-yuan notes and slid them across the counter without a word.

“Alright, wait here.” The guard didn’t even put up a token resistance; he pocketed the money and went inside. Twenty yuan was nearly two days’ wages for him—calling someone out was no burden at all.

The weather was sweltering.

Fang Yueqing fanned herself with a small round hat, curious. “You want to get goods from someone in their sales department, right?”

Wang Qiang nodded slightly, glancing inside.

Fang Yueqing wondered, “Are you really going to buy five hundred walkmans?”

“No, you’ll see soon enough,” Wang Qiang replied, offering no explanation.

They chatted idly.

About five minutes passed.

The guard, now all smiles, appeared with a middle-aged man in tow.

The man was not tall, perhaps only around 1.65 meters, and very thin, but impeccably dressed, clearly meticulous about his appearance.

After a few moments, the man approached the gate, studied Wang Qiang for a while, and said, puzzled, “Old Cui said someone familiar wanted to see me, but I don’t know you.”

This must be Su Weiming.

Wang Qiang produced another pack of cigarettes, opened it, and offered some, but Su Weiming declined. Wang Qiang handed one to the guard instead, then said, “Manager Su, could we speak privately?” He gestured toward a nearby spot. He’d heard from the guard that Su Weiming wasn’t actually a manager, but Wang Qiang used the honorific out of respect.

Su Weiming was reluctant. “Whatever you have to say, say it here.”

Not the best environment for a conversation.

It seemed a bit tricky.

Wang Qiang weighed his options; since he was already here, he couldn’t leave without trying. He tossed the opened pack of cigarettes to the guard. “Brother, I’d like a few words alone with Manager Su. Could you give us a moment?”

Having received two packs of Red Pagoda, the guard was obliging. “Sure, I’ll go have a smoke by the roadside.” He walked off.

Wang Qiang waited until the guard was squatting by the road, smoking, before turning his attention to Su Weiming. “I’d like to purchase some walkmans from your factory.”

Su Weiming’s expression was flat. “Come inside and speak with the manager.”

Wang Qiang shook his head. “I can’t afford five hundred units.”

Su Weiming spread his hands. “Nothing I can do.”

Wang Qiang smiled. “I believe you can help.”

Su Weiming’s temper seemed short; he was annoyed. “I said—”

“Twenty-five yuan per unit. You get a five-yuan kickback for each.” Wang Qiang interrupted without hesitation, watching Su Weiming nervously. This was the moment—the outcome hinged on this.

He was sure salespeople in a factory this size wouldn’t pass up a kickback. He’d avoided approaching the manager or deputy manager because they’d likely scoff at such a small sum; if they took kickbacks, they’d demand far more. But an experienced salesperson would be well-versed in these matters.

Fang Yueqing watched silently, her gaze curious.

After Wang Qiang laid out his terms, Su Weiming fell silent for a long time before asking, “How many units?”

No refusal.

It looked promising.

Wang Qiang hurried to say, “One hundred units.” He’d wanted to buy more, but Boss Jia had tried to fleece him, so he’d lowered the number. If he couldn’t get cheap walkmans elsewhere, he’d just switch to other goods—like game consoles or cartridges.

Su Weiming nodded. “Give me a contact address. We’ll dispatch the batch this afternoon. I’ll have someone bring them out—you pay the courier.”

Clearly not his first time. Wang Qiang could guess the method: he’d coordinate with a client, tweak the paperwork, and the goods would leave the factory openly. Good clients would give face, and next time there’d be perks—faster delivery, a slight discount, and so on.

But Wang Qiang was unfamiliar with Shen Town and had no fixed contact address. He braced himself and asked, “Can you deliver directly to the train station?”

“Which station?” Su Weiming asked.

“Luohu Station,” Wang Qiang replied.

Su Weiming nodded. “Sure, I recall there’s a Xiaoxu Grocery by the station gate—not far from the entrance. Be there at five this afternoon; someone will meet you. What’s your name?”

“Wang Qiang—Wang as in royalty, Qiang as in strength.” Wang Qiang carefully spelled it out to avoid confusion.

“Good. I’ll head back. Five o’clock—don’t forget.” Su Weiming didn’t even ask for a deposit; he simply turned and went inside, seemingly unconcerned if Wang Qiang backed out.

Was it really this easy?

So simple?

Honestly, Wang Qiang felt a bit uneasy, worried Su Weiming might change his mind—the agreement had come too swiftly. Judging from his demeanor, there were two possibilities: first, Su Weiming had done this many, many times; second, he was just brushing Wang Qiang off, hoping he wouldn’t persist.

The second seemed unlikely. If he were brushing him off, he wouldn’t have specified the address so clearly—who keeps track of the names of little shops by the station? Xiaoxu Grocery was probably Su Weiming’s usual spot for kickback exchanges.

The lack of a deposit made sense—he didn’t want to leave a paper trail. If anything went wrong, he could blame the delivery person. Thorough and cautious, Su Weiming left nothing to chance.

Wang Qiang also understood why the merchants on Huaqiangbei Street couldn’t break through via Su Weiming. Their orders were too small—ten or twenty units weren’t worth his risk. Even with precautions, there was always a chance of exposure. But a hundred units meant a five-hundred-yuan kickback—about two months’ wages for a regular worker. If Su Weiming loved money, he wouldn’t refuse.

Kickbacks have always been common. Wang Qiang wasn’t surprised. He chose the most senior salesperson because he knew the juniors wouldn’t have the nerve.

Clearly, he’d bet right this time.

If Boss Jia’s price was thirty-three yuan per unit, and now even with a five-yuan kickback to Su Weiming, Wang Qiang had saved eight yuan per unit.

But that wasn’t the most important part.

The key was that Wang Qiang now knew he wouldn’t need to worry about sourcing walkmans in the future. As long as Su Weiming remained at Weijia Electronics, his supply line would stay open.