Chapter 48: The Mini Tape Recorder Goes on Sale

“Don’t, my place is too small to accommodate someone as grand as you,” Chen Pan’er said as she washed her face.

“It’s all my fault, don’t be mad, okay?” Jiang Butong tried to soothe her.

Chen Pan’er finished washing her face and began brushing her teeth, thinking to herself, You kept me awake all night yesterday, and yet you slept so soundly you were snoring.

“How about I give you a raise?” Jiang Butong suggested.

Chen Pan’er was unmoved.

“I’ll give you a salary every month,” Jiang Butong persisted.

That caught Chen Pan’er’s interest. She turned to look at Jiang Butong, her mouth full of toothpaste, her words muffled, “How much of a raise?”

Jiang Butong saw the greedy sparkle in Chen Pan’er’s eyes and replied, “Two hundred a month.”

“You even pay Qing’er three hundred,” Chen Pan’er protested, a little disgruntled.

“Qing’er doesn’t get a share of the profits, but you do—forty percent, in fact. You’re practically a co-owner. And even if we lose money, you’re not expected to contribute,” Jiang Butong explained.

Chen Pan’er tilted her head, considering. Two hundred wasn’t bad, actually—enough to cover her rent.

“Fine, I’ll reluctantly agree. But if you make me angry again, hmph…” Chen Pan’er put on a mock-threatening face, trying to look fierce but only managing to be adorable.

“If I upset you again, I’ll give you another raise,” Jiang Butong cut her off before she could finish.

“Now you’re talking,” Chen Pan’er said, returning to her usual self, her mood much improved.

“I’ll skip breakfast. I have to get to the wholesale market,” Jiang Butong said, glancing at the time—he was already running late.

“Go ahead,” Chen Pan’er said, finishing up with her teeth and getting ready to change.

“Drive carefully,” she reminded him thoughtfully.

“I will,” Jiang Butong replied as he headed out the door.

He sped down the road in his van, a vehicle with poor handling and basic features, but in Jiang Butong’s hands, it maneuvered as deftly as a fish in water, overtaking buses and private cars alike.

Within half an hour, Jiang Butong arrived at the wholesale market and handed his order list to Zhou Wenxiu, who ran a clothing wholesale stall.

Zhou Wenxiu glanced over his restocking list and was startled—Jiang Butong’s restocking frequency was astonishingly fast. Most people restocked every three to five days at best, some only once a week. But Jiang Butong seemed to restock nearly every other day, and she remembered that his clothing shop had only opened yesterday.

“Xiao Tong, where’s your shop? How do you sell your clothes? You’ve restocked a lot these past two days,” Zhou Wenxiu probed, hoping to learn the secret of Jiang Butong’s success so she could boast to her agents.

“It’s near the university district. Most of my customers are my classmates, and I give them a good deal—I only make a few yuan per piece,” Jiang Butong replied vaguely. After all, business secrets weren’t to be shared lightly.

“I see.” Zhou Wenxiu gave up on her inquiry, realizing that as a university student, Jiang Butong could tap into a market inaccessible to most people.

“By the way, Sister Zhou, you won’t run out of these clothes, will you? I wouldn’t want to build up my business only for you to run out of stock. If you do run low, let me know in advance. Otherwise, don’t blame me if I have to go elsewhere,” Jiang Butong said.

For those in the clothing business, especially consignment sellers like him, supply disruptions were the biggest fear.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know ahead of time if stock runs low,” Zhou Wenxiu promised, handing the restocking order to a clerk to start packing Jiang Butong’s items.

Jiang Butong chatted idly with Zhou Wenxiu for a bit, and the topic drifted to Wang Yun. Only then did Jiang Butong learn that Wang Yun had really never been married—at twenty-eight, she was considered a spinster by the standards of the day.

“I heard she dated a guy before, and his family was pretty well-off. They thought Wang Yun was marrying above her station, and the parents didn’t approve. They wanted someone of equal standing,” Zhou Wenxiu confided, spilling all of Wang Yun’s secrets.

Jiang Butong fell silent. He’d always assumed Wang Yun was divorced, never imagining she’d never even married.

“She took it pretty hard and hasn’t married since,” Zhou Wenxiu continued, sighing.

By then, the clerk had finished packing the order. Jiang Butong said his goodbyes to Zhou Wenxiu and loaded the goods into his van.

When Jiang Butong returned to the clothing store, it was already past ten in the morning. Chen Pan’er and Qing’er were already at work—one counting inventory, the other cleaning.

Jiang Butong called them over to help unload. Together, the three of them carried the new stock inside. Chen Pan’er took out the iron and began pressing the clothes—a rule Jiang Butong had set, especially for the clothes displayed on the wall.

While they were busy, a customer stepped in. She seemed to be the same woman who’d come yesterday, eyeing a particular plaid dress. There’d been none in stock then, so she’d come back today just for it.

Chen Pan’er handed her the freshly ironed dress to try on. The customer spun in front of the mirror—everything fit perfectly.

She paid cheerfully, settled the bill, and left.

Seeing that there was nothing more for him to do there, Jiang Butong said goodbye to Chen Pan’er and drove off.

At Wang Yun’s shop, a small van was parked at the door, and Zhou Jianliang was directing workers unloading cargo.

He greeted Jiang Butong as he arrived.

“These are a hundred portable tape recorders. Think you can sell them all in a month?” Zhou Jianliang asked. He’d made a firm commitment to the factory manager—if he failed, his own future would be in jeopardy.

“One hundred? No problem. I could even give them all away for free if I had to,” Jiang Butong said, thumping his chest.

“Come on, Xiao Tong, there’s no need for that. Business is about everyone making money together,” Zhou Jianliang replied, though he suspected Jiang Butong was just being polite. Still, he felt a bit moved.

By the time all one hundred tape recorders had been unloaded, Wang Yun’s small shop was packed to the brim—barely enough room for two people to stand, with hardly space to turn around.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got things to do at the factory,” Zhou Jianliang said, bidding farewell to Jiang Butong and Wang Yun before driving off.

Wang Yun frowned at her cramped shop. She used to have space for a lounge chair, but now there wasn’t even room to strike her usual proud pose.

Jiang Butong also noticed how packed the place was. The 6,000 yuan order of tapes had arrived last night—over 3,500 tapes in all, at a unit price of one yuan seventy each.

Wang Yun said, “The last batch of tapes we bought for 4,000 yuan has completely sold out, with a total sales of over 8,000 yuan. Then we restocked with 6,000 yuan yesterday, so we have only 2,000 left in hand.”

Jiang Butong frowned. “Why didn’t we spend it all?”

Wang Yun shot him a look. “If we spent the remaining 2,000 on tapes, how would we pay for the portable recorders?”

Jiang Butong told her, “Sell the recorders at twenty yuan each. When others come to buy from us, they’ll probably sell them for thirty or forty yuan. At that price, there’s plenty of room for profit.”

Before agreeing to handle the recorders, Jiang Butong had researched the market. The cheapest large dual-speaker tape recorder cost wholesalers seventy yuan, with middlemen marking them up to a hundred, and the final customer price landed between one hundred twenty and one hundred fifty.

Wang Yun was skeptical, but now that she was in business with Jiang Butong, she had no choice but to press on.

Jiang Butong lingered for a while longer. Soon, customers started coming for tapes—some new, some regulars. Most bought two or three hundred at a time, keeping Wang Yun busily occupied.

With space so tight, only one person could move freely inside.

More than a few customers’ eyes drifted over Wang Yun’s figure, their thoughts wandering.

Jiang Butong coughed and stepped in front of her.

Some of the customers knew Jiang Butong, others didn’t.

“And this young man is…?” asked a middle-aged man with a heavy Sichuan accent.

“I’m her boyfriend,” Jiang Butong replied confidently. He knew full well what was going through these old lechers’ minds.

“Oh, you’re a young one,” the Sichuan man said with an awkward laugh.

“By the way, do you need tape recorders? I just got a new batch in.”

“No, thanks. We have recorders in our shop too,” another middle-aged man waved him off.

“How much did you pay for them?” Jiang Butong pressed.

“Well…” The man hesitated. He hadn’t bought his recorders from Jiang Butong, and purchase prices were always closely guarded secrets.

Jiang Butong took a compact recorder out from beneath the counter, opened the packaging, inserted batteries, and slid a tape of “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” into it.