Chapter 17: I Have a Relative

“Ah, don’t look, don’t look,” Bai Lu suddenly said, reaching out to cover his eyes from behind.

Lu Fan squinted slightly but could still catch glimpses of the scene through his fingers. “Alright, I’m not looking. I’m closing my eyes.”

That old man was a bit unscrupulous—if you want to fight, just fight; why tear someone’s clothes?

“Ahem.” Lu Fan coughed loudly a couple of times outside, and the noise in the office gradually diminished. Soon, the man’s voice came through.

“Who is it?”

“Here to collect the money.”

“The factory has no money. Raw material fees will be settled next month together.”

Lu Fan coughed again. “For trimming the threads, it’s just ten yuan.”

After a moment, a woman’s voice said, “Come in.”

Bai Lu was a bit nervous. She shoved the slip of paper into Lu Fan’s hand and whispered, “You go in and collect it. I’ll wait outside for you.”

Lu Fan didn’t hesitate and pushed open the door to enter the office.

Inside, the man was gone. Only a woman sat behind a wooden desk.

Her hair was simply combed, and the tears and mucus on her face had been wiped clean. Apart from her eyes, which were swollen and a bit disheveled, her appearance was fairly proper.

However, her torn clothes were pinned together with safety pins, revealing glimpses of pale skin through the gaps.

Lu Fan didn’t see the old man from before. Scanning the room, he noticed another door that likely connected to an adjacent room.

He placed the slip of paper on the desk. The woman glanced at it, then pulled out ten yuan from a drawer and set it on the table as well.

Lu Fan didn’t immediately take the money; instead, his fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk.

The woman looked up, somewhat displeased.

“I’ve given you the money. Why are you just standing there?”

Lu Fan said, “Sister, I have a relative who sells clothes. He usually sources goods from places like Yangcheng and Yiwu. Recently, he hurt his leg and can’t go out, so he’s looking to find some local suppliers.”

“No, we have designated suppliers for our clothes and don’t do small wholesale orders.”

Lu Fan was surprised. Was he imagining things earlier? Weren’t they fighting over clothing stockpiles?

But this was just a casual question from him at the right moment.

To be honest, he hadn’t fully prepared to sell clothes. It felt a bit lowly for someone who had been given a second chance at life. But being penniless, earning a little pocket money was acceptable.

Since they showed no interest, he decided to give up.

He picked up the ten yuan from the desk and turned to leave.

Before he could step out, the man emerged from a side door.

He was wearing a different shirt now, a bandage on his face, though a scratch was still visible.

“Little brother, where does your relative have his shop?”

“Oh, he has several locations in Jiangcheng. I only know there’s one in the pedestrian tunnel on East Lake Street, another in the small commodities market, one south of the People's Square, and a large stall area in Baoshan’s night market. I’m not sure about others.”

“That’s quite a few. What kind of clothes does your relative mainly sell?”

“I really don’t know much. I just know he sells summer clothes in the summer and cotton-padded jackets in winter. He periodically sources cheap clothes from Yiwu and sells them fast.”

“Hasn’t your relative established fixed supply channels after all this time?”

Lu Fan smiled. “I think so. But he was scammed before—money sent but no goods delivered. It took years to recover. Now he insists on sourcing and delivering everything himself. If he can’t be there in person, he’d rather keep the shop empty than order recklessly.”

“No wonder. Does your relative have a phone number?”

Lu Fan shook his head. “Better not bother. I just asked casually, hoping to make some extra New Year money. There are plenty of wholesale clothing suppliers in Jiangcheng. If his shop runs low, he can easily restock from them.”

“That’s not quite right. Buying from wholesalers means earning half as much. Getting goods directly from the source is cheaper, don’t you think?”

Lu Fan nodded and asked, “But you said you don’t do small wholesale orders?”

“We do. Don’t listen to her; she’s the company accountant. I’m the factory director.”

“Oh, hello, Director.”

“Young man, you’re handsome and knowledgeable. You have a bright future ahead. Let me take you to the warehouse to see some clothes. I’ll give you a sample to show your relative. If he wants to order, I can deliver directly.”

The director led Lu Fan out and, upon seeing Bai Lu, exclaimed, “Isn’t this Liu Yue’e’s daughter?”

“Yes, we’re classmates, and I came back for the holidays.”

“Oh, got it!”

Lu Fan gave Bai Lu a glance, signaling her to say nothing and just follow him.

The warehouse was converted from three classrooms. Only one door remained; all others were sealed with red bricks and cement.

The director instructed the warehouse keeper to fetch a sample. Through the crack made by opening the warehouse door, Lu Fan saw stacks of wooden crates piled from floor to ceiling, densely packed on both sides.

This was likely the batch of goods returned from foreign trade orders. Judging by the volume, the conservative estimate was no less than several hundred thousand yuan worth.

“Xiao Lu, look at this quality, top-notch. You won’t find such stuff out there,” Ding Maocai said, grabbing a blue shirt from the keeper and tugging it until it creaked.

Lu Fan became interested. He had bought several similar blue shirts in his past life—almost every boy had one.

He took it and felt the fabric—somewhere between coarse linen and canvas. It looked sturdy but he knew it wasn’t fine material because of what he’d overheard earlier.

The orders were returned precisely because of poor fabric quality.

“Boss, what kind of fabric is this?”

“This is a blend—a high-tech fabric. Soft, comfortable, skin-friendly, breathable, wrinkle-resistant, easy to wash, and colorfast.”

Lu Fan nodded. “I’ve seen clothes like this before. My relative once imported a batch from Yiwu, but those were pure cotton. The labels were cut off because they were defective.”

“Yes, the ones with labels cut off are defective. Mine don’t even have labels, so they’re brand new,” Ding Maocai said, believing Lu Fan’s words. Without a relative in the clothing business, one wouldn’t know such details.

He learned from foreign trade that there are ‘foreign trade leftover’ clothes—either flawed or overproduced, with labels removed to sell.

His own factory was doing OEM work; the labels were simply not applied.

Lu Fan said, “Boss Ding, I think my relative can sell these. What about the price?”

“Xiao Lu, you might not understand pricing; it depends on volume. Why don’t you give me your relative’s number? I’ll talk to him directly.”

“No, I just want my family to take a look. I’m grown up now and can do business. How about this: I’ll use my own pocket money to buy 200 pieces as a trial for my relative’s shop. If they sell well, it shows my good judgment. Then you two can discuss the price in detail. But this time, please give me the cost price.”

Ding Maocai looked at Lu Fan’s eager expression and knew refusing might lose the deal.

The boy wasn’t after profit but wanted to prove himself to family.

“Alright, since we hit it off, I’ll give you cost price: 36 yuan a piece. For 200 pieces, let me calculate...”

“Wait a moment, Boss Ding, are you taking advantage of me because I’m young?”

“What do you mean?”

“Every holiday, I work for my relative—from sales to finance. I know the wholesale prices quite well. Summer clothes cost around 10 yuan, winter jackets about 35 yuan. That’s the normal factory price.”

“But my fabric is good—doesn’t deform or fade, very durable.”

Lu Fan quickly interrupted, “That might fool uninformed consumers, but I know better. The more resistant to deformation, the more synthetic fibers it contains, which are cheap. I didn’t say this earlier, but you even consider this a selling point.

“True high-end clothes use custom cotton threads. A high-end cotton shirt can sell for hundreds or thousands, but the cost won’t exceed 30 yuan. Boss Ding, let’s be honest with each other. No need for tricks. I’ll give you a high price—10 yuan.”

Ding Maocai’s expression darkened. Though annoyed, business is business.

He tried to bargain, “This batch is European style, custom-made, with more complex craftsmanship than ordinary clothes.”

Lu Fan measured the shirt against himself and replied, “Then I’ll reduce another yuan. European styles don’t fit Asian body types well. They don’t sell for much here, so I have to price low and turnover fast.”