On Xia Lei’s desk sat a small globe. On its wooden base were carved a few small characters: “To you — Magellan of Class 1, Year 10.” One day Kong Sheng idly picked it up and turned it in his hands. Noticing the inscription, he asked: “Is there really someone named Magellan?”

“It’s actually a pen name used by a middle-school classmate,” Xia Lei said, quickly getting to his feet to explain.

“This Magellan… is a girl?” Kong Sheng had guessed as much.

Xia Lei smiled and nodded.

“I see!” Kong Sheng put on a look of sudden comprehension. “Then the relationship between the two of you must be something special.”

“It only just became something special, actually,” Xia Lei said with a touch of embarrassment.

“Keep at it — may you be united soon!” Kong Sheng patted Xia Lei on the shoulder.

Kong Sheng was a seasoned foreign-enterprise professional manager. And to speak of another dimension of what that meant: these professional managers were responsible only for performance within a given period — long-term planning beyond that fell outside their remit.

Foreign enterprise products were typically sold to end users through regional distributor channels. In this process, the value of goods that distributors received from the manufacturer was called “Sales In,” while the value of goods that distributors sold on to end users was called “Sales Out,” and the difference between these two figures represented theoretical inventory. Professional managers like Kong Sheng, standing from the manufacturer’s perspective, cared most about the “Sales In” number — this was, after all, the stage at which the manufacturer generated profit, and also the benchmark by which the Asia-Pacific region assessed Kong Sheng.

In his first year in power, Kong Sheng carried out a sweeping overhaul of personnel that damaged the organization’s bones and sinews, causing many business opportunities to be missed, and market development was far from ideal. At year’s end, Kong Sheng forced the distributors to take on a large bulk purchase — on top of their normal inventory levels, he pressured them to absorb an additional half year’s worth of stock — and only in this way managed to hit the “Sales In” figure and make it through the first year.

By the time of the Spring Festival before the second year, the pressure of new annual targets was mounting by the day, and Kong Sheng, barely able to catch his breath, had a fresh headache on his hands. Robbing Peter to pay Paul was most dangerous when debt kept compounding on debt. He locked his office door, sat alone for half a midday, and finally decided on a bold gambit. He had to win this new year — by any means necessary.

At the monthly meeting after the Spring Festival, Kong Sheng asked the assembled regional managers whether they had any ideas for increasing Sales In. Everyone shook their heads in silence. The general feeling was that Kong Sheng had been handed too heavy a target — a 45% year-on-year increase meant travelling two years’ road in one, and there was only so far you could mortgage the future before it became excessive. Seeing that no one had any ideas, Kong Sheng wrapped up the meeting with his trademark blend of Chinese and English. His speaking style always mixed the two: “Everyone needs to Brain Storm, to think laterally. The situation is this serious — we must consider unconventional measures. For chronic illness, use strong medicine. Dismissed!”

After work, Kong Sheng invited Xia Lei out for a drink on Hengshan Road.

The two of them walked along the street, looking for a bar. Halfway down the road, Kong Sheng stopped in front of a noisily loud music bar and said: “This one — the atmosphere looks good.” Xia Lei thought it odd. After the grim atmosphere of the day’s meeting, Kong Sheng should not have been in the mood for drinking, and yet he had specifically chosen a place this noisy, where holding any meaningful conversation would be nearly impossible.

Once they sat down, Kong Sheng ordered two craft beers, then lit a cigarette, and got straight to the point: “At the weekly meeting today, nobody had confidence about continuing to grow at 45%. What’s your view?”

“The opening outlook for this year is indeed very difficult,” Xia Lei responded — his meticulous nature meant he always let numbers speak for his position. “Inventory across nine months is approaching saturation. The remaining shelf life available for distributors to clear stock is less than three months. If the situation isn’t managed carefully, the earliest batches of goods will be past their expiry and worthless by mid-year.”

“I know all that. Do you have any contingency plans?” Kong Sheng tapped the ash from his cigarette and asked.

“Sales Out needs to be strengthened too. Distributors operate on a quantity-out-quantity-in basis — only when they move more product can they take in more…”

“We can’t afford to wait for them to slowly work through their stock. They still need to keep placing orders — even if they’re stacking up a warehouse full of inventory.” Kong Sheng paused and continued: “If their orders don’t meet target, we’ll revoke their authorization and free up their territory for a new distributor to come in and take over.”

“But our distribution contracts have provisions for this — any incoming new distributor must first take on the outgoing distributor’s existing inventory before they can enter the market. Once a new distributor takes on a saturated inventory position, they face exactly the same dilemma. So the problem of inventory saturation is a burden that can’t be gotten rid of.”

“Business has its tricks, as you know. The distributor inventory management system is really just an Excel spreadsheet — it’s been inaccurate for years. Saturated inventory is just a number. If it can exist in theory, it can disappear in theory.” Kong Sheng blew a smoke ring.

In the noisy music of the bar, Xia Lei thought in silence for a long while, still unable to see the way through.

“If the actual reduction of paper inventory can’t be achieved, we make it happen on the numbers.” Kong Sheng elaborated further. “Chaos has its advantages. Both we and the distributors are only accountable to the paper inventory figures. Paper inventory is a double-edged sword: in normal times, distributors can use it to fudge our audits; but at the critical moment, we can use it to turn the tables on them.”

Xia Lei finally understood — Kong Sheng intended to induce distributors to exaggerate and falsify their Sales Out figures. Once falsified, the paper inventory would decrease accordingly. If reduced to zero on paper, Kong Sheng’s earlier mortgaging of the future would be wiped clean. With this in mind, he asked Kong Sheng: “But how do you get the distributors to falsify the data willingly?”

“Poison always needs to be coated in honey — draw a circle and let them walk into it themselves.” Kong Sheng blew a smoke ring. “Next month we raise the purchase price by 10%, and then, based on Sales Out figures, offer distributors a 20% rebate reward for meeting their targets. A 20% rebate is equivalent to doubling the profit margin. If you were a distributor, what would you do?”

“The incentive is considerable. If I were a distributor, I’d probably exaggerate my sales figures as much as possible and pocket that 20% rebate first, safe in hand.”

“Is it hard to falsify data?”

“Not at all. Data is essentially just invoice photocopies with official seals — distributors can falsify it themselves with a simple wave of the hand,” Xia Lei said. He reviewed and tallied these figures every month and often saw distributors inflating their numbers; as long as it wasn’t too blatant, he left it alone.

“If you were the one falsifying, how many months would you want to collect on?” Kong Sheng asked.

“I’d want every single month if I could.” Xia Lei laughed.

“Exactly — that’s human nature. Greed is addictive.” Kong Sheng lit another cigarette. “If distributors systematically double-report their Sales Out figures for three or four months in a row, the paper inventory will drop dramatically — and might even be cleared to zero.”

“If the paper inventory is cleared, we’ve shed the burden of saturated stock,” Xia Lei followed Kong Sheng’s line of thinking to its conclusion. “Then we change the distributor and start fresh — the incoming distributor won’t need to take on any inventory, and we can assign them a new tranche of goods to absorb.”

Kong Sheng wanted to test Xia Lei’s reasoning: “If we walk away clean, and the actual physical inventory is left to rot in the old distributors’ warehouses — will they kick up a fuss?”

“I think they won’t, actually. After all, the falsified sales figures were stamped and confirmed by themselves — they can hardly produce evidence against themselves proving they committed fraud.”

“Correct — they’ll have brought it on themselves, picked up a rock and dropped it on their own feet. We’re betting on human nature: greed is part of human nature, and those who weave their own trap cannot help but be caught in it.”

“Let me calculate the incremental gain.” Xia Lei produced a pen and paper. “Assuming we cycle out all the old distributors nationwide and eliminate a round of paper inventory — in roughly half a year, that would generate something like a 40% increase in purchase volume.”

“I’m not asking you to swap out every single distributor in the country.” Kong Sheng smiled.

Only then did Xia Lei think of it — the distributors in the Jiangsu-Zhejiang-Shanghai region had old ties with Kong Sheng, and there were likely mutual interests at play. For these distributors, Kong Sheng would discreetly tip them off to stay out of this deadly relay game.

“In some regions, it might come to replacing two rounds of distributors?” Xia Lei asked with concern.

“If there’s time, replace two rounds — move quickly, and don’t have any soft-heartedness!” Kong Sheng said, stubbing out his cigarette.

By this point in the conversation, Xia Lei had fully grasped Kong Sheng’s calculation: offload the inventory burden onto the old distributors, transfer the risk, then part ways and start a fresh round of pressure-loading. It was the same principle as a rogue enterprise defaulting on bank loans. Kong Sheng — true to his business school pedigree — had taken the world of tangible product distribution and recast it in the mold of the financial world’s game of passing the hot potato. Except what he was passing was not a flower, but a time bomb.

The trap was simple in its construction and devious in its intent, and was legally watertight. Kong Sheng was a professional manager, accustomed to killing the hen for the eggs, sacrificing long-term interests to deliver short-term results.

Xia Lei picked up his beer glass and drank a mechanical sip. He could readily foresee that this move would severely damage the company’s credibility, that long-standing distributor partners would be bled dry, that the entire product pricing structure would spiral out of control, and that the market reputation built over years of cultivation would be destroyed. But on the other hand, he could equally picture Kong Sheng — come year-end review time — telling the foreign executives at the Asia-Pacific level a fantastical tale of a bumper harvest conjured from thin air. At that thought, he felt a sudden constriction in his chest, and coughed several times.

“This year we must complete the 45% growth target.” Kong Sheng raised his glass. “The current general manager may be retiring at year’s end, and the board currently has the highest support for me to take over. I can’t let this opportunity slip away. After I take the general manager position, I’ll break up and restructure all the business units — you understand what that means.”

It seemed Kong Sheng had already calculated the entire gamble. The emphasis of “break up and restructure” was not on “restructure” but on “break up” — only by breaking things up could the waters be muddied, the old debts and holes concealed, the crises and bubbles of the past washed away and transferred. “My congratulations in advance on your ascent, boss!” Xia Lei’s face wore a strained smile as he clinked glasses with Kong Sheng.

“There’s one more big thing to celebrate today,” Kong Sheng said, producing the carrot of incentive at just the right moment. “Your retention bonus — I’ve already pushed it through for you. The process has reached the finance department, and it’ll be deposited with your salary next month.”

This was an extraordinary benefit. Xia Lei immediately stood up, pressed his palms together in a gesture of gratitude.

Having dangled the carrot, Kong Sheng then offered a glimpse of the stick: “People inside the company have said I like to build factions and small circles. They’re right — I love the ethos of the Liangshan bandits. While we live, we pillage together and eat the meat together; when we die, our graves stand side by side.”

First the inducement, then the threat. Xia Lei understood that he had no choice — he had been bound to Kong Sheng’s cart. He raised his glass and said: “Boss, rest assured — I know what’s what.”

“We have a deal.” Kong Sheng was satisfied with his arrangements. He drained his glass. “Work hard, Xia Lei — move out of Zhuanqiao soon and get yourself a bigger place in the city proper. Keep at it!”

After seeing Kong Sheng off, Xia Lei remained on Hengshan Road to wait for Xiao Dan, who was on her way to meet up. As was their habit, they had a standing Saturday evening date to go out on the town.

When Xiao Dan appeared at the Hengshan Road metro exit, Xia Lei went to meet her and led her across the road by the hand.

“Did you eat with Kong Sheng?” Xiao Dan asked.

“No, we mainly talked about work.”

“Why come here to talk about work?” Xiao Dan asked. “Hitler was the one who talked business and plotted coups in beer halls.”

“Not far off — what Kong Sheng discussed with me wasn’t exactly an above-board scheme either,” Xia Lei said. “Hopefully it’ll be like the Marshall Plan and never actually get implemented.”

“Oh? What sort of scheme?”

“We’re not going to talk about work tonight — no point ruining the mood.” Xia Lei said. “By the way, Xiao Man called me today. He said we should find time to go back for one last look — the factory is being relocated soon, and Xi Tie Cheng will be abandoned after that.”

“Oh — I never imagined the factory would come to this after all…”

The two of them walked along Hengshan Road looking for a restaurant. The bar strip of Hengshan Road was aglow with lights — everywhere, the glittering world of dressed-up men and women.

Finally the two of them sat down at a window table in a restaurant-bar. After ordering, Xiao Dan said happily: “A piece of good news — my parents’ large savings deposit is about to mature. Dad said he’d hand over the bank card to us and let us choose the apartment ourselves.”

“Good news, yes — but my old place in Zhuanqiao hasn’t been put on the market yet,” Xia Lei said.

“Then don’t sell it — let your mum and dad keep living there. The money Dad is giving us is in the seven figures — more than enough for a down payment on a new place.”

“Wonderful — today really is a good day! I have good news too: the retention bonus Kong Sheng pushed through for me is nearly ready to come through.”

“What’s a retention bonus?”

“It’s a benefit companies use to hold onto good staff. The first installment is two hundred thousand yuan, but I have to sign an agreement not to resign within two years, or pay it back to the company.”

“So headhunters won’t easily be able to poach you after this?”

“Not unless the next company is willing to put up those two hundred thousand. Most companies can’t do that.”

“This retention bonus is more practical than stock options — real money deposited straight into your pocket, right?”

“Exactly. It’ll be in the account very soon. The tax deduction is quite heavy, but it’s still very worthwhile,” Xia Lei said. “With your parents’ help on top of it, we can finally start looking at new developments in Changning.”

“The apartment prices now… before I went abroad, the central ring area was less than ten thousand a square meter.”

“The year I came to Shanghai for university, commercial housing in Gubei was only four thousand a square meter. The Henglong on the west side of the river hadn’t been built yet, and the Jinmao Tower in Pudong had just been topped out.” Xia Lei recalled.

“Let me tell you something funny that happened to me today,” Xiao Dan said, remembering a little joke at her own expense. “I’m always going into the 7-Eleven downstairs from my office to buy things. An old cashier auntie who recognizes me suddenly asked today if I had a boyfriend. I jokingly asked if she was trying to introduce someone, and the old auntie said: yes, my son is quite a catch — young lady, would you like to meet him?”

“I vote yes for meeting him — what if he’s handsome?” Xia Lei put on a mischievous grin.

Xiao Dan gave him a look and continued: “The auntie said: don’t let the fact that I’m working in a supermarket fool you, young lady — I’m just here to keep myself occupied. I have three or four old apartments in the redevelopment, and do you know how much? Eight figures!”

“That good? Can you ask the auntie for me — does she have any unmarried daughters?” Xia Lei put on a look of urgent interest.

“The auntie said she has a daughter in her fifties who’s just come through menopause.” Xiao Dan played it deadpan.

“Not a menopausal one!” Xia Lei couldn’t hold back and laughed until tears rolled down his face. “I still want to have children and carry on the family line.”

By mid-March, the long cold of winter had finally passed. The forsythia and cherry blossoms along the Shanghai streets were opening one after the other.

Xia Lei went to Hongqiao Railway Station to pick up Director Yan and his wife. He took Director Yan’s bag and slung it over his own shoulder, then took Auntie Yan by the arm as they walked, saying: “Xiao Dan is on her way — I’ve just reserved a Japanese restaurant. Let’s go to the restaurant and wait for her.”

Director Yan suggested: “Let’s change venues — I haven’t had northeastern cuisine in a long time.”

Xia Lei said: “Fine by me. There’s a northeastern restaurant I often go to — though the ambiance is nothing special.”

Director Yan said: “That doesn’t matter. Northeastern food loses its character when it’s made too refined — eating home-style cooking is what’s really satisfying.”

When they got to the restaurant, Director Yan didn’t wait for Xiao Dan before picking up the menu to study it.

Auntie Yan explained to Xia Lei: “Your Uncle Yan, when he was in the northeast, was always thinking about Suzhou food. But since coming back to Suzhou, he’s always been talking about northeastern food. Funny, isn’t it?”

“Nothing funny about it,” Director Yan said, setting down the menu and adjusting his reading glasses. “The Chairman was from Hunan, lived in northern Shaanxi for more than ten years during the revolution, and after liberation the one time he went to a restaurant, he went to the Xi’an Restaurant on Xinjiekou in Beijing for a bowl of Shaanxi mutton bread soup. I lived in Xi Tie Cheng for over twenty years — it’s only natural my tastes would change.”

“I hear Xi Tie Cheng is being relocated very soon,” Xia Lei said. “If you’d like, Uncle and Auntie — shall we all go back for one last look?”

“The factory should have closed long ago — it’s remarkable it lasted until now,” Director Yan shook his head. “This time we won’t go back. You and Xiao Dan find time to go and take a look. Make sure to take plenty of photos to bring back.”

While the three of them waited for the food, Xiao Dan arrived at the restaurant. The moment she walked through the door she wanted to embrace her parents warmly. Director Yan held her off: “Xiao Dan, close the private room door — I have something to say to you and Xia Lei. Once I’ve said it, I can relax and have a drink.”

When Xiao Dan had closed the door, Director Yan took a bank card from his briefcase and handed it to Xia Lei, saying: “This is the down payment money for you and Xiao Dan to buy your apartment. Exactly as much as it should be — seven figures. Keep it safe between the two of you. As for the apartment itself, your auntie and I won’t help you look — you two choose what you like. My one piece of advice: Xiao Dan, listen more to what Xia Lei says on the big things, and let Xia Lei make the important decisions!”

“Dad, that’s so biased — I haven’t even touched the bank card and you’re already handing it to Xia Lei?” Xiao Dan joked.

“Your auntie and I have watched Xia Lei grow up — how could we not trust him? If it weren’t for the fact that he stayed back to help you with your middle school exams, he’d be a tenured professor at Tsinghua or Peking University by now,” Director Yan said.

Xia Lei moved to stand and bow to Director Yan, but Auntie Yan stopped him: “We’re family — no formalities. Today, just keep your Uncle Yan’s glass filled and the evening will be a success.”

“Right — I’ve said my piece. Now I can relax and drink with Xia Lei,” Director Yan said, opening the packaging on the Moutai and holding up the bottle to examine the seal. “By the way — something you young people wouldn’t know: in the earliest days, Moutai bottles were sealed with a wooden stopper, and for a period they also used a red rubber cap made by our factory.”

“Such a pity,” Auntie Yan sighed. “All those years, Xi Tie Cheng only ever had one decent civilian product, and even that got phased out.”

“Uncle Yan — what did you mean just now when you said the factory should have closed long ago?” Xia Lei asked.

“To explain that properly, we’d have to go back many years. At the time, the National Defense Industry Commission proposed an adjustment plan for all third-tier defense factories across the country: shut down a batch, relocate a batch, merge a batch. Our factory was originally on the closure-and-reassignment list. Several factory leaders found ways to delay it, which kept the factory going for a few more years. Then, as bad luck would have it, last year’s flood finally became the last straw that crushed Xi Tie Cheng.”

“I remember floods hitting the factory when I was little too — but rebuilding would start very quickly afterward. The loudspeakers were always broadcasting about rebuilding and flood-relief heroes.”

“In the era of the planned economy, our factory’s mission was strategic preparedness for war — so rebuilding was done without any consideration of cost. After the earthquake reconstruction in 1976, I too swung a pickaxe and a shovel, carried poles and earth baskets. Xi Tie Cheng was built brick by brick by our own hands.”

“In those years, your father would throw himself into work without a care for his own life,” Auntie Yan said, turning to Xiao Dan. “It wasn’t until we had completed the production quota for the Sino-Vietnamese War that your father and I talked about having a child — and that’s when we had you.”

“Oh — I never realized I had any connection to the Sino-Vietnamese War,” Xiao Dan said with surprise.

“Of course you do,” Director Yan said. “Look at how many people of the second generation in Xi Tie Cheng have names like ‘Aid Korea’ or ‘Aid Vietnam,’ and how many of the third generation are called Lulu — these are all imprints of the times. Several generations of people in Xi Tie Cheng treated the factory as their home, and there’s a very deep emotional bond in that. Now that the factory is collapsing, everyone will certainly be at a loss.”

“I really don’t want Xi Tie Cheng to be abandoned — that would mean I have no hometown left,” Xiao Dan said with a sigh.

“We are not grass or trees — how can we be without feeling?” Director Yan also said. “I gave twenty-three years of my prime to Xi Tie Cheng, to that military factory. I, too, cannot bear to see it go.”

In April, Kong Sheng spread his trap on schedule. Right at the start of the month, he directed Xia Lei to send the rebate incentive notice to all the regional distributors.

Xia Lei felt worried on behalf of these distributors, but he also didn’t want to fail Kong Sheng’s trust, so he watched from the sidelines as the responses came in from distributors around the country. By month’s end, the Sales Out terminal sales figures began to come in one by one. Sure enough, every single distributor had exceeded their monthly target — the most extreme case was 300% over target.

Xia Lei called the regional managers to gather real-world feedback. Everyone reported that 300% over target was simply impossible in practice — even exceeding 50% was out of reach. The three most important factors — key promotional activity, favorable policy, and major government procurement orders — all three were completely absent. With the door closed, to be honest, whether there had been any growth at all was questionable, never mind three hundred percent.

Setting down the phone, Xia Lei understood clearly: these distributors who thought themselves so clever had walked straight into the kill zone. The Ponzi scheme had been visiting the world for nearly a hundred years, constantly reinventing itself — forestry investments, fish farming, loans, elder-care financing — and the bait never changed: convincing people of the reasonability of outsized returns. Kong Sheng was right. Greed is lard that blinds even the smartest of minds.

That weekend, Xia Lei and Xiao Dan arranged to go and look at apartment listings.

The reception hall of the sales office was packed with prospective buyers, and even the self-service coffee had run out. The sales rep took only five families at a time to view the show apartment, while the rest stood in line outside, taking numbered tickets and waiting to be called. Xia Lei and Xiao Dan sat in extra seating that had been brought out, waiting for their number. Xia Lei sat staring blankly ahead, blank-faced, not saying a word. Seeing that he wasn’t in the best spirits, Xiao Dan asked: “Is it because you think the new development is too expensive?”

“That’s not it — it’s a problem at work.”

“The problem you mentioned last time?”

“Yes. I feel Kong Sheng’s thinking isn’t on the right path,” Xia Lei said, shaking his head slowly. “He doesn’t want solid results — he just wants to play with a sales bubble. And… he’s a bit ruthless about the means.”

“How can a tangible-goods business blow bubbles?” Xiao Dan asked with puzzlement. “Isn’t that something only the finance world does?”

“Kong Sheng is a master schemer — his promotional arrangement is pretty much on par with a Wall Street financial swindle,” Xia Lei said. “The distributors gain a single bean when the going is good and lose an entire building when it goes wrong.”

“Would the distributors be able to see it’s a trap?”

“One look at this month’s sales data and I know they’ve all taken the bait. The tactics that come from the finance world have always been the kind that kill without drawing blood — these people have certainly never encountered anything like this before.”

“And… how much does this concern your own responsibilities?”

“Kong Sheng needs my cooperation on the commercial side. I’m the person holding the knife, nominally.”

“What if you dragged your feet and didn’t cooperate — how long could you hold out?”

“Kong Sheng already tore away the pretense on Hengshan Road last time. The carrot was handed over, and the stick was readied as well. If I don’t play along, I’ll be squeezed out — quickly.”

“Then… find another company,” Xiao Dan suggested.

“That’s impossible,” Xia Lei shook his head. “No other company could offer me a position and compensation like this. Besides, to make the jump, I’d have to pay back those two hundred thousand in retention bonus.”

“Is there a middle way?” Xiao Dan was worried too.

“Regrettably, there isn’t,” Xia Lei sighed. “Kong Sheng lives by Louis XV’s famous words: ‘After me, the flood.’ He’s made up his mind to kill the hen for the eggs, and he’s about to start cutting.”

“Don’t be too hasty — think about it a bit more. Maybe things will sort themselves out,” Xiao Dan said reassuringly. “Worst case, you quit and we just buy the apartment a bit later.”

Just then the sales rep called out Xia Lei’s number. He and Xiao Dan stood, along with four other families, and followed the sales rep in a breathless climb up to the show apartment on the upper floors.

In the eighty-square-meter three-bedroom apartment, more than a dozen people suddenly crowded in, making it feel cramped. Xia Lei had just finished examining the layout and was trying to gauge the orientation and depth of the natural light when the sales rep impatiently ushered everyone out. Their group had barely walked out when they heard the sales rep shout “next group, come in,” and the dozen-odd people waiting at the door piled in.

“At least in a TV shop you’re allowed to flip a few channels before you decide!” Xia Lei grumbled as they walked back downstairs. “Why are you only given three minutes to look at an apartment?”

“Maybe it’s hype? Lots of people gawking but few actually buying,” Xiao Dan said.

After lunch, they walked through two more new developments, and every one of them was swarming with people. They began to feel that what they were seeing was not a developer’s hype, but more likely the beginning of a property bull market. In the end they talked it over and agreed that the apartments all looked much the same — in terms of location, the first development still had the edge. They decided they would go put down a deposit the very next day.

The next morning, Xia Lei and Xiao Dan headed to the sales office early, bank cards in hand. The sales rep, by now so busy her hair had come loose from its bun, apologetically informed them that overnight the price per square meter had gone up by five hundred yuan.

“How can that be?” Xia Lei could barely believe his ears.

“This really isn’t hype. There’s no point in me showing you the sales records here, and you don’t need to check the registration files at the transaction center — those numbers can all be doctored, and if you’re trying to prevent being fooled, you couldn’t prevent it anyway.” The sales rep said this without particular expression.

Xia Lei and Xiao Dan privately nodded — this all sounded like the truth.

“Right now the overall property market is trending upward. As for me — I’m selling to whoever it is, I make the same commission either way. To be honest, the boss didn’t even expect such a queue on opening day — the ringers they prepared weren’t even needed, and the rehearsed sales scripts weren’t used. You might not believe it, but the boss had a change of heart overnight and is actually talking about cutting our commission rate.”

“Understood — thank you for telling us straight.” Xia Lei pulled the bank card from his wallet. “Right then — let’s swipe for the deposit.”