Chapter 2: The Dead-Stock Trap

The night was thick and heavy, damp cold seeping through the rusted iron gap in the back door of the Supply and Marketing Cooperative. The gate groaned with a dull, creaking sigh, as if tired of the whole ordeal. Lu Zheng stood in the shadows, his fingertips tapping the doorframe in a slow, measured rhythm—patient, controlled, like a man knocking on a heart.

Lin Xiaoman felt a sharp tug in her chest. That warm current spun through her mind, amplifying the cold, sharp scrutiny in Lu Zheng's eyes a thousandfold. He radiated a suffocating pressure, yet he didn't step inside. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, pointing a finger toward a stack of dusty cardboard boxes deep in the storage room.

She followed his gaze, and her heart skipped a beat. She had swept past this batch before. The labels were faded, but she could just make out the word "nylon." The edges of the boxes had turned yellow and black with age. Then Lu Zheng turned and left. The click-clack of his leather shoes on the concrete was crisp and hurried, each step landing right on the edge of Lin Xiaoman's fraying nerves, until he vanished at the far end of the corridor.

Why was he staring at this batch of goods? Was there something else going on? Lin Xiaoman gripped her broom tight, her knuckles turning white from the force. The wooden handle began to feel hot in her hands. She decided to find out exactly what was up.

The storage room was dim and oppressive. The air was thick with the smell of mold mixed with the sharp, biting scent of mothballs, making her head swim. Lin Xiaoman held up a kerosene lamp. Its dim, yellow halo wavered against the peeling, mottled walls. She carefully sorted through the piled stock. The boxes were filled with unsold nylon socks—mixed colors, incomplete sizes, a chaotic mess.

A heavy weight settled in her stomach. If this stock didn't move, it would tie up the capital and invite the wrath of the upper management. Just as she was thinking this, a faint, hurried clatter of footsteps came from outside the storage room, mixed with the sharp, rapid clicking of abacus beads. The rhythm was urgent, full of shrewd calculation.

Zhou Sufen had arrived.

She stood up straight, clutching a brand-new ledger, a sly, calculating smile on her face. Behind her trailed two men who looked shifty, their hat brims pulled low, their eyes darting everywhere.

Zhou Sufen pushed open the storage door, and a gust of cold wind rolled in, carrying the scent of outside dirt. The kerosene flame flared and shook violently. She glanced at Lin Xiaoman, the corner of her mouth curling in contempt. "Xiaoman, you weren't quick off the clock. I suppose I'll need your help moving these few boxes."

The two men immediately stepped forward, starting to unpack the boxes with a practiced ease that made Lin Xiaoman’s skin crawl. She frowned, locking her eyes on them. Her ability to Hear Needs activated instantly. She caught the low voice of one of the men: "If we can grab this stock at a low price, we can double it the moment we resell it."

The voice was quiet, but it dripped with greed. Alarm bells went off in Lin Xiaoman's head. This was textbook speculation and arbitrage. In this era, that was a serious crime.

Zhou Sufen gave Lin Xiaoman a hard pat on the shoulder, so forceful that the girl stumbled sideways. "Stop spacing out. Work fast. These socks are stale, sure, but if someone wants them, we can turn the money around. You just carry, don't ask about the price."

Lin Xiaoman's face turned cold. She planted herself in front of the boxes, refusing to move. "Auntie Zhou, we can't sell this stock to them. They're not here to do business; they're here to speculate. If the inspectors catch on, our Supply and Marketing Cooperative will be dragged in with them."

Zhou Sufen’s face froze for a second, then she let out a cold scoff. A flash of malice went through her eyes, but the smile didn't reach them. "You? A temporary worker? And you're here to give orders?" Zhou Sufen’s voice rose, her finger nearly poking Lin Xiaoman in the nose. "Director Zhao said this stock has to be cleared. If you open your mouth about anything else, you don't need to come in tomorrow. I even have your dismissal notice ready."

The two men behind her exchanged a look. One of them murmured, "Director Zhou, we need these fast. Can we get them cheaper?"

Zhou Sufen looked at Lin Xiaoman with a smug, "we've won" expression, her abacus beads clacking rhythmically.

Lin Xiaoman took a deep breath. The warm current inside her pressed down on the fear, and her vision cleared. She triggered Rhetoric Simulation, rapidly constructing the dialogue in her mind. She rehearsed her own voice, keeping it steady: "Bosses, these socks might be cheap, but where do you plan to sell them once you have them?" In the simulation, the man's eyes flickered, his hands unconsciously clutching the corners of his clothes, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Lin Xiaoman "heard" the panic inside him. The weak point was clear—he was afraid of being investigated, and even more afraid of being left holding the bag.

Lin Xiaoman opened her eyes and looked directly at the two speculators. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the heavy air of the storage room. "That boss from a moment ago, your outfit doesn't look like you play by the rules. It's the Strike Hard Campaign now. This kind of low-price hoarding is speculation. If I report it, it's a crime. Auntie Zhou might want to save you some money, but I'm not about to take that sin on my shoulders."

The two men's faces went pale. One of them stumbled back, his voice trembling. "W-what did you say? Who's going to report us?" Lin Xiaoman’s mouth twitched into a cold smirk. She didn't give them a chance to catch their breath, turning her gaze to a stunned Zhou Sufen.

Zhou Sufen panicked. Her abacus beads stopped moving. She stared at Lin Xiaoman fiercely. "What do you know? This is a decision made by the director! Who are you, daring to say whatever you please?"

Lin Xiaoman didn't flinch. She spoke coldly. "The director is afraid of liability, so he sent you to be his white glove. But I'm just a temp. I have no official status, which means I have nothing to lose. Believe me or don't. The message is delivered."

Zhou Sufen’s face turned the color of cured liver. Her hand shook as she pointed to the door. "Y-you! Get out of here! You have no business interrupting us!" The two speculators were terrified, scrambling out of the storage room in the chaos, and they didn't dare look back.

Right on cue, a frantic set of footsteps sounded at the storage entrance. Zhao Defa burst in, sweating profusely, clutching a record book, plastering on a smile. "Oh my, Zhou Sufen, what's going on? Why the commotion?"

He looked left and right, his eyes drifting between the two women, trying to play peacemaker. Zhou Sufen instantly switched to a pitiful act, wiping at tears that weren't there. "Director Zhao, this temp is no good. She's trying to ruin the deal, saying we're breaking the law. I'm just trying to do right by the Cooperative, to get the cash back quickly."

Zhao Defa frowned, letting out a sigh, and looked at Lin Xiaoman. "Comrade Xiaoman, you can't talk like that. These are customers coming to buy stock. If you scare people off like this, who do you think eats the loss?"

Lin Xiaoman straightened her back. She didn't retreat, just looking calmly at Zhao Defa. "Director, if we sell this stock to speculators, that's definitely a loss. But if we sell it to the workers and their families at the Textile Factory, we can move it at a higher price and build the Cooperative's reputation for serving the people. Which outcome do you think is less damaging?"

Zhao Defa froze. His pen hovered in mid-air, unable to come down for a long moment. A small blot of ink spread on the paper.

Lin Xiaoman pressed her advantage, her gaze sweeping to the group of women hurrying past outside the storage room. They wore simple clothes but looked energetic and healthy—shift workers from the Textile Factory coming off duty. She turned to Zhou Sufen, her tone softening but remaining firm. "Auntie Zhou, your abacus was clacking so loud you missed the main target group."

Those old sisters at the Textile Factory get paid at the end of the month. They're worried they can't find good socks for winter. This stock has mixed sizes, but the quality is solid. If we just organize it a bit and sell at market price, the profit is way higher than dumping it on speculators."

Zhou Sufen stood there, stunned. The calculation in her eyes was replaced by shock. She unconsciously looked toward the group of workers, then back at Lin Xiaoman, her lips parted but unable to form a sound. Lin Xiaoman didn't look at her anymore. She walked straight to the exit of the storage room and called out loudly, "Sisters from the Textile Factory!"

"We have a batch of premium nylon socks on special! Durable and tough. Buy two, get one free. Great deal, come take a look!" Her voice was clear and piercing, instantly grabbing the attention of every passerby. The previously quiet street came alive.

The Textile Factory workers swarmed in, buzzing around the stack of boxes. One of the older women picked out a pair, pulled on the fabric hard, and nodded with satisfaction. "Quality like this is hard to beat. Better than what the factory issues!"

Another young girl shouted, "I want two pairs! One for my mom, one for me!" The crowd erupted in excited chatter, the atmosphere boiling. Lin Xiaoman stood on a high spot, directing traffic coolly. She sorted the loose, mismatched sizes to make it easy for customers to choose. She worked with high efficiency, sweat running down her temples.

Zhou Sufen’s abacus had completely stopped. The only sound left was the rustle of writing in the ledger. Her face was green with envy. She watched the stock she had planned to dump at a low price now being snapped up at double the price. She trembled, trying to cross out the previous low-price records in the ledger, but her pen hovered, unable to descend.

Zhao Defa stood to the side, watching the scene. His posture as a mediator completely collapsed. His brows knotted into a frown, his eyes filled with disbelief.

The transactions were made quickly. The storage room was cleared, and the capital was recovered. Lin Xiaoman stood at the counter, looking at the thick stack of cash. That warm current surged again, and her resonance level quietly rose. Lu Zheng, who had appeared in a corner at some point, watched it all in silence. He opened the ledger, his pen moving swiftly, recording every number.

Occasionally, he lifted his eyes, his gaze complex as it swept over Lin Xiaoman's straight-backed figure. It wasn't cold anymore; there was a thread of subtle inquiry and approval.

The noise died down, and the storage room returned to silence, save for the abacus still clicking. Zhao Defa took a deep breath, straightened his collar, and slowly walked toward the inner room. He glanced back at Lin Xiaoman, who was still counting the money, his eyes full of deep worry and thought.

The night outside grew darker. The halo of the streetlamp shone through the window, casting shadows on Zhao Defa’s face and highlighting his furrowed brow. He muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the empty corridor. "How far can this mouth actually turn the tide..."