Chapter 8 — Refrigerated Dreams and Warm Realities
The cold storage unit arrived three days later, rolling into the alley behind our flagship store like an oversized ice cube on wheels. The delivery man slapped the side.
"Here's your freezer, boss. Don't put it in direct sun."
That was it. No ribbon-cutting, no ceremonial plug-in, just a humming white box that looked too clean to belong in our greasy alley.
I stood there with Liu Fang, my manager, and our newly hired "Logistics Coordinator," a man named Sun Peng who'd spent the last decade driving a vegetable truck between two markets. His job title was now twice as long as his résumé.
"Sun," I said, "this is the heart of our food safety program. Treat it like your own child."
He nodded gravely. "I will. Also, this thing eats electricity like a fat cousin at New Year. Your bill's going to hurt."
Perfect. Electricity bills were exactly the kind of loss I wanted.
The New Vans
The two refrigerated vans came a day later. One was painted in our bright red-and-white livery; the other still had the faint ghost of its old seafood company's logo under the new paint. Sun Peng took the keys like a proud father at a graduation.
We ran our first test route the next morning: pick up cheese and tomato paste from a wholesaler in the next county, drive it back without anything melting, and unload it straight into the cold storage.
Everything went well — until Sun Peng backed into a pole outside the wholesaler's gate. The dent cost 500 yuan to fix.
Loss achieved. I almost hugged him.
Supplier Diplomacy
The wholesaler's manager, an oily man named Zhao, took one look at me and decided I wasn't worth his full attention.
"You're small," Zhao said, counting the cases of cheese. "Maybe I sell to you once. But big buyers get first stock. If shortage, you wait."
I smiled, the smile of a man determined to throw money away. "I'll pay extra for guaranteed stock."
That got his attention. Within five minutes, we had a contract. The price was laughably high. My accountant would scream. I signed it anyway.
First Week Problems
By the end of week one, we'd had:
One van dent.
A short power outage that made the cold storage smell faintly of onions.
A driver who got lost and delivered our cheese to a tofu factory.
The System still approved every receipt.
[Expenditure Logged: Logistics Expansion — Category: Operational Necessity.]
I was starting to realize that "operational necessity" was just the System's way of letting me burn money without feeling guilty.
The Tiny Win I Didn't Want
On Friday, our first planned shipment ran like clockwork: Sun Peng left at 6 a.m., picked up supplies, came back before lunch, unloaded, and still had time to wash the van.
No delays. No spoilage. No sabotage.
The restaurant ran smoothly all weekend. Customers got their pizza and pasta hot and fast.
I should have been furious — efficiency was the enemy of loss. Instead, I found myself staring at the humming cold storage, thinking: If it works this well for one store…
No. No expansion. Not yet. Just keep the supply lines from collapsing. That's all.
Still, I couldn't help noticing the way the vans looked in our colors, parked side-by-side like loyal soldiers. There was a dangerous satisfaction in seeing things work — and I didn't trust myself with that feeling.