In the end, the bag of diamond jewelry, allegedly from the top-tier brand Cartier, that Michael had brought back, failed to find a buyer.
It wasn't that Zhang Mi, the big-haired accountant, was unwilling to disclose Brother Dong's former channels. In fact, the moment she confirmed Michael's intention to sell and heard about the 3% commission upon successful sale, her enthusiasm instantly surpassed even Michael's own.
The real issue was that Yangcheng was a small city, a relatively underdeveloped area even within Guangdong Province. This translated to fewer local "big money" buyers, and Brother Dong's previous methods for disposing of such goods were simply not up to the required level. Selling jewelry worth a few hundred thousand or even a million was feasible. But liquidating top-tier luxury items Zhang Mi estimated to be worth at least ten million, likely in US dollars, was genuinely difficult. Even if forced through, the price would be severely suppressed, making it hardly worthwhile.
Therefore, after the now highly-motivated accountant vowed to give her some time to try and contact channels in Guangzhou (a much larger city) for a better price, Michael had to temporarily shelve the sale plan for the sake of maximizing profit. As for the 3% commission, while a significant sum, the former small-time salesman didn't mind. In his previous line of work, even if his performance was lackluster, he was well aware of the industry's unspoken rule of a 3% "tea money" kickback.
Later, as Michael gathered the diamond pieces back into the small pouch, he distinctly felt Zhang Mi's gaze, filled with extreme reluctance, following his every move. It gave him a clear understanding of the immense "killing power" these shiny objects held over certain female demographics. It also sparked an idea: maybe he should keep a few pieces from this batch for future gifting purposes?
At 11 PM, Michael arrived once more at the logistics park warehouse. Another routine crossing was about to begin. Like a seasoned factory worker, he first circled the perimeter, conducting the necessary inspection to ensure the crossing site was secure. Then, looking at the vehicles—large and small—packed to the brim with this batch's supplies, he realized that next time, he'd likely need to purchase at least two more large trucks to handle the increasingly voluminous cargo. With his bank account now holding only a few tens of thousands, he sincerely hoped Comrade Zhang Mi would exert her initiative and sell those diamonds quickly...
When Michael crossed over this time, the Wasteland was also in the dead of night. The howling autumn night wind had arrived as scheduled. The first thing he saw was a guard on the wall, wrapped in a ragged cloth, shivering slightly. This reminded him that he had brought over five hundred sets of camouflage uniforms and matching shoes this time—specifically, the PLA's Type 87 camouflage uniforms and the green rubber-soled shoes nicknamed "Liberation Shoes."
Over a decade ago, this type of camouflage was a common sight on migrant workers like Michael himself, accompanying them as they toiled on construction sites. But with the emergence of the Type 99, Type 03, and Type 07 patterns, many migrant workers had switched to these newer, more stylish and comfortable versions. These outdated Type 87s had gradually faded from view. This batch of five hundred sets, complete with matching green shoes, was sourced from military surplus stock by one of Little Knife's subordinates, nicknamed "Horseface," who had connections in the local People's Armed Forces Department. Being obsolete, a full set cost only forty yuan.
Since the goods were already here, and Michael himself found them unimpressive, he had no intention of hoarding them in the warehouse as treasures. He grabbed the walkie-talkie and called out. Soon, the leader of his military force, the minotaur John, came jogging up, having likely been roused from sleep.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the minotaur asked, "What is it, Boss?"
Without much ado, Michael picked out a set of XXXL camouflage and a pair of size 44 shoes, handing them over. "Put these on. Let me see how they look."
At the sight of the patterned camouflage, John's drowsiness vanished instantly. He took the new uniform, first expressing his profuse thanks to his lord. Then, he found the pants, fumblingly measured with his fingers, made a small mark on the back, and carefully used the dagger he carried to cut a hole about two fingers wide.
A quick explanation regarding the minotaur's peculiar method is needed here. Semi-barbaric species like John possessed a characteristic tail. When wearing clothes, such a substantial tail couldn't simply be stuffed into pants—it was neither aesthetically pleasing nor comfortable. Therefore, they needed to modify standard human clothing in this simple way for proper use. For durability, they'd often reinforce the cut edges with stitching or other means. This practice was actually the same for the barmaids. Their pretty JK skirts had undergone similar modifications, though it hadn't been mentioned before.
A short while later, the minotaur, now clad in a full set of camouflage, feet in the green shoes, and with the cap squarely on his head, gave Michael a big thumbs-up. Puffing out his chest, he exclaimed in an operatic, awe-struck tone, "Tsk tsk~ Boss! These new clothes you brought this time are just too good, too excellent~"
As he spoke, he even gently stroked the synthetic fabric of the camouflage with an uncharacteristically tender touch, demonstrating the profound love he felt for this new attire from Michael.
Look! The dappled camouflage pattern looked so fashionable and cool!
Even though the synthetic pants felt a bit uncomfortable against the skin occasionally due to the minotaur's lack of underwear (chafing), didn't that just prove the fabric was wear-resistant?
The size 44 green shoes, though emitting a strong rubber smell and being a bit tight, once on, the comfort of warm, no-longer-freezing soles in the deep night made the slight tightness utterly negligible.
Of course, this was all the minotaur's own perception. In Michael's eyes, even the largest XXXL size had been stretched into a skin-tight, capri-pants monstrosity on the bulky figure. Unsurprisingly, the minotaur's navel was exposed. But seeing John, now dressed in this outfit, swaggering past on the wall with a "screw-the-world" gait, attracting the envious stares of the other guards, Michael decided to let the minor details slide...
That night became a night of celebration in Sweetwater Gulch. Because the generous and benevolent Lord Harry Potter Michael had distributed a brand new, fashionable, sturdy, and practical uniform to everyone overnight. Even the kids got a set each, though even the smallest sizes hung on them like giant flour sacks, their feet lost in the shoes like boats. But so what? Children's clothing? That concept hadn't existed in the Wasteland for who knows how many years. Having clothes to wear was better than nothing.
Along with the new clothes and shoes, Lord Harry Potter had ordered several large pots to be set up, brewing the beloved seaweed-lizard-egg "seafood" soup. On this increasingly chilly night, wearing warm clothes and drinking delicious soup—what could be more enjoyable?