naruto-story Chapter 31 Letter from Shanghai
Chapter 31 Letter from Shanghai
October rain always carries a damp chill that seeps into your bones.
The deer in the courtyard, its sump full of water, struck the stone with a duller thud than usual. Rainwater dripped from the eaves, gathering into small streams on the bluestone slabs, carrying a few withered yellow leaves towards the drainage ditch.
The study of the main family of Saionji Temple was dimly lit.
The old butler, Fujita, carefully walked in, carrying a huge, somewhat dirty-looking package.
"Sir, this was just delivered by the post office."
Fujita first laid a tablecloth on the table, then placed the package on the smooth, mirror-like rosewood table in the center of the study, making a dull thud.
"It was sent from...China."
Shuichi put down his teacup, took off his glasses, and rubbed his slightly sore temples.
"Sent from Takahashi?"
He stood up, walked to the table, and examined the package, which was full of exotic and even somewhat "barbaric" charm.
The package was covered with a layer of rough linen, with large stitches, clearly handmade. It was covered with colorful stamps and various postmarks—red, blue, and a few blurry black round stamps.
The recipient's name was written in crooked, illegible traditional Chinese characters: Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo, Japan...
A strange smell filled the air.
It was a mixture of the salty, fishy smell of cheap cardboard and long-haul sea freight, along with a kind of soot smell like that left after burning coal. This rough smell seemed particularly jarring, even somewhat pungent, in this study filled with the aroma of old Kyoto sandalwood.
"Scissors."
Xiuyi reached out his hand.
Fujita quickly handed over a silver paper cutter.
Instead of gracefully opening the seal as usual, Xiu Yi forcefully cut open the thick layer of burlap.
"Sizzle—"
The burlap lining had torn, revealing a corrugated cardboard box inside. The box was of poor quality, flimsy and with some frayed edges.
Xiuichi frowned and opened the cardboard box.
There was no gold or silver treasure.
It was crammed with white cotton fabrics in a mess.
That's a T-shirt.
Without any packaging bags, like salted fish piled up in a market, dozens of white T-shirts were squeezed together, some already wrinkled.
Shuichi stretched out two fingers, picked up the top piece, and shook it open.
This is a very ordinary crew neck short-sleeved T-shirt. Pure white, without any patterns, with a blank label sewn onto the neckline that hasn't been printed yet.
He touched the fabric.
It felt surprisingly thick and substantial. It was 100% pure cotton, without any of the slippery feel of synthetic fibers.
but……
Shuichi's gaze fell on the stitching on the cuffs and hem.
The stitches are of varying lengths. In some places, the thread is very tight, wrinkling the fabric; in other places, it is loose, revealing the loose threads underneath.
He then examined the seam under his armpit.
There was a tiny black oil stain there, only the size of a grain of rice, but it stood out starkly against the pure white fabric.
"this……"
Shuichi sighed and threw the T-shirt back onto the table.
"Is this what Takahashi came up with after spending half a year?"
His tone was full of disappointment.
As the head of the Saionji family, he wore shirts tailored by old Kyoto tailors since childhood, made of Egyptian long-staple cotton. Even the so-called "low-end" shirts produced in the Nagoya factory had their stitching measured with a ruler.
The thing in front of us was so crudely made that it looked like a primary school student's craft project.
"Sir, should we throw it away?" Fujita asked in a low voice. "This thing looks... really not presentable."
"Let's leave it for now."
Shuichi shook his head. He reached into the bottom of the cardboard box and rummaged around.
There, pressed down, was a thick kraft paper envelope.
The envelope was addressed to "President Shuichi Saionji".
Shuichi tore open the envelope.
A large stack of letters covered in writing, along with several reports covered in various receipts and invoices, slipped out.
He picked up the letter.
Takahashi's handwriting was very messy, and some parts were even smudged with ink, which was obviously written in a hurry or in a bad environment.
President:
It is as if we are meeting in person. This letter is for your reference.
Winters in Shanghai are much colder than in Nagoya. There's no heating here, and it's colder inside than outside. I have to wrap myself in two quilts to write to you.
The situation here is a million times more complicated than I imagined. There's a language barrier, power outages are commonplace, and while the workers are obedient, they have absolutely no concept of 'quality.' In their view, clothes are good as long as they're not torn.
In order to teach them to walk straight stitches, I even had to learn a few swear words in Shanghainese.
However, President, please be sure to take a look at the attached cost accounting sheet first.
Before you throw this sample garment in the trash, please take a look at that number.
Xiuyi put down the letter.
He picked up the report that was covered with various Chinese documents.
His gaze skipped over the tedious raw material procurement items and utility bills, landing directly on the summary figure at the very bottom.
Unit production cost (including labor, raw materials, and losses): RMB 1.8.
Xiu was taken aback for a moment.
He quickly calculated the exchange rate in his mind.
The current official exchange rate is approximately 1 RMB to 40 Japanese Yen. On the black market, the rate may be even lower.
1.8 yuan multiplied by 40...
72 yen?
No, that's not right.
He took another closer look at the notes.
Note: Because we used export earnings quota, the local government provided substantial tax rebates and electricity fee reductions. The actual cost in yen after conversion was approximately 45 yen.
45 yen.
Shuichi's hand trembled slightly.
That thin piece of paper suddenly seemed to weigh a ton.
He can buy the cheapest bottle of Ramune soda in Tokyo for 100 yen. A subway ride costs 120 yen.
This pure cotton T-shirt, though a bit rough in workmanship, is perfectly wearable and costs only 45 yen.
Even with shipping and customs fees, even if the price doubles, it would still be 90 yen.
Currently in Japan, even the cheapest white T-shirt sold in supermarkets costs 600 yen to purchase and retails for around 1000 yen.
A tenfold interest rate differential.
That's a profit margin of 1000%!
Shuichi suddenly raised his head and looked again at the pile of "salted fish" that he had previously disliked.
Salted fish?
No, that was clearly a pile of unrefined gold ore.
That black oil stain and that crooked thread suddenly became forgivable in the face of the number 45 yen; they looked pleasing to the eye no matter how you looked at them.
"Father?"
Footsteps sounded at the door.
Satsuki walked in carrying her schoolbag. She had just finished school, and a few glistening raindrops still clung to her hair.
She saw the messy pile of clothes on the table, her eyes lit up, and she quickly walked over.
"arrive?"
She threw down her backpack and grabbed a T-shirt.
Unlike Shuichi, she didn't nitpick over the loose threads. Instead, she grabbed both sides of the T-shirt and pulled it apart forcefully.
"Sizzle—"
The fabric made a taut sound, but it didn't tear.
She picked at her collar with her fingers and even scraped the oil stain with her fingernail.
"The cotton is good."
Satsuki nodded and gave her evaluation.
"This is long-staple cotton from Xinjiang. Uncle Takahashi is quite capable; he managed to get his hands on this quality of raw material."
"But the workmanship..." Shuichi pointed to the crooked seam, "If this kind of thing were displayed on a counter in Ginza, customers would complain so much that it would go bankrupt."
"Who said it was going to be placed in Ginza?"
Satsuki casually put the T-shirt over her school uniform.
The oversized men's T-shirt draped over her petite frame, making her look like a flour sack.
She walked to the full-length mirror and spun around.
"Father, do you think anyone would buy this dress if it were priced at 300 yen?"
"300?" Xiu Yi did the math. "Then we still have a gross profit of 200. Of course someone will buy it; at this price, you can't even buy a rag."
"That's fine then."
Satsuki took off her T-shirt, crumpled it up, and threw it back into the box.
"The Japanese aren't that poor yet. They're still dreaming of buying the best."
"But dreams always end."
She walked to the table, picked up the cost sheet, looked at the number "45 yen," and a cold smile curled at the corner of her mouth.
"This cost is our nuclear weapons."
"But we can't detonate it yet."
Satsuki turned her head and looked at Shuichi, her eyes becoming serious.
"Father, reply to Takahashi."
"Tell him that this batch of goods is substandard."
Shuichi was somewhat surprised: "Unqualified?"
"Yes. Even though it's cheap, we can't sell junk," Satsuki said. "S-Style is positioned as 'cheap good stuff,' not 'cheap junk.'"
"If it's junk, people will only buy it once and never buy it again."
"We want our customers to feel that kind of surprise the moment they put it on, like, 'This thing only costs 300 dollars? Is the boss crazy?'"
Satsuki stretched out a finger and drew a line on the table.
"From the Nagoya factory, select ten of the oldest, most stubborn, and worst-tempered master craftsmen."
"Give them three times their salary and send them to Shanghai."
"Let them be the supervisors."
Xiu was taken aback for a moment, then understood his daughter's intention.
The old craftsmen in Nagoya, who had spent their entire lives making Nishijin textiles for the Imperial Household, were extremely meticulous and intolerant of even the slightest imperfection. To expect them to manage those Chinese apprentices who couldn't even walk a straight line...
That scene was simply hell.
"Isn't that too harsh?" Shuichi asked with some concern. "Takahashi Shinri said that the workers there have a strong sense of self-respect."
"It's precisely because of their strong sense of self-esteem that they need to be tempered."
Satsuki picked up the scissors and snipped off a loose thread on the T-shirt.
"Tell those experienced craftsmen not to give Takahashi any special treatment. If you see any uneven stitching, cut it up on the spot and redo it."
"Do it ten times, a hundred times."
"Until they can walk a straight line with their eyes closed."
"We want to produce Japanese quality at Chinese costs."
Satsuki put down the scissors, which made a crisp metallic clanging sound on the table.
"What about this batch of goods?" Xiu Yi pointed to the boxes. "And what about the 'practice items' produced later?"
"Bring it back."
"Sugatsuki said."
"Rent a few large warehouses in the suburbs of Chiba or Saitama. Store all these things there."
Not a single piece is allowed to be sold.
"We need to stock up. Stock up like squirrels preparing for winter."
"When our warehouses are full, when that winter of bursting bubbles comes..."
Satsuki opened her arms and made a tilting motion.
"We'll open the floodgates and release the water."
"At that time, these 45-yen cotton fabrics will become a lifeline more precious than gold."
Shuichi looked at his daughter.
The sound of rain outside the window seemed to have gotten louder, pattering against the glass.
He looked at the tattered cardboard box, then at the report with its staggering figures.
He suddenly realized that this was more than just a business.
This was a long and meticulously planned infiltration.
While everyone in Tokyo was speculating on land, buying stocks, and drinking wine costing tens of thousands of yen a bottle, the Saionji family was on the other side of the sea, in that poor but vast country, sewing their future winter clothes stitch by stitch.
"I see."
Shuichi sat back down in his chair and took out a new check.
He filled in a number.
Fifty million yen.
This is the start-up funding for the second phase of the project for Takahashi.
"I'll have Fujita arrange it." Shuichi stamped the seal. "Also, I'll have a lawyer register the trademark."
"S-Style".
Satsuki picked up a pen and wrote the name on the white paper.
The font is very simple, without any fancy decorations, just like that white T-shirt.
"Simple, Smart, Survival."
She uttered the three words softly.
"This is our doctrine."
Shuichi looked at the name and nodded.
"By the way, Father."
Satsuki seemed to remember something and took a poster out of her bag.
That was sent by the owner of the Itakura store.
The poster features a swordsman wearing a green hat against a backdrop of golden earth.
The Legend of Zelda.
"I heard Nintendo's stock has gone up again?" Satsuki asked casually.
"They've gone crazy." Xiu Yi sighed. "The stocks you bought last year have more than tripled in value. I should have bought more back then."
"No rush."
Satsuki pasted the poster on the wall, which perfectly covered the peeling paint.
"The game has only just begun."
"We grow cotton in Shanghai, buy stocks in the United States, and build buildings in Tokyo."
"No matter how the world changes, whether it's inflation or deflation, whether the tide is rising or falling..."
"The Saionji family always has food to eat."
Xiu smiled.
He picked up his teacup, and although the tea had gone cold, he still took a big gulp.
It has a bittersweet aftertaste.
"Fujita!" Shuichi called out towards the door.
"Yes, sir."
"Go, call Nagoya. Tell those most difficult old guys to pack their bags."
"Tell them that although going to Shanghai is tough, there's the world's best cotton waiting for them to waste."
"Yes."
The footsteps faded into the distance.
Xiuichi looked at the package from Shanghai on the table.
That black oil stain was still glaringly obvious.
But he knew that in the near future, that spot would be completely wiped clean.
Instead, a logo will be printed on the label, one that will make all competitors despair.
Made in China.
Designed by Saionji.