Going home for the Chinese New Year with a year-end bonus of 100 million

It was early morning in late September, just as dawn was breaking.

In the market distribution station's garage, Yang Hao stood in front of a brand-new Wuling Rongguang mini-truck, his palms sweating profusely.

I picked up the car yesterday afternoon; its white body gleamed softly in the morning light.

Yang Fan stood beside him and handed him the car keys: "Want to give it a try?"

Yang Hao took the key, his fingers turning slightly white from the force he applied.

He opened the car door and sat in the driver's seat. The seat was brand new and had a faint leather smell.

The instrument panel was clean and bright, and the odometer showed 27 kilometers.

"Brother Fan..." Yang Hao's voice trembled slightly, "This car... is it really for me to drive?"

"It's not for you to drive, it's an investment in you," Yang Fan said calmly, leaning against the car door.

"I've paid for the car, 86,000."

"You'll be responsible for all the fuel, maintenance, and insurance costs from now on."

"But after deducting these costs, we'll split the profits 70/30—you get 70%, I get 30%."

Yang Hao gripped the steering wheel tightly.

70%.

If he can earn 10,000 a month, he can earn 7,000. That's 1,000 more than his current fixed 6,000, and the more he works, the more he earns.

But the pressure has also increased—now he only needs to deliver goods step by step, but in the future he will have to find customers, negotiate prices, and arrange routes himself.

"Are you scared?" Yang Fan asked.

"A little," Yang Hao honestly admitted, "but I want to give it a try."

"Let's give it a try." Yang Fan patted the car door.

"Today, get familiar with the vehicle. Starting tomorrow, in addition to the regular orders from the market, go around the area and see if there are any restaurants or small supermarkets that need delivery."

Yang Hao nodded, took a deep breath, and started the engine.

The engine sounded steady and powerful.

He pulled up his phone's navigation and entered the first address he needed to deliver to that day—a regular customer assigned by the marketing team, a Sichuan restaurant that had been operating in the university town for three years.

The car slowly drove out of the garage.

On the way, Yang Hao silently recited the lines Yang Fan had taught him the night before:

"Hello boss, I'm a deliveryman from Dongyuan Market. I'm working independently now."

"Prices are 10% cheaper than the market average, delivery is on time, and we can cooperate long-term if needed..."

It was a very simple statement, but for him, it took courage to say it.

He is introverted and not good at interacting with strangers.

Before, when he was working on the construction site, he only needed to focus on his work; later, when he was delivering goods at the market, he only needed to deliver according to the orders and rarely needed to speak.

But now, he has to "sell" himself.

We arrived at the Sichuan restaurant at seven in the morning.

The shop had already started preparing ingredients for lunch. The owner, a middle-aged man in his forties, was directing his employees to move things.

Yang Hao parked the car, took three deep breaths, and then opened the car door.

"Boss Wang...Boss Wang." His voice was a little tense.

Boss Wang turned around, saw Yang Hao, and smiled: "Hey, Little Yang! What brings you here today? Where's Old Zhou?"

Old Zhou was originally a deliveryman at the market.

"Brother Zhou quits; I'm going to work for myself now," Yang Hao said, uttering his prepared statement.

"I'll be delivering your goods from now on. The price... is 10% cheaper than the market price. Is that alright with you?"

Boss Wang raised an eyebrow: "Going solo? That's great, young man! A 10% discount? That's perfect! You're our employee from now on!"

So smoothly?

Yang Hao was taken aback for a moment before quickly saying, "Thank you, Boss Wang! I promise to deliver it on time!"

The first order was placed.

Although it's just about retaining existing customers, at least it's a good start.

Yang Hao visited his next few regular clients one by one.

Some bosses readily agreed, while others needed a few more explanations, but in the end they all agreed.

At 11 a.m., after delivering goods to all his regular customers, Yang Hao parked his car on the side of the road and took out his insulated lunchbox—prepared by his aunt when he left home that morning.

The lunchbox contained rice, stir-fried vegetables, and a few pieces of braised pork. He ate while sitting in the driver's seat, his eyes glued to his phone.

On his phone was a list of potential customers he had compiled the night before – more than thirty small restaurants, convenience stores, and fruit shops around the university town.

He chose the closest one, a small noodle shop located behind the teachers' college.

After finishing lunch, Yang Hao started the car.

This time, there were no orders in the car. He had to knock on doors and negotiate himself.

The noodle shop was small, with only six tables. The owner, a woman in her fifties, was preparing vegetables at the entrance.

"Hello, Auntie." Yang Hao walked over, trying to make his voice sound natural.

"I deliver vegetables, and I was wondering if you need delivery service?"

The woman looked up and sized him up a few times: "Delivery? We buy it ourselves at the market every morning."

"If I go buy it myself, I'll have to get up very early and bring it back myself," Yang Hao said, repeating the lines he'd practiced the night before.

"If you want delivery, send me the order the night before, and it will be delivered promptly before 7:00 AM the next morning."

"The price is the same as the market price, but it saves you time and effort."

The aunt thought for a moment and said, "Well... let's give it a try first? Tomorrow I need ten pounds of tomatoes, five pounds of green peppers, and three pounds of potatoes."

"Okay!" Yang Hao quickly took out his phone. "Auntie, please add me on WeChat and send me the order and address."

"Delivered by 7 AM tomorrow, guaranteed!"

As Yang Hao walked out of the noodle shop, his palms were sweating again.

But this time, it was because of excitement.

My first client, whom I developed myself, has been secured.

Although it's just a small noodle shop with a limited menu, this is a start.

In the afternoon, he visited five more stores. Two refused outright, while three were willing to give it a try.

By the time Yang Hao finished work at 6 p.m., he had four new customers' WeChat accounts on his phone, and eight more stores would be on his delivery list for tomorrow.

On the way back, he did some calculations.

We have eight regular clients in the market, generating a fixed monthly income of approximately four thousand. Four newly acquired small clients are expected to add around one thousand per month. This is in addition to the potential for new clients to be developed in the future…

Earning seven or eight thousand a month is not impossible.

And this is just the beginning.

……

At the same time, at Dongyuan Market.

Yang Jianguo and Yang Jianmin stood in front of their newly renovated stall, both feeling somewhat at a loss.

The stall was still the same stall, but its appearance had completely changed.

The original simple wooden frame has been replaced with a stainless steel display rack, which has three layers, each covered with a clean white plastic mat.

The vegetables were neatly arranged by type, and the leafy greens, sprayed with water, looked lush and green under the lights.

The most eye-catching thing is the brand-new horizontal freezer next to the stall. Inside the transparent glass door, various drinks and boxes of cut fruit are neatly arranged.

The electronic scale has been replaced with one that has voice prompts, and there's also a small cashier counter next to it—it's actually just a small table with drawers, but it looks much more professional.

"This...this is too..." Yang Jianguo rubbed his hands, not knowing what to say.

When Yang Fan brought people to renovate yesterday, he was still muttering, "Why spend this money?"

But now, looking at the clean, tidy, and presentable stall in front of him, a feeling he couldn't quite describe welled up inside him.

Is it pride?

Still feeling uneasy?