Chapter 38: Inspecting the Shops

The day after returning from Pengcheng, Li Mu began registering domain names. The first one he tried was “facebook.”

Unfortunately, that domain name had already been registered back in 1997. Thinking about it, it seemed that Mark Zuckerberg indeed didn’t have the money to buy the facebook domain at first. He only acquired it after raising funds.

Li Mu didn’t dwell on it. He turned his attention to finding some good Chinese double-pinyin domain names to register—less than a hundred yuan a year, so registering a few to hold onto seemed worthwhile.

Although quite a few double-pinyin domains had already been claimed, many that would one day become household names were still available, such as “Taobao.”

“Taobao” wasn’t registered until 2003. Before Jack Ma, no one on the Internet had thought of those two characters.

The name “Taobao” must have been an ingenious creation in Jack Ma’s mind. Of course, the model itself was remarkable, but undoubtedly, the name was just as impressive. It was so direct and vivid, instantly catchy and evocative. It carried a subconscious message: “There are countless treasures here—come and search for them.”

So, for Jack Ma, “Taobao” must have meant as much as “facebook” did for Mark Zuckerberg.

Well then, sorry about that...

Afterward, the names “WeChat” and others met similar fates. Remembering that Baidu would soon launch Tieba, Li Mu registered “Tieba” and “Douban” as well. He wanted “Zhidao,” but unfortunately, someone had already registered it.

Thinking about his music portal plans, Li Mu registered “eting”—which could be understood as “e-listen” or “easy-listen.” It was easy to remember and type.

After registering a bundle of domain names, he hadn’t spent much, but they would be extremely valuable in the future.

...

With the domain names sorted out, Li Mu decided to take a stroll downtown.

He was intent on opening a specialty store for his parents. Now that he had the money, it was time to put that plan into action.

He headed straight for Haizhou’s busiest commercial street, wanting to check on shop rentals—see if there was anything suitable, and inquire about rental prices.

In his memory, Haizhou’s commercial street only started flourishing around 2002. For now, it hadn’t truly become the city’s retail center. People’s shopping habits were still simple: for low-end goods, they’d go to various small markets or the urban-rural fringe; for something a bit better, they went to the department store, where all sorts of stalls sold anything you could think of. For the high-end, they headed to the provincial capital.

So, at this stage, the street had only a few specialty stores and some decent restaurants. Most shops were up for sale.

He saw a ground-floor shop of over a hundred square meters, where a burly man was “shedding tears” while selling off-season woolen pants. Li Mu couldn’t help but smile.

A huge white sign outside declared, “Last Three Days!” in bold characters—impossible to miss.

In Li Mu’s experience, vendors like these usually rented stalls by the day or week, moving frequently from place to place. For one to rent such a large, prime-location shop, there could only be one reason: the rent was cheap.

No wonder—this was 2001, and Haizhou’s economy was still underdeveloped. People’s spending habits hadn’t yet formed. Even those doing business locally were often clueless.

The Li-Ning store was practically deserted—their shoes were too expensive, selling for two or three hundred yuan a pair, and their clothes weren’t cheap either. By contrast, Baleno was thriving. Partly thanks to Andy Lau’s commercials, but more because the prices were friendlier.

A pair of jeans was just 99 or 119 yuan; short-sleeved shirts a little over 20 yuan. In winter, a down jacket could be had for a bit over a hundred or two hundred yuan.

But whether it was Li-Ning, Baleno, Double Star, or Jeanswest, Li Mu noticed a common trait: the stores were too small.

Among them, the Double Star shop was the smallest—five or six meters wide, less than ten meters deep, hardly more than fifty square meters.

Baleno, Li-Ning, and Jeanswest were a bit larger, usually with a double-door layout, almost ten meters long but less than ten meters deep—no more than ninety square meters.

After making his rounds, Li Mu noticed the burly vendor selling off-season woolen pants, a gloomy look on his face, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Li Mu bought a pack of Zhonghua cigarettes from a nearby shop, opened it, and strolled over casually.

“Hey, brother, are you from Inner Mongolia?” Li Mu struck up a conversation.

“Yeah.” The man, seeing Li Mu was a young fellow, figured he wouldn’t be buying any leftover woolen pants, and replied offhandedly.

Li Mu took out the cigarettes, the bright red pack catching the man’s eye. He was surprised—a young guy smoking Zhonghua? That was extravagant!

Just as he was eyeing them with envy, Li Mu drew out two cigarettes and tossed one over with a sigh. “I’ve always admired Inner Mongolia since I was a kid—what a great place!”

The man caught the cigarette with both hands, his impression of Li Mu immediately improving. With nothing better to do, he pulled out a lighter and lit Li Mu’s cigarette first.

Li Mu, observing etiquette, cupped his hands around the lighter’s flame as a sign of respect.

The man’s opinion of Li Mu rose yet again.

A local kid who smoked Zhonghua, yet still so polite to a traveling vendor like himself—rare indeed.

He lit his own cigarette, took a satisfied puff, and said, “Inner Mongolia is picturesque, my young friend. You must visit someday.”

Li Mu nodded and asked, “Are you Mongolian?”

The man laughed heartily. “That’s right. I’m Bayan, from the Blue Banner.”

Li Mu nodded. “This kind of business must be tough for you.”

Bayan sighed, “You’re telling me! I’ve been at it five years now—almost traveled all over China.”

Li Mu smiled, “How many days have you been in Haizhou? How’s business?”

“Not great!” Bayan shook his head, dissatisfied. “People here are too stingy, love to haggle. Those uncles and aunties, holding fifty-yuan woolen pants, still try to bargain me down to five yuan…”

Li Mu chuckled at Bayan’s complaint. Haizhou’s spending power was indeed low, and woolen pants weren’t a necessity here—winters weren’t that cold.

Then Li Mu cut to the question that mattered to him: “This is our city center. Renting a shop here must be expensive, right?”

“It’s okay.” Bayan flicked his cigarette ash. “Eighty yuan a day. I thought I’d do well for a few days, but the goods just aren’t moving.”

Now it was Li Mu’s turn to be surprised. Eighty yuan a day, and this place looked like three shops combined—at least 150 or 160 square meters. It was messy, as if the previous decor had just been stripped out. Aside from a heap of suspended woolen pants, there were two makeshift beds—presumably for Bayan and his wife.

“Rent’s not bad. Eighty yuan a day is a bargain.”

Bayan shook his head. “That’s what I thought. The guy subletting it to me told me he used to sell fabrics here, but the landlord’s raising the rent this year, so he’s moving out. He said a new fabric market just opened with more traffic, so he’s moved there. There’s a bit more than a week left before the real landlord takes the place back, so he offered it to me for eighty a day.”

Then Bayan leaned in and said conspiratorially, “Supposedly, it used to be just five thousand a month. Now the real landlord wants to raise it to seven thousand!”

That was exactly the kind of information Li Mu was after.

Over seven thousand a month? If true, that was fantastic.

But it made sense—retail was still in its infancy, with an uncertain future and little investor confidence. Once the retail sector, especially clothing, took off, rent here would skyrocket.

Bayan, sensing Li Mu’s interest, asked, “Thinking of renting this shop, little brother?”

“Yes,” Li Mu admitted, nodding.

Bayan peeled off the sale poster taped to the wall, revealing a printed A4 sheet: “Shop for Rent, 139*****”

Li Mu’s eyes lit up. He immediately took out his phone and jotted down the number. He handed the rest of the cigarettes to Bayan, smiling, “Thank you, Bayan.”

Bayan tried to refuse, but Li Mu was already walking away.

In this lifetime, Li Mu didn’t have much of a smoking habit. Cigarettes weren’t a necessity and, given their health risks, he avoided them whenever possible.