C20 Crisis

Business at the sand lot was gradually picking up. Yang Xiuyuan and Zhang Yuehua found themselves with little to do most days, just wandering around the site, jotting down accounts, and collecting payments. It felt like they were living the life of old-time landowners. Their clothes looked the same in the evening as they did in the morning, except for the inevitable sweat from the blazing sun.

In the evenings, their favorite pastime was counting how much money they had made that day. This period of prosperity lasted for a while. On this particular day, Yang Xiuyuan tallied up the numbers again. They had sold sand from fifty-eight truckloads, totaling $246. They needed to pay $87 to the sand diggers, $21 for wages to Zhou Jun and the others, and $25 for electricity, site maintenance, meals, and wear and tear. That left them with a profit of $113.

With money coming in so easily, Yang Xiuyuan and Zhang Yuehua were more than willing to listen to their son. However, Yang Chenxuan never held high hopes for the sand lot. He didn’t expect it to change much. It was merely the first step in accumulating funds and gaining experience.

“Mom, how much money do we have now?” Yang Chenxuan asked as he watched his parents go over the accounts.

Zhang Yuehua, well aware of the family finances, replied, “We have $1,436. The sand we presold when we bought the machines is almost all delivered. We had planned to take it slow, but since we have it, we let them take it away. We’ll buy two more machines another day.”

Zhang Yuehua was thrilled that the payments for the three machines were finally settled, meaning any future earnings would be pure profit. However, Yang Chenxuan frowned slightly, "We've hit a bottleneck. Buying more machines is fine, but we also need to find ways to expand our market."

"A bottleneck? What do you mean?" Zhang Yuehua asked, puzzled.

Yang Chenxuan explained, "Right now, we're fulfilling pre-orders for sand, which matches our current production capacity. Without these pre-orders, we'd end up with excess production."

"What does excess production mean?" Yang Xiuyuan quickly inquired. The sand business was a cash cow, and they couldn't afford any issues.

Yang Chenxi chimed in, "It means we're digging up more sand than we can sell. People aren't buying as much as we're producing."

"How can that be? Sales are going great right now," Yang Xiuyuan said, confused.

Zhang Yuehua agreed, "Yes, we're not worried about sales at all."

Yang Chenxuan replied, "That's because we've pre-sold a lot. Many buyers think it's best to get the sand delivered quickly. So, even if they don't need it immediately, they're making space to store it. Once they have enough for their construction projects, they won't need more."

"Our sand will eventually stop selling."

Zhang Yuehua became anxious, "What should we do? The machines are digging every day!"

Yang Xiuyuan looked to Yang Chenxuan, hoping his son had a plan.

Yang Chenxuan was quietly strategizing.

In the previous life, the sand digging started in 1995. The economy grew rapidly in the '90s, and even though the early and late '90s were just a few years apart, the national income and purchasing power had significantly increased. Back then, sand was sold only within a small local area, and in 1995, even a sand-digging boat could be sold. Now, with lower consumer demand, even if sand is dug manually, there might not be as many buyers. So, it's essential to expand the market for sand.

Yang Chenxuan knew what needed to be done: advertise! He said to his father, "Dad, we need to advertise and find a way to get a phone installed."

"A phone?" Yang Xiuyuan was surprised. "That costs three thousand dollars!"

"If we want to grow our sand business, we need a phone!" Yang Chenxuan insisted. "Otherwise, in less than two weeks, our sand will just pile up."

Yang Xiuyuan trusted his son's judgment. "But we don't have that kind of money!"

"Old Jiang said he needs fifty truckloads tomorrow and will bring two hundred dollars," Zhang Yuehua mentioned.

"That's still not enough! We're over a thousand short, and no one will let us buy a phone on credit," Yang Xiuyuan said, pulling out a cigarette and handing one to his son.

Yang Chenxuan thought for a moment and suggested, "Let's add two more pieces of equipment and ask the villagers for a deposit."

"What if we can't sell the sand?" Yang Xiuyuan worried about having to refund the deposits if the sand didn't sell.

Currently, things are okay. We collected a $1,500 deposit, and after covering the deposit, I only had to chip in a few bucks myself, so the machine basically paid for itself. Once we sell the machine and pay the rent, we might even make a few hundred dollars.

If we expand and take more deposits but end up losing money, even with the phone installed, we might not sell the sand and could struggle to pay the workers.

Yang Chenxuan realized this was a problem. He now understood that starting a business wasn’t simple. Even with his forward-thinking mindset, he could still end up in a tough spot.

After thinking it over, Yang said, "It's not a big issue. The country is focusing on infrastructure right now. As long as we find the right channels, we can sell the sand."

There was something else Yang didn't say, not wanting to worry his parents: even if they lost money, he was confident he could recover soon.

"Will installing a phone really help us find a way?" Yang Xiuyuan asked his son, still worried. If they lost money, it wouldn’t just be a few hundred dollars—it could be thousands.

Yang Chenxuan shook his head. "Installing a phone won't directly find us customers, but it's essential. We need to print ads everywhere—at busy intersections, on poles, on buildings—listing our sand yard's name, address, and phone number. People who need sand for building will see it and call us. And anyone calling us is likely building a house, so they won't just need one truckload of sand, but at least several."

“The houses along the roadside—we offer the owners ten bucks to paint big ads on their walls. With so many people passing by, word spreads. Even if ten thousand see it and only ten are interested, if just two call us, it's still a win,” Yang Chenxuan said, though he felt a bit unsure inside. After all, no one really knew how effective this advertising would be, and he had no prior experience. It was a gamble, but his tone was confident.

Zhang Yuehua started crunching numbers: “Tomorrow, the quarry should bring in some cash. Old Jiang will give us two hundred, so getting seventeen or eighteen hundred shouldn’t be a problem. The villagers will add another thousand as a deposit, so we’ll have enough for the phone installation.”

“We still need at least four hundred dollars for paint, labor, and paying the homeowners. Since we’re taking deposits, we need to buy equipment, which leaves us short by two thousand.”

“If we don’t succeed, we’ll have to return twenty-five hundred in deposits. By year’s end, we’ll owe at least a thousand in land rent, plus at least five hundred to settle accounts with the villagers who helped dig. We need to prepare at least four thousand.”

“How much is that? Plus the two thousand we owe for the machines, that’s six thousand?” Zhang Yuehua was overwhelmed, her hands trembling as she calculated up to six thousand.

Yang Chenxuan explained patiently, “Mom, we don’t need six thousand. We only owe four thousand. We can delay buying the last two machines for a month. Even if we don’t make it after a month, we have three machines that we can sell for at least a thousand dollars. Our real debt should only be around twenty-five hundred.”

"Not buying the machine, isn't that just tricking people?" Zhang Yuehua looked at her son.

Yang Chenxuan was momentarily speechless. From the honest perspective of a farmer, it did seem deceptive.

Yang Chenxuan shifted his approach to reassure his mom, "Mom, it's not tricking anyone. In a month, we'll either return their deposit or give them a machine to dig sand. We'll make it clear upfront."

Zhang Yuehua exchanged a glance with Yang Xiuyuan. This was thousands of dollars!

Just a month ago, they were worried about Yang Zhiming's two hundred dollars, and now they were dealing with thousands!

"What should we do?" Zhang Yuehua asked her husband.

Yang Xiuyuan took out a cigarette and offered one to his son. "That's a lot of money."

"If we do this right, we can earn at least two hundred a day!" Yang Chenxuan said. "That's over six thousand in a month."

Hearing that number, Yang Xiuyuan's hand trembled slightly, but he stayed silent.

"So... should we do it?" Yang Xiuyuan looked at Zhang Yuehua.

Zhang Yuehua, exasperated, said, "You're the one who should decide!"

"Then let's do it!" Yang Xiuyuan said, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. Having tasted what it's like to earn a hundred, he was no longer satisfied with scraping by on just a few dollars.