DM Chapter 31

The Market is so Cold and Ruthless

Posted by April Fox, ? Views, Released on March 2, 2025

Facebook Twitter WhatsApp Pinterest Telegram

Chapter 31: The Market is so Cold and Ruthless

It was almost time for the hair salon to open, and the event had to wrap up. Jiang Xiaoyuan felt like she was about to freeze stiff. Just as she was about to gather her frozen fingers to pack up, she suddenly heard a familiar voice say, “Wait, don’t pack up yet. Let’s take a picture.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan looked up and saw Qi Lian standing nearby with a photographer. With a “click”, her sorry, freezing figure, on the verge of having a runny nose in the cold wind, was forever captured.

Qi Lian patted the photographer’s shoulder: “Alright, brother, thanks. You can go ahead. I’ll stay and chat for a bit, and we’ll have lunch back at the office.”

It seemed this guy treated people to meals often. The photographer didn’t hesitate to take advantage of this and exchanged a few laughs, then jumped into a car and drove off.

Jiang Xiaoyuan was so shocked she almost forgot to shrink her neck: “You… you’re not really a reporter, are you?”

“I’ve done everything from reporting to editing,” Qi Lian said, rubbing his hands. “Let’s go inside, it’s too cold out here.”

One could tell it was some small-time tabloid, probably filled with personal ads… Jiang Xiaoyuan tightened her down jacket and silently extinguished her fleeting hope of making the front page headline.

The models, frozen to the bone, rushed back inside to change. Qi Lian walked over slowly and, together with the portrait specialist from the photography studio across the street, helped Jiang Xiaoyuan carry the table inside.

Once inside, Qi Lian made himself at home, occupying a swivel chair at the front desk. He even took out a notebook from the XX Daily, cleared his throat, and formally asked Jiang Xiaoyuan, “So this event is called…?”

Jiang Xiaoyuan: “Street Style Show.”

Qi Lian: “Oh, and what gave you the idea to organize this?”

Jiang Xiaoyuan: “…Wait, is this an interview?”

She had been stopped for street photography before, but no one had ever interviewed her this seriously. Her heart began to race with excitement, feeling as though she was stepping into a whole new realm.

Qi Lian adjusted his glasses and flashed her a polite smile: “Yes, for the community news section. Don’t worry, I won’t charge you for ad space.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan thought: “Tsk…”

The deer in her heart lay half-dead, refusing to budge. The community news section? No one reads that! Aside from the entertainment and financial news, the rest is just filler.

But still, something was better than nothing. She decided not to act ungrateful.

Eager to please, Jiang Xiaoyuan poured a cup of hot water for her creditor and lay across the counter, answering his questions. “Isn’t this the new styling design business our store is developing? I’m in charge of this, and I plan to take this opportunity to make some extra money. I’m thinking of some marketing strategies.”

Qi Lian, disinterested, tilted his head and scribbled in his notebook. Curious, Jiang Xiaoyuan tiptoed to peek at what he was writing. She saw: “As urban lifestyles and aesthetic demands rise, the fashion and beauty industry is starting to take root in our city. The street style show is undoubtedly a bold experiment, one that may herald the dawn of a new industry…”

The chasm between Jiang Xiaoyuan’s materialistic nature and the journalist’s artistic temperament was so wide that even a split could not bridge it. Jiang Xiaoyuan marveled inwardly, “My creditor sure knows how to spin a story!”

Chen Fangzhou, who had wandered over at some point, chimed in, “Wow, brother, how can you stomach writing such shameless drivel every day?”

Qi Lian elbowed him away, then smiled and looked back at Jiang Xiaoyuan. “So, what inspired you to offer free makeup touch-ups? Why not do full makeovers instead?”

“What kind of dumb question is that?” Jiang Xiaoyuan thought to herself. “Full makeovers would take forever, don’t people have jobs?”

But before she could say something snarky, she paused, softened her tone to match Qi Lian’s, and replied more elegantly, “I believe everyone has their own style. Our goal is not to impose our aesthetic on customers, but to perfect their look while preserving their unique style.”

Her growth was so rapid that Qi Lian’s pen, that was moving up and down, froze for a second, unable to keep up.

Watching from the side, Chen Fangzhou clicked his tongue in admiration. “Wow, you picked that up fast! So that’s what they mean by ‘learning well takes three years and learning bad habits takes three days.’”

The talkative Boss Chen, was quickly chased off by the shameless reporter, Qi Lian.

After everyone had finished watching the show and returned to work, Qi Lian closed his grandiose notebook. Casually, or perhaps with a hint of probing, he asked, “I’ve been meaning to ask, what did you study before?”

Jiang Xiaoyuan replied, “Ceramics—but I only realized after I studied that I didn’t really like it. I prefer watercolor.”

Qi Lian thought for a moment, tapping his notebook. “I thought you might return to your roots and choose something more… sophisticated.”

He paused, unsure of how to phrase it, then smiled warmly and earnestly: “Actually, I don’t understand it either; but something like high-end art, the kind that could be featured in a gallery.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan leaned on the high counter, her feet swinging lightly. “I’ve done that. My dad sponsored me, printed tons of tickets, even had them specially designed—they were more artistic than my paintings. But I knew the tickets were all given away, and people only came out of respect for him. In the end, most of the pieces were bought by our family friends. It was all just playing pretend. No fun at all.”

Qi Lian: “What was the theme?”

Jiang Xiaoyuan waved her hand dismissively: “You wouldn’t understand. To most people, it was probably just like the random ink blots you see in museums. Not worth talking about. Let me tell you, art is such an elusive thing. Only a handful of people are truly talented, while the rest, like me, are just faking it, using art as an excuse to laze around.”

“A family,” Jiang Xiaoyuan said, counting on her fingers, “The first generation works hard, digging coal on the east side and fighting battles on the west, doing anything to survive. The second generation studies finance or law and goes home to manage the business. By the third generation, with everything stable, the spoiled kids finally have the luxury to dabble in literature and art. I used to be one of those spoiled kids, but now I’m back to starting from scratch. Even if I pursue art now, it has to be the kind that makes money.”

For some reason, Jiang Xiaoyuan felt that as their conversation went on, Qi Lian’s gaze seemed to soften. Reflected in his glasses, his eyes appeared warm and gentle. However, Jiang Xiaoyuan had no time to study her creditor’s expression. Having spent hours freezing outside, her nose had finally thawed in the warmth of the salon, and it started running. She quickly grabbed a stack of heavily scented tissues from the counter and blew her nose noisily.

At that moment, any pretense of elegance or sophistication was thrown out the window.

If Jiang Xiaoyuan were merely down and out, she could still maintain her composure and beauty. But now, with a distant goal to pursue, she’s so busy running that she’s completely forgotten about it.

Suddenly, Qi Lian asked: “Have you thought about what would happen if this doesn’t succeed?”

“If it doesn’t work out, I’ll just keep going,” Jiang Xiaoyuan replied in a muffled voice, resigned to her fate. She added, in words only the two of them would understand, “I’ve already hit rock bottom. There’s no going back, and I don’t think it can get any worse. By the way, creditor, I need to talk to you. About the money you gave my grandma last time—I’ll need more time to pay you back. These next two months, there’s no performance bonus. Can I extend it until after the New Year? I’ll even pay interest.”

Qi Lian gave her a long, deep look, but didn’t write that down.

He had work to do, so he didn’t stay long.

Perhaps due to Jiang Xiaoyuan’s marketing efforts, that evening, she finally got her first customer.

A young woman came to the shop, saying she had a date and wanted her look touched up.

Jiang Xiaoyuan was so excited she almost lost her bearings—it was a completely different feeling from her first hairdressing customer. She hated the trivial matter of applying lotion to hair, only doing it to make ends meet, but this time, it was for her own business.

Jiang Xiaoyuan put her all into it, wishing she could pull every cell out of the customer’s body and remodel it. It took her over an hour, and Chen Fangzhou couldn’t bear to watch anymore. He really wanted to remind her: this makeup only costs a hundred yuan, not much more expensive than a simple trim, it’s not worth putting so much effort into.

The customer, treated with such care, left satisfied. Jiang Xiaoyuan wanted to follow up like a professional, suggesting the woman add her on WeChat to become a repeat customer. But when she pulled out her old phone, she realized it didn’t even have WeChat, so she had to dejectedly give her phone number instead. She knew the customer wouldn’t save it.

People might casually add service staff on WeChat like throwing items into a shopping cart on Taobao, but they certainly wouldn’t bother saving their numbers.

After all, saving someone’s phone number felt like a real connection, more personal than other social media platforms. Compared with other social tools, phone number address books are always more “noble” things.

Luckily, Jiang Xiaoyuan was the only stylist in the shop for the time being, so she had a monopoly on business, and no one could steal this customer from her.

A day or two later, the story about Jiang Xiaoyuan’s street show made it into the community section of a local newspaper. The issue was passed around the shop, and Little K rolled her eyes so hard it was almost like they could stick to the wall. Jiang Xiaoyuan, with tears in her eyes, realized that free publicity from the newspaper really worked. From that day on, every now and then, a few customers would come by, and Jiang Xiaoyuan finally started breaking out of her wallflower phase[mfn]A wallflower is someone with an introverted or shy personality type (or in more extreme cases, social anxiety) who will attend parties and social gatherings, but will usually distance themselves from the crowd and actively avoid being in the limelight.[/mfn].

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.

She had calculated before that to meet the business goals set by the headquarters, she needed at least two or three orders a day. But right now, she was lucky if she got even one every two or three days.

It made sense when she thought about it. Those who needed to perform or take photos would have their own makeup artists. And in the dead of winter, who would spend 100 yuan to get their makeup done just for the fun of it?

Determined to make the new service work, Jiang Xiaoyuan pushed herself to the limit. She organized two more street shows, each with a different theme. But eventually, the owner of the photography studio across the street stopped lending her clothes, and Jiang Xiaoyuan and her models had to give up their shivering street-side activities.

Soon after, Jiang Xiaoyuan came up with another idea: after the salon closed for the day, she would head over to the photography studio and offer her services as free labor. The owner couldn’t say no to free work, though the studio’s makeup artist would always sneer and mock her. Jiang Xiaoyuan just gritted her teeth and put up with it.

However, this approach didn’t work either, as the studio was on the verge of going out of business and had even fewer customers than the salon.

So Jiang Xiaoyuan spent her own money, designed, and printed a batch of flyers. She went to the busiest intersection in town to hand them out. She was so cold that she had a 38.5°C fever the next day, and the number of people who responded to the flyers was pitifully low. It turned out most people only took the flyer because they felt sorry for her, and immediately tossed it, along with her hard-earned savings, into the trash.

After over a month of running around and exhausting herself, Jiang Xiaoyuan finally had to admit that the market wasn’t as big as she had imagined.

As the Lunar New Year approached, the salon got busier and busier—people believed it was bad luck to get a haircut during the first month of the new year, so the end of the year was always the busiest season. Jiang Xiaoyuan wasn’t idle either.

Lily and the others, wanting to help Jiang Xiaoyuan, often passed along some of the hair coloring and perm jobs they couldn’t handle. It was clear to everyone that the new service launched by headquarters was a total flop. There was no way it would take off. They didn’t want Jiang Xiaoyuan to end up too miserable, so they hoped to give her more jobs while business was good, so she wouldn’t be empty-handed all year.

During the bitter cold of winter, Jiang Xiaoyuan found herself under immense pressure. She got a wisdom tooth infection, which caused her throat to swell as well. In just one month, she lost ten pounds and felt so lightheaded that even walking made her feel faint. She became more silent and withdrawn.

It was no use getting anxious or stressed; the market was just this cold and ruthless.

On the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month, when the shop was closed, Chen Fangzhou unexpectedly showed up. When he pushed the door open, he saw Jiang Xiaoyuan once again taking advantage of the heating, holding a second-hand book on makeup and styling.

“Have you eaten yet?” Chen Fangzhou asked. “I came to bring you some laba porridge[mfn]Eight Treasures Porridge, also known as Babao Porridge, Laba Congee or Buddhist Porridge, is a traditional food for the Chinese Laba Festival, which falls upon the eighth day of the 12th lunar month. As its name, it originally refers to the porridge made of eight kinds of ingredients.[/mfn].”

Jiang Xiaoyuan looked at him warily, thinking, “Nothing good ever comes from unsolicited kindness.”

Chen Fangzhou: “What’s with that look?”

Jiang Xiaoyuan: “I just feel like you’re up to something… Boss Chen, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“Hey, you unlucky kid, do you even know how to talk to people?” Chen Fangzhou rubbed his hands together. He looked at Jiang Xiaoyuan, paused mid-sentence, glanced at her again, and then hesitantly said, “Alright, I’ll say it, but don’t cry.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan tensed up as the scent of the laba porridge filled the air.

Chen Fangzhou cleared his throat and looked around, looking like he didn’t know where to start. Then, he turned on the store’s computer, and with a creaking sound, he slowly logged onto a broken network that was only 1kb per minute. It took him a full ten minutes to log into an email inbox full of ads, where he dug out an email and showed it to Jiang Xiaoyuan.

“This is the latest report on the promotion of makeup and styling services across our stores,” Chen Fangzhou said. “Uh… well, you’re literate, so you can understand it yourself. Come and take a look.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan walked over silently, her palms sweaty.

“You see, the promotion results have been very poor,” Chen Fangzhou continued. “Of course, it’s not just you—every store is doing poorly. Thanks to your efforts, our shop has performed the best, and the boss even called today to praise me and said we should give you a raise.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan was in no mood to listen.

The data in the email was disastrous. Several branches hadn’t secured a single order since the promotion started—bald, completely bare. By comparison, their store’s twenty orders in a month made them look like a shining beacon. Whether successful or not, they could go down in history compared to their incompetent peers.

“You probably know about the two-month promotion rule,” Chen Fangzhou said, looking at her with his small, childlike face and big, puppy-dog eyes. “The deadline is the tenth of this month—next week. If things don’t improve… I’m afraid the service will be pulled.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan felt a lump in her throat and couldn’t say a word.