Chapter 42: End of August (An Extra Chapter for the Generous Reward from the One Who Shares the Surname Xuanyuan)

After a whole night of deliberation, Mr. Han finally decided to choose the old glass factory as the location for the supermarket.

It wasn’t that the location was unappealing, but rather that the renovation seemed troublesome. However, compared to the high rent elsewhere, he opted for the old glass factory, which required a larger initial investment but promised lower ongoing costs.

After some investigation, he learned that the factory was owned by the local authorities. There was nothing Sumu could do to help; this required Mr. Han to negotiate personally. For the next few days, Mr. Han Yu was busy handling this matter.

Perhaps it was because he knew some people, or maybe he quietly gave a few gifts. This morning, Sumu learned from Mr. Han that as long as they renovated the old factory, the first three years’ rent would be waived. After that, the annual rent would be seventy thousand dollars, and they’d signed a fifteen-year lease—a piece of moderately good news.

The American authorities are always generous with abandoned, dilapidated buildings; sometimes they even give them away for free, on the condition that the new owner renovates and reuses them. It’s a humane measure, preventing buildings that could be used from going to waste.

The downside is that some people exploit this unwritten rule to secure usage or ownership rights at a low price, do minimal renovations, and then resell at a high price. An annual rent of eighty thousand dollars is much lower than what Sumu and Mr. Han expected. The location is near Chinatown, with plenty of foot traffic and a vast area.

Sumu decided to contribute a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Mr. Han matched the amount. Since Han Yu would handle daily management and put in more work, he would hold fifty-one percent of the supermarket’s shares, giving him control of the company. The funds were tight, but luckily, Mr. Han managed to secure a government grant of a hundred thousand dollars, which could only be used for renovation.

Renovating the old glass factory and signing a fifteen-year lease meant that the authorities would gain a new revenue stream, put a neglected building back to use, and generate future tax income. Since the building couldn’t be used as it was, spending money on upkeep was justified.

After consulting a construction team, they found that the entire roof needed replacement, all the windows had to be changed, and with the costs of flooring, doors, walls, and electrical and plumbing installations, the investment would total about two hundred thousand dollars. That’s why they got three years of free rent. They’d still need to spend around a hundred thousand dollars more, leaving only two hundred thousand for purchasing goods and hiring staff.

Most of the inventory could be paid for on a quarterly basis, allowing for a three-month buffer. Their available funds were just about enough. Mr. Han had been working himself to exhaustion recently. Just yesterday, he had registered a company, hired a lawyer to handle the division of shares, and settled on the name “Buyfun-Supermarket,” after much deliberation from Sumu. The name was catchy and easy to remember.

Mr. Han had also stayed up late thinking of names like Golden Supermarket, Han-Su Supermarket, or Chinatown Supermarket. But when Sumu shared his idea, Mr. Han didn’t even mention his own suggestions, dismissing them in his mind immediately.

Sumu’s money was transferred to the company account, and a third-party financial management company was hired for oversight. Although the hundred-thousand-dollar grant hadn’t yet arrived, Mr. Han couldn’t wait to bring in a renovation company.

Guided by thrift, they bought a large quantity of cheap white floor tiles. Originally, they planned to use foam-core panels for the ceiling, but old tiles turned out to be cheaper, so they had the Chinese craftsmen refurbish them.

So far, the preparations were going smoothly. If the business didn’t do well after opening, Mr. Han could always fall back on his convenience stores and eventually recoup his investment. Sumu, however, couldn’t afford to lose. The pressure kept him up at night.

He was also weighed down by the burden of his lie. Even now, Sumu dared not tell his elders about winning the lottery and investing in the supermarket.

They would certainly be happy to receive such a windfall, but his ill-tempered grandfather would surely scold him. At his age, Sumu didn’t want to be berated, let alone end up like Li Ping’an, who still got his pants pulled down and was whipped with a belt by his father. Believing that every day he could delay was a day gained, Sumu lived in constant anxiety at home.

In the blink of an eye, August 22nd arrived.

Sumu had chosen a high school he was satisfied with—Loyola Private High School, a prestigious boys’ school located in downtown Los Angeles, admitting only male students.

Founded in 1865, it boasts a long history. Nearly ninety-nine percent of its graduates go straight on to higher education. It ranks among the top private schools in Los Angeles, and wealthy families love to send their sons there.

It wasn’t that there weren’t other co-ed schools to choose from, but Loyola was the only private school to clearly state that Sumu had a strong chance of being admitted for free. To avoid paying exorbitant tuition and get into the best high school, Sumu was willing to forego contact with female classmates for a few years. He had already sent in the teacher’s letter of recommendation, his elementary and middle school transcripts, SSAT scores, and personal statement. A special interview would be held at the end of August, and Sumu was prepared.

Besides school and supermarket matters, Sumu was also troubled by Grandma Lin’s welfare payments. Recently, he felt like a ball being kicked back and forth, never receiving a definitive answer. The Social Security Administration agreed to give her about four hundred dollars a month, but refused to compensate for previous unpaid amounts.

Perhaps Sumu’s frequent visits annoyed one of the administrators, who even threatened that if he kept pressing, they’d stop giving even the four hundred dollars a month. Sumu was so angry that he lost his appetite for dinner last night.

This was not Sumu’s idea of justice. So, early this morning, he got up, carried the protest sign he’d made the night before, and stood in front of the Social Security Administration. The sign read: “A Chinese woman in her nineties, never received welfare, living in poverty, but the SSA doesn’t care!”

Protests were common among white and black communities, but rare among Chinese. Many curious Chinese elders came by to ask Sumu what was going on. After hearing about Grandma Lin’s plight, they shook their heads in sympathy, but did nothing more and left when they grew bored.

Du Zhong, half asleep, bought a black marker and copied Sumu’s sign word for word, punctuation and all, muttering, “It’s so hateful. I already told my friends. Don’t worry, they’ll come to support us…”