Chapter 108: Blind Box Upgrade

On November 24, 2001, while the fierce battle between OO and QQ continued unabated, Huang He was nowhere to be seen at the headquarters managing the situation. Instead, he had traveled to the bustling metropolis of Shanghai to host the grand opening of Jiangnan’s very first physical store: the Jiangnan Blind Box Flagship Store.

This was Jiangnan’s inaugural brick-and-mortar outlet and marked the first time in the company’s national strategy that blind boxes were placed directly on shelves for sale. It was also one of the fruits of Huang He’s arduous efforts over the past two months.

After leaving Hangzhou, Huang He’s key tasks, aside from delegating strategic plans to Leng Zhimeng, were primarily focused on collaborating with Leng Zhiruo to upgrade the entire blind box sales strategy.

Huang He was acutely aware that relying solely on leather goods in a blind box was insufficient to truly scale and strengthen the business, given leather’s inherently limited market. This was evident from the declining blind box sales figures for leather products across the country.

After more than half a year of blind box sales, the market performance had begun to decline steadily month by month. For instance, in the Northeast market overseen by Shen Yuequn, sales per stall had dropped by over 30% compared to the previous month — a decline rate that was genuinely alarming.

However, the overall performance of the Northeast market had actually improved. Following the August conference, Leng Zhiruo had been establishing subsidiaries across various regions. These subsidiaries began attracting investments and, within three months, had brought in over 600 different entities or individuals, increasing the number of mobile stalls by 2,400. According to Huang He’s requirements—four stalls per county, ten per prefecture-level city, and over fifty per major city—the layout rapidly covered many regions that Jiangnan had never before reached.

The residents of these newly tapped areas had never encountered blind boxes before, and since this was still the pre-internet era, they were less sensitive to products from other regions. These newly incorporated cities and towns were like untapped gold mines, naturally generating substantial daily profits and causing blind box sales to soar dramatically.

Thus, although some older stalls’ sales plummeted, the influx of new customers more than compensated, pulling Jiangnan’s overall performance to astonishing heights.

In October alone, blind box sales exceeded 200 million yuan, with a net profit of around 80 million yuan. By November, sales had surpassed 300 million yuan, and net profit reached 120 million yuan. The money Huang had previously sunk into OO’s servers was quickly recouped in full.

Meanwhile, all of Jiangnan’s distributors were beaming with joy, brimming with vitality.

Yet Huang was not blinded by this flourishing spectacle. He knew all too well that the money earned was from new, inexperienced customers—“new leeks” ripe for harvest—and that by 2002, this momentum would sharply decline. The urgent priority now was to find a way to inject fresh vitality into the blind box market, coaxing back those customers who had left after accumulating too many leather goods, ready to be harvested anew by Huang.

This was a lesson later admirably demonstrated by Pop Mart, which released dozens or even more new blind box models each month, continuously extracting money from consumers.

However, Huang looked down on this approach. No matter how many new items Pop Mart launched, they were essentially still plastic figurines, merely targeting trendy customers.

But how many trendy customers were there in China? Probably less than one percent. Most consumers were “old leeks,” seasoned and experienced. To keep harvesting from these customers, plastic figurines wouldn’t suffice; more practical items were needed.

Hence, at the very moment of the grand opening ceremony of Jiangnan’s first nationwide blind box flagship store, twelve entirely new blind box series were on display.

Naturally, Huang’s first flagship store had to be in a prime location—right on the banks of the Huangpu River, the most tourist-heavy area in Shanghai. It was a rare standalone three-story building, reportedly once part of Du Yuesheng’s property empire. The rent alone was about 50,000 yuan per month in 2001, and by 2002, it was expected to soar to around 500,000 yuan monthly.

Yet Huang was generous; he promptly shelled out 12 million yuan to buy this three-story old mansion by the Huangpu River. Within a year, once relevant laws were enacted, such old buildings would become non-transferable, let alone subject to renovation.

For now, with money as his trump card, Huang bought the mansion but made no structural changes, as renovation approvals would take at least half a year.

Instead, Huang made a clever move: he wrapped the old mansion in a layer of glass and metal sheeting, transforming its exterior to resemble a giant blind box vending machine, modeled after those automatic vending machines popular in 2021. From a distance, it looked exactly like a colossal vending machine standing proudly on the Huangpu River’s edge.

Though such a structure might invite trouble from urban management authorities, with help from a local Shanghai store manager and distributors, Huang smoothed over any issues. After all, a giant vending machine was a perfect tourist attraction.

Anyone could see how striking this unique building would be. During the remodeling, crowds of tourists already gathered nearby, snapping photos enthusiastically with their point-and-shoot cameras.

When Huang officially attended the opening ceremony, with the building fully standing, the scene was spectacular. Crowds thronged all three floors, and several television stations sent reporters who avidly photographed the giant blind box vending machine. When Huang cut the red ribbon and declared the store open, the eager masses surged forward, attempting to flood inside.

Fortunately, Huang had anticipated this. At the entrance, a queue barrier stretching over a hundred meters was installed, relevant authorities were notified to maintain order, and a dozen temporary security guards were hired to keep the situation under control.

“Dear customers, we sincerely apologize, but our store can accommodate only fifty shoppers at a time. Please queue patiently. We will be providing snacks and drinks while you wait. Thank you for your understanding!” announced the store manager, dressed like a flight attendant, her long legs clad in sheer black stockings, speaking into a microphone to the waiting crowd.

Around her, four or five similarly dressed attendants weaved through the queue, carrying baskets filled with small packets of crispy rice snacks and cups of lemonade, distributing them continuously.

This kind of service, later popularized by the hotpot chain Haidilao, was rare back then. It warmed the hearts of many thrifty locals who were accustomed to hunting for bargains. Grabbing a handful of crispy rice snacks and sipping two cups of lemonade, they marveled at what they considered the most humane and best customer service they had ever encountered.

The factory cost for each basket of crispy rice snacks was about six yuan. These were specially crafted with bold flavors by Huang, delicious but designed so that eating even one packet would quickly induce thirst and a peculiar feeling of fullness.

The lemonade was refreshing, though a second sip might seem sour. Remarkably, one lemon could flavor an entire bucket of water and be reused multiple times—a truly delightful bargain.