Lobit Grocery Store was not particularly spacious, with shelves crowded haphazardly, and a faint musty smell of wood lingering in the air.
The floorboards in this room had not been renovated for a long time, and the owner was reluctant to replace them. No matter how much cleaning was done, the odor was hard to conceal.
George felt strange today.
The morning business was as usual, with no fewer visitors than usual.
But there were a few neighbors who, after entering, only looked around, asked about prices, and left without buying anything.
The owner had just restocked a batch of daily necessities yesterday—needles, thread, and the like.
He had been waiting for payday to pass so that people nearby would come to shop.
But these neighbors, for some reason, had come to his store and yet did not buy anything.
The newly stocked soap on the shelves, priced at just a penny per bar, remained untouched.
He sensed that something was off, but the owner was still asleep at the moment.
The lady upstairs was already up but busy kneading bread and baking biscuits.
If Lobit woke up and found no fresh biscuits or bread, he would be unkind to his wife.
George thought to himself that when Mr. Lobit got up and found no neighbors coming to shop for daily necessities, he would be in a bad mood, and George would inevitably face a scolding.
After finishing mopping the floor, George continued to wipe the damaged glass windows that the owner was reluctant to replace and had glued back together.
He was already accustomed to the owner’s scolding.
After a while, Mr. Lobit lazily got out of bed. After having breakfast on the second floor, he twisted his body and squeezed his portly frame down the narrow staircase.
His face was ruddy, with a mustache, and his eyes scanned the store’s floor and stairs like a hawk’s.
Only after ensuring every spot was spotless did he believe George had not slacked off today.
Mr. Lobit cleared his throat, went behind the counter, and opened his wooden coin box, which was emptied daily.
Seeing that the layer of coins inside was noticeably less than he had expected, he frowned tightly. He stepped out from behind the counter and began taking inventory of the items on the shelves.
After checking the shelves, his thick hands clenched into fists, and with a “bang,” he rattled the bottles and jars on the shelves.
“George!”
He shouted toward the door.
Outside, George, who was wiping the door panels, felt a chill run down his spine upon hearing the voice and hurried inside.
Sure enough, Mr. Lobit was very angry, convinced that George must have been slacking off.
Facing Mr. Lobit’s questioning, George hung his head and defended himself:
“I haven’t been slacking off. I opened the door early, and I properly attended to all the customers. Mrs. Lobit can vouch for me.”
Mrs. Lobit, with a two-year-old child strapped to her back and holding a tray of bread and biscuits, came down the narrow staircase.
She wore a faded indigo woolen dress and nodded, frowning as she said:
“That’s indeed the case. I don’t know what’s going on. Some people just came in to ask about prices and then turned around and left.”
Upon hearing this, Lobit raised an eyebrow, the anger on his face fading:
“Then I know what’s happening. Someone must be up to no good.”
“George! Go to the other grocery stores and find out what’s really going on.”
Lobit was somewhat angry.
…
Outside the underground tavern, George walked in along the alley of Clark Street.
The alley was dimly lit, the weather gloomy, the ground damp and mixed with fine snow, a series of footprints had trampled the area into a bumpy mess.
He followed the footprints and looked toward the small door of Nash Grocery Store, noticing that the shop was bustling with shadowy figures already queuing up, business seemed to be doing well.
George withdrew his gaze and walked into the semi-basement tavern across the street.
The tavern hadn’t opened for business yet, all the chairs were lifted and placed on the tables and along the bar counter.
Two employees of the tavern, one was sweeping the floor with a broom, the other was wiping glass cups, preparing to open on time in the afternoon.
The tavern owner hadn’t come to work yet, the two employees smoked while working, with cups placed beside them, each containing half a glass of beer.
At this hour, no one would come to the tavern, the employees were immersed in their own state as they worked.
George went up to the bar, patted Nathan, and only then caught his attention.
“Nathan, what’s going on across the street? Do you know?”
Nathan was smoking a rolled cigarette today, he pinched out the cigarette butt and snorted with a laugh.
“You, the boss, don’t even know?”
He took out a crumpled piece of paper from the cabinet and handed it to George.
George picked up the small advertisement and saw it boldly written: “Nash Grocery Store, January Special Discount Items”
He immediately understood why so many neighbors had come to ask about prices this morning, yet none of them bought anything—they were comparing prices.
Seeing that the items at Nash Grocery Store were cheaper, they went there instead.
Soap, two pence for three pieces, no wonder no one came to his shop to buy.
“Many households on Clark Street and nearby found this paper slipped under their doors early this morning.”
Nathan added as if watching a spectacle: “From around eight or nine this morning until now, I haven’t seen the opposite shop idle, probably even cleared out their old stock.”
Hearing this, George clenched the small advertisement that appeared to be handwritten and dashed back to Lobit Grocery Store in a flash.
…
At Nash Grocery Store, two people were still in line.
Dolly stood behind the counter, opened two barrels of old tea leaves, and handed them to the customer in front for inspection.
“What’s the difference between these teas?”
The person asking was the owner of a bakery on Dorothy Street.
“This one is Ceylon black tea, ten pence per pound, twenty-seven pence for three pounds.”
“This one is Indian Black Tea, twelve pence per pound, thirty-four pence for three pounds.”
“If you buy three pounds of Indian Black Tea, I can give you half a pound of honey Biscuits.”
The bakery owner lowered his head and sniffed the tea leaves.
The difference compared to the two grocery stores he had visited earlier in the morning was minimal.
But the price was clearly cheaper by one-fifth.
With such low prices and discounts, even if there was a slight loss in aroma, it was insignificant.
“Give me three pounds of each.”
After the bakery owner spoke, Dolly began weighing.
From weighing to packaging, along with a half-pound pack of Biscuits as a gift, the whole process took no more than two minutes, her movements were smooth and efficient.
Even though it was discounted goods, there was no sloppiness—the packaging was tight and exquisite.
The bakery owner had a thoroughly pleasant experience from start to finish.
Dolly swept the pile of coins on the table into the drawer and began serving the next customer.
By the time it was noon tea, the number of customers in the shop gradually dwindled.
Mary boiled hot milk, brewed black tea, served it in a chipped white-glazed ceramic cup, and brought out a plate of honey-toasted bread, handing it to Dolly to fill her stomach as lunch.
Dolly remained seated by the counter, one hand waving a quill as she tallied the day’s earnings, while the other held a crispy piece of bread, which she nibbled on leisurely.
The two hundred handwritten flyers from yesterday had so far achieved a conversion rate of fifteen percent this morning.
In just the morning, thirty customers had visited the shop to make purchases, with an average transaction value of twenty pence.
Total sales amounted to six hundred pence, which was fifty Shillings, exceeding two Pounds Sterling.
Dolly pulled open the drawer, and as she did, a jingling sound echoed from within—it was filled with coins of various denominations.
She looked down at the overflowing pile of coins, feeling as if her trypophobia had been cured.
Now, the older, less pristine stock had been mostly cleared out at discounted prices, freeing up considerable space on the shelves.
Although the profit margin wasn’t as high as selling at full price, there was no loss—roughly ten Shillings had been earned.
Undoubtedly, the neighboring grocery stores had likely caught on to the strategy over the course of the morning.
If any couldn’t resist, they would surely follow suit with discounts and adopt this sales approach.
This was exactly within her plan.
Dolly flipped to the next page of her notebook, where on the yellowed paper were written four or five recipes for Biscuits and floral teas she had memorized.
These were bestsellers from her previous life.
She had planned based on the commonly available ingredients in the current environment and made slight adjustments to the recipes to suit local tastes.
With no dedicated food development team available now, she had no choice but to take on the task herself.
…
Author’s Note: