Chapter 371: First Day: 1.46 Million Orders, 5.7 Million in Sales! Ma Liyun: I

Brother, when’s your Kuaipao take a break?

Jiang Hao was just about to leave when a Qindu Waimai rider pulled him down, grinning and offering a Hong Shuang Xi cigarette.

As the saying goes, you don’t hit a smiling face; though Jiang Hao thought Hong Shuang Xi was low-class and prone to sticking in the throat, he didn’t refuse outright, took it, tucked it behind his ear, and replied: “In our line, what break?”

“Is Chen Yansen just as much of a bastard as Li Yan? Doesn’t give you days off?” the Qindu Waimai rider asked, startled.

“Fuck! Who are you calling names? You dare insult our boss?” Jiang Hao’s face turned icy; he snatched up his bike lock and shouted.

The Qindu Waimai rider was stunned, thinking: Are you fucking crazy? I’m defending you, and you’re yelling at me?

“Bro, let’s talk calmly,” several other Qindu Waimai riders rushed over to mediate.

“We get triple pay during Lunar New Year, extra subsidies, and order-busting bonuses. Only assholes think about taking days off.”

Jiang Hao grumbled, annoyed.

He tossed the bike lock back into the box with a clang.

Hearing this, the Qindu Waimai riders exchanged glances—they’d come seeking comfort, only to get another blow.

They’d checked: Meituan had similar “Preferred Rider” perks, but Qindu Waimai riders got nothing—not even a hair. Their station chief said tomorrow they’d get 100 yuan for transportation.

Transportation?

Are you trying to bribe a beggar?

But what could they do? Like Meituan riders, they were all part-timers.

No labor contract, so they weren’t even officially Qindu Waimai employees.

“Bro, are you still hiring at your station?” the Qindu Waimai rider, though scolded, didn’t get angry—instead, he grinned and begged.

Jiang Hao paused, swallowing the curse on his tongue—he couldn’t stand softness.

Three months ago, when he was still a Meituan rider, he’d bowed and scraped, asking Qindu Waimai riders the same question about hiring.

Seeing this, Jiang Hao softened his tone, nodded, and said: “We’re short-staffed by year-end, but each station only hires two or three people—it’s tough. You guys should go south. They just launched there a few months ago, desperately short on riders, and you get stock options after three months.”

Hard to believe Jiang Hao, who hadn’t even graduated high school, talked so casually about stock options.

All Qindu Waimai riders nationwide, like CEO Pei Yi, belonged to the same company—technically, they were colleagues.

Sixty percent of the riders held company stock options; hearing someone insult their boss naturally made them furious.

“South? Too far! I’m from Beihe.” The Qindu Waimai rider shook his head.

“Base salary 1,800, eight hours online daily, guaranteed 8,000 monthly income—still too far?” Jiang Hao sneered.

A year ago, he’d worked in Yangcheng screwing parts, watched a coworker’s three fingers crushed by a machine—blood spurting—and fled that night with his toolbox.

He was only eighteen; he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life missing limbs.

After arriving in Yancheng, he couldn’t find work, so he became a Meituan rider. Then he heard Kuai Pao offered better pay: base salary, social insurance, plus accident, medical, and third-party liability coverage.

Once he memorized Chaoyang District’s business centers, streets, alleys, and housing complexes, he joined Kuai Pao’s delivery division without looking back.

“Base salary that high in the south?” The Qindu Waimai rider gasped, eyes full of envy.

Don’t underestimate 1,800—they all knew Kuai Pao paid quarterly performance bonuses, one to three times base salary, totaling at least 10,000 yuan a year—who wouldn’t be jealous?

“Bro, don’t you watch the news? Our group just raised salaries!”

Jiang Hao smirked, proud.

Not just Orange Phone Factory raised hourly wages—Yunsu Express and Kuai Pao delivery did too.

“Your Kuai Pao is great, but you hire too few people,” the Qindu Waimai rider grumbled.

“If we opened hiring wide, the company couldn’t afford it! Besides, in this commercial zone, we only do sixty to seventy orders a day—too many riders and there’s not enough to go around,” Jiang Hao explained with a smile.

He waved his hand. “Enough talk. The station boiled red bean porridge—I’m going back for a bowl. Don’t limit yourself. If you want to earn money, don’t fear distance.”

Jiang Hao fired up his electric scooter and rode off happily.

“Tao Ge, should we go ask at the Kuai Pao station? Maybe they’re hiring?” one Qindu Waimai rider ventured.

Today was February 6, the 26th day of Lunar New Year—they’d stuck it out in Yancheng this long because they wanted to earn money, but Qindu Waimai offered no chance, and Meituan played favorites.

Their last hope rested on Kuai Pao!

“Let’s go!” Tao Ge hopped on his scooter and sped toward Kuai Pao’s rest station.

Meanwhile.

Shanghai, Longcao Road 200, Yi Yuan Office Building.

After over a month of preparation, Kuai Pao Grocery finally completed testing and launched before Lunar New Year.

“Liang, how many orders?”

Pei Yi stepped out of his office and called to Liang Changlin.

“51,000 orders in the first hour!” Liang Changlin looked up, eyes gleaming.

For the first time, he felt what it meant to have a boss backing him, with unlimited funding and traffic.

Just sixty minutes after launch, the platform averaged 850 orders per minute—unthinkable before.

He’d run Dingdong Community for half a year; at its peak, it had 47 stations but never broke 20,000 daily orders.

For Kuai Pao, 20,000 orders was effortless.

“Good. Why didn’t I think of launching a grocery business before?” Pei Yi frowned slightly.

“If you’d thought of it, how could I have the chance to work with you?” Liang Changlin joked.

Kuai Pao Grocery partnered with over 200 food suppliers in Shanghai, including Bright, Yongfeng Vegetables, and Pangshi Seafood, and established procurement relationships with agricultural cooperatives in Qingpu, Pudong, and Fengxian districts.

It operated six central warehouses, each over 10,000 square meters, forming a supply network with pre-warehouses to deliver over a thousand products to customers in 29 minutes.

Grocery’s repeat purchase rate matched delivery’s.

Once scaled in tier-one and tier-two cities, high-frequency grocery would lift low-frequency group buying, giving Kuai Pao a decisive lead.

Pei Yi smiled but said nothing—he saw Liang Changlin’s ability clearly. He might not be as sharp online as the young, but supplier management? He had a system.

He personally led teams to negotiate with all 200+ suppliers, including Bright, Yongfeng, and Pangshi.

“Once the scale grows, the grocery channel could become a standalone division. Keep going.”

Pei Yi patted Liang Changlin’s shoulder.

As Kuai Pao CEO, drawing future pies for subordinates had become Pei Yi’s daily routine.

“Thank you, Boss Pei. I’ll work hard,” Liang Changlin nodded.

Though Pei Yi was only twenty-eight—a standard post-85—Liang Changlin never underestimated him.

In delivery, Pei Yi’s team had crushed Ele.me.

In group buying, he rose from fifth to first in under half a year—his strategies and tactics matched those of industry giants like Zhang Tao and Wang Xin.

Now, Ele.me founder Zhang Xuhao and former Lashou.com CEO Shan Jiawei worked under him; Liang Changlin felt no discomfort.

After all, Shan Jiawei had far more fame and status—and he bowed to Pei Yi. What right did Liang have to complain?

Elsewhere. Xuhui District, Huajing Town, a rented apartment.

Zhang Peng hugged his direct superior and sniffed deeply: “Ling Jie, you smell so good.”

Chen Fengling giggled, turned, and hugged the young man, thinking: Fresh college grads really are energetic—only half an hour passed, and he’s back clinging.

“I’m worried you can’t handle it,” Chen Fengling pushed his hands away, scolding.

“You think I’m not up to it?” Zhang Peng snapped—he was twenty-three, couldn’t take that.

Before Chen Fengling could react, he moved straight to the target.

Five minutes later, Zhang Peng lay panting, cheeks flushed: “Ling Jie…”

“It’s fine. Maybe you’re just tired. I’ll buy a hen and stew you some soup,” Chen Fengling whispered soothingly.

“Ling Jie, I’ll repay you,” Zhang Peng said, moved.

“Next time, don’t repay me with five minutes,” Chen Fengling smirked playfully.

She picked up her phone, opened the Kuai Pao app. Last night after work, she’d picked up a Kuai Pao Grocery flyer under the office building—only then did she learn Kuai Pao had entered grocery, after delivery and group buying.

In 2013, this was brand-new!

Buy ingredients without stepping out—perfect for office workers.

After work, it was already 7 or 8 PM; markets and supermarkets were either closed or left only with old, low-quality produce picked over by seniors.

Who’d buy that?

“Chongming native chicken, goji berries, ginseng, mushrooms…”

Chen Fengling added each item to her cart, then went to checkout—the system auto-filled her delivery address from her delivery orders.

She confirmed everything, submitted the order—the new-user discount cut 10 yuan.

“Ling Jie, I’m rested now. Let me go grocery shopping with you.”

Zhang Peng rolled off the bed, pulling on his clothes.

“I already bought online. Look,” Chen Fengling handed him the phone.

“Kuai Pao Grocery? They turned the market into an app?” Zhang Peng stared, stunned.

“So fix your resume. I’ll help you revise it again. If you land a job at Orange Pay R&D, we can be together openly.”

Chen Fengling looked at him hopefully.

Apple An forbade office romances—if caught, one of them had to leave.

She’d worked at Apple An for nearly ten years—high position, good income. Getting Zhang Peng to switch jobs was the cleanest solution.

With Orange Pay’s Shanghai branch opening soon, they’d decided: aim for the interview, join Orange Pay.

“Got it,” Zhang Peng agreed readily.

In his eyes, Chen Fengling was a few years older, but her figure was great, she took care of herself, and she spent money on him.

At home, she was like an older sister; at work, like a teacher—she planned his career, guided his effort, depth, and angle—he was utterly obsessed.

He wasn’t just playing around—he intended to see this through with her.

Is a ten-year age gap really that big?

Aside from explaining it to his parents, nothing else is an issue.

At the same time.

Kuai Pao Mai Cai became popular in Shanghai.

“Kuai Pao Mai Cai is live today! A new model for fresh produce delivered to your door!”

“Affordable, high-quality groceries—delivered in 29 minutes!”

Media outlets including the New Shanghai Daily, Finance Online, Jinri Toutiao, and Fanqie TV all reported on it.

Vegetables, fruits, meat, poultry, eggs, rice, flour, cooking oil, and seafood—all you need to do is place an order via the app, and it will be delivered to your home within half an hour.

For Kuai Pao’s longtime users, tired of takeout, cooking at home occasionally isn’t bad.

On its launch day, cumulative orders reached 146,000, with transaction volume hitting 5.7 million yuan—its pilot launch was a great success.

For Kuai Pao’s riders, this added another source of extra income.

A group of people who had originally planned to return to their hometowns chose to stay in Shanghai for the New Year after seeing Kuai Pao Mai Cai’s surge in orders, hoping to earn more for their children’s tuition and living expenses.

…

…

“Kuai Pao Mai Cai?” Wang Xin was just about to leave for the day when Wang Huiwen rushed into his office to report Kuai Pao’s entry into the fresh produce category.

“The $100 million from Transatlantic Capital is barely enough to hold our market share in the group-buying segment. Fresh produce has high spoilage rates, and we’d need to invest heavily in building numerous pre-storage warehouses—we’re not flush with cash.”

Wang Xin dismissed it.

In fact, he knew selling groceries was a good business—high consumption frequency, massive market size.

But he also knew clearly: the bigger the operation, the faster the cash burns.

“Chen Yansen is strange—half of Senlian Capital’s subsidiaries are making the dirtiest, most grueling money. I just don’t get what he’s after,” Wang Huiwen mused.

“Old Wang, think hard—what industry makes money the easiest? That’s where we should avoid Chen Yansen’s damn self,” Wang Xin joked.

Wang Huiwen grinned. The $100 million from Transatlantic Capital had restored their confidence; the gloom on their faces had vanished.

Kuai Pao Mai Cai’s launch quickly spread through the circles. When Ma Liyun heard, he sneered: “Chen Yansen is going to stumble this time!”

The fresh produce industry is full of traps—even seasoned veterans get burned. He didn’t believe Chen Yansen could sail through it smoothly.

Last year, Ju Hua Suan’s fresh produce group-buying initiative was plagued with problems.

“Ma Zong, should we still participate in Kuai Pao’s Series B funding?” Lu Zhaoxi asked.

“Of course. You never miss a chance to make money,” Ma Liyun shrugged, as if it were obvious.

Alibaba’s investment in Kuai Pao is a core strategic move; expanding beyond food delivery is also a key initiative for the group—the two aren’t conflicting.

It’s like Penguin, which already had QQ Group Buying, still partnered with Groupon to invest in Gao Peng Network. Any sensible person knows not to put all their eggs in one basket.

Ma Liyun considered himself sensible—and clever!

If Taobao Food Delivery remained as weak as it was four years ago and couldn’t fulfill Alibaba’s mission in local life services, Kuai Pao would be his backup option.

Besides, investing in Kuai Pao could bring the group massive returns.

(End of chapter)