Wang Wenming and his girlfriend walked out of the BMW 4S dealership with tight smiles and heavier hearts, then crossed next door into the Audi Auto showroom. The contrast hit them the moment the glass doors slid open: bright, orderly floors; staff who looked up as if they'd been waiting for them; none of the wary defensiveness they'd just endured.
"Hello, welcome to the Audi Auto 4S store. I'm Liu Zihao, the store manager. What models are you interested in?" The greeting was crisp, almost cheerful.
"The A6," the girlfriend answered before Wang could. "We've got our eye on the top trim."
"Great taste," Liu said, motioning them toward a display car. "The A6's engine ranked third on Ward's 10 Best Engines list, and—other than the base model—our A6 lineup comes standard with Audi's matrix LED headlights. If you don't prefer that lighting setup, you can choose a simpler headlight, and we'll knock off ¥20,000 (≈$2,800). The matrix units are fantastic technology, but they aren't cheap."
The girlfriend blinked. "A discount to go simpler… and you're offering it up front?"
"You'll find our options policy is strict in one way and relaxed in another," Liu replied. "Strict because we won't sell anything you don't want, and relaxed because we let customers choose the configuration that suits them. Aside from the standard, government-regulated purchase items, we don't collect mysterious extra fees. If you want us to handle insurance and licensing here, we charge a small processing fee; if not, you're free to do those yourself."
Wang exchanged a look with his girlfriend—half surprise, half relief. Then he asked the question that had gnawed at him since the previous store: "If we buy with a loan, do you charge a financial service fee? And if we pay extra, can we jump the queue for delivery?"
Liu actually looked puzzled. "A financial service fee? I've never heard of that," he said. "And there's no such thing as paying a premium to pick up a car faster. We deliver in the order of payment. Right now, A6 supply is healthy; you won't be waiting long anyway."
That settled it. "Say no more," the girlfriend grinned. "A6, top configuration, loan purchase."
"Please have a seat," Liu said, heading for the contracts. Paperwork followed in a clean, unhurried rhythm—signatures, a swipe of the card, temporary plates arranged—and minutes later the couple slid into a new A6 with the buoyant feeling that they'd been treated like customers, not quarry. Up on the mezzanine, Liu carried the contract to an office and called out with a son's pride, "Dad, another top-spec A6—done."
All day it was like this. People who, like Wang, had set out intending to buy an Audi Auto model—partly because the price-performance was better, partly because their leaders drove similar cars—had hesitated after bombastic "promotion" notices from three rival brands. Friends and relatives egged them on: a maximum discount of ¥120,000 (≈$16,800) was no small carrot. So they visited those showrooms to "just have a look."
The farther they went, the warier they got. The "discount" turned out to be a shell game. To qualify for ¥100,000–¥120,000 off (≈$14,000–$16,800), buyers first had to load the car with ¥100,000–¥120,000 in optional extras—much of it fluff they'd never planned to buy. Then came a stack of charges they'd never heard of, line items with official-sounding names and vague explanations. If they wanted the car quickly, there was yet another "expedite" fee; if they didn't pay it, the delivery date dissolved into a fog of "we'll let you know."
When a few customers sat down and did the math, the absurdity snapped into focus. With the "required" options and all those invented surcharges, the extra outlay ballooned to about ¥140,000–¥150,000 (≈$19,600–$21,000). Subtract the vaunted ¥120,000 "discount," they were still paying ¥20,000–¥30,000 more than the car's original price (≈$2,800–$4,200). A promotion that costs more than doing nothing at all—what kind of discount was that?
Annoyance turned to anger; anger turned to exit. Like Wang, many walked out and headed to an Audi Auto dealership instead. The difference was immediate. Staff greeted them without cornering them. Price sheets matched what salespeople said. If a customer asked for a more straightforward build, the answer was yes, and the savings were real. The 4S store's charges were precisely the ones the state required—no financial service fee, no premium delivery fee, no trap doors. There was a modest service charge if you wanted insurance and plates handled in-house. If not, you did it yourself and paid nothing to the store. It was all written down, the way contracts are supposed to be.
Even the most "tempting" place to trim cost—the headlights—had been designed with human nature in mind. Audi Auto allowed buyers to swap the A6's matrix LED units for standard lamps and deduct ¥20,000 (≈$2,800). Heifeng, who'd pushed for that transparent option, knew perfectly well almost no one would take it. Once you'd seen those razor-edged matrix beams carve a clean line through darkness, a basic halogen set looked like a pair of dull candles. The flexibility signaled respect; the choice customers made signaled taste.
Word of mouth did the rest. In conversation after conversation, would-be buyers compared notes and realized they'd all been fed the same bait-and-switch elsewhere: the mandatory "packages," the invented handling fees, the pay-to-skip-the-line whispers at the manager's desk. Here, by contrast, the price was the price, and the only upsells were ones they asked for.
By afternoon, a quiet refrain began circulating in the waiting area as people watched cars roll off the delivery pad: for the same nameplate, Audi Auto's top-spec A6 felt like it was priced where the rivals' starting trim began. That didn't necessarily mean the sticker was lower on paper; it meant the number you paid, keys in hand, landed where it should—without swallowing a sackful of nonsense along the way.
None of this would have mattered if the experience behind the wheel felt compromised. It didn't. The engine pedigree was real; the chassis felt composed; the cabin electronics were fluid and unpretentious. Buyers who'd set out hunting a bargain found something they hadn't expected: a dealership that acted like their time and intelligence were worth money too.
As twilight settled outside the showroom's glass, Liu Zihao walked another family to their new car and watched them drive off, grinning in the soft sweep of matrix light. He knew, as his father knew upstairs, that transparency wasn't a marketing tactic; it was the business. In a market where a "discount" could leave you paying more than list, the simplest advantage was refusing to insult people. Ultimately, that was the fee Audi Auto wouldn't charge—because it was the one customers would never forgive.