Reborn in 2000: I'm the Boss's Driver

Early Saturday morning, just as dawn was breaking, Lin Fan woke up.

The guesthouse room was quiet, with only the occasional chirping of early birds outside the window. He lay on the hard bed, staring blankly at the dusty round ceiling light. He was going home today.

Go home. The word rolled around in his mind, bringing with it a subtle, aching feeling.

He got up, washed up, and changed into a clean shirt and trousers—the most ordinary style he'd bought at a department store near the Finance Bureau, but the material was still quite sturdy. Facing the slightly peeling mercury in the guesthouse mirror, he carefully tidied his hair. The young man in the mirror had a calm gaze, but today, beneath that calmness, a warm current of trepidation, like the feeling of returning home, surged within him.

He touched his inner pocket again, where there was a separate bankbook with 200,000 yuan in it. He had other plans for the rest of the money.

He plans to tell his parents he won 300,000 yuan when he gets home today. He'll give his mother 200,000 yuan from his savings account and use 100,000 yuan for buying a house.

After tidying up, Lin Fan picked up a black, old faux leather handbag—it belonged to his brother-in-law and had been washed and cleaned to hold his things. Inside the bag, besides his bankbook, was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

Stepping out of the guesthouse, the morning air was cool and refreshing. The breakfast stalls along the street were already set up, the aroma of fried dough sticks mingling with the steam of soy milk. He didn't stop, heading straight for the bus stop.

The bus back to the village was an old, worn-out bus with peeling paint, rattling and clanging as it drove. It was heading towards the village, and there weren't many people on board. Usually, it was filled with villagers who got up early to go to town to sell vegetables or run errands, carrying baskets and burlap sacks, greeting each other, and chatting in their thick local accents about everyday life, crops, and livestock.

Lin Fan found a seat by the window and hugged his handbag tightly to his chest. The car window wasn't very clean, and the scenery outside rushed past: gradually thinning buildings, vast green wheat fields, and undulating blue mountains in the distance. Familiar scenery, but because of his different state of mind, it took on a different kind of vividness.

He remembered this road. In his past life, he had taken this bus countless times, returning home wearily on weekends, listening to his mother's nagging, watching his father silently smoke, and then rushing back to the endless life in the city. Back then, he was filled with confusion about the future and powerlessness over the present, always feeling that home was warm, yet also heavy.

Now, watching the fields rushing past the window, he felt a surge of power. He wanted to change not only his own destiny, but also the lives of his family and the people he loved.

The bus bumped along for nearly an hour before finally stopping at a fork in the road. The village was still more than a kilometer away, requiring a walk. Lin Fan got off the bus and stepped onto the familiar, somewhat potholed dirt road. Tall poplar trees lined both sides of the road, their leaves rustling in the morning breeze. In the distance, the outline of the village appeared in the thin mist: red brick houses with gray tiled roofs, and wisps of smoke occasionally rising from their chimneys.

He took a deep breath, and the scent of earth and grass filled his senses. This was the smell of roots.

As you walk into the village, you frequently run into acquaintances.

"Hey, Fanzi's back?" The old man, who was eating breakfast at the door, looked up and said in a loud voice, "I heard from your sister that you found a good job in the city?"

"Uncle, I'm eating. I'm just a temporary worker, trying to make a living," Lin Fan replied with a smile, without stopping.

"Temporary work is fine too, at least you get a government job, it's stable!" The old man's voice came from behind.

Passing by the village store, the proprietress was taking down the door panels. Seeing him, she greeted him with a smile, "Lin Fan, you've made something of yourself! Your mother was talking about you the other day!"

"Good morning, Auntie," Lin Fan said.

We greeted each other as we walked to our own gate. It was the same familiar blue-painted wooden door, though some paint was chipped off the edges, and the door knocker was polished to a shine. The yard was quiet; at this hour, Father was probably out in the fields, and Mother was likely busy in the kitchen.

He pushed the door open, and it creaked open.

"Who is it?" Mother's familiar voice came from the kitchen, tinged with a hint of wariness. In rural homes, doors are usually not bolted during the day, but someone always has to be asked before entering.

"Mom, it's me," Lin Fan replied, walking into the courtyard.

The kitchen curtain was lifted, and Lin Fan's mother, Wang Xiuying, peeked out. She was wearing an apron, her hands still covered in flour. Seeing Lin Fan, her face immediately lit up with a smile, and the wrinkles around her eyes smoothed out: "Oh, Fanzi! Why are you back so late? You didn't even tell me! Have you eaten?"

"I've eaten, Mom. At the company cafeteria." Lin Fan placed his bag on the stone table in the yard. "Where's Dad?"

"Your dad went to check on his spinach in the east field; he said it'll be ready to harvest soon." His mother wiped her hands on her apron, walked over, and looked her son up and down. "Why have you lost weight again? Are you not eating well at work? Is the food in the cafeteria as good as what we eat at home?"

"No, Mom, I'm fine. The food at work is good." Lin Fan felt a warmth in his heart, letting his mother's gaze linger on him. His mother was in her early fifties, her hair already quite white, tied in a simple bun at the back of her head. Her face was a dark red from years of hard work, but her eyes were bright, and when she looked at her son, that light was full of love and concern.

"Come inside and sit down, it's windy outside." His mother pulled him towards the main room. "Wait here, Mom will make you an egg pancake, I just kneaded the dough."

"Really, Mom, I'm full." Lin Fan pulled his mother, his expression becoming serious. "Mom, please sit down. When is Dad coming back? I have something important to tell you both."

Seeing his serious expression, which didn't seem like he was joking, his mother also stopped smiling and sat down on the long bench next to the octagonal table with some doubt: "What's the matter? Are you having trouble at work? Or are you short of money? Your sister just sent a letter a couple of days ago saying that your job is quite stable."

"That's good news, Mom." Lin Fan sat down and placed her handbag on the table, but didn't open it immediately. "We'll talk about it when Dad gets back."

"You silly child, always keeping me in suspense," his mother scolded playfully, but didn't press him further. She got up and poured him a glass of water. "Alright, have some water first. Your father will be back soon."

Sure enough, less than ten minutes later, the gate rang again. Father Lin Jianguo walked in, hands behind his back, wearing an old straw hat and trousers speckled with mud. Seeing Lin Fan, a slight smile appeared on his bronze face, and he nodded: "You're back."

"Dad." Lin Fan stood up.

"Hmm." The father responded, hung his straw hat on the nail behind the door, walked to the water vat, scooped up a ladle of water to wash his hands, "The spinach in the field is growing well, it will be ready to harvest in about ten days. Have your mother pickle some then, and you can take it back to the city to eat."

These were just ordinary words, yet they brought a slight lump to Lin Fan's throat. His father in his past life had been the same, always remembering to save the best produce from the fields for him.

"Dad, please sit down too. I have something to tell you and Mom." Lin Fan waited for his father to dry his hands before gesturing for him to sit down as well.

The father glanced at him, said nothing, and sat down on the long bench on the other side of the eight-immortal table. He habitually took out his pipe and tobacco from his pocket, preparing to roll a cigarette. The mother glared at him: "Our son said he has serious business to discuss; don't smoke that rubbish!"

The father paused, put the pipe back, placed his hands on his knees, straightened his back slightly, and looked at Lin Fan: "Speak, what is it?"

The main room fell silent, save for the clicking of the old-fashioned grandfather clock.

Lin Fan took a deep breath and opened the black briefcase. He first took out the bankbook with 200,000 yuan, placed it on the dark red octagonal table, and pushed it toward his mother.

The mother paused, looking at the bankbook, then at Lin Fan: "What... what is this?"

"Mom, please open it and take a look." Lin Fan's voice was steady.

The mother hesitated for a moment before picking up the passbook and opening it. She couldn't read, but she recognized Arabic numerals. When she saw the long string of "2"s followed by five "0"s after "balance," her hand trembled violently, and the passbook almost fell to the ground.

"This...this is..." The mother's voice trembled, her eyes widened, and she stared intently at Lin Fan. "Fanzi, where did this come from? You...you can't do something foolish!" Her first reaction wasn't surprise, but fear. Her son, a temporary worker who had only recently arrived in the city, suddenly bringing home so much money—she couldn't help but overthink it.

The father sat up straight, his brows furrowed, and his sharp gaze fixed on Lin Fan. He didn't speak, but the question and pressure in his eyes were as heavy as a mountain.

Seeing the mixture of fear, anger, and worry on his parents' faces, Lin Fan felt a sense of calm. He stood up, helped his father sit down again, and then sat down himself, meeting his parents' scrutinizing eyes with an open and honest gaze.

"Dad, Mom, don't worry, listen to me." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear and strong. "This money came from a legitimate source. I won it in the lottery."

"Lottery?" The mother was stunned.

"How much did you win?" The father's brow was still furrowed, but his tone softened slightly. Winning the lottery, though it sounded like a fantasy, was still better than theft or fraud.

"After tax, 300,000." Lin Fan pointed to the bankbooks and cash on the table, "200,000 in the bankbook, and a 100,000 banknote."

"Three...three hundred thousand?" The mother gasped, her hand clutching her chest tightening. Her eyes were fixed on the bankbook, then on her son, as if she didn't recognize him. Three hundred thousand was an astronomical sum for this family, who toiled in the fields and whose largest financial transactions in their lives were probably their son's tuition and dowry.

The father fell silent, unconsciously fiddling with his pipe, his gaze shifting between the bankbook and his son's face. After the initial shock came a deeper doubt: "You...how did you win the lottery? So many people buy lottery tickets, how did you win? And so much?"

Lin Fan had already prepared his story. He couldn't say that he was reborn and knew the number; that would be too shocking. He needed to fabricate a plausible story with a touch of luck.

"Dad, Mom, it's quite a coincidence." Lin Fan slowed his speech, making it sound like he was recalling something. "Just a few days ago, I saw a lottery station on my way home from get off work, and I thought I'd try my luck and spend two yuan on a ticket. I didn't know how to choose numbers at the time, so I just looked at a calendar on the wall and randomly picked a few numbers based on the date and time."

He paused, observing his parents' reactions. His mother listened intently, while his father squinted, as if trying to discern the truth in his words.

"I didn't think much of it, just bought it and stuffed it in my pocket. Later I was busy with work and almost forgot about it. Until the day before yesterday, oh, last Monday, I passed by that lottery station and saw a lot of people gathered at the door, saying that a big prize had been won. I inexplicably took out that lottery ticket and..." Lin Fan timely showed a look of lingering fear and disbelief, "and found that one of the numbers was only one blue ball away from the first prize! Just that one number difference meant a difference of hundreds of thousands in prize money!"

"How much is the third prize?" the mother couldn't help but ask.

"Third prize... a single bet is worth over three thousand yuan," Lin Fan said. This was the truth, leading his parents to believe that the 300,000 yuan was a stroke of luck that "almost won an even bigger prize." "I was stunned at the time, and quickly checked it again. It was such a pity that it was so close to winning several million yuan."

After listening, the father remained silent for a long time. He rolled a cigarette, and this time the mother didn't stop him. He struck a match, lit it, took a deep drag, and his expression was inscrutable amidst the swirling smoke.

The mother slowly recovered from her shock. She carefully picked up the passbook with 200,000 yuan, her fingers tracing the numbers on it. Suddenly, her eyes reddened. "God has eyes... God has eyes... My son is so lucky..." she murmured, tears streaming down her face. It was a mixture of joy, relief, and perhaps a touch of resentment for the hardships of the past.

"Mom, don't cry, this is a good thing," Lin Fan quickly comforted her.

"Good news, very good news..." The mother wiped away her tears, her smile turning into one of joy as she looked at her son. "I knew my son would amount to something!"

The father exhaled a puff of smoke and finally spoke, his voice hoarse: "What...what are you planning to do with the money?"

This was the crucial issue. Lin Fan knew he had to get past his father.

"Dad, Mom, I have plans for this money." Lin Fan sat up straight and began to explain his plans. "First, I want to buy an apartment near my workplace."

"Buy a house?" The mother's eyes lit up. "This is a very important matter! Are houses expensive in Steel City now?"

"It's not too expensive. I've got my eye on something. There's a new apartment in a residential area near my workplace. It's in a good location, 85 square meters, and I should be able to get it for 90,000 yuan." Lin Fan was basically telling the truth. In 2003, housing prices in Gangcheng were indeed still low. "With my own place, it will be convenient for me to commute to get off work, and I'll finally have a real place to settle down in the city. In the future... it will be easier to get married." He added the last sentence at the right time.

Sure enough, upon hearing "getting a wife," the mother's face lit up with a smile: "Yes, yes, yes! Buying a house is good! Buying a house is the right thing to do! When you go house hunting, be sure to invite your sister and brother-in-law along. They've seen the world, so don't let them get ripped off!"

"I know, Mom." Lin Fan smiled, then looked at his father, his tone becoming more serious. "The second thing is about our family's land."

The father paused in his smoking motion: "What's wrong with the ground?"

"Our land is actually in a pretty good location, near the logistics hub by the train station," Lin Fan said earnestly, his eyes shining. "I'm thinking of using the remaining money to make use of that land. Dad, I've inquired around, and there are a lot of small factories and companies in the city that are short of warehouses. Especially those warehouses that are conveniently located and spacious; they rent out quickly and at good prices. I was thinking, could we build a larger warehouse on that land?"

"Build a warehouse?" The father was stunned, clearly having never considered this possibility. "Why would we build that thing? We don't have anything to store."

"It's not for our own storage, it's for renting out," Lin Fan explained. "I've calculated that building a warehouse of about 1,000 square meters, with a yard, including labor and materials, should cost around 100,000 yuan. Once it's built, we can rent it out to companies that need storage space and collect rent every month. I've heard that these days, renting out a warehouse like this for 20,000 to 30,000 yuan a year is no problem."

"Twenty or thirty thousand?!" The mother exclaimed in surprise. "You can earn that much money in a year without doing anything?"

"Pretty much," Lin Fan nodded. "Besides, it's a long-term business. As long as the warehouse is there, there will always be rent to collect. It's more stable and more profitable than farming."

The father didn't speak, just silently smoked, his brow furrowed. Clearly, this suggestion was beyond his entire life's understanding. For a farmer, land and crops were his lifeblood. The idea of ​​using land to build houses where no crops could grow, and then renting them out to strangers for storage, instinctively made him uneasy and repulsed.

The main room fell silent again, with only the sound of the father puffing on his cigarette and the ticking of the grandfather clock.

After a long while, the father exhaled a heavy puff of smoke, his voice hoarse: "That land... it's still land, but once a house is built on it, the land is gone."

Lin Fan sensed the reluctance and struggle in his father's words. He understood his father's feelings for the land; it was a deep-seated attachment.

"Dad, the land is still our land, it's just that its use has changed." Lin Fan explained patiently, "It no longer grows crops, but it can 'grow' money, enough to support our family, or even support us better. You and Mom have farmed all your lives, worked hard all your lives, it's time for you to live a more relaxed life."

The mother wavered. She looked at her son, then at her husband: "Dad, what Fanzi said... seems to make some sense. Farming all year round, working ourselves to the bone, doesn't leave us much money after just enough to eat. If it were really like Fanzi said, we could build a warehouse and rent it out, making tens of thousands a year... then we wouldn't have to work so hard anymore."

His father remained silent, chain-smoking. Lin Fan knew his father was weighing his options, struggling with his decades-old habits and way of thinking.

After a long silence, the father tapped his cigarette ash and said in a low voice, "Even if we're going to build a wall... we have to wait until the spinach in the east field is harvested. We can't waste food."

"That's a concession!" Lin Fan was overjoyed and quickly said, "Of course! We'll definitely wait until the vegetables are harvested before starting. There's no rush."

The father grunted in agreement, rolled another cigarette, but this time didn't light it; he just held it in his hand, twirling it. He looked up at Lin Fan, his eyes filled with complex emotions: "Then... if we build a warehouse on that land, what will your mother and I do? Just sit at home doing nothing? Won't we get sick from all that boredom?"

This question was genuine and revealed the father's deep-seated confusion. A person who has worked hard all his life would feel lost and disoriented if suddenly asked to "retire."

Lin Fan had already thought this through. He smiled and said in a relaxed tone, "Dad, look at what you're saying. Of course you two will come live with me in the city! Isn't that what I planned when I bought the house? Once the house is ready, you and Mom will move in. Mom will help me cook and tidy up the house. If you can't stand being idle, I'll find you a less demanding job at your workplace or nearby, like guarding the gate or managing the warehouse. You won't be exposed to the wind or rain, and it'll be a good way to get some exercise."

He paused, saw his father's lips move as if he wanted to say something, and added, "Besides, our village isn't far from the city, and there's a direct bus. If you miss your old friends and want to come back to see this old house, you can come back anytime! On weekends, you can hop on the bus, come back to have a drink with Uncle San and Uncle Wu, play some chess, and chat. Wouldn't that be nice? The land may be gone, but the roots are still here, and the bond with our old friends will never be broken."

These words struck a chord with the father. He was reluctant to leave the land and familiar surroundings completely, yet he also harbored a vague longing for the "leisurely life in the city" his son described, and he couldn't let go of the decades-old friendships he had built. Lin Fan's solution—to move to the city but be able to return at any time—alleviated his anxiety to the greatest extent possible.

The wrinkles on his father's face seemed to smooth out a bit. He tapped the unlit cigarette lightly on the table, and finally let out a long sigh, as if making a major decision: "Alright... you're all grown up now, you have your own ideas. This matter... you handle it. After the spinach is harvested, then... then cover it up."

Although there was still a hint of reluctance in her tone, she eventually nodded.

Lin Fan finally breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that his father's nod was not just an agreement to build a warehouse, but also an initial recognition of his ability to "take charge" of the household. In a traditional Chinese rural family, this was of extraordinary significance.

"Dad, don't worry, I'll definitely handle this well," Lin Fan solemnly promised. "I'll take care of the money for building the house and the tenants. You and Mom can just relax and enjoy your retirement."

The mother was beaming with pride as she looked at her son. She picked up the bankbook with 200,000 yuan in it, as if touching a brand new hope.

Lunch was naturally a feast. My mother cut up the cured meat she was reluctant to eat, stir-fried eggs, steamed salted fish, and even went to the corner store to buy a bottle of liquor that she usually wouldn't drink. Although my father was still not very talkative, he seemed much more cheerful when he drank than usual, and a glimmer of light shone through the wrinkles on his face.

At the dinner table, Lin Fan explained in detail his plans to buy a house and some specific ideas for building a warehouse, such as finding a reliable construction team, how to buy materials, and what to pay attention to in the warehouse design (ventilation, moisture-proofing, fire prevention). His father listened attentively, occasionally interjecting with a question or two on key issues, showing that he was actually listening very carefully and trying to understand and accept this new idea.

After dinner, Lin Fan helped his mother clear the dishes, then sat with his father in the yard for a smoke, chatting about recent village gossip—whose child got into a good school, whose elderly relative was sick. The mundane family matters were filled with the genuine warmth of everyday life.

In the afternoon, Lin Fan had to rush back to the city. His mother packed him a large bag of freshly steamed buns, boiled eggs, and pickled vegetables she had made herself. Lin Fan smiled wryly and said, "Mom, we have a canteen. Where am I supposed to eat if I take these?" His father saw him off to the bus stop at the village entrance.

While waiting for the bus, my father looked at the lush green fields in the distance and suddenly said, "That land... let's build it then. You... do a good job."

With just that one sentence, Lin Fan understood all of his father's support and expectations.

"Dad, I will." Lin Fan nodded heavily.

The bus arrived, Lin Fan boarded, sat down by the window, and waved to his father. His father stood under the bus stop sign, his hands behind his back, his figure appearing somewhat thin in the afternoon sunlight, but standing ramrod straight.

As the car started moving, the father's figure grew smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared behind the rising dust.

Lin Fan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The string in his heart that was so closely connected to his hometown and his parents seemed to be infused with a new and solid strength after this day.

The roots have grown even deeper.

And the wings are gathering strength, ready to unfurl against the wind.

By the time we returned to the Finance Bureau's guesthouse, it was nearly dusk.

He recalled a small company from his memory, a warehouse that had been rented for over twenty years. Was it called "Xunjie Graphic Design" or "Kuaiyinfang"? The owner was a bespectacled southerner who was very trustworthy.