A leisurely life starting in a bar after being reborn

At 10 p.m., the bar was still doing good business.

Fu Yan later had Lin Xiaochen do the math—in the first week after opening, nearly 40% of the customers were repeat customers. That's a very high number for a quiet bar. Qiu Kai said that in the Houhai area, a bar with 30% repeat customers is already considered to be established.

The reason for so many repeat customers is simple—the wine is good.

The batch of liquor that Fu Yan brought back from abroad included six different types of single malt Scotch whisky, with the cheapest bottle costing over two thousand yuan. In addition, Zhou Lei's culinary skills were indeed excellent, and the cocktails he mixed were quite impressive. "Houhai Morning Mist" had become the shop's signature drink—many customers were attracted by the storefront on their first visit, but came back for this drink on their second visit.

Fu Yan sat in his usual spot, a cup of "Houhai Morning Mist" beside him as usual, listening to the music on stage with his eyes half-closed—it wasn't Qin Manni's turn today, but Chen Hui from the Black Cat Band was singing "Hotel California" by the Eagles. His playing was so-so, but the atmosphere was right.

Fu Xiao and Chen Shiwen have gotten used to it—Fu Xiao is in charge of serving drinks and water, her steps are brisk but her hands occasionally tremble, she almost spilled a Long Island Iced Tea on a guest just now; Chen Shiwen is in charge of wiping tables and organizing the wine list, she is quiet and has a very low presence, but Qiu Kai said that this girl is meticulous in her work, she found three typos on the wine list.

"Who put together this wine list?" Qiu Kai asked Zhou Lei.

"I lined up."

"Can you be more serious? There are three typos."

"I'm not a Chinese literature major..."

-

Around 10:20, three men entered through the door.

The first man, around forty years old, wore metal-framed glasses and a dark gray trench coat. He looked refined and scholarly, like a university professor. He carried a briefcase, which bulged as he walked, its contents unknown.

The second one was also a man, about the same age, and also wore glasses, but he was a size bigger than the first one. He was wearing a black leather jacket and looked a bit like a gangster. He walked with his hands in his pockets and his chin slightly raised, giving off an "I'm busy, don't bother me" expression.

The third person stood out the most—not because of his appearance, but because of his attire.

On a cold winter night, the man was wearing sunglasses and a thick scarf that covered half his face, with a baseball cap pulled low over his head. If they weren't in a bar, Fu Yan would have thought he was some wanted criminal scouting the place.

The three of them sat down at the table next to Fu Yan's—separated only by an empty table, their voices could be heard clearly.

The waiter went over to take orders. The first man ordered a whiskey, the second ordered a red wine, and the third man—the one in sunglasses and a scarf—only ordered a cup of hot water.

After the waiter left, the first man took a brown paper envelope out of his briefcase, placed it on the table, and pushed it to the second man.

"Mr. Fang, take a look at this." His tone carried a tentative expectation, as if he were promoting something he was very good at but unsure if the other party would buy it.

"What is it?"

"A screenplay. My new one, called 'Supermarket'."

The fat man took it and flipped through a few pages.

His expression changed from nonchalant to slightly furrowed brows, and then to a downturned mouth.

Then, he threw the script on the table.

"Director Yang," the fat man's voice wasn't loud, but his tone was very impolite, "to be honest—can this thing even be filmed?"

"Why can't I take pictures?"

"A supermarket, one night, a few pickpockets and employees—that's it? What kind of story is that?"

"This is called a confined space comedy: a single setting, low cost, high return..."

"You don't need to tell me, I know what I'm doing! I believe this script is low-budget, but where did you get that high return idea from?" The fat man pushed up his glasses, looking disgusted. "Look at this dialogue, something like 'I'm here to rob you, can you cooperate?'—is this comedy? This is awkward! How can the audience laugh?"

"Did you see what happened next? There's a plot twist..."

"Three pages will suffice for me." The fat man waved his hand, stopping the other person from speaking, then picked up his red wine and took a sip. "Director Yang, let me be frank, I can't invest in this kind of script, and I don't dare to. The risk is too great; the market won't accept it. What do audiences want to see now? Big scenes! Action sequences! If you give me a sitcom set in a supermarket, how am I supposed to explain it to the boss?"

Director Yang—the man with the metal-framed glasses—slowly froze on his face.

"And this name, 'Supermarket'? I think it's more like a convenience store!" The fat man shook his head. "It sounds like buying groceries. Who wants to pay to go to the movies to watch a bunch of people spend the whole night in a supermarket?"

"The name can be changed..."

"The name isn't the key; the key is that the story has no selling points." The fat man stood up, buttoned up his trench coat, and said, "Director Yang, I acknowledge your abilities, but this project won't work. I have another engagement, so I'll be leaving now."

He walked away without even finishing his glass of red wine.

Director Yang sat there, looking at the brown paper envelope that had been thrown back at him on the table. His expression changed from disappointment to bitterness, and then from bitterness to a numb indifference.

……

Fu Yan heard everything clearly throughout the entire process.

He wasn't eavesdropping on purpose; it was just that we were too close, and he couldn't help but hear.

He noticed a detail—the man in sunglasses and a scarf didn't say a word from beginning to end.

It wasn't the kind of silence where you can't get a word in edgewise, but a deliberate quiet. He sat there, slowly sipping his hot water, occasionally nodding slightly, as if listening, or perhaps lost in his own thoughts.

After the fat man left, Director Yang sighed, put the script back into his briefcase, and then turned to look at the man in sunglasses and a scarf.

"Old Xu, you also think this script is no good?"

The man in sunglasses and a scarf finally moved—he reached out and took off his scarf and sunglasses, and then removed his baseball cap.

A bald head.

It's so bright it reflects light.

Fu Yan glanced at it subconsciously—and his brow twitched slightly at the sight.

He recognized that face.

I didn't meet her in this time and space; it was in a past life.

In 2030, when Fu Yan was working overtime at Huiyin Fund until the early hours of the morning, his only entertainment was lying on the sofa scrolling through short videos on his phone. He came across this person—a bald actor who had starred in several well-received comedy films. Later, he became a director and made a road movie that grossed billions at the box office, making him one of the highest-grossing comedy directors in China.

What was it called again...?

Xu Zheng.

Yes, that's the name.

Of course, those were memories from a past life. At this time in 2008, this Xu Zheng probably wasn't that famous yet—his bald head was exactly the same as in his memory, and even the location of the small mole on his forehead matched.

"It's not that it's impossible," Xu Zheng said, his voice sounding younger than the middle-aged man Fu Yan had imagined. "It's just that all the reasons he gave were excuses. The real reason is only one—he's afraid of losing money."

"I know he's afraid of losing money. Who isn't afraid of losing money?" Director Yang said with a wry smile. "But I still need to find investors. How can I make a film without money?"

"Keep looking."

"Who am I looking for? This is the sixth one I've contacted."

Xu Zheng didn't say anything, but picked up the now-cold hot water and took a sip.

Director Yang sighed again: "How about... we try a different approach? We can revise the script, add some action scenes, and turn it into an action comedy?"

"If you change it, it won't taste the same."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"Let's keep looking." Xu Zheng put down his cup. "There's bound to be someone who likes it."

"Those you like have to be rich too..." Director Yang's voice grew softer and softer until it was almost a mutter.

Fu Yan sat beside them, listening to the two of them sighing back and forth, and suddenly thought—hmm, this is quite interesting.

……