A leisurely life starting in a bar after being reborn

The next morning, after eating the jianbing guozi made by Zhou Shufen, Fu Yan went out.

Zhou Shufen had just learned how to make Jianbing Guozi—though she said she learned it, she actually watched the woman making Jianbing at the alley entrance for three days and then figured it out. The batter was spread thinly and evenly, an egg was beaten and poured on top, then it was flipped over, sauce was brushed on, scallions were sprinkled, and finally a fried dough stick was added and rolled up. One bite and it was crunchy and delicious, even better than the woman making Jianbing Guozi.

As Fu Yan ate, he thought: Sister Zhou is really talented. She can do anything well. If she had taken a chef's exam back then, she would at least be a chef in a hotel now.

"Sister Zhou, you can put Jianbing Guozi on the bar's breakfast menu."

"A bar selling breakfast?"

"I'm not selling it, I'll eat it myself."

Zhou Shufen rolled her eyes at him and turned to clear the dishes.

……

The office is on the second street behind the bar, a seven-minute walk, a three-minute electric bike ride, and a two-minute drive—but finding a parking spot takes fifteen minutes, so Fu Yan opted for the electric bike.

Fu Yan had never been to the office Lin Xiaochen rented before; he had only seen photos of it sent by Lin Xiaochen. Today was the first time he had inspected it in person.

Instead of renting an office building, they found a small storefront with a brass plaque hanging at the entrance that read "Yanchen Investment Management." The name was suggested by Lin Xiaochen, and Fu Yan thought it was too formal, but Lin Xiaochen said that the company name shouldn't be too casual, so Fu Yan went along with it.

Pushing open the door, a young woman was sitting at the front desk. She stood up when she saw Fu Yan.

"Hello, Mr. Fu!"

"Hello." Fu Yan glanced at the reception desk—clean, tidy, and with everything you needed. A traditional Chinese ink painting hung on the wall, and several financial magazines were on the coffee table. Lin Xiaochen's aesthetic sense was always conventional.

Passing through the reception area, there's a corridor lined with various functional departments—logistics, administration, human resources, finance, and legal—small but perfectly formed. Lin Xiaochen assembled the entire team in less than two weeks, an astonishingly efficient feat.

At the end of the corridor is Fu Yan's office.

Lin Xiaochen pushed open the door, and Fu Yan paused for a moment as he walked in.

It's over 50 square meters, almost a quarter of the entire office area.

The floor-to-ceiling windows face the direction of Houhai Lake—half of them are blocked by a building in front, so you can only see a small section of the lake and a few rooftops, but the lighting is excellent. In the morning, the sunlight pours in from the southeast, scattering golden light all over the ground.

Then comes the furniture.

Fu Yan's instructions to Lin Xiaochen were simple: "An old thing, made of mahogany, the older the better."

Lin Xiaochen carried it out thoroughly.

A mid-Qing dynasty rosewood executive desk, two Republican-era rosewood armchairs, a set of rosewood bookshelves, a brass floor lamp, a set of purple clay teapots on the coffee table, and a painting by Qi Baishi on the wall—Lin Xiaochen said it was fake, while Fu Yan said it looked good even if it was fake.

The entire office exudes the air of an "old landlord"—not modern, not stylish, but expensive.

The furniture and decoration in this office alone cost over three million.

Fu Yan sat down behind the mahogany executive desk and spun around in the chairs—the boss's chair was leather, but Lin Xiaochen had replaced it with a mahogany base to match the overall style, though it was a bit uncomfortable for his back.

"Sitting on this chair for too long will cause hemorrhoids," Fu Yan said.

"I added a lumbar support for you." Lin Xiaochen pulled a beige lumbar support from under the table. "Just put it in."

"...You even thought of hemorrhoids for me?"

"I've thought of many things for you." Lin Xiaochen said expressionlessly, tucking the lumbar support between the chair back and her waist. "Try sitting here."

Fu Yan leaned back—"Mmm, much more comfortable."

-

Just after nine o'clock, Fu Yan called Lin Xiaochen and the HR and administration managers to his office for a meeting.

The HR manager is Zhang Jing, in her early thirties, with short, neat hair and a quick, decisive manner of speaking. She was recruited by Lin Xiaochen from a headhunting firm. The administrative manager is Wang Lei, a 28-year-old man who previously worked as an administrative supervisor at a foreign company before being poached by Lin Xiaochen with a high salary.

"Two things." Fu Yan leaned back in his chair, the backrest pressing against his lower back. "First, have Zhang Jing hire another secretary for me."

Lin Xiaochen raised her eyes slightly: "I can't do it anymore?"

"You can do it, but you can't just do this." Fu Yan looked at her. "You're managing the office, the bar's logistics, and my daily life all at once. Even with three heads and six arms, it's not enough. Hire a secretary to share the burden, and then let He Wei step in so you can do more important things."

"What is it?"

"For example—keep an eye on Zhang Fan's new company for me."

Lin Xiaochen narrowed her eyes slightly—she knew who Zhang Fan was and also knew about the $5 million.

"I understand." She nodded. "The secretary's request?"

"Someone similar to you is fine—reliable, efficient, and discreet. Gender and age are not limited, but don't look for someone too pretty."

Zhang Jing pushed up her glasses: "Why?"

"If my secretary is too beautiful, I'll lose focus during meetings."

Zhang Jing: "..."

Lin Xiaochen: "..."

Wang Lei was trying not to laugh.

"The second thing," Fu Yan continued, "Wang Lei, you're going to buy a car with Zhao Gang today."

"What kind of car do you want to buy?" Wang Lei asked.

"Two commercial vehicles and two office vehicles." Fu Yan counted on his fingers, "Two GL8s will be enough for the commercial vehicles, to pick up and drop off clients. Two Passats will also be needed for the office vehicles, for daily errands. All black, nothing fancy."

"Budget?"

"No budget, anything suitable will do."

Lin Xiaochen's lips twitched slightly—this was Fu Yan's catchphrase, which translates to "Don't buy me anything too expensive, and don't buy me anything too cheap either."

"What are you going to do with Zhao Gang?" Wang Lei asked.

"Let him test drive it. He's a veteran, he knows more about cars than I do, let him check it out. Besides, he'll be in charge of the fleet management later, so it'll be good for him to get familiar with it beforehand."

"Understood."

"Okay, that's all. Go get busy."

The three of them got up and went out. Fu Yan leaned against the mahogany executive desk, looking out the window at the section of Houhai Lake.

9:40.

Yang Qing and Xu Zheng arrived in twenty minutes.

He picked up the set of purple clay teapots on the table and poured himself a cup of tea—Da Hong Pao, which Lin Xiaochen had somehow gotten his hands on, and it smelled similar to the one he drank at Zhang Fan Manor.

The lives of the rich are simple, unpretentious, and boring.

……

At 10:00 AM sharp, the front desk called on the internal line.

"Mr. Fu, two guests have arrived and said they made an appointment with you."

"Please come in."

The door opened, and Yang Qing and Xu Zheng walked in.

Yang Qing was dressed more presentably today than last night—he had changed into a dark blue suit and wore a tie, though the knot was a little crooked, showing that he didn't wear suits often. He was still carrying that bulging briefcase, as if it were welded to his body.

Xu Zheng hasn't changed at all; he's still bald, wearing a casual jacket and jeans—he looks the same wherever he goes.

But their expressions upon entering were the same—

stunned.

Yang Qingxian looked at the large mahogany desk—from the mid-Qing Dynasty. Although he wasn't an expert, he had seen quite a few old objects over the years as a director, and he could tell from the patina that it wasn't a fake.

Then there's the bookcase—made of mahogany, covering the entire wall, with several large books and some ornaments on it, including a few porcelain vases that look like antiques.

The purple clay teapot on the coffee table, the "Qi Baishi" painting on the wall, the brass floor lamp in the corner—

Yang Qing's gaze swept over each item one by one, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

Xu Zheng was more direct. He stood at the doorway, looked around, and then turned to look at Yang Qing—the meaning in his eyes was very clear:

This person is not simple.