A leisurely life starting in a bar after being reborn

Qin Manni didn't think much about why Fu Yan wanted to help her.

Or rather, she thought she had figured out Fu Yan's motives.

She felt that Fu Yan was moved after hearing her story—a young girl who had been blacklisted by investors and directors, chatting with a bar owner for over an hour late at night at the bar counter. The owner probably felt sorry for her and, since he happened to have money, helped her out.

This is not hard to understand; wealthy people doing good deeds has always been the case throughout history.

Qin Manni didn't think Fu Yan had any bad intentions towards her—although eight out of ten men she'd met had bad intentions towards her. But Fu Yan was different. His gaze towards her was clean, not the kind that looked her up and down, but rather... how to put it, like he was looking at a fairly reliable employee.

This made Qin Manni feel at ease, or rather, it made her feel unguarded.

So she neither refused nor acted coy.

"Thank you, Brother Fu." She bowed deeply. "I will definitely study hard."

"Don't thank me, thank your talent. It's a waste if you don't act." Fu Yan picked up her "Houhai Morning Mist" and took a sip. "If you don't act well, I'll never help you again."

Qin Manni smiled, her eyes a little red, but she didn't shed a tear—she had worked in the entertainment industry and knew when to cry and when not to.

-

After Qin Manni joined the film crew, the bar was short of a resident singer.

Qiu Kai has started recruiting again.

This time he learned his lesson—he didn't post job ads online anymore; the quality of applicants there was inconsistent, and Qin Manni had only gotten lucky last time. This time, he directly contacted the music departments and art clubs of several universities in Beijing and posted the job information in student groups.

College students can find part-time jobs that are cheap, have high quality employees, and don't require social insurance or housing fund contributions. Although Fu Yan said that all employees should be treated equally, part-time workers are not considered formal employees and are paid by the hour.

After interviewing seven or eight people, Qiu Kai finally chose one.

The little girl's name is Lingchen.

Nineteen years old, a freshman at Yenching University of Foreign Languages, majoring in French.

Qiu Kai chose her for a simple reason: she has a good voice.

How good was it? On the day of the interview, at dawn, she sat on stage and sang Tsai Chin's "Just Like Your Tenderness." Qiu Kai, standing behind the bar, listened for half the song, then put down his glass, walked over to Fu Yan, and said:

"Brother Fu, this girl has something in her throat."

Fu Yan was flipping through an old magazine in the corner when he heard this. He looked up and glanced at the girl on stage.

She had an ordinary appearance, not even particularly beautiful. An oval face, single eyelids, a low nose bridge, thin lips, a ponytail, a plaid shirt, jeans, and canvas shoes. Standing on stage, she looked completely out of place as a "resident singer"—more like someone who had just wandered into the wrong library.

But the moment she opened her mouth—

"Year after year, I cannot stop missing you, missing the past..."

Fu Yan put down the magazine in her hand.

I wasn't amazed, but rather captivated.

He had heard countless versions of Tsai Chin's song—Tsai Chin's own version, Teresa Teng's version, and even covers by other singers in bars—but none of them were sung like this in the early morning.

She doesn't have Tsai Chin's rich bass voice, nor Teresa Teng's sweet and tender tone. Her voice is like a very thin thread, hanging down from the air, neither too heavy nor too light, just enough to reach your ears.

The most valuable thing is stability.

Every note was firmly on the beat, neither rushed nor dragged, her breath control impeccable. This steadiness wasn't rigidity, but rather a relaxed ease—she knew where her voice was and where it should be placed.

As Fu Yan listened, he subconsciously tapped his fingers on the table—this was how he judged rhythm. He had studied piano and guitar for a few years when he was in the United States. Although his skill level was average, his ear was trained.

The pitch is accurate, no problem.

The rhythm is fine.

The timbre—that's the real killer feature in the early morning.

Her voice had a very special quality. After thinking for a long time, Fu Yan found a word: velvet.

Not the smooth, shiny kind of velvet, but the kind that's worn out and has frayed edges—warm, soft, with a subtle, almost husky timbre, like a blanket that's been used for years in front of the fireplace in winter, no longer new, but one that nobody wants to replace.

After the song ended, the bar was quiet—Qiu Kai forgot to clap, Zhou Lei forgot to wipe the glasses, and even the waiters who were clearing the tables stopped what they were doing.

Fu Yan picked up his wine glass, took a sip, then put the glass down and nodded toward the stage.

"You sang well," he said.

Feeling a little nervous in the early hours, I pursed my lips and whispered, "Thank you."

"Have you studied vocal music?"

"No, I just taught myself to sing."

"Self-taught singer?" Fu Yan raised an eyebrow. "Such good breath control, no training?"

"I spent two years in the choir during junior high school, and the teacher taught me some breathing techniques."

"Two years in a choir, and they've trained like this?"

She smiled sheepishly in the early hours of the morning: "Maybe it's because I've always been a quiet person and have a strong ability to understand things on my own."

Fu Yan: "..."

Qiu Kai almost burst out laughing.

……

I stayed there until the early hours of the morning.

She works part-time, singing every Wednesday and Friday night, earning 150 yuan a night. For her, this isn't a lot of money, but it's enough for a month's food expenses—a meal at the Yanjing Foreign Languages ​​Institute's cafeteria costs six or seven yuan, so a little over a thousand yuan can last her a month. Plus, she can occasionally buy something like a roasted sweet potato if she's feeling craving something, and that's just enough.

On her first official day at work, she was still wearing that plaid shirt and jeans. Qiu Kai glanced at her, wanted to say something but didn't—bars don't care about these things; as long as you sing well, you can wear anything.

After taking the stage in the early morning, she first sang an English song—Norah Jones' "Don't Know Why." As a French major, her accent was surprisingly accurate when singing an English song, and she performed the laid-back jazz style quite well.

The second song was Teresa Teng's "The Moon Represents My Heart." When she sang "a gentle kiss," her voice was as light as a feather, and several customers in the bar unconsciously put down their glasses.

The third song was one she chose herself—Chyi Yu's "Olive Tree".

"Don't ask me where I come from, my hometown is far away..."

This song requires a lot of breath control and high-pitched vocal control, which is quite challenging for a 19-year-old freshman. But Ling Chen sang it with ease, without any weakness in the high notes or looseness in the low notes. The whole song was like a slowly flowing river, unhurried and possessing its own unique power.

Fu Yan sat in the corner and listened from beginning to end without saying a word.

After he finished singing and came off stage in the early hours of the morning, he called out to Qiu Kai.

"Find a teacher for this girl and train her properly."

"I can see that." Qiu Kai nodded. "His voice is indeed good, but he lacks experience, and his performance was a bit unreliable—he bowed his head and left the stage after singing a song, as if he had done something wrong."

"Typhoons can be trained, but a good voice is something you're born with." Fu Yan picked up his wine glass and swirled it. "This girl's voice is a gift from God."

"You understand music?"

"Just a little bit. I learned piano and guitar when I was in school. I learned several serious musical instruments, but I didn't master any of them."

"You have quite the keen ear."

"A discerning ear comes from having a broad range of knowledge—a jack of all trades, master of none, but still able to distinguish between good and bad."

Qiu Kai glanced at him, said nothing more, and turned to arrange the early morning shift schedule.

-