A leisurely life starting in a bar after being reborn

The 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month is the Little New Year.

Fu Yan stood in the hotel room, staring blankly at the two suitcases on the bed.

One suitcase belonged to him, containing a few changes of clothes and two bottles of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) he bought from Houhai. The other belonged to Fu Xiao—this girl's suitcase was even bigger than his; it was half-full of Beijing specialties for her parents: pastries from Daoxiangcun, braised duck from Quanjude, and a silk scarf that she supposedly bargained down at Xiushui Street for her mother.

"Brother, hurry up! We're going to miss the train!" Fu Xiao urged him from the doorway.

"What's the rush? I had Yang Yi book the plane tickets. Who's going to take the train?"

"Huh? By plane?" Fu Xiao's eyes lit up for a moment, then dimmed again. "That must be so expensive..."

"Your brother has managed to buy a plane ticket for takeoff."

"...That's true."

Fu Yan pulled his suitcase, glanced at her, and said, "Let's go."

……

On the way to the airport, Fu Xiao sat in the passenger seat, watching the street scenes rushing past the window, and suddenly asked, "Brother, how are you going to tell Mom and Dad about your situation when you go back this time?"

Fu Yan paused slightly on the steering wheel.

How so?

He had actually thought about this problem for many years.

When he first transmigrated, he genuinely didn't know how to face Fu Yan's parents—who were now his parents. At that time, his mind was filled with memories of 2030, and everyone seemed like a stranger to him. When the original owner's parents called, he answered but didn't know what to say, and after a few words, he made an excuse to hang up.

For the first two years, he simply didn't go home.

His excuse was that starting a business was tough and he couldn't leave. The truth was he couldn't afford a plane ticket—he was just starting out, and all his earnings were invested in the next project, so he was genuinely short of money. But the deeper reason was that, sitting in his Stanford dorm room, looking at the original owner's photo, he felt like an imposter.

The real Fu Yan was an excellent student, gentle and filial, who created a great software and should have had a bright future. However, he died suddenly due to excessive excitement, and his soul from 2030 took over his place.

What right does he have to call that couple "Mom and Dad"?

The turning point came in the third year.

That Spring Festival, his mother called again. Her voice was still the same—loud, strong, and with the characteristic straightforwardness of people from Bincheng: "Xiao Yan, are you coming home for the New Year? Your dad misses you, but he's too shy to say it, so he asked me to say it for him."

His dad yelled from the side, "Who misses him! He can come back if he wants!"

But his mother lowered her voice: "Your dad's being stubborn, but he was actually looking through your childhood photo album yesterday..."

As Fu Yan held the phone, he suddenly felt something clench his heart.

It wasn't his own emotion; it belonged to the original owner.

Memories flooded back like a tide—riding on my dad's shoulders to see the sea as a child, my mom making mackerel dumplings, the whole family gathered around watching the Spring Festival Gala, my dad lifting me high up, making me laugh heartily…

These were not his memories, but at that moment, he felt the original owner's feelings for his parents, as intense as the salty smell of the sea breeze, rushing towards him.

From then on, he began to accept the relationship.

It's not about accepting an identity, it's about accepting a relationship. The original owner's name was Fu Yan, and so was his. The original owner loved his parents, and so did he. These feelings are real, regardless of which soul is experiencing them.

He went back a few times afterward, but each time he couldn't stay long. The window of opportunity to make money wouldn't wait for anyone; he had to rush back to build websites, make investments, and short subprime mortgages. Every time he left, his mother would stand at the door, still wearing her apron, watching his car drive away without waving, just watching.

His father, on the other hand, was quite easygoing, always saying, "Go ahead, young people should take risks."

But Fu Yan had seen it once in the rearview mirror: the old man turned his back and wiped the corner of his eye.

……

"Brother? What are you thinking about?" Fu Xiao nudged him.

Fu Yan came to her senses and found that the car had already arrived at the airport parking lot.

"Nothing, just wanting to go home."

Are you nervous?

"A little."

"Why are you so nervous? It's not like it's your first time going back." Fu Xiao tilted her head and looked at him. "Or is there something you haven't told Mom and Dad?"

Fu Yan was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Yes."

"What is it?"

"I plan to settle down in Beijing and open a bar. I'm not going back to the United States. I need to tell them about this."

"Isn't this a good thing? Mom will be so happy to know; she misses you the most." Fu Xiao paused for a moment, "But your bar... is it profitable?"

"I'm not expecting to make money. Your brother isn't short of money now. He's just trying to find a way to make a living and not let his life go to waste."

"Brother, you're really a weirdo. Everyone else in business is thinking about making big money, but you're just looking for something to do."

"What's so great about making a lot of money? In my past life—" Fu Yan quickly changed his mind, "I used to work so hard to make money that I almost lost my life. Now I've figured it out, enough is enough."

Fu Xiao curled her lip: "You're just making this up. How hard could you work in America? I think you're just playing around."

Fu Yan smiled but didn't explain.

……

It was already dark when the plane landed in Bincheng.

Bincheng Airport wasn't large, and only a few people were scattered around the exit waiting to pick up passengers. Fu Yan pushed his luggage out and immediately spotted the old man in the military green cotton-padded jacket and the middle-aged woman next to him wearing a red scarf in the crowd.

His father is Fu Jianguo. His mother is Liu Meilan.

Fu Jianguo is in his early fifties, with dark skin and large, rough hands, clearly the result of years of manual labor. He switched from being a fisherman to selling fish, and has been doing so for twenty years. His fingers are so frostbitten that his knuckles are large, and cracked skin is a common occurrence in winter.

Liu Meilan is two years younger than her father, but she looks older than her actual age, with quite a few gray hairs mixed in. The red scarf she wears was a gift from Fu Xiao last Chinese New Year, and she can't bear to take it off all year round.

"Mom!" Fu Xiao ran over first.

Liu Meilan hugged her daughter tightly, tears welling up in her eyes: "My daughter has lost weight! Is the school cafeteria bad?"

"I haven't lost weight, I've gained three pounds!"

"It's heavy, it's heavy..." Liu Meilan looked at Fu Yan who was walking behind her, let go of Fu Xiao's hand, and wiped her hands on her apron—even though she wasn't wearing an apron, it was a habitual action.

"You're back?"

"Yes, I'm back."

Fu Jianguo stood to the side, looked his son up and down, his lips twitched, and finally he said, "You've grown taller."

"Dad, I'm thirty-one, what's the point of me growing any taller?"

"That's because being thin makes you look taller."

Liu Meilan slapped him: "The child just got back, can't you say something nice?"

"I told you, isn't growing taller a nice thing to say?"

Fu Xiao was laughing so hard she couldn't stand up straight.

As Fu Yan watched this scene, she suddenly felt a lump in her throat.

He had never experienced this kind of liveliness, this kind of noise, this kind of scene where adults scold and children laugh. In 2030, his parents passed away early, and it was common for him to spend the New Year alone in a rented room.

Now he has it.

Although it's not the same "him" from before, this feeling is real.

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