A leisurely life starting in a bar after being reborn

On his way home, Fu Jianguo was driving a Wuling Hongguang van, with two boxes of unsold ribbonfish in the cargo bed.

"Dad, you should replace this car." Fu Yan sat in the back seat, being jostled about by the bumpy ride.

"What's the point of replacing it? As long as it works, it's fine." Fu Jianguo glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "You haven't sent any money home in all these years in America. Your mother and I have managed to make a living selling fish, haven't we?"

"Dad..." It's not Fu Yan's fault. He had wanted to send some money home before, but his parents refused every time.

"Alright, I won't talk about this anymore." Fu Jianguo turned the steering wheel and veered into a narrow road. "I'll just ask you one question: are you leaving again this time?"

Fu Yan looked out the window at the familiar street. The streetlights were dim, and red lanterns hung from the shops along the street. The atmosphere of the New Year was already very strong.

"I'm not leaving, Dad. I plan to settle down in Yanjing and open a bar."

"A bar?" Fu Jianguo frowned. "How much money can you make opening a bar?"

"I earn enough money to live on, I just open a bar for leisure."

"Hehe! You've always been better at bragging than your dad since you were little," Fu Jianguo muttered, but his tone clearly softened.

Liu Meilan turned around, her eyes lighting up: "Really not leaving?"

"real."

"That's wonderful!" She slapped her thigh. "You know, all those years you were abroad, I was always worried about you, wondering if you were eating well and staying warm... Now that you're back, in Yanjing, which is close to home, your dad and I can go whenever we want!"

Parents may have different concerns, but they are always concerned about their children's basic needs, such as food, clothing, shelter, and future.

"Mom, Beijing isn't close to Bincheng either; it takes six or seven hours by train," Fu Xiao said.

"Six or seven hours is nothing! I'm going to Yanjing to see your brother, and I'll also visit Tiananmen Square while I'm there!"

Fu Jianguo snorted: "You can't even ride the subway properly, yet you want to visit Tiananmen Square."

"Why can't I understand how to sit here? Didn't I sit here last year?"

"Didn't you take the wrong bus and end up taking a taxi back?"

"That's because the subway signs are unclear!"

The two started arguing again.

Fu Yan leaned back in his seat, listening to his parents bickering in front of him, while Fu Xiao next to him chuckled to herself.

Outside the window was the night view of the coastal city, and the sea breeze, carrying a salty smell, seeped in through the cracks in the car window.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

It's this taste.

He is not a fund manager at Huiyin Fund in 2030, not a Silicon Valley internet upstart, and not a financial tycoon with billions of dollars in his hands.

He is the son of Fu Yan, Fu Jianguo and Liu Meilan, and the older brother of Fu Xiao. He grew up by the sea in Bincheng.

Go home.

This time, I will never travel to foreign lands again.

……

The car stopped in front of an old, self-built house.

The house is still the same house, the yard is still the same yard, the faded Spring Festival couplets are pasted on the door, and two salted fish are drying on the wire in the yard.

Nothing has changed.

Liu Meilan pushed open the door, turned around and called out, "Come in, come in! It's cold outside! I made some fish soup, have a bowl to warm yourselves up!"

Fu Yan carried her luggage into the courtyard, her pace slowing down.

He glanced at the old grapevine on the courtyard wall; in winter, only a withered branch remained, entwined around the wire trellis. In the summer, this grapevine could shade half the yard, and he used to do his homework under it when he was a child.

"What are you staring at?" Fu Jianguo walked in carrying another suitcase. "Come on in."

Fu Yan withdrew his gaze, smiled, and stepped into the house.

The house was well-heated, and four sets of bowls and chopsticks were already set on the coffee table. The aroma of fish soup wafted from the kitchen.

Liu Meilan was already serving soup, Fu Xiao was helping her carry the bowl, and Fu Jianguo was changing into slippers.

Fu Yan stood in the entryway, watching all of this.

This is his home.

It's not a courtyard house worth thousands or millions, not a bar shop next to Houhai Lake, and not a suite in a star-rated hotel.

It's this old house, this bowl of fish soup, this couple, and this little sister.

He bent down to change his shoes and said softly, "I'm back."

Nobody heard it; the kitchen range hood was too loud.

But he heard it himself.

……

After finishing the fish soup and eating half of the dishes, Liu Meilan brought out a plate of fried yellow croaker and a bowl of mackerel dumplings.

In Bincheng, fish is always an essential ingredient in what people consider a good meal or a meal to entertain guests. Fu Jianguo has been a fishmonger for over twenty years and his family never lacks fish, but Liu Meilan's cooking skills are truly exceptional—her fish soup is milky white, her dumpling wrappers are thin and generously filled, and her yellow croaker is crispy on the outside and tender on the inside.

Fu Xiao ate two bowls of dumplings, but that wasn't enough, so she went to the kitchen to get a dish of vinegar.

"All you ever think about is eating." Liu Meilan glared at her, then turned and put a piece of fish in Fu Yan's bowl. "Xiao Yan, eat more. You definitely can't get authentic mackerel dumplings in America."

"It's true that you can't get to eat dumplings." Fu Yan took a bite of a dumpling, her mouth full of delicious flavor. "The dumplings in Chinese restaurants in America have skins as thick as cardboard, and they even put cheese in the filling. It's such a waste."

"Then eat more!" Liu Meilan put two more pieces into his bowl.

Fu Jianguo sat silently drinking, one glass after another, without saying a word.

Fu Yan could tell that his father was happy, but didn't know how to express it. That's how older men are; their hearts are churning, but they're outwardly holding a wine glass.

By the end of the meal, the table was almost empty. Fu Xiao slumped in her chair, rubbing her stomach, while Liu Meilan cleared the dishes and Fu Jianguo lit a cigarette.

Fu Yan pushed the bowl and chopsticks aside and took out three bank cards from his pocket.

Red, a national bank card, brand new.

He pushed the three cards in front of the three people respectively.

"Dad, this is yours. Mom, this is yours. Xiaoxiao, this one is yours."

The three of them were stunned at the same time.

Fu Jianguo, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, looked at the card in front of him, then at Fu Yan: "This is...?"

"There's five million in each card," Fu Yan said calmly. "The password is Xiaoxiao's birthday, as you all know."

There was a three-second silence at the dining table.

Then, the bowl in Liu Meilan's hand fell onto the table with a "bang," splashing soup all over the table.

"How much did you say?" Fu Jianguo took the cigarette out of his mouth, thinking he had misheard.

Five million. Each one.

Fu Xiao's eyes widened, her mouth formed an "O" shape, and half a dumpling was still hanging in mid-air with her chopsticks.

"Five...five million?" Her voice trembled. "Brother, is the five million you're talking about in RMB?"

"Of course, I've opened a dollar account for you."

"You even have a dollar account?!"

Fu Yan ignored her words and continued speaking to his parents, "Dad, Mom, spend this money as you like. Buy whatever you need, replace whatever you need. This house is too old. If you don't want to live here anymore, buy a new one in the city, an apartment with an elevator, which will be warm in winter. The car should also be replaced. The Wuling Hongguang can't even turn on the heater properly in winter. Dad, your knees aren't good, don't let them get cold."

He looked at Fu Jianguo's rough hands, hands that had been used to run a fish stall at the beach for twenty years in sub-zero temperatures. The joints were swollen, the skin was cracked, and in winter, when the cracks appeared, he would just wrap them with tape and keep working.

"Also, don't set up the fish stall anymore." Fu Yan's voice turned serious. "It's too tiring and too hard. When I was little, my mom and I went to the market to help you carry fish. It was below zero, and your hands were soaked in ice water, turning the fish over. They were frozen purple, but you wouldn't stop. I thought to myself then that when I grew up, I would never let you do this again."

His son's words caused Fu Jianguo to drop the ash from his cigarette onto the table without him noticing.