A leisurely life starting in a bar after being reborn

Fu Yan got out of the car and looked up at the main building—

Three stories, a blend of Chinese and Western styles. Gray brick walls, a pitched roof covered with dark glazed tiles, European-style stone pillars in the porch, and Chinese-style wooden lattice windows. The whole building looks neither too rustic nor too Western, but it just feels expensive.

expensive.

Zhang Fan was dirt poor when he was at Stanford. The apartment he shared with Fu Yan didn't even have a sofa in the living room, and the two of them ate instant noodles sitting on the floor. Now, he's all dressed up—mansion, luxury cars, security guards, the stuff of a capitalist.

Fu Yan walked to the door, and the door opened from the inside.

……

The hall was huge, almost wastefully so.

The ceiling is at least six meters high, with a huge crystal chandelier overhead, casting a soft, warm glow throughout the room. The floor is paved with marble, and several ink paintings hang on the walls—their authenticity is hard to say, but Zhang Fan wouldn't hang fakes, because he doesn't care about price, only whether they look good.

In the middle of the hall, three men were chatting in front of the fireplace.

Upon seeing Fu Yan enter, the person at the front was the first to greet him.

"Yanzi!"

Zhang Fan, forty-three years old, is a full twelve years older than Fu Yan. He is not tall, just over 1.7 meters, but his aura is as imposing as a two-meter man. His hair is neatly combed, and he wears a dark blue cashmere sweater, khaki casual pants, and brown loafers—he looks casual, but each item is so expensive that it could cost half a year's salary for an average person.

He walked over and gave Fu Yan a hug—the kind of tight, back-patting hug that brothers give each other.

"You brat, you've been back in the country for so long and haven't even come to see me!"

"I've only just settled in."

"Settle down? You call buying a courtyard house and opening a bar settling down? Why don't you settle down on a small Pacific island?"

"I can't afford it."

"You?" Zhang Fan looked him up and down. "You can't afford it?"

Fu Yan smiled but didn't reply.

Zhang Fan pulled him inside, saying, "Come, come, let me introduce you—even though you all know each other, we still need to be polite."

The two people in front of the fireplace turned around.

The man on the left is in his early fifties, tall, with a refined appearance, gray hair that is neatly combed, and wearing a black turtleneck sweater. His demeanor is as calm and composed as a mountain.

Chen Yanpeng.

He is the founder and head of Sequoia Capital China, a godfather-like figure in China's venture capital world. The list of companies he's invested in is staggering—Alibaba, JD.com, Meituan, ByteDance… Half of the later internet landscape was shaped by Sequoia. Of course, Sequoia Capital China is only a few years old now, and hasn't yet invested in many well-known companies or unicorns, but its strength is still undeniable.

The woman on the right, Li Hui, is forty-seven years old, three years younger than Chen Yanpeng. She is rather thin, wears gold-rimmed glasses, and a light gray suit jacket, looking more like a university professor than a powerful figure in the private equity world.

He is the founder of Dehong Investment and one of the earliest private equity professionals in China. He worked on Wall Street and returned to specialize in mergers and acquisitions and restructurings. His methods were ruthless, earning him the nickname "Li the One-Cut" in the industry.

"Old Chen, Old Li, long time no see." Fu Yan nodded.

Chen Yanpeng walked over with a smile and shook hands with him: "Xiao Fu, no, you should call me President Fu now."

"No, just call me Xiao Fu, it sounds younger and more pleasant."

"You do look young," Chen Yanpeng said, glancing at him. "Like you're in your early twenties, right? Unlike us old men."

"Where are you old? You're in your prime right now."

"Your mouth is just as sweet as it was at Stanford."

Li Hui also came over and shook Fu Yan's hand, the movement light but firm—this is a habit of people who have been doing mergers and acquisitions for a long time, shaking hands to test the other party's confidence first.

"Fu Yan, I heard you opened a bar in Houhai after you returned to China?"

"It's not about hiding, it's about retiring."

"Retirement?" Li Hui pushed up her glasses. "You're retiring at your age?"

"Retirement isn't about age, it's about savings."

Li Hui was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter.

Zhang Fan patted Fu Yan on the shoulder: "Don't be fooled by his lazy appearance. The 'savings' he mentioned—that amount—is enough for Dehong to invest in three mergers and acquisitions. I bet even the richest man in China right now doesn't have as much cash as him!"

Li Hui and Chen Yanpeng exchanged a glance, their eyes both revealing something.

Fu Yan stood in front of the fireplace, the firelight reflecting on his face, warm and comforting.

Outside the manor, the early spring scenery of Yanjiao was desolate; inside, several investment tycoons were probing and scrutinizing the area.

He was all too familiar with this scene—Wall Street tycoons exchanged glances in the same way at private dinners in New York. They chatted about the weather and golf while secretly calculating each other's cards and chips.

This time, however, he wasn't there to play cards.

He was there to be pulled into the game.

-

Zhang Fan invited everyone to sit down, and someone brought out tea—Da Hong Pao, which smelled expensive.

"Yanzi," Zhang Fan picked up his teacup and leaned back on the sofa, "I called you here today not just to get together, but mainly because there's something I want to talk to you about."

"I know." Fu Yan picked up his teacup and took a sip. "It's about the private equity fund."

Zhang Fan raised an eyebrow: "How did you know?"

"With all three of you here, what else could we be talking about besides private equity? The NBA, of course?"

Chen Yanpeng laughed: "Xiao Fu, you really do have that keen insight."

"It's not keen insight, it's simple reasoning." Fu Yan put down his teacup. "The three of you—one from Sequoia, one from Dehong, and one from Zhang Fan—are either working together on a fund or playing bridge together. I've seen your card skills, so you probably won't be playing together."

"Hahahaha—" Zhang Fan laughed so hard he almost spat out his tea. "You little rascal, you're still as sharp-tongued as ever when it comes to insults."

Li Hui laughed and pushed up her glasses: "Fu Yan, Zhang Fan said that your shorting of subprime mortgages in the United States was one of the most brilliant trades he has ever seen."

"Just lucky."

"Lucky people don't stop before the peak." Li Hui's gaze, seen through her glasses, was not sharp but deep. "The fact that you can stop shows that you are more capable than just lucky people—you have a sense of awe."

Fu Yan looked at him without saying a word.

"Having a sense of awe is not a bad thing," Li Hui said calmly. "Having a sense of awe for the industry means knowing when to leave. There are plenty of fearless people in our circle, but those who survive are the ones who know when to leave."

The firewood in the fireplace crackled and popped, and the flames leaped up.

Zhang Fan looked at Fu Yan with expectation in his eyes, as well as the sincerity of an old friend.

"Yanzi, the Chinese market is different from the American market, and the rules are different too. But one thing is the same—when the opportunity comes, you have to be there."

Fu Yan picked up his teacup and slowly took a sip.

The rocky flavor of Da Hong Pao tea melts on the tip of the tongue, leaving a lingering sweetness.

He knew that the real show was just beginning.