Rebirth: Fan Debiao rises from the Liaobei land

On the eve of the Lunar New Year in 2026, in Kaiyuan, a small town in northern Liaoning.

The sporadic sounds of firecrackers outside the window reminded people that the Spring Festival was approaching. Fan Debiao lay on his single bed in his low-rent apartment, covered with a faded thin quilt. On the bedside table sat a half-empty bottle of baijiu (a type of Chinese liquor), a half-eaten frozen dumpling container, and a yellowed photograph—taken many years ago when he was Wu Derong's bodyguard at Victoria Entertainment Plaza. He was wearing a stand-up collar jacket, with a red shirt underneath printed with a skull, a large head, a thick neck, and a smug smile.

He coughed a few times, his chest making a rumbling, bellows-like sound. He was sixty-two years old; his life, like these long-neglected lungs, was barely functioning. He had no wife, no children, and now even Commander Ma no longer associated with him. A few years ago, people would occasionally hire him for odd jobs, but now even that was gone.

"This life..." he murmured to himself, his voice so faint it was almost inaudible.

Scenes flashed through my mind: the glorious days at Victoria Square, the pride of my first return to Majiabaozi, and Brother Biao's constant flattery; then came the humiliating resignation, being thrown into a deep pit by Lao Qian, serving as the executive vice principal, running Biao's Soup Shop, and even a dream interpretation center… I tried various businesses, only to end up utterly defeated. All those boasts, those self-righteous "brilliant ideas," those missed opportunities, and those who turned away.

"Next life...next life..." The notorious ruthless man from Liaobei closed his eyes, murky tears sliding down his cheeks. "Sleep for five hundred years...wake up...and start over..."

His breathing grew weaker and weaker, and the sound of wind and snow outside the window grew farther and farther away. Before his last bit of consciousness faded away, he seemed to hear his own spirited voice from many years ago: "Look at success and failure with a heroic spirit. If things don't work out, we can always start over."

Fan Debiao died, alone and unknown during what should have been a time for family reunion during the Spring Festival.

It smells like smoke.

There was also the smell of alcohol, perfume, and sweat.

The music was blaring, making my head ache.

Fan Debiao suddenly opened his eyes.

He found himself lying on a leather sofa, wearing his classic outfit—a stand-up collar jacket with a red lining. Looking down, he saw a skull printed on the chest.

He jumped up from the sofa instantly.

This is an office, not large. In front of it is a table piled with miscellaneous items: a walkie-talkie, a register, half a cup of iced tea, a pack of Hongtashan cigarettes, and a pair of dumbbells under the table.

The clock on the wall shows: March 15, 2002, 8:20 PM.

Fan Debiao was stunned for five seconds.

Then, with a strange cry, he rushed to the private bathroom, turned on the tap, and stuck his head under the water. The cold water hit him, and he looked up at himself in the mirror.

The mirror reflected a chubby face, a large head, a thick neck, and slicked-back hair. The eyes were a little swollen, but the person looked energetic. This was the face of a forty-two-year-old.

He pinched himself; it hurt.

He turned on the tap and took a big gulp of water; it was real water.

He ran back, grabbed the Motorola flip phone from the coffee table, and flipped it open. Sure enough, it was March 15, 2002, 8:20 PM.

His legs went weak, and he sat back down on the sofa.

Reborn?

He was truly reborn?

Going back to 2002 from 2026, going back to twenty-four years ago?

He lit a cigarette, trembling, a Hongtashan, ten yuan a pack, a good cigarette. He took a deep drag, the smoke filling his lungs, feeling comfortable. In 2026, he'd feel the pinch even smoking Hongmei cigarettes, but now he smokes Hongtashan.

The music was still playing; it was "Where the Peach Blossoms Bloom." He listened for a couple of lines, then stood up and turned off the stereo.

He walked to the window and drew back the curtains. Outside was the main street of Kaiyuan, with fewer buildings and cars than later, and neon lights flashing brightly. The six large characters of Victoria Entertainment Plaza shone dazzlingly.

Memories of my past life flooded back all at once.

He is now the bodyguard of Wu Derong, the boss of Victoria, and a notorious ruthless man in the Liaobei region, known as the Reservoir Prodigal, Fan Debiao.

However, tonight, his boss Wu Derong was beaten up at Victoria Entertainment Plaza. He tried to show off and take care of the matter by himself. "Bang!" He smashed a beer bottle and "crack!" He tried to scratch with his claws, but he didn't intimidate the guy and got beaten up with a black eye and a swollen face. If it weren't for Boss Wu taking a liking to Ma Xiaocui, he would have been sent to cook long ago. Then, Ma Dashuai came to the city, and that's when his tragic second half of life began.

Yes, today.

Fan Debiao glanced at the clock; it was exactly nine o'clock.

almost.

A series of hurried footsteps sounded outside the door, almost like a death knell. The door was flung open with a bang, and the young security guard, Li Jun, rushed in, panting heavily, his face as white as a freshly steamed bun.

"Brother Biao! Something terrible has happened!"

Fan Debiao didn't even lift his eyelids, slowly exhaling a smoke ring: "What's the panic? If the sky falls, there are telephone poles to hold it up."

"Mr. Wu! Mr. Wu has been beaten up! In room 308!" Li Jun's voice was hoarse. "He's covered in blood!"

"Brother Biao! What do we do?" Li Jun was so anxious he was stamping his feet. "Should we... or call the police?"

Fan Debiao turned around and stared at Li Jun's young, wrinkle-free face. In his previous life, this kid had followed him for three years, but then went to work in the south because he thought the wages were too low, and he heard that he wasn't doing too well there.

"Why call the police?" Fan Debiao's voice was unusually steady. "Mr. Wu got beaten up in his own territory, and you're calling the police? How will Victoria be able to stay in business after this?"

"Th-that..."

"How many people are on the other side?" Fan Debiao asked as he walked out.

"Four or five of them, they all looked pretty tough, each one burly and strong."

"Did you bring any weapons?"

"I didn't see it."

"Where is General Manager Wu?"

"His head is split open, and he's bleeding!"

Fan Debiao stood up. "Go, call the entire security team here, and bring rubber batons. Hurry up."

Li Jun was taken aback: "Call them all?"

"Yes, call all the people on duty, don't leave anyone out."

Li Jun ran out.

Fan Debiao picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"Hey? Police station? I need to report a fight at Victoria Entertainment Plaza, it's pretty serious, there's blood. Yes, room 308. You need to come quickly."

After hanging up the phone, he walked to the wall and picked up the rubber baton hanging on it.

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and seven or eight security guards arrived, all carrying rubber batons and panting heavily.

"Brother Biao, what do we do?"

Fan Debiao glanced at the group. Big Liu, Old Wang, Little Zhao... they were all familiar faces. In his previous life, they had relied on him for a living, but later went their separate ways.

"Listen," Fan Debiao's voice wasn't loud, but it was firm. "When we go in, watch my hand signals. When I make a move, you make yours. Don't hit vital points, aim for the thickest parts. The police will be here soon, and we need to settle this before they arrive."

"clear!"

Big Liu leaned closer and whispered, "Brother Biao, how about... we call a few more people? I heard that group is pretty tough."

"Tough?" Fan Debiao laughed. "Can it be tougher than the Renminbi? Can it be tougher than criminal law?"

These words stunned Da Liu. He stared at Fan Debiao's retreating figure, thinking to himself: Why is Brother Biao talking so eloquently today?

Fan Debiao led his men toward 308, thinking about his past life as he walked. In his past life, he went in alone, trying to act tough, saying, "Gentlemen, give me, Fan Debiao, some face," but they completely ignored him and threw a bottle at him. From then on, Brother Biao became a laughing stock.

Hehe, God has given us another chance to start over, and this time it's different.