The Third Year After The Breakup, He Knelt and Begged to Get Back Together - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: An Old Acquaintance, I’ll Give You Some Sales…

“Move it! Move it!”

“Bill! Three more glasses over here! Three—three—cans! Three—!”

“Change the song! Tell the people on stage to change the song! I can’t even hear myself talk!”

The owner of Binse Bar originally wanted to take a high-end literary route, but unfortunately, the location chosen went against the grain of city planning. Over the years, the surrounding area became the roughest and worst district among the nearby cities. After the owner grew two tufts of white hair from worry, he simply let it go, allowing Binse to become a famous “no-man’s-land” bar.

In the peak of July summer, it was the best time for business at a low-class bar like this.

Bill picked up a tray holding three large glasses of iced beer, skillfully and quickly weaving through numerous obstacles to reach the designated table.

The guest on the left had a tattoo of a “Descending Tiger” on his neck—a style that felt very dated. He familiarly helped Bill take down the beers and remarked casually, “So, you’ve gone from part-time to full-time?”

Bill smiled. “It’s all thanks to Brother Tiger’s support.”

Brother Tiger laughed heartily and grabbed a section of Bill’s white shirt sleeve, saying to his companions, “How about it? Doesn’t he look like him?”

The lights in Binse Bar were already dim and had fallen into disrepair over the years. Bill was pulled down into a slouch, and only then did the other two see his face clearly.

“Bill” was obviously a “stage name” used for drifting through third-rate bars. Even though he wore the same low-quality makeup as the other employees, one could still see a superior Oriental face, especially those eyes, which reflected light like glass as the colored lamps swept past.

A companion agreed, “He really does. He looks just like Qi Mingfeng’s brother!”

“I told you so!” Brother Tiger pulled Bill by the shoulder again. “Ah-B, go up and sing a song. I’ll film a video of you and title it ‘The Return of Qi Mingfeng.’ I guarantee it’ll go viral!”

Bill’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Then your account will be gone, Brother Tiger.”

Brother Tiger’s finger, which was about to hit the camera shortcut on his phone, paused.

Qi Mingfeng was once a red-hot singer who retired at his peak. The official statement was that he went abroad for further studies, but rumors said he had offended a big shot in the industry and was blacklisted.

A companion interjected, “Didn’t they say the ban was lifted?”

Brother Tiger’s idea had only been a whim. Considering the account he had used for several years, he didn’t dare risk it and put his phone back, sighing helplessly. “Everything was going so well. Why did Qi Mingfeng have to court death? He had such a great future.”

The companion curled his lip. “People die for wealth. Who would think they have too much money?”

Brother Tiger: “But even if he was greedy, he should have seen which ‘thigh’ he was clinging to. Daring to eat from the pot while eyeing the bowl—that’s just pure suicidal behavior.”

The phone in Bill’s pocket vibrated. Seeing that the guests’ gossip had drifted far away and didn’t involve him, Bill took his tray and retreated to a small, dark corner.

The call naturally hung up after being left unanswered for a long time, but just as he pulled it out of his pocket, the phone went ding.

Both the call and the text message were from a number he knew well.

He clicked into the inbox. There wasn’t a single word in the new message, only two photos.

The first photo was of the single-room low-rent apartment he was currently living in. The front door had clearly been kicked open by force, leaving only one hinge struggling to support it. The already old furniture inside was smashed to pieces all over the floor, and the water cups and kettles were all shattered. Water was spreading across the uneven concrete floor toward the window.

The second photo was of a medical record, with the lens focused on the patient’s name.

His pupils shrank. The next second, the phone rang again like a death knell.

He didn’t dare delay and hurriedly answered, “What do you want?!”

The voice on the other end was contemptuous: “Don’t get excited. It’s only natural to pay back what you owe. We just had to come see for ourselves if there’s anything valuable left here.”

Bill gritted his teeth. “I already paid you back.”

“There’s still interest.”

“Your interest is illegally high! And it wasn’t specified in the contract!”

“But I told you verbally. You’d better hurry. If you delay any longer, we’ll have to go to the hospital to ask your younger brother for it.”

Bill leaned against the wall in the corner, switching back and forth between mobile apps. The more he switched, the colder his heart became. His head felt like it was going to explode, and his vision went dark in waves.

Another call came in. Bill didn’t notice the caller ID, thinking it was the debt collectors again: “I will definitely pay it back, just don’t touch my brother!”

The other end was silent for two seconds. Bill sensed something was wrong and only then discovered the caller was the “Little Boss” of the bar.

He slapped his own face, forcing himself to calm down. “Little Boss.”

Binse wasn’t very formal. The Big Boss had other industries, so everyone called the manager the Little Boss.

Little Boss: “The debt collectors are back again?”

Bill and the Little Boss had a good personal relationship; the other knew a bit about his situation.

He gave a muffled response: “Little Boss, did you need something from me?”

Little Boss: “I originally wanted to let you off work early…”

Bill keenly realized something. “Is Fan Zhenjiang coming to the bar?”

Little Boss: “He’s already here. He called for you by name, but you can leave through the back door.”

Bill was truly desperate for money. The usurers were pressing harder day by day, and his brother’s medical expenses were not settled.

He had originally planned to sell a kidney, but that kind of black-market business required connections; he couldn’t just shout about it on the street.

Among the people he could contact, the only one with connections was Fan Zhenjiang.

And Fan Zhenjiang had his eye on him.

Little Boss: “The Big Boss is abroad these days and can’t be reached. Otherwise, wait until he gets back and I’ll talk to him, or let the colleagues in the bar pool some money for you.”

“Even if the Big Boss comes back, I’m just a stranger to him, so how could I let you speak up? It’s not easy for everyone to work, and everyone is young; who has any savings? Thank you, Little Boss, you’ve already taken care of me a lot.” Thinking of the photo of the medical record in the text, Bill gripped his phone. “Which booth is Fan Zhenjiang in?”

Little Boss: “307.”

He returned to the bar counter, steeled his heart, and ordered a bottle of wine that was considered expensive in Binse.

Since things weren’t going to end well anyway, he might as well fleece the man surnamed Fan for a large sum first.

He said to the bartender, “Don’t call me for any other orders tonight.”

Bartender: “Okay, Brother Bill… Hey! Watch out, Brother!”

Crash—

Bill didn’t notice someone was behind him. When he turned around, he accidentally bumped into them, and the wine he had held for less than a minute smashed into pieces.

“Ouch, move aside, don’t let it cut anyone.” The bartender hurried to find a broom and dustpan.

Such expensive wine.

Bill’s head seemed to hurt even more.

He took a breath, put on a professional smile, and looked up: “Sir, this bottle…”

The words got stuck halfway in his throat.

He thought he was having hallucinations due to his recent stress and anxiety.

The man in front of him was wearing a dark, handmade suit that was completely out of place in the bar. His facial features were deep—the kind of looks that had been praised since childhood. At this moment, his long eyebrows were slightly arched, and he deliberately sized him up from bottom to top: “Teacher Qi, it’s been a long time. Or perhaps, in this place, it’s more appropriate for me to call you Bill.”

His breath seemed to stop at this instant. Qi Mingfeng heard his own heartbeat, louder than the music in Binse, like two booster pumps turned to maximum power.

He never expected to meet He Xian again in this lifetime.

His blood felt like it was boiling, bubbles of memory rising one after another, only to burst into nothingness.

But it was only for a few moments before a smile hung on his face again. He swallowed the phantom metallic taste in his throat and spoke politely: “Long time, long time. President He can call me whatever he likes. I just didn’t expect to meet President He here. Come for a drink?”

“Yes, I have an appointment with a friend.”

He Xian familiarly touched his face. The movement was so natural, and he was so caught in shock, that by the time he reacted, He Xian’s hand had already withdrawn and he was rubbing his fingertips.

Qi Mingfeng’s gaze instinctively followed. The foundation smeared on the fingertips was easily rubbed away by He Xian.

Foundation that cost about ten dollars a bottle. If Binse didn’t require staff—regardless of gender—to wear makeup, he wouldn’t bother applying the stuff.

Qi Mingfeng twitched the corner of his mouth: “President He?”

He Xian said mockingly, “You insisted on leaving back then. Is this the life you wanted?”

“President He sees a joke,” Qi Mingfeng lowered his head, appearing as if he had something to say but didn’t know how to start. “President He…”

He Xian’s finger, stained with foundation, moved slightly. His voice somehow lowered, and his tone was no longer so aggressive: “What is it?”

Qi Mingfeng pointed to the puddle of wine on the floor that hadn’t been mopped clean yet: “You stood behind me without a sound, which is why the wine fell and smashed. This wine money…?”

He Xian only felt a surge of perverse anger rush to his throat. He gave a cold snort, his gaze shifting to the side before returning to Qi Mingfeng: “Put it on my tab.”

Qi Mingfeng revealed a smile: “I wonder which booth President He and his friend are at, so I can record the bill.”

He Xian gave a booth number.

Qi Mingfeng hurriedly asked his colleague, who had come with the broom and dustpan, to note it down. Then he said to He Xian: “Then I won’t disturb President He. I wish you a pleasant time.”

After saying that, he turned to leave, but his path was blocked.

He Xian’s assistant stood a few steps away, politely calling out “Teacher Qi.”

Qi Mingfeng turned back: “President He?”

He Xian pulled a tissue from the bar counter and was wiping the foundation from his fingertips without looking up. He said indifferently: “Since we’re old acquaintances, how about I give you some sales? Come and accompany me for drinks. Everything I order today will be credited to you.”

He Xian, the head of the illustrious He Group, was someone people fawned over wherever he went. Yet, two years ago, Qi Mingfeng had broken up with him, and the scene had been quite ugly.

He Xian was looking to reclaim his pride.

Qi Mingfeng was indeed tight on cash, but the person he was least willing to see in this lifetime was He Xian.

If it weren’t for He Xian, how could he have ended up in his current situation?

He would rather sell himself than have anything to do with He Xian again.

Qi Mingfeng pulled another bottle of wine from the counter and gestured toward He Xian: “Many thanks for President He’s kindness, but my current market value is quite alright. They’re waiting for me over there.”

He Xian’s face gradually darkened. “No rush. My friend won’t be here for a while.”

Qi Mingfeng smiled. “Then President He can wait slowly. I’ll go get busy first.”

He bypassed He Xian’s assistant and headed upstairs.

The private booths on the third floor of Binse were similar to KTV rooms. Along the way, he could hear many people singing so off-key that even he couldn’t recognize the songs.

The door to 307 was cracked open. He knocked three times and pushed the door open.

To his surprise, Fan Zhenjiang wasn’t the only one in the booth; there were two other men he didn’t know.

None of the three were holding microphones; they were chatting while watching the music video on the screen.

A young man was running under the bright sky, his still-youthful face smiling more radiantly than the sunlight. He sang as he ran, and countless people threw flowers at him along the way. The scene shifted, and he was lying among a cluster of flowers, reaching out toward the camera…

That was the MV Qi Mingfeng filmed when he debuted.

Qi Mingfeng only took a glance out of the corner of his eye and stopped looking. He walked straight to Fan Zhenjiang, placed the wine on the table with both hands, and spoke sincerely: “Sorry about that, President Fan.”

Fan Zhenjiang waved his hand, gesturing for him to sit beside him.

Qi Mingfeng sat down obediently.

Under Fan Zhenjiang’s introduction, Qi Mingfeng learned that the other two were Fan Zhenjiang’s friends. They had come to relax and specifically called Qi Mingfeng to accompany them to help boost his sales.

Qi Mingfeng thought that since there were others present, Fan Zhenjiang wouldn’t mention the matter of being interested in him. However, Fan Zhenjiang openly patted his thigh: “Mingfeng, I’ve heard about your situation. I know it’s not easy for you, but is losing a kidney something to joke about?”

Qi Mingfeng sighed. “Forced by life.”

Fan Zhenjiang: “Still, you can’t go down that path. You’re still young; there are many days ahead of you.”

Qi Mingfeng: “I understand, but President Fan, I really have no other way.”

Fan Zhenjiang sat a bit closer to him, the smell of tobacco soaked into his bones wafting over. “Isn’t Big Brother here to help you?”

The hand on his thigh never left, and the pressure grew heavier.

Fan Zhenjiang was in his forties and was fairly well-maintained, at least not overweight. He started as a middleman and later opened his own company. Claiming to be from a music school background, he loved listening to songs. He had recognized him the first time he came, and since then, he had come back repeatedly specifically to find him.

As an adult, he naturally understood the hints in Fan Zhenjiang’s words.

Even if he hadn’t understood before, the hand Fan Zhenjiang had placed on his thigh was enough to indicate his intentions.

The MV was still playing, the brilliant and changing images illuminating Qi Mingfeng’s profile in shifting light and shadow.