Chapter 0307: The Year Approaches

Jiang Wen was undoubtedly the type of person with strong executive ability, coming and going in a hurry. Zhao Fusheng had originally thought he would stay in Ninghai with Wang Zhonglei for a few days to discuss the script, but as it turned out, he was wrong.

The next day, Jiang Wen called Zhao Fusheng, saying he needed to return to Beijing to handle some matters and wouldn't disturb him further. He left with Wang Zhonglei. At parting, Jiang Wen expressed reluctance to leave Zhao Fusheng, but whether he truly felt that way, only heaven knew.

People are used to speaking insincerely, saying things they themselves may not believe.

Having lived two lifetimes for so many years, Zhao Fusheng had long grown accustomed to such things. Wasn't he himself the same?

Time was about to pass into the new year. In recent days, Zhao Fusheng had been in a good mood, reading at home when idle, occasionally calling Tan Kaixuan to discuss the stock market situation in Shanghai, and maintaining his webpage.

Of course, there was also the occasional teasing of Fan Baobao, and being teased by her in return.

As for his father, in the old man's own words, he would be very happy if Zhao Fusheng caused him less trouble.

To this, Zhao Fusheng felt that his father was likely a big demon restrained by circumstances. In his previous life, because of him, the old man hadn't been able to unleash much energy. Now, he was charging straight toward becoming a first-generation rich.

In later generations, many people lamented that the wave of layoffs in the 1990s destroyed the families of many urban workers. But in Zhao Fusheng's view, that wasn't really the case.

You see, in that era, becoming a state-owned enterprise employee with an iron rice bowl was the dream of hundreds of millions of farmers. Working in a state-owned enterprise was like being in an insurance policy. If you got sick, you went to the employee hospital. When your children grew up, they attended the affiliated school. In winter, there was the employee bathhouse. When bored, the factory had a cinema. After decades of work, when your health failed, you retired, and your children could inherit your position. When you passed away, the unit would send people to help with the funeral.

In short, before the wave of layoffs, farmers continued to live as bitterly as ever, but workers weren't as miserable as many now claim. Although wages were low, benefits were plentiful, and internal hierarchies were strict, with seniority-based promotion common. Because of the big pot system, egalitarianism prevailed, and with no risk of unemployment, efficiency was low and there was overstaffing.

In essence, only a minority fared poorly after being laid off. Those with a bit of brains at least secured food and clothing, and those with higher skills all lived better than they had in their original units.

And Zhao's father, clearly had taken the wrong path in his previous life, but now had finally found his goal in life.

When idle, Zhao Fusheng was sometimes dragged by Fan Baobao to attend class reunions, either with her high school or middle school classmates.

After all, they had attended the same schools since childhood.

"By the way, today I'm meeting Yuan Lu and a few other girls for a gathering, along with their boyfriends. Are you coming?" On the morning of the 21st of the twelfth lunar month, Fan Baobao asked while eating the breakfast Zhao Fusheng had made.

Zhao Fusheng blinked: "Can I say no?"

"No."

Fan Baobao chuckled, giving Zhao Fusheng a look that he could interpret for himself.

Silently sighing, Zhao Fusheng resignedly nodded.

Actually, he didn't dislike such activities. After all, Fan Baobao's classmates were all art students, so at least they were good-looking. Accompanying a group of beauties and handsome men was at least pleasing to the eye.

But when the group went to a billiard hall to play pool, Zhao Fusheng felt terrible.

Having lived nearly seventy years across two lifetimes, Zhao Fusheng had only occasionally heard of something called the beauty of imperfection. Perhaps because perfection invites worship, people often feel亲切 towards flawed things—in other words, they feel more human.

To Zhao Fusheng, billiards was a sport involving a black ball and a pile of other balls. When he finally managed to squat down with a cue under Fan Baobao's guidance, he still didn't know what to do. As a beginner, he found it hard to bear the expectant looks.

It was funny, really. Zhao Fusheng had never played pool. In his impression, it was about hitting the black ball with the cue, making it knock the other balls into the pockets.

Fan Baobao truly didn't know this; she was still cheering him on, since the players were all the male classmates brought by the girls.

Men always care about face.

Taking a deep breath, he felt his body stiffen. Being pushed into such a situation, he had no reason to say he couldn't do it. Besides, he was a man; retreating wasn't his style. With no time to warm up, he hurriedly steadied his nerves, aimed carefully, and tried to make his movements look proper.

It must be said, some things you just can't do no matter how hard you try to imitate others, and the result is often tragic.

From start to finish, Zhao Fusheng's movements lacked any proper billiard form, clearly marking him as an amateur.

Unsurprisingly, the black ball hit the colored ball but had no chance of going into the pocket.

"Pfft!"

"Haha!"

Several people couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Fan Baobao didn't laugh, but her face turned red, and she glared angrily at those around her. Clearly, in her eyes, mocking Zhao Fusheng was mocking her.

Zhao Fusheng, however, was very nonchalant. He stood up, shrugged, and said to the other two guys, "I really can't play. I concede. I'll treat everyone to cold drinks later."

Given his age, he truly couldn't stoop to the level of a few youngsters. Losing was losing; admitting defeat was fine.

It wasn't a big deal, nor a matter of life and death.

The kind of on-the-spot face-slapping seen in movies and novels, in the eyes of a normal adult, is almost idiotic. Or rather, no normal person would do such a thing.

Even now, with Zhao Fusheng voluntarily conceding, the others just made a few jokes and let it go. No one dwelled on it. Even Yuan Lu's look toward Zhao Fusheng changed slightly.

After all, his previous impression had been too good—almost unlike someone his age: mature, polite, and though also a college student, already successful in his career.

Now, Zhao Fusheng's behavior seemed more like that of an ordinary person.

Of course, a certain young lady was quite unhappy inside. Even after the gathering ended, Fan Baobao kept grumbling about it.

"So infuriating! So infuriating!" Fan Baobao fumed. "Why should they laugh at you? As if they're so good at it."

Zhao Fusheng smiled lightly: "They really do play better than me."

"But that's no reason to laugh at you. You're a complete beginner. What right do they have to mock you for playing better?" Fan Baobao looked up stubbornly at Zhao Fusheng. "It's all my fault. If not for me, you..."

Before she could finish, Zhao Fusheng ruffled her hair: "Don't overthink it. It's nothing serious. I don't even mind, so why are you sulking?"

Then he turned his head and looked out the bus window: "It's almost New Year's."

In fact, when it snows frequently, it means the year's end is approaching. Zhao Fusheng remembered that more than a decade later, even during the Spring Festival, Ninghai wouldn't see much snow, unlike now, when a single snowfall could be over ten centimeters deep.

Year-end, as the name implies, for ordinary people in ancient times, the New Year was a hurdle. The hardest time of the year was often the New Year.

Of course, now it's more about festive atmosphere: every household pastes spring couplets, wears new clothes, children get lucky money, and families reunite happily. But somehow, as festivals multiplied, the flavor of the New Year faded.

"Yes, it's almost New Year's," Fan Baobao murmured softly upon hearing Zhao Fusheng's words.

Zhao Fusheng then remembered that for her, this Spring Festival was different. After all, so much had happened this year. Though she didn't say it, in her heart, Fan Baobao was just a twenty-year-old.

Gently patting Fan Baobao's head, Zhao Fusheng smiled: "You must understand, only by earning enough money to feel secure can you live a simple, comfortable, and free life, and have more confidence. So, most people struggle their whole lives and never achieve that simple, comfortable, free life. Do you know why?"

Fan Baobao was startled, then laughed: "Because they didn't earn enough money?"

Zhao Fusheng blinked and looked at Fan Baobao: "When did you get so smart?"

Rolling her eyes, Fan Baobao decided to ignore him.

But both knew that what Zhao Fusheng had just said made sense. After all, society was becoming more materialistic. Whether in Ninghai or Beijing, the people around them were proving with their actions that the whole society was moving toward greater materialism.

Money becoming the standard for measuring happiness or achievement might itself be a mistake. But when everyone is striving in the wrong direction, it's impossible to stay sober while the world is drunk.

Zhao Fusheng understood this better than Fan Baobao. That's why every decision he made now was carefully considered. He knew he couldn't afford the cost of impulsiveness.

People only understand the right way to live after suffering losses, though by then it's too late for regrets.

Zhao Fusheng was grateful that he had spent half a lifetime exploring and confirming some things. Now, he knew he wouldn't make the same mistakes again.