Chapter 154: Giving the Singer a Cut
Chapter 154: Giving the Singer a Cut
Evening, Moyu Internet Café.
The café, which had been rather deserted before, suddenly saw a surprising influx of guests.
Groups of young people entered the net café in twos and threes, some of them even lingering outside, double-checking the location before finally pushing open the door.
“Are you sure this is the place? There's not even a sign.”
“Yeah, this is it.”
“Then what’s up with this neat row of computers? What’s that for?”
“This place isn’t just a bar, you can go online here too.”
“You can go online? …Then why not just go to a regular internet café? I came here to drink.”
“They serve drinks too, and the alcohol is better than most bars. But the main thing is the music—music!”
“Is it really that good?”
“It's nothing like the usual singers you get at bars. Just listen, and you’ll get it.”
At the entrance, the young people pushed open the door and stepped in.
A server immediately greeted them with a beaming smile, led them to their seats, handed out hand towels, and politely asked for their drink orders.
Among the group, the most energetic was a fashionably dressed young woman. After everyone finished ordering, she cheerfully began explaining how she discovered this hidden gem.
“Do you know how I found this place?”
“Actually, I had passed by here before, but when I saw the menu outside, the prices looked super high, and it seemed really dead inside, so I never went in.”
“But then last week I happened to pass by again and heard someone singing!”
“I had just gotten off work, and I stood at the door for a bit listening. I ended up going in, ordered a drink, and stayed until closing!”
“It was just so good! And it wasn’t that loud, noisy kind of music. It was mellow, laid-back, with a tinge of melancholy. Add a drink to that, and it really hits the spot.”
“After coming a few more times, I realized that even though it's pricey, the service is amazing. The servers are ridiculously attentive. You don’t even need to say anything—just make eye contact and they come right over. It’s unbelievably comfortable!”
Someone cut in, “For real? Are the servers psychic or something?”
The young woman gave him a glance, “Of course not. It just means they’re doing their job well—watching the customers the whole time. They can pick up on subtle body language and know when you need help. Then they come over right away.”
“Also, none of them waste your time trying to upsell drinks or push you to buy a membership. They are super polite.”
“Now I even come here during the day sometimes, get a coffee and read a book. It’s really relaxing.”
“Don’t worry, the singer should be coming out soon.”
“His name is Chen Lei. Apparently, he lives nearby. He didn’t go to college after high school, just stayed home making music.”
“I’m not sure how this place managed to dig up such a gem.”
“Look! There he is!”
Chen Lei walked onto the stage with his guitar, and the crowd immediately let out a few cheers. A girl even shouted, “Chen Lei, I love you!”
Chen Lei blushed. He sat down on stage, adjusted the mic, plucked a few strings on his guitar, and pretended not to hear, drawing some light chuckles from the audience.
No small talk, no warm-up chatter—Chen Lei wasn’t much of a talker.
He simply cleared his throat, strummed his guitar, and sang softly into the mic.
“The light went out, moonlight is the lonely eye, static static look, who sleeps all alone—”
The soothing melody spread gently throughout the net café.
The audience sipped their drinks in silence, soaking in the atmosphere.
“That’s so good.”
“It’s really different from the original, but somehow it still has the same vibe.”
“That’s Chen Lei for you. No matter what he sings, he’s got a strong personal style—super relaxing, but when you really listen, there’s this faint sadness to it.”
“Really nice.”
A slightly world-weary man took a small sip of his drink, his eyes drifting toward the dazzling lights outside the glass curtain wall. Who knew what kind of memories the lights had stirred up within him?
Suddenly, he looked down at his glass with a hint of confusion.
“What is it?” his female companion asked.
The man took another sip.
“This wine… it’s actually real?”
The woman laughed. “Well, duh. They have a proper business license—why would they risk selling fake alcohol?”
The man shook his head. “You don’t get it. These days, a lot of bars—especially with expensive liquor—it’s common for them to refill bottles. A bottle that costs several hundred yuan? They refill it with something that’s only a hundred or two and sell it like the real thing. Once it’s mixed into a cocktail, who can really tell the difference?”
“That’s not exactly fake alcohol—just cheap stuff. Fake booze gives you a splitting headache or lands you in the hospital. But cheap alcohol? Tastes a little off, sure, but once it's in your stomach, it all feels the same.”
The woman still looked doubtful. “And you can tell the difference?”
The man smiled. “Of course. A few-hundred-yuan bottle versus a hundred-yuan one—both are legit alcohol, but the flavor’s definitely different. Otherwise, why would people pay the premium?”
“Anyone who knows a little about drinks can taste the difference.”
He gently swirled the liquid in his glass and glanced at Chen Lei, who was singing on stage. “This place… is actually pretty interesting.”
“Next time, I might bring a few old friends to check it out.”
…
At the bar.
Ma Yang nursed a glass of wine slowly, watching Chen Lei perform on stage, and said with some emotion, “Seems like… yeah, he really is better than you.”
Zhang Yuan nodded, completely convinced. “Yeah. You’re just realizing that now, Brother Ma?”
Ma Yang, ever the straightforward one, shook his head. “I didn’t hear it. I saw it. When you sang, there weren’t this many people listening, not this many people ordering drinks, and no one was paying this much attention.”
Zhang Yuan: “…Brother Ma, for the love of this drink in your hand, can you not stab me like that?”
Zhang Yuan was speechless.
That Chen Lei was clearly someone blessed by the heavens. Why did everyone have to keep rubbing in how much better he was?
“So… how exactly are we gonna pay him?”
Ma Yang finally brought up a serious question.
Last week, after hearing Zhang Yuan sing, Chen Lei had suddenly gained confidence and volunteered to perform on stage himself.
The result was immediately apparent. Ma Yang didn’t hesitate—he asked Chen Lei to stay on for a one-week trial.
If they were satisfied after a week, they’d sign him on officially. If not, they’d give him 1,000 yuan as a token and send him on his way.
Now that the week had passed, Ma Yang was more than satisfied with Chen Lei.
But he’d run into a problem: how much should he pay him?
“How much do bar singers usually get paid?”
Ma Yang was wondering if he should follow the industry standard.
Zhang Yuan knew this stuff well—after all, he used to work in that scene.
“Brother Ma, in small bars, resident singers usually get around 3,000 yuan a month. But that’s for singers with no real name or following.”
“The actual pay depends on the level of the venue, the singer’s reputation, and how generous the boss is.”
“Some big bars have high foot traffic, so a lot of singers are willing to sing there for free just for the exposure. On the flip side, smaller bars that want someone with a bit of name recognition have to pay more.”
“With Chen Lei’s level? I’d say four or five thousand is more than fair—if anything, that might even be on the low side.”
‘Four or five thousand…’
Ma Yang fell silent, deep in thought.
“It’s not that I’m stingy or that Chen Lei isn’t worth the money,” Ma Yang explained.
“The main issue is—we’re still losing money at this net café.”
“How about this: we give him a base salary of 1,500 yuan, and everything else comes from commission.”
Zhang Yuan was stunned. “Commission? From what?”
Ma Yang pointed to the bar. “From the drinks. From now on, we’ll be upfront with the customers: during live performances, half of the profit from drinks goes to Chen Lei.”
Zhang Yuan sucked in a sharp breath. “Brother Ma, giving him half sounds kinda steep, doesn’t it?”
“It’s fine. We weren’t selling that much alcohol anyway…” Ma Yang replied nonchalantly.
Zhang Yuan was momentarily speechless. “Fair point. And since we’re selling genuine alcohol, the profit margins aren’t exactly high either.”
“Thinking about it that way… I guess it’s not too bad.”
In a typical bar, the real profit is in the drinks.
Many bars, nightclubs, and KTVs do a bit of sleight of hand—especially with premium liquor like XO. They’ll recycle the expensive bottles and refill them with cheaper booze. It’s a common trick.
That kind of setup turns drink sales into a goldmine.
But from the very start, Moyu Internet Café had strict orders from President Pei: every drink sold must be real. Not just no fake liquor—even a single drop of low-quality stuff wasn’t allowed.
If you say you’re selling something, that’s exactly what you’re selling.
So while the café’s prices did include a profit margin, it was nowhere near what other bars were making.
And with their current foot traffic, they weren’t selling much of anything anyway.
Zhang Yuan thought for a moment and said, “Well, I’ll leave it up to you, Brother Ma. I think commission is fine—might even boost drink sales a bit.”
Ma Yang immediately made the call. “Alright, then it’s settled. I’ll talk to Chen Lei after his set tonight. I bet he’ll be up for it.”
“If we’re really going with this model, I actually have a suggestion,” Zhang Yuan said suddenly, an idea popping into his head. “We should get a batch of new menus printed, and for every drink, we list the commission Chen Lei gets in parentheses.”
“Like for the Northern Lights cocktail—we sell it for 60 yuan, right? It costs us around 30. After factoring in venue and labor costs, let’s say the total cost is 40, and we make 20 yuan in profit. Half of that goes to Chen Lei, so that’s 10 yuan.”
“So on the menu, after the 60 yuan price, we put something like (10) in parentheses. That way, customers know that Chen Lei earns 10 yuan per drink.”
Ma Yang frowned, hesitating a little. “Wouldn’t that reveal our profit margins?”
Zhang Yuan shook his head. “Come on, Brother Ma. Even if you don’t show it, you think people can’t guess? Anyone can look up these drink prices online.”
“Most people who drink at bars already know the profit margins. But since the whole industry does it, no one really cares.”
“Putting the commission amount on the menu actually makes us look generous—like we really value our performers.”
Ma Yang’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yeah! That makes sense. I think that’s a great idea. Let’s do it!”
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