Reborn as a high school freshman with an awakened system, a fat boy transforms into a male god.

Lin Bei held his teacup, mentally reviewing the words. Zhao Heming was the richest man in Jiangcheng, with deep-rooted connections.

The investigation into this pyramid scheme will most likely only go as far as the CFO; Zhao Heming himself is safe. But this seemingly safe Zhao Heming is now restlessly cleaning up his own territory.

The old man picked up his teacup, took a sip, and continued, "However, after Director Liu was taken away, Zhao Heming's side actually quieted down. He didn't make any phone calls, didn't try to pull any strings, and didn't take any action. Your Uncle Shen said that when someone is too quiet, they're usually doing something they don't want others to know."

He placed the teacup back on the coffee table, picked up the chess piece again, and said unhurriedly, "Alright, let's not talk about this anymore. Let's play chess. Let your Uncle Shen worry about his own affairs."

Lin Bei nodded and played black, making the first move. The old man's style was still the same: steady, slow, and fond of controlling the board. But in the middlegame, Lin Bei noticed that he moved his rook one space forward, one space more than usual, with a hint of a probing attack.

"Grandpa Shen, you're walking faster than before."

The old man chuckled, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.

The game continued. The two players went back and forth, the sound of the pieces landing on the board crisp and rhythmic. The old man was indeed in good form today, thinking longer and more carefully with each move than he had last week.

But as the game progressed to the endgame, the old man's pieces revealed a weakness. Lin Bei didn't hesitate, seizing the opportunity to exchange his cannon for two elephants, opening up the board. A few moves later, the old man defeated his general.

"I lost." The old man leaned back on the sofa, looking down at the chessboard. There was no frustration in his tone, but rather a sense of relaxation.

He reached out and put the chess pieces back into the box one by one. "Let's play again. This time I'll let you go first."

The old man looked at the stalemate on the chessboard and smiled with satisfaction: "A draw is not bad. Better than a loss."

Just as he was about to rearrange the table, he heard footsteps coming from upstairs.

Shen Qingzhi came down the stairs, wearing a white cashmere sweater, her hair loose, and carrying a water glass. When she reached the living room, her gaze first fell on the chessboard, then moved to Lin Bei's face, paused for a moment, and then looked away.

She sat down next to the old man, her water glass on the coffee table, which was already cold and no longer steaming.

"Qingzhi, want to play a game?" The old man patted the edge of the chessboard.

Shen Qingzhi shook her head, her voice softer than usual: "I'm not playing anymore."

The old man glanced at her but didn't ask any further questions. He picked up his teacup, took a sip, then put it down, his gaze lingering on his granddaughter's face for a moment before shifting away. He didn't ask any more questions.

The living room fell silent for a moment, with only the rustling of the wind blowing through the osmanthus tree outside the window.

Shen Qingzhi didn't take out her phone as usual, nor did she get up to pour hot water; she just sat there quietly.

The old man picked up the teapot and poured her a cup of hot tea, then pushed the cup towards her. Shen Qingzhi glanced down at the cup but didn't pick it up.

Lin Bei sat opposite them, watching the grandfather and grandson. He didn't speak, just sat quietly, the chessboard beside him not yet fully closed, the last pawn landing on the edge of the board.

After about two or three minutes, Shen Qingzhi stood up, picked up the cup of tea, took two steps toward the stairs, then stopped without looking back.

"I'm going up," she said, her voice even softer than before.

She continued upstairs, her footsteps light but steady. After she disappeared around the corner of the stairs, the living room was quiet for a moment.

The old man picked up his teacup, took a sip, put it down, and looked towards the stairwell, his gaze lingering. He remained silent for a few seconds, then shook his head, his tone carrying a helplessness that Lin Bei rarely saw in him.

"This child has been troubled lately. She doesn't talk to me or her dad about it. Now she doesn't even play chess anymore."

He turned to look at Lin Bei, "When she said she didn't want to play, I actually wanted you to play a game with her. She would occasionally speak up when you were playing, and it's a good thing that she's willing to talk. But since she didn't want to play, I couldn't force her to sit in front of the chessboard."

Lin Bei held his teacup, remaining silent. He recalled how Shen Qingzhi had sat on the sofa earlier, without a book in her hand or her phone in her hand, just sitting quietly, her gaze fixed on something neither too close nor too far. And her eyes—they were different from usual.

"Grandpa Shen, Qingzhi, she..." Lin Bei hesitated for a moment, "Has something happened to her recently?"

The old man shook his head: "I don't know. I asked her, and she said she was fine. Her father asked her too, and she said she was fine too. Her mother passed away early, and she's never been one to confide in anyone. When she was sad before, she would stay in her room and read, and then come out as if nothing had happened. But this time, she didn't even read. Yesterday, I passed by her room and saw her sitting at her desk, lost in thought, with an open book in front of her, but she hadn't turned a single page for a long time."

He paused here, gently rubbing his fingers, which were holding the teacup, against the rim of the cup twice. His tone remained calm, but Lin Bei could hear the worry beneath that tranquility.

"The more something is on her mind, the less she talks. The more you ask her, the more she backs down. So I just stopped asking."

The old man looked at Lin Bei with an unusual seriousness in his eyes: "Little Lin, you're about the same age as her, and you usually get along well. If she's willing to talk to you more next time, listen for Grandpa and see what she's thinking. If she doesn't want to talk about something, you don't need to ask. She'll talk when she wants to."

Lin Bei paused for a moment, then said, "Okay."

But he knew in his heart that with Shen Qingzhi's personality, if she didn't want to talk about it, no amount of asking would help.

The living room was quiet for a few more minutes. The old man didn't talk about Shen Qingzhi anymore, rearranged the chessboard, and the two played another game. This game was quick, but the old man won.

"You let me win again, kid," the old man said.

Lin Bei was taken aback. "Really?"

"That step you took just now," the old man picked up his teacup and took a sip, "was it a deliberate misstep?"

After he finished speaking, he stood up, stretched his shoulders, and said, "Let's go, it's time to eat. I asked the kitchen to make your favorite dishes today."

Lunch was served at the dining table. It consisted of four dishes and a soup: steamed sea bass, blanched bok choy, shredded pork with green peppers, and broccoli with garlic sauce, with a bowl of tomato and egg drop soup in the middle. It was similar to the meals I had at the Shen family's house before—light, refined, and not greasy.

Shen Qingzhi sat opposite Lin Bei. She picked up food more slowly than usual, pausing a few extra moments above the plate with her chopsticks. She also ate less than usual, putting down her chopsticks after only touching half of the rice in her bowl. She took a few sips of soup, very gently, and then put it down, the bottom of the bowl barely making a sound when it hit the table.

What's wrong with her?