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

[The system translates the father's inner monologue: "This is my son? I watched him grow up. Who washed the sheets when he wet the bed as a child? Who pulled him out of the flower bed the first time he fell off his bicycle? Now he doesn't even consult me ​​about buying a house?... Oh well, if he doesn't consult me, he doesn't consult me. What he says actually makes sense."]

"Beibei," Lin Jianhua spoke, his voice not loud, but Chen Guodong in the courtyard heard him, "The two sets together cost almost a million. Are you really sure?"

Lin Bei came down from the second floor and stood in front of his father.

"Dad, I've made up my mind."

"You're that confident?" Lin Jianhua looked him in the eyes. "What if it doesn't go up? What if it goes down?"

Lin Bei remained silent for a second.

"Dad, Shen Qingzhi's father is the kind of person who wouldn't say anything carelessly," he said. "Besides, I've inquired about it; there have been rumors for years that this old town area is going to be redeveloped, but nothing has actually happened. But houses in this location and in this area won't depreciate even if they're not demolished."

He paused, looking into Lin Jianhua's eyes.

"Even if it's not demolished, the apartment on Ganghe Street has a river view, while the one on Tongbai Lane has a yard and an osmanthus tree. It will be easier to sell in the future, so you won't lose money."

Lin Jianhua was stunned.

He looked at Lin Bei, his lips moved a few times as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't say anything.

Chen Guodong stood to the side, watching the father and son without interrupting. He had been a real estate agent for over a decade and had seen countless families argue over buying a house—husbands and wives, fathers and sons, brothers, even in-laws. But this scene was unlike anything he had ever witnessed.

A teenager persuaded his father in a way his father couldn't refuse, not only by saying "it can make money," but also by saying "even if it doesn't make money, it won't be a loss."

"Okay," Lin Jianhua said.

When Lin Bei arrived home in the evening, Wang Xiulan was cooking in the kitchen.

Hearing the door open, she poked her head out of the kitchen: "How was it? Did you see it?"

"I've seen them." Lin Bei changed his shoes and went into the kitchen. "One apartment on Ganghe Street, with a view of the river. Another apartment on Tongbai Lane, with a large courtyard and an osmanthus tree."

Wang Xiulan paused, the spatula in her hand momentarily still: "You want both sets?"

"Um."

Wang Xiulan stared at him for several seconds, then lowered her head to continue cooking. The oil sizzled in the pan, and the roar of the range hood drowned out her voice, but Lin Bei heard her say something.

He didn't hear clearly, but he saw that his mother's eyes were red.

"Mom, what did you say?"

"It's nothing." Wang Xiulan didn't turn her head, her voice a little hoarse. "Go wash your hands, dinner will be ready soon."

Lin Bei stood still.

He watched his mother's retreating figure. She was wearing that faded floral apron, her shoulders trembling slightly, and the sound of the spatula stirring in the pan was louder than usual, as if she were using the cooking as a cover for something.

Lin Bei didn't go over; he knew his mother didn't want him to see her with red eyes.

Lin Jianhua also returned at dinner time.

The three sat at the dining table, the light illuminating each person's face clearly. Lin Jianhua had fine lines around his eyes, which crinkled when he smiled; Wang Xiulan had a few gray hairs at her temples, which shone brightly under the light. Lin Bei looked at them and suddenly realized that in his previous life, he had never watched them eat so intently.

Wang Xiulan picked up a piece of braised pork, held it to Lin Bei's bowl, hesitated for a moment, and then withdrew it.

"Forget it, you can go on a diet." She put the meat back in her bowl, a hint of resentment in her voice. "My brain is so forgetful."

Lin Bei watched as the piece of meat was taken away from his bowl, and suddenly felt a little uneasy.

"Mom, I'm making an exception for today," he said.

Wang Xiulan glanced at him: "Didn't you say you wanted to lose 5 pounds?"

"I lost weight," Lin Bei said. "2.6 kilograms, exceeding the target."

Wang Xiulan paused for a moment, then smiled, picked up the piece of meat again, and put it in Lin Bei's bowl.

"Then have one piece. Just one."

Lin Bei looked down at the braised pork, its fat and lean meat perfectly marbled, a glossy red color—his favorite kind. He popped it into his mouth, chewed a couple of times, and mumbled, "Delicious."

Lin Jianhua watched this scene, picked up his wine glass and took a sip, saying nothing, but the smile on his lips never faded.

After finishing his meal, Lin Bei returned to his bedroom and sat down at his desk.

He opened his phone and glanced at the novel's backend.

Collections: 127.

Five comments appeared in the comment section. Besides Zhou Ziheng's "Brother Bei is awesome", there were four new ones: "Author, did you really reincarnate? It's so realistic!" "The scene where the protagonist touched the alarm clock made my nose tingle." "Keep it up, I've added it to my favorites." "Very good, looking forward to updates."

Lin Bei stared at the comment, "Author, did you really reincarnate?", and his lips twitched.

Of course, he couldn't reply, "Yes, I was reborn and I even have a system with me."

[Host, what you reply isn't the most important thing. You write yours, and the readers will read theirs. The best response is an update.]

Lin Bei put down his phone, opened the notes app, and began writing Chapter Ten.

In this chapter, the protagonist, Fatty Lin, buys a house.

Lin Bei wrote very slowly, even slower than the previous chapters. He repeatedly revised the description of the protagonist standing by the window looking at the river, trying to freeze that scene in words. The gray river surface, the slowly moving cargo ships, and the blurred city skyline in the distance.

After he finished writing it, he read it through, changed a few words, and then sent it out.

After sending it, he refreshed the page.

Collections: 128.

There's one more. I don't know who ordered it or when. But one more is one more.

[The number of favorites increased from 127 to 128, a growth of 0.78%. In the online literature industry, this growth rate is called "tortuous growth," in the stock market it's called "sideways movement," and in the host's weight loss progress it's called "losing another 0.1 kg today." Slow, but not stopping. The system suggests that the host consider this "1" as "one reader's approval," rather than "the 1 from 127 to 128." Although essentially the same thing, the former sounds more personal.]

Lin Bei turned off his phone, bent over, and began doing push-ups.

This time, he did it six times before collapsing.

He couldn't get up halfway through the seventh one, but he held on, gritting his teeth, his whole body trembling. Sweat dripped onto the floor, pooling into a small patch beneath him.

He held on for ten seconds, then collapsed.

He lay on the ground panting for a while before turning over, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

[The host's push-up count has improved from "four in a set" to "six in a set" today, a 50% improvement. Although the host's push-up form is still not standard—lower back, protruding buttocks, and neck tucked in like a frightened turtle—at least the number has increased. The system suggests the host continue to maintain this form; one day, the host's push-ups will evolve from the "turtle style" to the "human style."]

Lin Bei: ...