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

Friday.

At eight o'clock in the evening, Lin Bei sat at his desk, quietly writing a chapter of his novel and doing a few math problems.

When Wang Xiulan passed by his door, she peeked in, smiled slightly, and quietly closed the door again without saying a word.

She probably felt that her son was finally acting like a normal person.

At 9:30 p.m., my phone vibrated.

He picked it up and saw that it was a message from Shen Qingzhi.

"Lin Bei, are you free tomorrow morning at 10:00? My grandfather wants to see you." An address was provided below.

Lin Bei clicked on the address and paused for a moment.

It's not a residential area, not a street, it's "Yunqi Mountain Villa No. 8".

Yunqi Mountain Villa.

He lived in Jiangcheng for thirty years in his previous life, so of course he knew this place. It was the most expensive villa district in Jiangcheng, located on Yunqi Mountain in the east of the city, nestled against the mountain and beside the water. It was said that only the extremely wealthy and powerful lived there. An ordinary wage earner might not even be able to afford a bathroom there even after a lifetime of saving.

Lin Bei stared at that address for several seconds.

Then he silently muttered to himself: "Holy shit."

[The system reminds the host to be mindful of their wording. While the system understands the host's shock, using the word "Holy crap" too often will diminish the host's language expression skills. It is suggested that the host change it to "Wow, that's really rich!", which expresses shock while also sounding more cultured.]

Lin Bei's lips twitched. Ignoring the system, he typed a line in the chat box: "I'm free. I'll be there on time at 10 a.m. tomorrow." and sent.

The other end quickly replied with a single word: "Okay." No extra words, no emojis, no "thank you." Just a clean and simple "okay."

Shen Qingzhi's style has remained consistent, both online and offline.

Saturday.

After finishing his morning run and eating the breakfast Su Wantang made, Lin Bei returned to his bedroom and stood in front of the mirror for a while.

He changed into a clean set of clothes: a dark blue sweatshirt and black casual pants, which his mother had bought for him at the night market last week for less than two hundred yuan.

But wearing it made me look more energetic than before.

Lin Bei went out the door.

He didn't ride a bicycle because Yunqi Villa is in the east of the city, which would take more than an hour by bike. He took the bus, changing buses twice, which took nearly fifty minutes.

The bus stopped at the foot of Yunqi Mountain. There was a European-style wrought iron gate, stone lions, and a security guard wearing white gloves.

Lin Bei gave Shen Qingzhi's name, and the security guard confirmed it via walkie-talkie before opening the gate. The path from the main gate to Villa No. 8 was uphill, lined with plane trees on both sides. Sunlight filtered through the yellowing leaves, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of osmanthus.

[Host, don't look like you've never seen anything like this before. Even though you really haven't.]

Lin Bei straightened his back and continued walking. Villa No. 8 was at the very back, a three-story European-style building made of beige stone. There was a small fountain at the entrance, and the angel statue's pot was gurgling with water.

A middle-aged woman in a white apron opened the door and called out his name directly: "Lin Bei, classmate?"

"Yes." Lin Bei nodded.

"The old man is waiting for you in the garden."

Passing through the entrance hall and a corridor lined with oil paintings—the frames were gilded and intricately carved, clearly expensive—the view suddenly opened up to a lawn, flowerbeds, a gazebo, and a winding stream with water so clear you could see the pebbles at the bottom.

Two people were sitting in the pavilion.

One was an elderly man. He was wearing a dark gray Tang suit, and his hair was completely white but neatly combed. His face was covered in deep wrinkles, but he had a healthy complexion and bright eyes.

The other was a middle-aged man, around fifty years old, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair neatly combed. He sat opposite the old man, holding a chess piece in his hand, frowning as he stared at the chessboard.

Shen Qingzhi is not here.

Lin Bei walked over and stood outside the pavilion without going in.

The old man saw him first. His eyes lit up, he put down the chess piece in his hand, and stood up.

"Kobayashi, you're here?"

Lin Bei nodded and walked over.

"Hello, Grandpa Shen."

"Good, good." The old man looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on his face for a moment before he smiled. "You've lost weight. You've lost weight since I last saw you in the park."

Lin Bei was taken aback: "Grandpa Shen, do you remember what I look like?"

The old man smiled: "I remember. How could I forget the face of my savior?"

"I'm on a diet recently," Lin Bei said.

"Losing weight is good. Young man, your health is the most important thing." The old man pointed to the stone bench next to him. "Sit, sit. Don't stand."

Lin Bei sat down on the stone bench.

The old man's gaze fell on his face again, and after looking at him for a while, he nodded.

"You look much better than last time," he said, his tone tinged with emotion. "Last time in the park, I thought I was going to die there. If it weren't for you..."

He didn't continue, but simply patted Lin Bei on the shoulder.

The hand was strong; it patted his shoulder with a dull thud.

"Dad, don't stand there, sit down and play chess." The middle-aged man's voice came from the pavilion, not loud, but with great weight.

Lin Bei turned and glanced at him.

The middle-aged man was also looking at him. His gaze was calm, and there was a faint smile on his lips, but the smile didn't reach his eyes; it was more like a habitual expression.

Lin Bei looked at him and the more he looked, the more familiar he seemed.

It wasn't the kind of familiarity where you think you've seen someone before, but the kind where you think you've seen them in the news. There was an indescribable air about him, like someone used to giving orders. Even if he did nothing but sit there, he exuded a presence that commanded respect.

Lin Bei's mind raced. He finally pulled a scene from his memories of his previous life. The Shen Wancheng in the news, dressed in a suit and tie, with gray hair, looked more than ten years older than the man in front of him. But his eyebrows, his temperament, and that imposing aura were exactly the same.

He remembered.

Shen Wancheng. One of the top three entrepreneurs in Jiangcheng, and the head of the Shen Group.

Every time he appears in the news, he's dressed in a suit and tie, standing in front of the camera, followed by a group of assistants in black uniforms. When a reporter asks him, "Mr. Shen, what are your thoughts on Jiangcheng's economic development?" he gives a few polite words, then gets into his car and leaves.

Now, he was wearing an ordinary white shirt, sitting in the pavilion playing chess. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his hair was a little messy from the wind, and his brows were furrowed, like an ordinary middle-aged man worrying about his next move.

"Xiao Lin, this is my son," the old man introduced. "Shen Wancheng. Qingzhi's father."

Shen Wancheng stood up and extended his hand.

"Hello, Lin Bei." His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear, and he enunciated each word precisely. "Thank you for saving my father."

Lin Bei shook his hand. The hand was dry and strong, but the grip was loose, not like a test, but more like a polite gesture.

"Hello, Uncle Shen," Lin Bei said. "It was nothing, no need to thank me."

Shen Wancheng looked at him for two seconds, then nodded, let go of his hand, and sat down again.

"Do you know how to play chess?" he asked.

"I know a little bit," Lin Bei said.

"Then sit down and take a look." Shen Wancheng pointed to the stone bench opposite the old man. "My dad has become really addicted to chess lately. He drags me to play a few games every morning. I'm getting so annoyed with him."

The old man glared at him: "What do you mean 'annoying'? It's your good fortune to play chess with me."

"Yes, yes, yes, what a blessing." Shen Wancheng smiled, picked up a chess piece, and placed it down.

The old man looked down and frowned.

"You made a mistake on this step."

"What's wrong?"

"Here, you should move your horse, not your cannon."

"Dad, once a move is made, there's no going back." Shen Wancheng leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a slight smile on his lips. "You taught me that."

The old man stared at him for two seconds, then sighed and continued.

Lin Bei sat beside him, watching quietly.

The situation on the chessboard was very close. The old man was on the red side, and Shen Wancheng was on the black side. Both sides had seven or eight pieces left. Red had an extra knight, but Black was in a better position; his rook, knight, and cannon had all crossed the river and could launch an attack at any time.

Lin Bei looked at the chessboard, his mind automatically recording the moves for each step.

His memory palace was in operation.

He used to have a rudimentary understanding of chess, unable to remember moves, and forgetting each move he made... much like his performance in English class. But now it's different; he can quickly retrieve every position on the chessboard from his memory palace.

If he saves enough game records in the future, he will be able to know how to play when he sees a similar situation.

Holy crap, does that mean even the old men in the park can't beat me at chess?

[Host, you haven't even saved the game records yet. At your current level, you couldn't even beat the old man in the park who gave you a rook handicap.]

Lin Bei: "..."