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

Halfway through the second game, Shen Qingzhi came downstairs. She was wearing pajamas, her hair casually tied in a bun, and her face still looked sleepy. Seeing Lin Bei sitting in the living room, she paused for a moment, then walked over.

"Good morning," she greeted, her voice a little hoarse.

"Good morning," Lin Bei said.

Shen Qingzhi sat down next to the old man, glanced at the chessboard, and remained silent. Her eyelashes were still drooping, making her look like she hadn't fully woken up, but when her gaze fell on the chessboard, Lin Bei noticed that her eyes had become more alert.

The old man took a step onto the car, looked up, and glanced at his granddaughter.

"Qingzhi, how do you think Xiaolin's step is going?"

Shen Qingzhi didn't even lift her eyelids.

"generally."

Lin Bei: "..."

The old man laughed, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"Xiaolin, don't take it to heart. That's just how this girl is. It's already good enough that she said 'average'."

Lin Bei smiled but didn't reply.

Shen Qingzhi sat quietly beside him, watching the chess game without saying a word.

But Lin Bei noticed that when she was watching the game, her gaze would occasionally shift from the chessboard to his face, lingering for less than half a second before looking away.

There was no special meaning in that gaze; it was just looking.

At noon, the old man stayed in Linbei for lunch.

Four dishes and a soup, similar to last week. The steamed sea bass was replaced with steamed mandarin fish, and the blanched bok choy was replaced with baby bok choy in broth. Lin Bei tasted the mandarin fish; the flesh was more tender than the sea bass, and it had fewer bones. He was beginning to get used to the "ordinary" lifestyle of the wealthy.

The old man sat in the main seat, Shen Wancheng sat to the old man's left, Lin Bei sat to the right, and Shen Qingzhi sat opposite Lin Bei.

No one spoke during the meal.

Shen Wancheng ate quickly, but not in a hurry. His chopsticks landed precisely, picking up food without dripping soup or leaving crumbs. After finishing a bowl of rice, he put down his chopsticks, took a sip of soup, and then stood up.

"Dad, I'm going to the company," he told the old man. "I have a meeting this afternoon."

The old man waved his hand: "Go on, go on, you can't even have a quiet weekend."

Shen Wancheng went to the entrance to change his shoes, glanced back at Lin Bei, and then opened the door and left.

The moment the door closed, Lin Bei heard the sound of a car starting in the yard, low and quiet, completely different from the sound of his father's bread truck.

After lunch, the old man went for a nap. Lin Bei and Shen Qingzhi sat in the living room.

The TV was on, the volume was turned down low, and a variety show was playing, with bursts of laughter.

Shen Qingzhi sat at the other end of the sofa, holding a book with English printed on the cover, which Lin Bei couldn't make out.

"Lin Bei," she suddenly said.

"Um."

"What you just told my dad, about housing prices."

Lin Bei turned to look at her.

Shen Qingzhi didn't look at him; her gaze remained fixed on the pages of the book, but her fingers didn't turn the pages.

"Did you come up with this yourself?"

"Yes," Lin Bei said.

Shen Qingzhi was silent for two seconds, then hummed in agreement and didn't ask any more questions.

She turned a page of the book.

But Lin Bei noticed that after she turned over, her gaze did not follow.

Lin Bei turned back and continued watching TV.

But he felt that Shen Qingzhi's tone when she asked that question was different from her usual self. It wasn't questioning, nor was it curiosity; it was more like a confirmation. She wanted to confirm whether these thoughts were his own.

Once it's confirmed, I won't ask any more questions.

Lin Bei took his leave a little after 1 p.m.

Shen Qingzhi saw him to the door.

"Be careful on the road."

"it is good."

Lin Bei walked out of the courtyard and down the stone path. When he reached the corner, he looked back. Shen Qingzhi was still standing at the entrance of Villa No. 8.

Seeing him turn around, she turned and went inside.

The door closed.

Lin Bei had just returned from the Shen family's house and sat down at his desk to open his physics exam paper when there was a knock on the door.

When the door opened, Su Wantang stood in the doorway holding an enamel mug, steam still rising from the mug.

"Red date tea, it'll help you stay alert." She shoved the cup into his hand. "Remember to rest while you're studying."

Lin Bei took the cup and glanced down at it. The tea was clear, with a few red dates and longans floating on top; it had a light, pleasant sweetness.

"Did you cook this especially for me?"

Su Wantang glanced at him: "I cooked too much; I can't finish it all myself."

After saying that, she turned around and went back to 502, closing the door much faster than usual.

Lin Bei carried the cup back to his desk and took a sip. The temperature was just right, not too hot to drink, and the sweetness of the red dates mixed with the aroma of the longan was very pleasant.

I drank it, felt warm, and then did my homework.

He put down his cup and opened the physics exam paper.

On the last day of the National Day holiday, Lin Bei spent several hours writing his novel, running, having breakfast with Su Wantang, and studying the rest of the time.

Time flies, and the National Day holiday is over.

October 8th, Monday. First day of the monthly exam.

When Lin Bei arrived at the classroom, it was already more than half full. Some were hunched over their desks reading, some were huddled together discussing problems, and some were eating breakfast while flipping through their notes. The entire classroom was filled with a tense atmosphere, as if the exam was approaching.

Lin Bei walked to the last row by the window and put his backpack down.

Zhou Ziheng's seat was empty.

Just then, Zhou Ziheng walked in.

He was wearing his school uniform, but it was all wrinkled. His hair was a mess, like a bird's nest blown inside out by the wind, with a few stubborn tufts sticking up.

He walked to his seat with his head down, then took his backpack off his shoulder. He then slammed heavily into the chair, which creaked loudly.

Lin Bei stared at him for two seconds.

"Zhou Ziheng?"

"Hmm..." The sound was squeezed out of Zhou Ziheng's throat.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing much..." Zhou Ziheng slumped on the table, his face buried in his arms, his voice muffled, "I'm just a little sleepy."

Lin Bei moved his stool forward and leaned over to take a look.

Zhou Ziheng peeked out from between his arms. His eye was bloodshot and had dark circles under it, as if he had been punched twice.

"Your eyes..."

"Isn't it beautiful?" Zhou Ziheng's voice was hoarse. "I was shocked when I looked in the mirror last night. I only wrote the novel in eight days."

Lin Bei remained silent for a moment.

"You spent your entire eight-day vacation writing a novel?"

"It wasn't all writing." Zhou Ziheng lifted his face from his arms, rubbing his eyes. "I also slept. I slept... about four or five hours a day. The rest of the time I was writing, writing until my fingers cramped! My mom thought I was playing games, so she rushed into my room to confiscate my phone. When she saw my phone screen was full of words, she paused for a moment and said, 'Are you writing an essay?' I said, 'Yes, my Chinese teacher assigned it.' She believed me. She even said, 'You've written so many words, it must be hard work. Mom will cook you a bowl of noodles.' As I ate the noodles, I thought to myself: Mom, this isn't an essay, it's a novel. But I didn't dare say it."

Lin Bei looked at him and asked, "What would your mother think if she knew you stayed up all night writing novels?"

"They'll probably confiscate all my things—my phone, computer, charger, power bank, data cable, earphones…and lock me in my room with a note on the door that says, 'This person is reflecting on their actions; no unauthorized personnel allowed.' That's what my dad said. My dad wanted to be a singer back then, but my grandma confiscated his guitar. He said he understands."

Lin Bei looked at him and remained silent for a few seconds.

Zhou Ziheng's father wanted to be a singer, but he didn't succeed. Zhou Ziheng wanted to write a novel, but he wrote it secretly, afraid to let his mother know. Two generations, the same script, the same obstacle of "it's for your own good".

"So what do you plan to do?"

"Keep writing," Zhou Ziheng said. "My mom can't just confiscate my brain cells. My brain is mine, and my hands are mine too. She can't take them away even if she wanted to. By the time she finds out, I'll have already finished writing."

Lin Bei suddenly realized that although this skinny guy's academic performance wasn't great, and his novel writing wasn't great either... uh, no, he'd improved a lot recently. But no matter what, he possessed something that many people didn't have.

Once you've decided on something, just do it. No matter what others say, no matter how many difficulties lie ahead, just do it.