“Get up for breakfast, Zhelin!” Lin Bei was sleeping soundly when a gentle, familiar voice called out from downstairs, pulling him out of his dreams.
“Oh, coming!” he called back instinctively.
He rubbed his eyes, opened them slowly, and stared blankly at the ceiling.
Even though three full days had passed since he woke up in this body, he still found it hard to believe.
In his previous life, Lin Bei was just an ordinary basketball fan.
He used to play on the local courts all the time, but after starting college, his weight crept up, his stamina dropped, and he gradually drifted away from playing real games.
From then on, his main outlet for basketball was playing NBA 2K.
Then came 2020.
The extended lockdowns kept everyone stuck at home.
Fed up with sleeping, eating, and living like a sloth, Lin Bei decided on a whim to create an author account on a popular web novel platform.
To his own surprise, someone as notoriously lacking in perseverance as him actually stuck with it for months.
He managed to write nearly a million words of a sports web novel titled NBA: Mobile Koi.
But when the book failed to gain traction, he finally made the painful decision to drop it.
That same night, he invited a few old classmates out for drinks to drown his frustration.
When he woke up, everything had changed.
Can dropping a web novel really cause you to transmigrate?
Lin Bei thought with a dry smile.
If that’s the case, half the web authors in the world would be crossing over every year.
He dragged himself out of bed, threw on a fresh shirt, and walked into the bathroom.
He turned on the tap, splashed cold water over his face, rinsed his mouth, and spit into the sink.
Standing in front of the mirror, he looked at the face staring back at him—unfamiliar, yet slowly becoming routine over the past three days.
He raised his hands, touched his cheeks, and felt the warm, undeniable reality of skin against fingers.
He let out a long sigh.
“Guess it’s real.
I really became Wang Zhelin.” Lin Bei’s impression of Wang Zhelin in his past life had mostly been shaped by internet memes and fan commentary from later years.
But as he recalled the actual resume—CBA Regular Season MVP, national team starting center, core franchise player—he realized he had hit the jackpot.
In his past life, Lin Bei was an orphan.
He had scraped his way through university with the help of government aid and societal support, only to join the endless grind of corporate life—working 996 hours just to make ends meet as an anonymous worker in the big city.
Now, he was Wang Zhelin.
Born on January 20, 1994, in Fuzhou, Fujian, Wang Zhelin was currently seventeen years old and already standing at a towering 2.10 meters.
His father, Wang Changhai, was a former center for the Fujian provincial basketball team, while his mother had played for the women’s provincial team before becoming a sports instructor.
With both parents standing well over six feet tall and built for athletics, Wang Zhelin had inherited top-tier basketball genetics.
He was already over 1.70 meters tall by the fifth grade, joined the Fujian Youth Team at fourteen, and made the Chinese U17 National Team in 2010.
Comparing his previous life to his current situation was like going from making a meager monthly wage to suddenly inheriting a million-dollar athletic baseline.
Lin Bei glanced down, pulled open his waistband, and checked.
Definitely an upgrade over my past life.
Not bad at all.
Before he could indulge in the moment any longer, a stern, deep voice boomed from the ground floor, making him jump.
“Wang Zhelin!
What are you doing up there?
Hurry down for breakfast!” It was his father, Wang Changhai.
“Coming, Dad!” Lin Bei straightened his shirt and headed downstairs.
The relationship between Wang Zhelin and his parents followed the traditional Chinese model: a strict father and a loving mother.
Wang Changhai and his wife had raised their son with discipline, instilling a passion for basketball from a young age.
When Wang Zhelin was ten, they took him to the hospital for a bone age assessment, which estimated he would reach 2.08 meters.
But bone tests at ten were far from precise—at seventeen, he was already 2.10 meters and still growing.
When Lin Bei reached the dining table, his father was already seated, holding a copy of the Fuzhou Daily.
“Morning, Dad.
I’m going to eat.” “Mm.” Wang Changhai gave a short nod without turning his head.
As Lin Bei pulled out a chair, Wang Changhai quietly glanced up over the top of his newspaper, examining his seventeen-year-old son’s frame.
Looks like he grew another bit, his father thought.
Must be hovering right around 2.10 meters now.
Well, extra height never hurt a center.
Satisfied, Wang Changhai lowered his gaze back to the sports section.
Fujian Sturgeon Finish Season 8–24, Miss CBA Playoffs Once Again Despite hiring foreign coaching staff and importing foreign aid, the Sturgeon’s performance plummeted compared to previous seasons.
Where does the fault lie?
The Fujian Sturgeon Men’s Basketball Team remains young and unproven.
The front office urges patience as rebuilding efforts continue…
As a former veteran center for Fujian, Wang Changhai cared deeply about the local franchise.
Seeing the team stumble through another losing season brought a heavy frown to his face.
Lin Bei sat across from him, quietly eating his breakfast while watching his father’s expression.
He knew what was on the newspaper cover, and he knew what lay ahead.
The stage was set.
And this time, he wasn’t going to be just a spectator.
If you like it, send me some power stones.