#America #Transmigration #From Homeless Man to the Pinnacle of Power
Lin Bei opened his eyes with half an expired hot dog in his mouth and yesterday’s Los Angeles Times draped over him.
This wasn’t the world he knew. The names of past presidents were wrong, several states were in different places, and even the torch in the Statue of Liberty’s hand pointed in another direction. It was a parallel world: everything seemed familiar, yet everything was wrong.
And the identity he’d transmigrated into was even more outrageous.
An immigrant. A homeless immigrant, at that.
The original owner had spent three years making up tragic stories to get a green card, only to starve to death on a park bench. The inheritance he left Lin Bei consisted of an IOU, a fake passport, a beat-up shopping bag, and a complete mess where simply surviving the night counted as a victory.
Lin Bei tossed the hot dog in the trash and brushed the dust off himself.
He had a System.
Its name was tacky: “Bloodline of Power.” The rules were even tackier: more children, more blessings; bloodlines reigned supreme. The more descendants he had, the greater his boost to power, taking him all the way from homeless man to the very pinnacle.
Fine. Tacky was fine.
In his first year, he got every Chinatown gang to call him “Brother Bei.”
In his second year, he landed on the cover of Time magazine, under the headline “From Park Bench to Congress.”
In his third year, a call came to his private number from the White House. “Mr. Lin, the president would like to meet you.”
Lin Bei hung up and smiled at his blue-eyed, blonde-haired assistant.
“Tell him I’m busy. He can come see me.”
Very good, sense of déjà vu,