"Mama! Papa!"
The words rang out loud and proud from the tiny cradle like a war cry.
Han Soeun's eyes widened, and she dropped the half-folded cloth diaper in her hand. "Honey! Did you hear that?! Jiho just said Mama!"
Han Daesik practically tripped over the firewood stack as he rushed over like the house was on fire. "Wait, wait, say it again, my boy! Come on—let Papa hear those sweet little words too!"
And like a well-trained actor in a village drama, baby Jiho grinned like a smug fox and said louder this time:
"Papa! Mama!"
Soeun nearly fainted. Daesik? He whooped like a drunk uncle at a harvest festival and lifted Jiho into the air like he just won the martial arts tournament of life.
"Okay, you guys are being dramatic. But sure, soak it in. First-time parents and all," Jiho thought with a sigh only an adult soul trapped in a baby body could make.
Now that he was officially one year old, Jiho's "baby stats" were maxed out.
Crawling? Easy.Climbing furniture? Almost broke his nose twice.Screaming to get attention? Mastered that within the first month.Walking? On all fours like a trained monkey since eight months.Talking? Well… only two words for now. But oh, what impact those two had.
He had also stopped breastfeeding and was now guzzling goat milk like a baby cow with unresolved childhood trauma.
"Progress. Soon I'll be doing pull-ups with these tiny twigs I call arms."
Of course, the villagers were already running their mouths.
"Oh, that Han boy is a prodigy!""He's gonna be a great scholar someday!""Such a clean forehead. Definitely destined to wear a scholar's hat!"
Even old Grandma Yun, who thought potatoes were sentient spirits, nodded sagely and muttered, "That child got the gaze of an old ghost. A wise one."
"Yup. That'd be me. A literal old ghost in a baby's body, trying not to die of boredom while you all plan my academic career."
What Jiho wanted… was none of that.
He didn't want ink and scrolls and bamboo brushes.
He wanted blades. Swords that cut mountains. Martial forms that split rivers. The kind of life where effort meant power—not memorizing Confucian quotes to impress officials who wore bird embroidery on their robes.
"You want me to study history while I could be punching trees? Hell no."
Still, the reality of his baby body was... limiting.
Like right now.
"…Oh no."
He froze.
"…It happened again."
A suspicious warmth spread in his diaper.
"Damn it. This traitorous body! I was mid-monologue too!"
Cue crying.
Not because he was sad—but because he needed a clean-up crew.
Seconds later, Soeun appeared like a pro. One hand on her hip, the other already holding a fresh cloth diaper.
"Oh my poor baby, you couldn't hold it in again?" she said gently while wiping him down like a battlefield medic.
"No mother should have to do this much poop disposal. I owe you a palace someday."
Once cleaned and re-wrapped like a spring roll, Jiho was laid beside the fire to warm up. He stared at the thatch roof above, thinking again.
In these two months, he'd pieced together a lot about this world.
The village—Sangpo—was small, tucked between a ridge and a river. It had no sects, no noble clans, no Qi-rich caves hiding under the wells.
People lived simple lives. Farmers, hunters, herbalists.
His father, Han Daesik, gathered herbs in dangerous hills and sold them to passing merchants. His mother was a master of both bargain and lullabies.
And yet—lately, village gossip had changed.
People were whispering about major sects. About a clan heir being injured in a far-off duel. About roaming martial artists showing off flashy techniques near border towns.
"So it's true. This world isn't just Murim—it has Wuxia flavors too. Hidden masters, sword sects, internal energy, bloodline clans… all of it."
But those things weren't here.
They were out there.
And Jiho couldn't reach any of them. Not yet.
"I need to grow stronger. Not next year. Now."
That night, after his parents had fallen asleep and the fire had died down, Jiho stayed awake in his cradle.
He moved his fingers. One by one.Rolled his shoulders.Tensed his legs and held his breath.He was still clumsy—but more stable than before.He could now roll over like a potato with intent.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. These are baby push-ups. Gotta start somewhere."
Sometimes, he'd watch how his father walked—shoulders firm, weight evenly spread. He was trying to memorize balance. Breath rhythm. Posture.
"I can't use Qi yet. Can't even hold a stick. But I'm learning. Every second."
The next morning, while sipping goat milk and eyeing a chicken suspiciously, Jiho made a decision.
Two years left until his Hyperbolic Time Chamber unlocks.
Until then, he'd build the base. Mind, body, spirit.
If the world wouldn't give him a sect to train in—
He'd make his own damn path.
[End of Chapter 5]