In the quiet morning halls of the Ye Clan, a toddler sat cross-legged, drooling slightly, his small brows furrowed in intense concentration.
Then he blinked.Then blinked again.
"…No way."
A moment ago, he was asleep. Now his mind was flooded with memories of a previous life: high school, coffee, traffic, Wi-Fi passwords, and one very unfortunate ex.
He looked at his tiny hands.
He looked at the jade mirror with a pacifier charm hanging off it.
He looked at the silk bib embroidered with 'Little Changsheng' in golden thread.
"Oh f—"
"—flower. So many flowers!" he blurted out, instinctively censoring himself as the door to his nursery opened.
A gentle figure entered, holding a steaming alchemy bowl.
"Changsheng, are you talking to the flowers again?" asked Mu Lianhua, the elegant, kind-eyed woman who had clearly birthed him.
"Ah—Mother!" he said, far too clearly for a four-year-old.
She paused.
He cleared his throat. "...Mmmamahh…"
She smiled.
"Oh, you're so smart! Already forming words. Come, drink this spirit milk before your little meridians get chilly."
He stared at her. She was beautiful. Elegant. Radiant.
And offering him soup from a jade spoon like it was a spoon-fed VIP treatment.
"…This is weird," he muttered.
Later that day, he began testing his surroundings.
He examined the spiritual trees in the garden. He observed the maidservants, who all bowed to him as "Young Master." He met a stern-faced man with tiger-like brows who tried to pick him up.
"Changsheng, come greet your father!"
"…No."
"…What?"
"Greetings! father how was your day?"
Ye Tianbao blinked.
"Did he just talk like a retired scholar?"
Mu Lianhua laughed behind her sleeve. "He's just advanced. Gifted. Don't worry, darling."
By the next month, rumors had already spread
"He wrote a love poem to a 6th sister"
"No—he tied firecrackers to Uncle Third's sword hilt and called it 'spontaneous qi combustion'!"
"He told the sect librarian her robes were outdated!"
By the end of the month, he had made his first enemy.
Ye Tianying, the clan leader and his terrifying aunt, found him teaching other kids how to write romantic couplets.
"Changsheng," she said coldly, holding up a scroll.
He smiled innocently. "Yes, Auntie?"
"'My Dao is long, but your legs are longer'?!" she roared. "Who taught you this?!"
"...A dream. A very wise master in my dreams."
"You're seven!"
"Talent waits for no age."
That evening, in the family hall, he sat between his doting mother and his thoroughly embarrassed father. Across the table sat Aunt Tianying, arms folded, eyes sharp enough to cut qi threads.
"Explain yourself," she demanded.
"I was cultivating charm."
"You were cultivating nonsense."
"It worked on that one sister."
Mu Lianhua coughed into her sleeve, suppressing a laugh.
Ye Tianbao rubbed his temple. "Son, why can't you be more like your cousin Changming?"
Changsheng sipped his milk calmly. "Because I'm not trying to die of boredom before Foundation Building."
The adults fell into silence.
Then, slowly… Mu Lianhua reached over and patted his head.
"Well, as long as he's happy."
Ye Tianbao sighed.
Tianying muttered something about "wasting talent on roses and riddles."
And Ye Changsheng leaned back in his seat, a tiny lord among giants, smiling.
He was scolded. Lectured. Threatened with etiquette tutors.
None of it worked.
Because even at age four, Ye Changsheng knew exactly what he was doing.
And as he sipped the last of his spirit milk that night, nestled against his mother's side, he made a silent vow:
"If I'm going to live in a cultivation world again, I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.I'll be flirty.I'll be shameless.And I'll still reach the peak—my way."
He smiled into the blanket.
A little devil had awakened in the Ye Clan.