Chapter-6
Cheon-Hwa stirred awake, his breaths ragged as his eyes fluttered open, trying to adjust to the dim lighting around him. The ceiling above looked unfamiliar at first… but the moment he turned his head slightly and saw the carved wooden beams—ah, yes. He was in his master's place.
He exhaled in relief, the tension draining from his face as he muttered, "Still alive… and not in the afterlife. Good start."
As he scanned his surroundings with a drowsy gaze, his eyes landed on a figure slumped in the chair beside his bed.
"…Chae Ryun?" he mumbled.
The older boy was pale, clearly exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes. It didn't take a genius to figure out why.
He must've watched me cough up blood like it was a performance piece, Cheon-Hwa thought dryly, sighing.
Attempting to sit up, he quickly realized his body refused to cooperate. His arms were jelly, his legs—stone. Oh right… he did use almost all his strength to murder a demonic Qi user bandit like he was the protagonist of a tragic martial arts ballad. Not just any bandit either—a demonic one, the type that usually requires an entire patrol squad to handle. And he did it at age four.
'...Maybe I overdid it,' he admitted silently, face twitching.
Just then, the door slid open with a creak.
Hwa Ryeon entered with his usual silent grace, his long robes trailing behind him like mist. He held a steaming teacup, placing it gently on the table beside Cheon-Hwa's bed without a word. It wasn't just any tea either—it was that expensive type you don't get served unless someone nearly dies.
Cheon-Hwa blinked.
…Did I just get the VIP near-death experience package?
The old man's sharp gaze landed on him. "You're awake."
Cheon-Hwa nodded weakly, adjusting his tone to sound as childlike as possible, just in case. "Yes… thank you for saving me."
There was a pause before Hwa Ryeon sat down beside the bed, folding his arms.
"…What is your name?" he asked calmly.
Cheon-Hwa hesitated, eyes narrowing just a little.
"…Lee Cheon-Hwa."
A flicker crossed the man's face—not obvious, but enough for Cheon-Hwa, who had studied him in a past life, to catch it. His eyes widened slightly, a tension curling in his brow.
Then, after a long silence, Hwa Ryeon asked, almost hesitantly, "…Do you happen to know your mother's name?"
Cheon-Hwa blinked. What kind of question is—? Oh. Wait.
He blinked again, this time slower.
"…No, sir," he replied with innocent confusion. "I was raised at the orphanage."
And though he wore a perfectly confused expression, internally, he was spiraling.
What do you mean 'do you know your mother's name'?! Sir, what kind of plot twist are you cooking?!
Cheon-Hwa lay still under the thick cotton blanket, eyes fixed on the faint crack of moonlight sneaking through the window, casting shadows like dancing ghosts on the wooden floor. His master had just walked out, leaving behind a cryptic promise: "Once you're better, I'll tell you everything."
And that one line was enough to send Cheon-Hwa into another internal monologue spiral.
Huh...? Wait a minute… this isn't how it went before… he blinked slowly. In my past life, I didn't meet him until I was fourteen. Four-teen. As in practically a grown-up. And now I'm four.
He exhaled through his nose, face emotionless, but inside? Screaming just a little.
Does this mean fate is changing? Am I setting off butterfly effects just by existing early? Oh no—does that mean the future events might arrive faster too? Will the calamity arrive in five years instead of ten?! Will I be expected to save the world before I even finish growing my adult molars?!
He paused.
Well... I suppose this is karma for finding my master too early. The heavens are probably laughing right now. "Oh look," they're saying, "he wanted a second chance, now give him the express route."
A beat of silence.
Still... I need to prepare. I don't know what the future holds, but I'd rather not die before 90. That was tragic enough the first time.
He turned his head slightly toward the window, watching the stars glimmer lazily in the sky. The night was peaceful, serene even—mocking, considering the mental breakdown he was suppressing like a seasoned professional.
"…I slept longer than I anticipated," he muttered, dry as desert wind.
With that, the little martial artist-turned-strategist closed his eyes again, internally vowing to beat destiny into submission if it tried anything funny. Again.
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Cheon-Hwa stirred awake at the faint murmur of voices, the soft creak of a door, and the unmistakable scent of freshly steamed rice. His eyes fluttered open, bleary and half-dreaming, only to land on a figure moving toward him—he tensed immediately. Was it an intruder? Had the demonic sect tracked him down already?
But then the "intruder" turned slightly, revealing the unmistakable ponytail and cheerful face of Chae Ryun... holding a tray of breakfast.
Oh, Cheon-Hwa blinked slowly. It's just him. I almost threw a pillow.
"Are you feeling okay?" Chae Ryun asked, setting the tray down with the grace of someone who had absolutely no experience with table manners but tried anyway. Cheon-Hwa gave a slight nod in response, ever the quiet and stoic child—which only made his eyes glow more mysteriously in the morning light.
With a calm, practiced hand, he picked up the chopsticks, took one bite... paused... and blinked. Wait... this is actually good? Like, really good? Better than the orphanage slop—not that I'm ungrateful, he coughed mentally. But this actually has seasoning.
Before he could comment, Chae Ryun announced, "I gotta go train!" and dashed out like a gust of wind, leaving the room quiet once more.
Cheon-Hwa leaned back slightly, chewing slowly as he stared blankly at the ceiling.
Well... now that I've found Master again, it's time to enact the Grand Plan.
He reached for a nearby paper and started mentally jotting down the list like a divine strategist reborn:
1. Do not attract attention – I'm already suspiciously beautiful, so this will be tough.
2. Protect myself and stay low – I may be small, but I'll be a silent wall against demonic cults.
3. Acquire funds – A little financial security never hurt anyone. Gold first, heroism second.
4. Live a lazy life – Maybe get a nice house... nap every day... collect tea.
5. Optional goal: Adopt a kid – Preferably one who doesn't cry too much.
6. Love interest...? – Eh. In my past life, I never had one. Do I want one? The jury's still out.
He sighed deeply, setting the chopsticks down with the poise of a martial artist-turned-philosopher.
For now... breakfast first. World-saving later in the future.
As the wind rustled softly through the courtyard, Hwa Ryeon stood in silence, arms folded behind his back, watching Chae Ryun complete another lap across the worn training grounds. The rhythm of footsteps on stone echoed like a heartbeat—but his mind wandered far from the present.
His thoughts were not on form, nor discipline, but on a boy whose presence had shaken the very foundation of his fate.
Lee Cheon-Hwa.
The child with eyes like twilight magenta, a gaze too heavy for his age, and a silence that bore the weight of something older than time.
The son of Lee Hwa Ran.
A name that lingered like the scent of blossoms after a storm—beautiful, unforgettable, and gone. The great warrior. The last descendent of the Flower God. One of the Seven Destined Heroes, whose lives had been cut short for a future they never lived to see.
And yet… she had vanished. No tomb. No body. Only the memory of a promise carved into Hwa Ryeon's heart.
"If I don't return… protect my son."
Years had passed. He had searched. And failed. That failure festered in the quiet corners of his soul, where regret and guilt sat like old ghosts whispering her name.
But now…
He came to me.
Not by design, not by summons. As if the heavens—ashamed of their silence—had finally delivered the child into his hands.
Not a day too early.
Not a moment too late.
Hwa Ryeon's gaze turned solemn as he looked beyond the courtyard—toward the towering peaks of Mount Hua, rising like ancient sentinels behind the old abode.
There, where legends once trained and perished, stood the weight of destiny itself.
"That child… he is her promise. The blood of the Flower God. One of the seven destined souls fated to rise again."
"And now…"
"Now that I have not one, but two of them under my roof..."
He clenched his fists slowly, his heart heavy with resolve.
"I will make them strong. I will shield them from the darkness the world dares to forget. And when the prophecy breathes once more… they will be ready."