John spent the next few days in his cradle, Doing absolutely nothing. If he were honest, he desperately wanted to experiment with whatever had manifested that day, the scales, the claws, and the overwhelming surge of power.
But something deeper than logic warned him, like a primal instinct.
You are not ready.
His bones still remembered the pain. His meridians still felt tender, as though stretched to their limits.
If he pushed again?
He might shatter, or explode into gory fireworks who knew?.
So he waited.
And thought, there was also the matter of his "full awakening."
Children of powerful warriors were often talented, hailed as prodogies trained as the future sect leaders or clan heads.
Some were even born partially awakened.
But fully awakening at three and a half months?
That wasn't talent, that was anomaly.
History had no precedent or anything like this happening ever.
Which meant attention.
And attention, in a world like this, was rarely harmless.
John stared at the tiny sword in his hand.
A miniature replica of his mother's weapon "Jade Cutter" gifted by a Li clan artisan.
Even in toy form, it carried detail, the missing pommel, the cracked guard, and the chipped edges.
The blade was dulled and lusterless, yet crafted with reverence the physical manifestation of his mother's fall.
He swung it carefully.
Thrust, slash.
Even as an infant, his dexterity surpassed that of ordinary adults. His early awakening had refined his reflexes beyond human norms.
If he wanted to, he could probably stand.
Walk.
Maybe even run.
But why expose himself?
Better to remain underestimated.
That golden thing…
Could it truly be his battle spirit?
He remembered the claws.
The scales.
The surge of dominance that eclipsed his fragile body.
If that was his battle spirit…
Then it was combat-oriented.
Predatory.
But what element?
Fire?
Metal?
Some variant of draconic lineage?
Or something else entirely?
He still couldn't see it.
Couldn't summon it.
Which meant either:
He wasn't ready.
Or it wasn't meant to manifest normally.
That thought unsettled him.
His mind drifted to the celebration being prepared.
His father had been summoned.
Yu Shang Li.
Better known as General Shang Li.
One of the Four Grand Generals, second only to the Emperor in authority and power.
Head of the Li clan.
Feared by enemies.
Respected by the Seven Regional Lords, each leader of a great sect with their own specialty.
The hierarchy was clear:
The Emperor at the peak.
Beneath him, the Four Grand Generals.
Then the Seven Sect Leaders.
And all of them…
Would hear of John.
Possibly attend.
He sighed internally.
He had hated social gatherings in his previous life.
At least now, he was a baby.
No one would expect conversation.
Still…
Seeing them in person would be valuable.
A glimpse at the ceiling he would one day shatter.
"My growth spurt can't come fast enough," John muttered inwardly.
Four months.
He had been reborn four months ago.
He was mentally a grown man trapped in a body that drooled.
It was torture.
"Why couldn't I have transmigrated into a teenager? Or at least someone who could walk without falling over?"
He stared at the tiny sword in his hand.
For half a second.
A dark, absurd thought flickered.
End it.
Re-roll.
Maybe next time you'll spawn better.
But then...
The door slid open.
Yue Li entered.
Her deep Crimson eyes.
And her warm tender smile.
Silk robes flowing like liquid fire.
The thought evaporated instantly.
She lifted him gently and began dressing him in elaborate garments of red and gold silk, embroidered with subtle phoenix patterns.
"The guests are finally here…" she murmured.
Then her eyes hardened for the briefest moment.
"If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, I'll brutaly cut them into so man‐"
She coughed lightly, covering her mouth with a dainty hand.
"I mean… I will kindly reprimand them."
John giggled outwardly.
Internally, he was sweating.
She meant it.
She absolutely meant it.
"Your father has returned from the mountain borders," she continued softly.
"All the way home. Aren't you excited? You'll finally meet him."
Her voice carried a strange mixture of pride and something else.
Longing?
"He may seem stern at first… but I'm sure my little angel will love him just as much as you love me, right?"
She pinched his cheek.
He smiled.
Coos.
Tiny flailing hands.
Perfect infant performance. Inside, though he was calculating.
A Grand General.
Second only to the Emperor.
What kind of man was he exactly?