The first thing Lee Yong-Su learned about reincarnation was that newborn bladders run on sub-minute cooldowns.
One second he was plotting world-shaking explosives; the next he was soaking silk diapers like a defective waterskin. After the third emergency change, the long-suffering maid Fen began muttering incantations to ward off evil spirits—or at least evil fluids.
Yong-Su considered apologizing, but all that came out was a heroic "Bwah!" followed by a burp that smelled unapologetically of milk. So much for dignity.
Step 1: Reconnaissance
Even world domination starts with data collection. Unfortunately, the view from a cradle is 90 % ceiling beam and 10 % adult nostril. He needed intelligence.
Cue Operation Screech-and-Point.
At dawn he unleashed a banshee wail, thrashed both arms, and—when Fen dashed in—jabbed a chubby finger toward the open doorway. The message was clear:
Take me on a tour, minion, and nobody gets tinnitus.
Fen obeyed, because the only thing scarier than a loud baby is a plotting baby. She bundled him in blankets, strapped him to her chest, and marched down the corridor like a condemned courier.
Excellent, he thought, surveying his new estate:
Courtyard: manicured stones, suspicious white flecks near the chicken coop—possible saltpeter source.Alchemy shed: smelled of burnt herbs; promising fumes.Guard barracks: steel weapons, nice; muskets conspicuously absent, nicer.Privy: unavoidable. He filed it under sulfur procurement and social deterrent.
Each landmark earned a gurgle of approval that made Fen wince. By the time they returned, she looked ready to draft a resignation scroll in her own blood.
Step 2: Linguistic Boot Camp
The adults' language—now magically comprehensible—was a melodic mix of court formality and rural profanity. Yong-Su absorbed vocabulary like a sponge in kerosene, waiting for the day he'd ignite it.
Key phrases mastered:
"Noble Qi Resonance" — fancy term for show-off fireworks."Meridian blockage" — polite way to say failed cultivation, see you at the farm."Saltpeter tax" — jackpot.
He practiced late at night by whispering syllables into his fist. To outside observers it looked like he was gnawing his knuckles. Adorable, said Mother. Alarming, said Fen, sharpening incense sticks into makeshift stakes.
Step 3: Physical Conditioning (a.k.a. Flailing)
At three weeks he discovered hands. Incredible tools—capable of grasping, gesturing, and, sadly, missing their target 70 % of the time. When he tried the classic evil- mastermind steeple, his thumbs lodged in his own mouth. Saliva dripped down his wrists like a villainous fountain.
No matter. Great projects start sloppy. Gunpowder first appeared as accidental campfire. Rockets began as burning bamboo. His diaper fiascos? Field-testing splash radius.
Interlude: Parental Cultivation Show-and-Tell
One evening Father invited friendly nobles to "admire the Young Master." Translation: compare baby stats like cultivators checking spirit-stone portfolios.
They gathered around the crib while Father boasted:
"At merely twelve days he channels qi!"
To demonstrate, Father tapped Yong-Su's dantian—right where his stomach currently stored forty milliliters of premium breast milk.
Result: an earth-shattering hiccup, followed by a milk fountain that arced gracefully onto a brocade robe worth more than Yong-Su's previous tuition.
Spectacular, he thought. Projectile weapon confirmed.
The nobles recoiled; Father laughed awkwardly; Mother dabbed at royalty with embroidered napkins. Only Fen, watching from the doorway, met Yong-Su's eyes—and shuddered at the tiny, milk-smeared grin staring back.
Step 4: Supply Chain Negotiations
Yong-Su needed ingredients. As a baby, his bargaining chips were limited to cuteness, colic, and catastrophic crying. He chose cuteness—it left fewer casualties.
Whenever Fen carried him past the storeroom he'd clap and giggle at barrels labeled "Chicken Dung—Winter Stock". She assumed he was delighted by livestock supplies. In truth, he was mentally balancing potassium nitrate ratios.
When a servant spread wood ash on icy pathways, he squealed with suspicious enthusiasm. Two attendants vowed to fetch more ash daily—anything for the Young Master's happiness. Fools, he mused. Unwitting munitions interns.
Nightfall Schematics
Back in the nursery, candlelight flickered over cradle bars, casting prison-stripe shadows across his blanket. Perfect ambiance for monologuing.
"Phase One," he cooed (in baby babble, alas). "Acquire saltpeter, charcoal, sulfur. Phase Two: refine. Phase Three: kaboom marketing campaign."
He paused, drool stringing between lip and fist, and revised:
Add Phase Zero: develop neck strength. Villainous head-tilts lose impact when gravity wins.
Outside the door, Fen pressed an ear to the wood, hearing only soft gurgles. She exhaled in relief—right until a pop from the candle made the shadows jump. She bolted.
Inside, Yong-Su smirked. Even the house terrified itself on his behalf.
End-of-Day Accounting
New words learned: 37
Potential explosive bases identified: 3
Servants mentally scarred: conservatively 2.5
Progress toward world-shaking artillery:immeasurable, yet inevitable.
He drifted to sleep dreaming of black powder smoke curling under a crimson moon, of cultivators coughing through unfamiliar haze, of sect leaders asking, "What technique is this?"—moments before their pagoda roof relocated to low orbit.
Some babies doze off to lullabies. Li Yong-Su snoozed to the metronome of future detonations.
The cultivation world remained blissfully ignorant. For now. But tomorrow was another day, another diaper… and one step closer to boom.
Gunpowder Lee slept soundly.