Li Wei's eyes fluttered open, his tiny body wrapped in a soft blanket. His mind, however, wasn't quite so small—it was filled with memories of debugging code at 2 a.m. and fighting off the existential dread of a desk job. Now, though, those days were behind him. He wasn't a thirty-year-old computer engineer anymore. No, now he was…a one-year-old? A baby? In a wooden crib?
"Well," Li Wei thought, "this is unexpected."
As he squirmed a little in the crib, he glanced around at his new surroundings. Gone were the cold office lights and the hum of a computer tower. In their place was a cozy, rustic room made of sturdy wood, with the scent of fresh earth wafting in through a small window. Oh, and the rolling hills. The hills were nice. It was all very peaceful—if you ignored the fact that he was now living in a "low martial world." One of those places he'd read about in novels where strength determined, well, everything.
Most people might have panicked, freaked out, or at least let out a confused wail at their predicament. But not Li Wei. He had mastered the art of not crying. At least, not on the outside. Inside, sure, there was a small part of him that still had to wrap his head around the fact that he was now a kung fu baby.
"A second life? Fine. But did it have to come with diapers?" he mused, exasperated.
Weeks passed, and his parents started noticing something odd. Unlike other babies who screamed bloody murder for no apparent reason, Li Wei was the Zen master of the crib. No crying. No fuss. Just calm, collected stares.
"Is he...broken?" his father asked at one point, worriedly poking Li Wei's cheek.
"No, just...oddly composed," his mother said, equally puzzled but impressed.
Of course, Li Wei wasn't broken. He was just doing some serious baby-level introspection. He was already figuring out that in this world, if he wanted a quiet life filled with leisurely naps and good food, he'd need some serious martial arts skills. But hey, no rush. He wasn't aiming to be the strongest warrior under the heavens or anything like that. Just strong enough to enjoy a peaceful life without people constantly trying to knock his teeth out.
By the time Li Wei was two years old, he was already what you might call a kung fu prodigy. Well, in his head anyway. In reality, he was just a toddler doing his best to mimic the adults training in the yard. He'd sit there, hands gripping the side of the crib like a kung fu grandmaster sizing up his next opponent, watching intently. His dad, a solid 3rd-rate warrior, would swing his sword or throw punches, and Li Wei would be mentally noting every move.
One day, when no one was looking, Li Wei decided to try it out for himself. He waddled out of bed, planted his tiny feet on the ground, and threw what could only be described as the most adorable roundhouse kick the world had ever seen.
"Yeah, that's right. Kung fu baby in the house," he thought, before promptly toppling over into a pile of blankets.
He didn't cry, of course. Crying was for amateurs.
As time went on, the village started noticing him, too. Li Wei wasn't just calm; he was quietly intense, watching everything with the focus of a tiny sage. His grandfather, the village chief, would often pat his head and say, "This boy's got the heart of a warrior."
His dad was more skeptical. "The kid's one, and he hasn't cried once. It's unnatural."
But it was during his third birthday that things took a more serious turn—well, serious for everyone except Li Wei. His father decided it was time for his "formal training." Instead of some grand, ceremonial sword, Li Wei got a wooden one, small enough to fit his pudgy baby hands. He looked at it, gave a tiny shrug, and thought, I guess this will do.
The village gathered for a celebration. There were cheers, laughter, and enough food to make even a kung fu baby happy. But while the other kids his age were running around chasing bugs and fighting over toy swords, Li Wei just sat under the stars, holding his new wooden sword like a philosopher considering the meaning of life.
"Yeah, strength is important," he mused, "but I don't need to be the strongest. Just strong enough to nap in peace without someone trying to mess with me."
As the night went on, Li Wei looked around at the bustling village. He wasn't here to make waves. No, he'd train, sure—but there was no need to be dramatic about it. He'd quietly do his best, work hard, and let life unfold at its own pace. He wasn't aiming to dominate the world; he just wanted to make sure it didn't annoy him too much.
With a small sigh, he rested his wooden sword across his lap and closed his eyes. The stars twinkled above, the village buzzed with chatter, and Li Wei's path was as clear as it had ever been. Strength, sure—but only enough to keep the peace... and maybe avoid ever having to wear diapers again.
"Kung fu baby's gotta have standards," he thought, drifting off into the night.