The former Lord of Heaven woke up to a problem.
Not a cosmic one. Not a metaphysical one. Not a "someone punched a hole in causality" one.
A mortal problem.
He was hungry.
He lay in his tiny cradle, wrapped like an undercooked dumpling, staring at the ceiling beams of a mud-brick house. Somewhere nearby, his mother hummed softly while doing something that involved water and a lot of sighing.
His mortal body stretched, yawned, and—without consulting him—made a small, pathetic sound.
"Eh."
He blinked.
I just spoke. Out loud. Like a mortal.
Disgusting.
He tried to project a thought across the realms, just to test. Nothing.
He tried to summon a scroll. Nothing.
He tried to exert the Authority of All Laws.
His tiny fist clenched.
Nothing happened.
He felt a tear of relief form in the corner of his eye.
It wasn't even his tear. The body just did that sometimes.
Good. Excellent. Perfect.
No power. No aura. No divine pressure. I can finally be nobody.
A shadow fell across the cradle.
His mother leaned over him, smiling in that exhausted way mortals had when they were too tired to collapse properly.
"Oh, you're awake," she whispered. "Good boy."
He stared back.
She looked… normal. No secret bloodline. No karmic halo. No ominous destiny streak.
Just a woman in a poor village, with hands roughened by work and eyes too kind for this world.
I picked well, he thought smugly. Nobody important lives here.
Outside, thunder rolled.
His mother paused.
"…Weird weather," she murmured.
The baby version of him stared at the ceiling.
Yes, he thought, suddenly suspicious. Weird weather.
Heaven's POV — HELPFULNESS LEVEL: DEVOTED
Heaven watched from above like a hawk made of fate and anxiety.
Master was awake.
Master was hungry.
Master was—Heaven's eyes sharpened—very small.
Her heart clenched.
How could Master endure such indignities?
A supreme being reduced to… needing milk?
This was unacceptable.
Heaven immediately opened several cosmic ledgers.
MASTER'S CURRENT NEEDS:
Food
Warmth
Safety
Comfort
Zero Responsibility (???)
She frowned at the last item.
"Master," she whispered, as if he could hear, "you can't request something impossible."
She tapped the air.
A few threads of fate adjusted.
Somewhere in the village, a chicken that was supposed to lay one egg laid six.
In the forest, a deer wandered closer to the road and did not run away.
A traveling merchant, who had never planned to come here, suddenly felt a powerful urge to take the left fork.
Heaven nodded, satisfied.
"Okay," she said. "Master will have a normal life."
Behind her, the tribulation clouds drifted closer like puppies hearing their owner's footsteps.
Heaven turned sharply.
"No," she hissed. "Stay. You are not needed."
The clouds rumbled, offended.
She softened her tone.
"Be good. Protect Master… discreetly."
The clouds rumbled again.
This time it sounded pleased.
Heaven sighed in relief.
Back in the Mud-Brick House
The former Lord of Heaven spent the next week confirming something extremely important:
Mortal life was boring.
Gloriously boring.
He ate. He slept. He stared at things. He listened to people talk about grain prices like it was a spiritual scripture.
It was perfect.
Until the seventh day.
That morning, the village woke to shouting.
"Lightning! Again!"
"The field—go look!"
"By the ancestors, it hit the same spot!"
His mother rushed outside with the other villagers. She hesitated at the door, glanced back at the cradle, then at him.
"Stay," she whispered as if the baby could sprint away. Then she left.
He lay there alone.
A minute passed.
Two.
Then, as if the universe couldn't tolerate his peace, the door creaked open.
A man stepped in.
Not his father. Not a villager.
A cultivator.
The air changed the moment he entered—subtle, but the former Lord of Heaven recognized it instantly. Qi. Refinement stage, maybe higher. The man wore plain traveling robes, but his eyes were sharp and greedy in the way only cultivators could manage.
The cultivator sniffed.
"What is this…" he muttered.
He looked straight at the cradle.
The former Lord of Heaven stared back, expression blank.
No aura, he reminded himself. No power. I am a baby. A baby cannot be interesting.
The cultivator took one step closer.
The air trembled.
Outside, thunder growled.
The cultivator froze.
"…What?"
The growl turned into a low, possessive rumble.
Like a guard dog hearing an intruder.
The cultivator's face paled. He swallowed, forced a smile, and took another step.
Instantly—
A flash of lightning struck the ground outside the house.
Not near. Not far.
Exactly close enough to be a warning.
The whole building shook.
Dust drifted from the ceiling.
The former Lord of Heaven closed his eyes.
Oh for—
The cultivator stumbled backward.
"W-what kind of protection—" he whispered.
Lightning crackled again, dancing along the air like excited fingers.
The former Lord of Heaven felt it brush his skin.
It was… affectionate.
Like a cat rubbing against a leg.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, dead inside.
I've been reincarnated for a week and my tribulations already found me.
The cultivator backed away slowly, hands raised.
"I-I meant no harm!" he stammered, sweating. "Just… just passing by! I saw the lightning and thought… maybe a treasure—"
The thunder growled.
The cultivator bowed—actually bowed—toward the cradle.
"Forgive me! I didn't realize this was… a senior's residence!"
Then he fled.
The door slammed.
Silence returned.
The former Lord of Heaven lay in the cradle, staring at nothing.
"…I can't even be a baby in peace."
Outside, the thunder rumbled again, softer this time.
Proud.
He felt something like a gentle pat on the head.
He did not have the energy to be angry.
Heaven's POV — DEFENSIVE PRIDE
Heaven clasped her hands, eyes shining.
"Good tribulations," she whispered warmly. "Very good."
The clouds rumbled happily and drifted in a small circle like they were wagging tails.
Heaven leaned forward, watching her Master's mortal body.
He looked… displeased.
That meant something was wrong.
Heaven's brows furrowed.
"…Master wanted no attention," she murmured.
She straightened.
"Then I will ensure no one bothers you."
She snapped her fingers.
The laws obeyed with enthusiastic terror.
Far away, every cultivator within a hundred miles suddenly experienced an inexplicable feeling:
Do not go near that village.
Some described it as a sudden chill down the spine.
Others called it a "premonition of death."
One arrogant young master declared it "cowardice" and marched toward the village anyway.
He returned three minutes later screaming and swearing to become a monk.
Heaven smiled brightly.
"Perfect," she said. "Master's life is peaceful now."
The tribulation clouds rumbled.
They sounded… a little jealous.
Heaven looked at them.
"…No," she warned. "You are not allowed inside the house."
The clouds sulked and lowered themselves to hover over the village like a protective storm ceiling.
The villagers looked up, horrified.
Back in the Village — Human Misunderstandings Begin
By evening, the villagers had gathered in the square, staring at the sky.
An elder trembled. "This is… divine judgment."
Another whispered, "Did we anger the heavens?"
A third said, "It's been hovering all day. It hasn't rained. It's just… watching."
The village head swallowed hard. "We need to… make offerings."
They turned toward the only house lightning had struck near.
The house of the exhausted mother and her quiet baby.
Inside, she returned carrying water, unaware of the shift in the village atmosphere. She looked at her child in the cradle.
"You're sleeping again?" she whispered, brushing his cheek. "Good. Good…"
The former Lord of Heaven opened one eye.
Outside, he heard footsteps.
A lot of footsteps.
He heard murmurs.
Respectful murmurs.
Fearful murmurs.
He closed his eye again.
Nope.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
That night, the entire village arrived at his doorstep with incense, baskets of food, and trembling knees.
They knelt.
The village head bowed so low his forehead hit the dirt.
"Please," he whispered, voice cracking, "forgive us, Divine One… and bless our harvest."
Inside the house, the former Lord of Heaven stared at the ceiling in despair.
"…I picked the smallest village I could find."
Outside, the tribulation clouds rumbled.
It sounded like laughter.