Time flew, and the baby began to grow

The sun rose and set, spring passed and autumn came, and the forge fire was lit and extinguished day after day.

An infant's feeble brain could not process those vast memories. Little Loa slowly but surely came to "know" this world and become part of it. The rhythmic clang of hammering rang out. It was the earliest sound Loa could remember hearing, and the one he had heard the longest. Its deep, distinctly metallic notes echoed through the smithy.

He spent most of his time in an old basket lined with soft cloth, positioned just right for him to see Old Jack working at the furnace. Though the old man looked thin and frail, he was anything but weak at his work. Sweat ran down his face and landed squarely on the red-hot iron, evaporating with a hiss.

The hammer rose, fell, rose again... over and over. Within that plain hammering technique lay the quality of something honed through countless repetitions.

Loa watched quietly. An infant's brain could not handle complex thought, but the soul and memories of his two lives were gradually awakening somewhere deeper within him. All that knowledge from twenty-two years of fighting illness and pain, practicing martial arts, exercising, and honing his skills lay sleeping, waiting.

Of course, he still had to cry when he was hungry. "Waa, waa, waa!" Old Jack immediately put down his hammer. "Oh, oh, coming, coming! Don't cry, my little master!" With practiced hands, he took the prepared goat's milk and put it in Loa's mouth. The crying stopped abruptly, leaving only the sound of the baby sucking.

Time passed slowly amid this warmth. Little Loa was almost two and could already totter around on his own. That day, Old Jack was repairing a notched woodcutting knife, while the little fellow sat staring blankly on a small wooden stool Old Jack had made especially for him beside the doorway. Perhaps because his brain was protecting itself, Loa spent much of each day in a daze. To outsiders, this child was so easy to look after, sitting quietly without crying or making a fuss. Only Loa knew that his dazes were not empty. Things he could not understand kept appearing in his mind. Though the vast knowledge and memories of more than twenty years were sealed deep within his mind, waiting to awaken, scattered fragments of his most vivid memories surfaced from time to time: skills etched into his soul, breathing techniques for easing illness and pain. More often, he used this newborn, healthy body to put the knowledge in his mind into practice. To Loa, Old Jack's ceaseless clanging was not noise, but a kind of heavy drumbeat.

Between two and three, his body gradually grew stronger, and his limbs gained more strength. No longer content to walk on level ground, he began clambering up and down, climbing anywhere he could reach-the firewood pile in the corner, the tables and chairs. Falls were common, and he was often covered in bruises. At first, Old Jack felt sorry for him, but later he discovered that the child did not cry even when he fell. He would merely stare for a while at where he had fallen, then get up and carry on climbing everywhere. Helpless, Old Jack could only let him be, quietly putting away the dangerous, sharp objects.

As he grew older, Loa could also utter a few indistinct words. Old Jack kept teaching him to speak. "Come, little Loa, say it with Grandpa. Grandpa." Once, while Old Jack was forging, Loa called out his first clear word to him: "Grand..." Old Jack, who was holding a piece of red-hot iron with tongs, jolted so hard he nearly dropped it. He turned sharply toward Loa, who was sitting on the stool. "Little fellow, was that you speaking just now?" he asked in a trembling voice, hurrying over. "Come, little Loa, say it again." "Grand... pa..." This time, his words were clearer. Old Jack grinned, showing his yellowed teeth, and laughed happily, louder and louder, until he could be heard far away. Neighbors passing by heard him and said, "Old Jack really has become much more cheerful since he got himself a grandson."

Their meals were still rye gruel. Sometimes, when Old Jack earned a few extra copper coins by rushing an order, he would buy some lard and add it to their food, immediately giving it a new fragrance. Little Loa held his own little wooden bowl and ate in small mouthfuls, his tiny body greedily absorbing the hard-earned, highly nutritious food.

After his third birthday, Loa, who had never been ill, suddenly developed a fever. The high fever began in the middle of the night, turning his little face bright red. Old Jack was so worried that he did not sleep a wink all night, applying cold-water compresses to his forehead. In his haze, Loa felt those familiar large hands constantly changing the cloth and checking his forehead. In the latter half of the night, the fever gradually subsided. He blearily opened his eyes and saw Old Jack dozing beside him, moonlight falling on his graying hair. Warmth filled Loa's heart, and he slowly drifted off to sleep.

After he recovered, Old Jack noticed that Loa suddenly seemed much more grown-up. He spent less time in a daze and more time following Old Jack around like a little tail. When Old Jack forged, he watched from somewhere safe. When the iron was quenched and steam rose, he puffed away and waved his little hands, trying to blow it away. After a while, he even found a short little stick somewhere and began copying Old Jack's movements as he worked, swinging it with cries of "Hey! Ha! Ha!" and an utterly focused expression. It made Old Jack roar with laughter. "You're really getting the hang of it, little fellow! Ha!"

The days passed one after another. One day, five-year-old Loa was in his usual daze by the doorway when Old Jack came over. "Little Loa, how about we go for a walk? Staying cooped up at home day after day won't do," he suggested tentatively. Over the years, because of Loa's dazes, Old Jack had never dared let him go out and play with children his age. Only now was Loa spending less and less time in a daze, though he remained very quiet. Old Jack worried that if the child was so withdrawn from an early age, what would happen when he grew up? He was already prepared to be refused. He had tried for so long, and the answer was always no.

"All right, Grandpa Jack." The unexpected answer stunned Old Jack for a moment before he recovered. "Good, good! I'll change my clothes and take you out for some fun!" Old Jack said happily. "Mm!" Loa replied in affirmation.

Perhaps because of the inexplicable memories in his mind since infancy, he felt he had nothing in common with those little brats his age. One word described them: childish. The trouble was, he was only five himself! He had also noticed Old Jack's worries, so he decided to accompany him on an outing to make him a little happier.

Old Jack quickly changed his clothes and went out holding Loa's hand, strolling through town.

The morning sun was just rising. At this time of year, the early mornings in Wushan Town carried a hint of chill, and the early risers had already begun their work. Loa noticed that there were no children older than him or young people about so early in the morning, only snot-nosed little brats, their snot trailing almost into their mouths. They looked exactly like certain images in his mind: snot-nosed little imps. At the sight of that snot being snuffled back up, Loa felt a wave of revulsion and shuddered.

Old Jack felt it and wondered whether he had dressed the child too lightly for their outing.

They walked a little farther east and passed Old Henry's clinic. "Oh, Jack, taking Loa out for a little walk?" "Yes, this child rarely goes out, so I'm showing him around." "Good morning, Grandpa Henry!" Loa called sweetly. Old Henry hurriedly replied, "Good morning, good morning, little Loa. You've been feeling much better lately, haven't you?" Old Henry and little Loa knew each other well. Because of the chill he had suffered as an infant, the little fellow had been coming to Old Henry for treatment all these years, and his health had steadily improved. "Mm-hmm, I'm pretty much fine now, Grandpa Henry." "Good, that's good. As long as you keep getting better." Just then, a loud cry of "Understood!" came from a patch of wasteland farther east, drawing Loa's attention.

Seeing this, Old Jack said goodbye to Old Henry and led Loa farther east. After walking a while, they saw a large crowd of children on a patch of wasteland, roughly one or two hundred at a glance. The children were divided into three groups, each standing in several rows. Every child stood quietly in the clearing with a serious expression. Those in the northernmost group were about six to eight years old. The middle group was roughly nine to twelve, while the southernmost group consisted of youths aged thirteen to sixteen.

In front of this large crowd of children stood three muscular middle-aged men, all wearing short vests and coarse-cloth trousers.

"If you want to become a great warrior, you must train hard from childhood." The middle-aged man in the lead spoke coldly, his hands behind his back and his head held high. His stern gaze swept over the northernmost group. Those six- and seven-year-olds pressed their lips together, their dark eyes fixed on him, not daring to make a sound. Suddenly, the man walked over to a large bluestone boulder and stripped off his upper garment, revealing muscles that looked carved by a blade. Gathering his strength, he drove a fist into the stone. Cracks spread across the towering boulder before it shattered with a bang, leaving Loa profoundly shocked. The memories in his mind had taught him since he was small that this was impossible. How could human strength possibly reach such a level?

Old Jack spoke. "That's Hillman for you. As powerful as ever."

Hillman! Loa did not move. His eyes remained fixed on the great rock shattered by that tremendous force. It was so real.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest, not from fear, but from an almost ravenous excitement. So strong. What was that? Was it the supernatural power from my memories?

Just then, perhaps because he was too excited, or perhaps because his five-year-old body could not bear such violent emotional upheaval, a familiar dizziness swept over him, seeming to come from the depths of his soul.

No, it was not just dizziness.

Agonizing pain.

It was as though a red-hot iron spike had been driven savagely into his temple, then stirred wildly inside his skull. The memories of twenty-two years in his previous life-of illness and pain, of reading, of countless workouts and martial arts practice-and the bewildered memories of five years of infancy in this life, those sounds, smells, images... all the fragments began spinning madly, colliding, trying to merge.

"Ugh..." Loa let out a muffled groan of pain and clutched his head.

"Boy? What's wrong?" Startled, Old Jack hurriedly picked him up and pressed a rough palm to his forehead. "You're burning up!"

A high fever struck, swift and violent.