At one year old, Lee Yong-Su had progressed admirably in several areas:
Crawling? Mastered.
Walking? Achieved (sort of, if staggering drunkenly counts).
Talking? Words like mama, papa, and fire hazard were fully operational.
First actual gunpowder prototype? Officially pending (but promisingly ominous).
His birthday would mark the culmination of one year of plotting—and a prime opportunity for some field testing.
Family Politics: Cousin Edition
Among the many guests at Yong-Su's First Birthday Feast was a particularly troublesome figure: Cousin Lee Ping, age five, cultivation prodigy, spoiled brat, and certified weaponized annoyance.
Upon arriving, Lee Ping swaggered into the manor, declared himself the future sect leader, and immediately kicked Tao-Tao the goose—mistake number one.
Tao-Tao honked vengeance from the bushes, swearing poultry wrath.
Then Lee Ping strutted up to Yong-Su's play area and declared loudly:
"Your toys are dumb."
Mistake number two.
Yong-Su, calmly stacking bamboo pipes and mysterious black powder-filled gourds, blinked innocently.
You're about to be my first involuntary test subject, he thought cheerfully.
"Accidental" Field Testing (Totally Intentional)
The party was in full swing: nobles chatting, tea pouring, elders debating obscure cultivation theory. Nobody watched the children's corner—perfect conditions for tiny, morally-flexible scientists.
Yong-Su gently pushed a hollow bamboo pipe forward. It rolled gracefully, stopping exactly beneath Lee Ping's feet.
Inside the pipe? A teaspoon of carefully-measured, baby-manufactured gunpowder. At the pipe's end? A spark-ready fuse made from tea-soaked thread and finely-ground charcoal.
Lee Ping sniffed disdainfully.
"Is this your pathetic flute?"
Yong-Su smiled sweetly.
"Light."
Lee Ping blinked.
"What?"
"Fire go poof," Yong-Su said innocently.
Mistake number three: Lee Ping was arrogant enough to test it himself.
He leaned close, lit the thread with a stolen candle flame, and—
FWOOOSH!
A small cloud of smoke enveloped Lee Ping's face. His hair stood straight up like a hedgehog hit by lightning. His eyebrows? History.
The room fell silent.
Lee Ping coughed once, face sooty.
"…My…face?"
Then, tears. Many, many tears.
Immediate Aftermath
Chaos erupted. Adults rushed over. Mother gasped. Father laughed awkwardly. Fen stared, horrified.
"Young Master exploded his cousin!"
Father corrected hastily:
"Nonsense! It's clearly just... static qi discharge."
"His eyebrows," Fen hissed. "They're vaporized."
"Very strong qi discharge," Father amended weakly.
Yong-Su sat cross-legged, looking like a wise little sage who definitely hadn't invented primitive artillery.
"Firework," he chirped helpfully.
Fen dropped into a chair and considered changing careers. Possibly to goat herding. Or hermitage.
Private Parental Discussion
Late at night, Yong-Su lay pretending to sleep, while his parents spoke quietly near the cradle.
Mother whispered urgently:
"Our son is... unusual."
Father nodded slowly.
"Unusual? Yes. But maybe he's an... innovator. Maybe he has unique qi."
Mother frowned deeply.
"He giggles at explosions. Yesterday, he applauded lightning strikes."
Father paused, considering.
"At least he'll be... memorable?"
Outside, a goose honked solemnly, echoing the sentiment.
Scientific Observations (Baby Log)
Prototype "Bamboo Spark 1.0":
Explosive effect: Perfect for humiliation. Limited for actual combat.
Range: Approximately one cousin-length.
Improvements needed: More explosive yield. Less eyebrow-focused.
Fen's suspicion level: 12/10 ("She now sprinkles holy water on my breakfast")
Tao-Tao alliance prospects: Promising ("Enemy of my enemy is my goose")
Midnight Musings of a Tiny Demolitionist
Late that night, Yong-Su sat up in the moonlight, scribbling invisible equations in midair:
Bamboo pipe + bigger powder charge + metal pellets = ???
He grinned wickedly, chewing thoughtfully on a dried plum, pondering his next advancement.
Happy Birthday to me. Next year: muskets.
He laid down again, smiling serenely, soot-streaked cheeks gleaming under moonlight.
Sleep came peacefully, to dreams of gunpowder, justice, and more creatively traumatized cousins.