​I woke up, and my first coherent thought was, This cannot be right.

​It wasn't a philosophical realization or the deep-seated existential dread one might expect upon discovering they'd been transmigrated. No, it was a practical, sensory observation. The sheets were silk, the air smelled faintly of expensive sandalwood and the slightly-too-sweet scent of baby powder, and when I tried to sit up, my head lolled uncontrollably. I managed a small, pathetic squeak.

​I was a baby. A toddler, at best.

​My previous life had been quite different. I was a 29-year-old software engineer named Lin Tao, surviving on instant noodles and the faint hope of retirement. My biggest concern before this cosmic joke had been debugging a faulty line of code. Now, my biggest concern was drool control

.

​Wait. Where am I, exactly?

​The room itself was opulent to a degree that screamed "antagonist." Dark wood, gold inlay on the crib railings, and a view through a massive bay window of a meticulously maintained, ominous-looking fortress. This wasn't just a rich family; this was an Evil Rich Family.

​Then the memories started to flood in—not my own, but the ones belonging to the original occupant of this tiny body. A world of cultivation, warring sects, and a sprawling fantasy novel I had read precisely once: The Ballad of the Immortal Scourge.

​I was now Fu An, the beloved, four-year-old son of the novel's main villain, Fu Xuan, the notorious Sect Master of the Shadow Peak.

​My eyes widened—a challenging task when they were already cartoonishly large. The Ballad of the Immortal Scourge. That book was a bloodbath! The villainous Fu Xuan, my supposed father, was a man whose cruelty was matched only by his obsessive love for this one, tiny child. And little Fu An? He was a plot device. A perfect, innocent hostage for the protagonist, Sect Leader Shen, to use as leverage against the final boss. In the original novel, the protagonist had kept him safe, but only after Fu Xuan himself was gruesomely torn apart.

​"Oh, no, no, no," I tried to say. It came out as a series of unintelligible coos.

​That wasn't the point, though. The impending doom, the terrifying father, the knowledge of my fate—all of it was secondary to the immediate, overwhelming shock I received when I finally noticed the ornate full-length mirror positioned against the far wall.

​My tiny legs managed to swing me to the floor, and I waddled toward the reflection on clumsy feet. I stared quietly into the polished silver.

​Oh. My. God.

​The face staring back was a masterpiece of genetic engineering and fictional hyperbole. Giant, sparkling eyes the color of amethyst. Silken black hair that curled perfectly around a doll-like face. Skin so pale and smooth it looked like flawless jade. My previous face had been… fine. Utilitarian. This face was ridiculously, almost insultingly cute. Who could possibly give birth to a baby this perfect? It was the kind of adorable that made grown men want to abandon their life savings just to buy a shiny toy for him. It was a weapon!

​"This is unfair," I mumbled, tugging on one of the sleeves of my little brocade robe. "I’m supposed to be a side character with a tragic fate, not a poster child for an Emperor’s children’s clothing line!"

​A small, genuine, and entirely involuntary giggle escaped me. The reflection giggled too, a sound so sweet it gave me a toothache. I suddenly understood why Fu Xuan, a man who regularly committed mass murder before breakfast, treated this child like a fragile piece of world peace. How could anyone hurt this face?

​Well, the protagonist would, eventually. And that's where my plan had to start. I had four years before the major plot points began. Four years to navigate this fortress, avoid getting killed by my own terrifying father, and, most importantly, start building my own defense against the hero.

​Step one: leverage the cuteness. This face was currency. This face was power.

​A knock echoed on the heavy door.

​"Little master? Are you awake? Your father wishes to see you."

​My heart jumped. The terrifying villain. Time to deploy the cuteness offensive. I took a deep breath, pasted the perfect, innocent, wide-eyed look on my face, and toddled toward the sound of the door.

​The Shadow Peak Sect Master, Fu Xuan, was not a man built for fatherhood. He was built for intimidation. When I was ushered into his private study, the room felt like the interior of a very expensive coffin: high ceilings, minimal light, and an overwhelming scent of parchment and cold blood.

​Fu Xuan sat behind an obsidian desk large enough to land a small aircraft. He was exactly as described in the novel: impossibly handsome, with razor-sharp features and a permanent expression of aristocratic disdain. He wore robes of dark charcoal that somehow managed to look both simple and menacing. He looked up, and his gaze—sharp and cold as polished steel—snapped straight onto my tiny figure.

​I instinctively froze, the four-year-old body locking up in fear. This was the man who had personally flayed several rival Sect Elders! I was terrified. But I was also the only person in this entire novel he loved.

​Execute Operation Adorable.

​I abandoned my practiced, steady walk and wobbled slightly, forcing my eyes to shimmer with just a hint of dewy moisture. "Daddy!" I cried, a sound that was somehow both pathetic and utterly precious, thanks to my ridiculous voice box. I pushed off my little feet and bolted across the vast carpet, stumbling perfectly before colliding with his knee.

​The imposing figure of Fu Xuan stiffened immediately. The two heavily armored guards flanking the door didn't even twitch, but I saw the micro-movement in their eyes. No one ran at the Sect Master.

​Fu Xuan’s expression, usually set in granite, fractured. He slowly lowered the stack of gruesome-looking intelligence reports he’d been reviewing. One large, pale hand, the same hand that could deliver a killing blow to an Immortal, cautiously reached out and rested on the top of my head.

​“An’er,” his voice was a low, resonant rumble, utterly devoid of the usual fury or malice he reserved for the rest of the world. It was a bizarre vocal contrast to the man himself. “You are late. Did you sleep poorly?”

​I tilted my head up, displaying my massive amethyst eyes to their maximum effect. “An’er dreamt of tigers, Daddy. Big, scary ones with sharp teeth.” I squeezed my arms around his leg, doing my best impression of an utterly helpless, precious child. I wasn't just acting; a part of the real me was definitely terrified of the tigers (and the man I was currently hugging).

​His jaw tightened. The novel mentioned Fu Xuan was terrified of anything hurting his son. It was his single, fatal weakness.

​“Tigers?” he echoed, the word a dangerous hiss that was definitely not meant for me. He gently picked me up, placing me on his lap. His movements were awkward, like handling a ticking, delicate clock. "There are no tigers in Shadow Peak. Only foolish mortals who think they can touch what is mine.”

​I knew that meant rivals, spies, and possibly disgruntled servants. I also knew that his current preoccupation with "touching what is mine" was why he missed so many crucial signs of the protagonist's rise.

​I snuggled into his expensive robes, which smelled faintly of ozone and something burnt. “I feel safe now, Daddy. You’re big and warm.”

​Fu Xuan stared down at my head, then ran a hand—a little less cautiously this time—down my back. He let out a sigh, a sound the entire Sect probably hadn't heard in a decade.

​"Good. Stay here." He returned his gaze to the reports, though his eyes seemed unfocused. The message was clear: my presence acted as a strange sort of emotional dampener on his villainous activities.

​Perfect, I thought, settling into his lap, the softest spot in the entire Fortress. I might be the villain’s son, but if I played my cards right, I could survive this. And perhaps, just perhaps, I could influence the man who held all the power to be a slightly less villainous, slightly more survivable father. I had four years, and I was holding all the chips—all ridiculously cute, amethyst-eyed chips.

​Sitting on the lap of the most terrifying man in the Central Sects was surprisingly comfortable, if a little hot. Fu Xuan had gone back to reviewing his reports, which were written in a spiky, furious calligraphy I was rapidly learning to decipher. It was a list of Sect Elder resignations—or rather, "disappearances"—and inventory of rare earth metals. Standard villain fare.

​I spent the next hour simply observing. My transmigrated state gave me a unique perspective: I was a modern adult trapped in the body of a four-year-old, sitting on a novel villain’s lap. It was high-concept reality TV, and I was the star.

​The key to survival, I realized, lay in leveraging the disconnect between Fu Xuan’s worldview and the sheer impracticality of raising a small child in a death fortress.

​Around noon, a nervous-looking aide, a man with the perpetually worried expression of someone who had recently witnessed something traumatic, knocked and entered. He held a silver tray bearing a single, small bowl of green porridge.

​"Sect Master," the aide whispered, not daring to look above Fu Xuan's desk, "the little master's midday nourishment."

​Fu Xuan waved a dismissive hand, not looking up. "Leave it. I am occupied."

​The aide flinched, placed the tray quickly, and scampered out. I knew from the memories that the original Fu An was a picky eater, and the fact that he rarely saw his father meant this meal often went untouched. This was my chance.

​I nudged the report Fu Xuan was holding with my chin. "Daddy," I whispered, injecting a slight tremor into my voice. "An'er is hungry, but… the green food is scary. It looks like the moss that eats the stones outside."

​Fu Xuan paused, placing the report down again. He looked at the porridge, then at my worried face. His expression didn't soften, but a vein pulsed near his temple. He had no idea how to handle "scary food."

​"It is nourishment. Eat it," he commanded, his usual tone.

​I let out a tiny, wounded sniffle. "But An'er wants to be strong like Daddy. Daddy doesn’t eat moss. Daddy eats… shiny things. Can An'er have some sweet milk instead? Like the little white rabbit drinks?"

​This request was pure genius. The Shadow Peak Sect was built on power and fear. The simple request for sweet milk, like a rabbit, was such an antithesis to his entire image that it short-circuited his villain brain.

​Fu Xuan rubbed his eyes, clearly struggling with the concept of sweet milk versus blood sacrifice. He looked utterly defeated by my cuteness. “Fine,” he growled, pulling a small gold whistle from his desk. He blew a sharp, piercing note.

​The door burst open. "Sect Master!" barked a massive, scarred man who looked like he wrestled bears for sport.

​“Go to the kitchens,” Fu Xuan ordered, pointing with extreme irritation at the porridge. “Have them fetch the sweetest cow’s milk they can find. If it is not sweet enough, find the nearest Duke and demand their finest dessert wine—or their head. And bring sweet bread to accompany it. Immediately.”

​The scarred brute blinked. He was used to orders involving torture or invasion, not dairy products. “Sweet… milk, Sect Master?”

​“Do you question your orders, Commander?” Fu Xuan snapped, his eyes flashing with genuine malice.

​“No, Sect Master! Sweet milk and sweet bread, incoming!” The Commander spun on his heel and disappeared.

​I suppressed a triumphant cheer. Not only had I secured a better lunch, but I had utilized my cuteness to force the Commander—one of Fu Xuan’s deadliest subordinates—to run a mundane errand involving baked goods. I was corrupting the system from the inside out.

​I smiled up at my terrible father, a genuinely happy, dimpled grin. "Thank you, Daddy! You are the best and strongest!"

​Fu Xuan looked startled by the sincere praise, and a strange, almost nervous light appeared in his steel eyes. He cleared his throat and picked up his report, but his hand absently stroked my hair.

​The sweet milk would arrive soon. Survival was delicious. The fate of the villain's son was officially under revision.