Our Martial Uncle Is a Little Boy

I transmigrated to the cultivation world, only to end up among the sect's most senior generation. I planned to lie flat and enjoy a leisurely retirement on the strength of my seniority, but something went wrong with my cultivation technique: I reverted to childhood.

Now I'm 1.2 meters tall, with a face as soft and fresh as a just-baked bun. Everyone in the sect looks at me like they want to say, “So cute, I want to squish you.” Only the sect leader knows that the last elder who called me “little one” has long since disappeared without a trace.

When the sect leader ascended, he left me in the care of a disciple whose face said, “Why am I so unlucky?”

Works for me. I'll be good and obedient, and he'll take the blame.

Until one day, someone attacked the mountain. Everyone watched as that “lucky charm of a junior uncle” raised a hand and split half the mountain apart, then turned around and blinked as he asked, “How about sweet-and-sour ribs for dinner tonight?”

“No! Put the sword down first.”