Long before that man killed him, forcing a regression to his fetal state, three defining moments shaped Qiao Mingye.
The central catalyst in all of them was her: Qiao Ling, his own mother.
While floating in the womb with only a sliver of external awareness, his sole ambition was to get as far away from that woman as possible once born.
Yet, what was he supposed to do when the mother responsible for his previous downfall behaved nothing like her past self?
More importantly, how the hell did her trash martial spirit become so broken?
Standing amidst a mountain of corpses, the two-year-old stared at a petite back.
Silver strands swayed in the air like a waterfall. Despite the surrounding massacre, her clothes remained pristine, not a single stain in sight.
Above her head, the spirit hovered. Despite the familarity, he always felt omniosus looking at it.
She liked to call it… The Camera.
Her focus locked onto the rider hovering in the sky atop a dragon.
"Qiao Ling! I offer you a choice," the stranger shouted coldly. "Be my concubine and hand over that bastard son. Or die."
Qiao Mingye trembled with rage. How dare he!
Flash.
The shutter clicked. A perfect replica of the warlord—who had just slaughtered a city and threatened him—materialized next to the floating lens.
The toddler facepalmed. He knew exactly what came next.
Tilting her head, Qiao Ling looked back at him, purple eyes brimming with mirth.
"Son, how's Mommy's photography? Even though I'm a genius photographer, the subject is ugly. So the output feels below average. But the technique? Undeniably a masterpiece."
Both the rider and beast shuddered as she continued.
"Without that lizard, this guy is no better than a beggar."
Beneath the man, the dragon instantly exploded into gore. His heartbroken wails were cut short by her next observation.
"Hmm… actually, if he simply wasn't here, I wouldn't have wasted the film. What a pity."
Then, the man ceased to exist.
"Let's go home."
A radiant smile lit up her otherworldly face as she reached down, pulling him into a hug.
Qiao Mingye buried his face in her chest, stealing one last complex glance at the empty battlefield.
He had been wrong.
Escaping his mother was impossible; she would always be the catalyst shaping his reality.
Only this time… he didn't hate it.
To understand why, you must hear about his life these past two years.
And for that, we need to look through her eyes.