Waaah! Mancheon
Sima Bu, the current head of the Sima family, rubbed his chin with a complicated expression as he gazed up at the dark sky shrouded in heavy storm clouds, even though it was broad daylight and the sun was nowhere to be seen.
"Hah... Of all days for something this ominous to happen on such an auspicious occasion..."
If it had at least poured rain, he could have dismissed it as a mere natural phenomenon. But no rain fell. Black clouds alone blanketed the entire sky, plunging the world into gloom.
Today was the day his second child would finally be born, after long years of anticipation and preparation. For the safety of mother and child, he'd spared no expense hiring top midwives and physicians, making every arrangement imaginable.
Yet now, with the heavens acting so strangely, Sima Bu's heart churned with unease.
Pacing restlessly outside the room, staring anxiously at the overcast sky, he wondered if he should summon a Taoist priest for talismans—when a vigorous cry erupted from within, the newborn's wail announcing its arrival into the world.
"Waah! Waaah! Waah~ Waah~ Waaah!!"
What a powerful cry. No doubt it was a boy.
Rushing inside to see his child and the wife who'd endured so much, Sima Bu found the physician and midwife bowing their heads with troubled faces.
"Looks like both mother and baby are safe and sound. So why the grim looks?"
"Well... the young master was born with a lame leg."
No wonder the sky had seemed off. It wasn't an auspicious sign after all, but an ill omen.
Swallowing his grief at the news that his child—meant to be born healthy and bask in a mother's love—had a congenital disability, Sima Bu forced a bright smile and lifted his swaddled son.
"So what if he's lame? He's still my son, more precious than the apple of my eye. Look at this handsome little guy."
Chubby and plump like a rice cake goblin, the baby never stayed still—wriggling his fingers and mouth, sniffing around with his tiny nose. Somehow, it made him seem extraordinarily clever.
Was this just parental bias? How could a newborn look so sharp?
Cradling the child, Sima Bu glanced again at the bizarre sky, thick with clouds even in midday.
Who was he to fathom heaven's will? No one knew if today's phenomenon was blessing or curse. Nothing was set in stone yet.
"Manchon."
Gazing at the strange sky, he murmured to himself and named the boy.
"Deceive. Heaven. Manchon. Sima Mancheon."
"Ueeng~ Waah waah!"
As if understanding his name, the baby wailed even louder. Sima Bu smiled, soothing the lusty crier.
"There, there. That's right. I'm your father, Mancheon."
A strange child born on a day when the heavens were veiled. As a father—and a man—Sima Bu couldn't help but wonder what the future held for him.
But Sima Bu had no way of knowing that the unnatural flow of heavenly qi meant his son was a reincarnator with memories of a past life.
The reincarnator who'd earned the name Sima Mancheon through heaven's whim let out an even louder cry from a physiological urge, and Sima Bu cooed and comforted him with love.
Ten years passed.
The second son of the Sima family was a cripple. And his personality was rotten.
"Yut—ge. First from ge to mo, then turn with yut to mo-ge and eat the horse. Since it's eaten, roll again."
While the kid whose horse got eaten at mo-ge sat there sulking, Sima Mancheon rubbed his palms excitedly and snatched up the four yut sticks.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed them. Clack~ clack~ The sticks danced with a satisfying rattle, bouncing and clacking across the ground, deciding victors from losers, smiles from tears.
'Do! Do! Do!'
The last kid standing gripped his bet—a bag of candy—with sweat beading on his brow, praying desperately. He'd even snuck out the candy his mom had hidden away. Losing here meant more than just defeat.
If only strong will decided the sticks. But no—the toss of the player's hand and heaven's luck sealed fate.
"Mo."
Heaven chose Sima Mancheon.
The kid collapsed to his knees in shock, but in yutnori, Mancheon showed no mercy.
"Nice. Mo means I go again."
With his merciless, wicked grin, the sticks danced once more. This time: ge. Nothing special.
But it didn't matter. Mo had already ended it.
"From mo-ge to mo, do, ge, gyeol, yut, mo."
Manchon’s final horse passed the opponent's last piece, one space shy, and entered the back mo.
All his pieces were home. Game over.
"Let's see~ First place takes second and third's candy, right? Sluurp~ Talk about good luck today."
Pretending to forget, though he remembered perfectly. That was how Sima Mancheon toyed with the loser.
"N-no, I can't give it... Mancheon... we're friends, right? Just once... just this once..."
The kid sniffled, unable to continue. But Mancheon signaled his chubby little enforcers—the plump-shouldered kids he kept around for this.
"If you didn't wanna lose it, you shouldn't have bet. Why make me the bad guy?"
With ham-fist punches like Doraemon's, the chubby kids effortlessly snatched the bag from the protesting boy. They were pros at this.
"N-no! Stop! Don't take it!"
He curled up to protect it, but neighborhood kid fights were all about size. The scrawny one couldn't fend off two blobs of flesh and burst into heartbroken tears.
"Unrok's crying. What now, Mancheon?"
Overwhelmed by defeat and the torment ahead, Unrok wailed. The chubbies looked flustered and turned to Mancheon.
"Hey, losses happen in bets. Why cry? Here, take your candy back. Stop crying."
He handed it over in tiny hands, but the sobs wouldn't stop. Finally, Mancheon took drastic measures.
"Grab some yakgwa from my snack pouch."
From the fancy silk pouch came the sweet rice cookies, stuffed into the still-blubbering mouth.
"There~ there~ No crying. Eat up. It's expensive and delicious."
"Hic... hic... th-thanks... yummy. Nom nom... hic..."
The tears stopped, thankfully. But seeing Unrok munch happily sparked a riot.
"Why only Unrok?! Give me my candy back!"
"Me too, one yakgwa!"
Let this slide, and it'd be chaos. Mancheon hated bawling brats.
"Alright, alright. Plenty here. Share it out. Candy's yours too."
"Yaaay~ Mancheon's the best!"
This was how Sima Mancheon played with the neighborhood kids. He'd introduce fun new games, get them hooked, then bet snacks. Sometimes he'd really take them to teach life's harshness, but usually—like today—he'd return the winnings and share his own treats.
"But Mancheon, if you're giving it back anyway, why take the candy?"
One chubby asked, chewing yakgwa curiously. Mancheon grinned at the kids clutching their reclaimed bags.
"It's not about wanting the candy. Snatching snot-nosed kids' treats? That's the fun part."
They didn't get it. Why bother taking candy you wouldn't eat?
Mancheon scratched his head at their confusion, then limped home on his staff, leg thudding rhythmically.
"Playtime's over. I'm heading home for a nap. You lot don't stay out too late either."
Ten years in the murim world, blinked into existence. Born a cripple in a martial arts-obsessed place, he'd worried at first. But now? Second life's treating him just fine.