"Son, have you ever heard of Colonel Aureliano Buendía?"

One day at the age of twelve, my father suddenly asked me a bizarre question.

"Aureliano... Bu-what-día?"

I struggled to pronounce this seemingly Castilian tongue-twister, completely clueless.

"Aureliano Buendía."

My father corrected my pronunciation and then patted me on the shoulder.

He stood at a 45-degree angle looking up at the sky in the afterglow of the setting sun, seemingly somewhat melancholy as he said:

"That man is your father's idol."

"He was a revolutionary who launched thirty-two uprisings in his lifetime."

"His rank was just a colonel, but he was the leader in everyone's hearts."

"Although the war he led ultimately failed, his former enemies deeply respected him and even called him a hero."

At this point, my father looked at me meaningfully:

"Son, do you now understand why your father admires him?"

As a child, I thought about the logic used in fairy tales and answered solemnly:

"Is it because Dad wants to become a hero like Colonel Aureliano?"

"Bullshit!"

My father spat, revealing his usual careless expression, and stared at me with disappointment:

"You're really incorrigible! Who filled your head with this nonsense? Your stepmother? Your sister? Or that little girl named Margaret?"

He slapped my head heavily and then spat out the toothpick and broken meat stuck between his teeth.

"Listen up, I'm telling you this because I want you to understand: everything I just said isn't important! Only a fool would want to be like that!"

With that, my father spat again and forcefully stomped the saliva into the sand beneath his boot.

"Do you know why I admire him?"

This time, I obediently shook my head without giving my shallow opinion.

"Listen well and listen carefully."

My father forcefully twisted my head towards his face.

"That beast named Aureliano, in his early twenties, deceived his neighbor's little girl to become his wife, and even had her give birth to twins for him."

"Later, during the wars he fought, he had seventeen mistresses and fathered thirty-six illegitimate children."

"The most outrageous part was that, during festivals, he would have all seventeen mistresses bring their children to his house to celebrate! All the mistresses and children lived in harmony and enjoyed the festivities together! Such blatant harem keeping, has never been tolerated! Unbearable!"

"That's why your father admires him! Do you understand now? My silly son!"

My father grasped my scalp and swayed it back and forth, his face showing a longing expression.

"To sow seeds throughout the world! To be a harem king and spread one's inherited genes across the entire world, that is a man's romance!"

My father clenched his fists, his eyes seemingly revealing a certain yearning.

He turned his gaze to me again:

"Silly son, do you know what to do now?"

I thought about it and earnestly replied:

"I want to learn from Colonel Aureliano... and grow up to be a harem king like him!"

"You're teachable, truly a son of Lindonwan!" My father patted my head with satisfaction and gave me good advice, "But such a goal may be too ambitious... You should think about what to do right now."

To be honest, at that time I didn't understand what the so-called "harem" and "mistress" really meant, nor did I know the concept of "keeping a harem". I was just instinctively happy because of my father's praise.

So, I thought for a moment, carefully using the vocabulary my father often mentioned, combined with what he had just said, and with a determined look on my face, I said:

"I want to get Margaret pregnant!"

This was the only answer I could think of at that time, closest to my father's expectations.

After all, he often talked about "getting someone pregnant" in front of me, so in my opinion at that time, this was probably the meaning of the word "mistress".

And Margaret was my childhood friend, and one of the only two girls of the same age I have ever been exposed to.As for the other one, well... that's my half-sister from the same father but a different mother. Not mentioning her wasn't because I had a strong ethical concept at that time, but simply because I really disliked her.

Perhaps you might ask why I would dislike my own sister? Of course, there's a reason.

Honestly, my sister inherited the excellent genes from our stepmother, with light purple hair, fair skin, and violet eyes. Except for her flat chest, which was quite regrettable... she could be considered a great beauty whether in her childhood or now.

Perhaps having such a beautiful sister is a dream many people long for?

Unfortunately, although my sister inherited the appearance of my stepmother, her personality was totally different from that of my gentle and virtuous stepmother.

To put it bluntly... she was an absolutely violent maniac! A violent maniac with a devilish face and a devilish heart!

I am not afraid to tell you that before the age of thirteen, I couldn't beat my sister, so I was always bullied by her... to be precise, beaten up in various ways by this she-devil. As a result, I began to fear all female creatures... um, including the cat my stepmother kept.

"Worthless big brother, have you ever seen sandbag-sized fists?"

Every time I dreamt about my sister during her childhood, pulling my collar and hitting me with her "little fists," I would wake up screaming from the nightmare.

Oh, mom! It's so scary! A childhood trauma!

Later, if I hadn't met the gentle Margaret... I think I would probably have been immersed in a fear of women for the rest of my life?

Speaking of Margaret... she is truly my angel. Although we are almost the same age, she feels more like my elder sister. She is always so gentle and tolerant, taking care of me. Her voice is soft and delicate, and her face is always adorned with a faint smile. That smile is as brilliant as her golden hair.

For some reason, when Margaret was little, her father always entrusted her to my family.

To be honest, my home was always empty and dull. But Margaret still managed to find fun in the midst of boredom — taking care of me.

Therefore, she would often be busy in the kitchen with recipe books and a few thick books to step on, creating all sorts of peculiar dishes for me to eat.

I must say, Margaret has a natural talent for cooking. After a few initial attempts where the seasoning amounts were slightly off, the food she made became more and more delicious, with a variety of different styles. Besides the few dishes I explicitly told her I liked, she hardly ever repeated a dish.

In fact, not just in cooking, Margaret also excelled in housekeeping and caring for others. At times, I would even fantasize about lying in bed all day and letting Margaret handle everything for me. Given Margaret's personality... I think I could probably live a perfect life as a useless person.

In addition to cooking, Margaret's biggest hobby was knitting scarves, sweaters, and making all kinds of clothes for me. Of course, she would occasionally make one or two garments for my father, stepmother, and sister, but mostly for me. Sometimes, Margaret would make little clothes that none of us could fit into.

When I asked who they were for, she would blush and lower her head, saying that they were for her future children. Her dream was to become a good mother.

Therefore, in my eyes at that time, "getting Margaret pregnant" seemed like the perfect answer.

Since Margaret liked children, I would let her have children. Just like Colonel Aureliano's mistresses, I wanted Margaret to be my "mistress" too!

"Puff--"

Hearing my answer, my father suddenly stumbled forward. He looked at me in surprise and said, "Well, boy, aiming for the daughter of the Prince of Wales right from the start, that's ambitious!"

He gave me a thumbs up and continued:

"But... there's an old saying in the East, which is 'without accumulating small steps, there can be no journey of a thousand miles'. So, son, no matter whose belly you want to enlarge, that's all in the future. Now, you still need to do some preliminary preparations... understand?""Preparation?"

I repeated my father's words in confusion.

"That's what I used to say all the time..."

So I started to think it over carefully.

In my memory, my father always liked to tell my stepmother things like "posture is power," "practice makes perfect," and "iron rod ground into a needle." Then the two of them would mysteriously sneak into the bedroom and talk about "making people."

Based on my father's previous context, "making people" and "big belly" might be the same thing? That's what I thought at the time.

So, I went on to infer that "making people" is probably something that requires knowledge accumulation and practice makes perfect. It's not something that can be mastered quickly.

So before making Margaret my mother, maybe I have a lot of "postures" to learn?

So who should I choose to practice making people with?

I began to think about the few women I knew.

Since Margaret is a later issue, and my stepmother is even more out of the question...so after thinking about it, the only option left is my sister, that annoying and violent girl.

Well...although her personality is not good and her chest is flat, for the sake of realizing Margaret's dream, I'll just begrudgingly try it out on her first!

With that in mind, I said to my father without hesitation:

"I understand, before making Margaret my mistress, I have to get my sister pregnant first!"

"Yes, that's right... wait, what are you talking about, you little brat?"

My father first showed a approving expression, but then his eyes widened.

He hammered a fist on my head.

"You want to get your sister pregnant? Are you tired of living?"

"Didn't you say to prepare first? That's why I thought of practicing on my sister first..."

I defended myself with grievance.

"You dare to say it!"

My father glared at me fiercely and unreservedly gave me another hand chop.

"Don't say such nonsense in the future! If your stepmother hears it, she'll fight me to the death! Do you understand?"

My father threatened me, then muttered to himself:

"Damn it, if this really happens, I can't really do anything to you since you're my son... at most, I'll just break your legs to apologize to your stepmother... and then I'll have to go to Germany to find an orthopedic doctor to fix your legs, what a hassle..."

After saying that, he turned his gaze back to me, hit my chest hard with the back of his hand, and said:

"You listen to me, you little brat! If you want to be a harem king, first, you must be able to fight! Secondly, you must be able to take a beating!"

"To achieve these two points, you must have a strong body."

"The body is the foundation of everything, whether it's fighting wars or managing a harem!"

"Because only with a strong body can you have powerful martial arts; with powerful martial arts, you can defeat all your rivals and get the most beautiful women; with beautiful women, you can use your strong body to give them healthy children, and then use your powerful martial arts to protect them, keep them safe, and make them feel secure."

"Only then can you become a qualified harem king!"

"Do you understand? You sister-loving little brat!"

With that, my father rubbed my face with his hands, and after seeing my stunned nod, finally let go. He continued:

"Sigh... but to be honest... all that stuff I just talked about is actually just minor details. Whether you can fight or have a strong body... the ultimate goal is to prevent A Kitchen Knife Demon..."

A sorrowful expression appeared on my father's face, as if recalling some painful past events.

"Dad... what does A Kitchen Knife Demon mean?"

I asked weakly.

"Oh... look at me, I've been confused by your nonsense. I almost forgot that only I am the time traveler, and you wouldn't understand this joke..."

Saying that, my father rummaged in his pocket for a while before finally tossing me a book.

"Here."

I took the book and looked at it.

"Days... Days in the Campus?"

"After reading it, you'll know what A Kitchen Knife Demon means."

My father patted my shoulder.

"But before that, you first need to improve your 'posture' skills..."After that, I was locked in the castle by my father and went through brutal training for a whole five years.

For five years, I didn't see the light of day, nor did I smell flowers. All I had was my father's casserole-sized fists, my sister's sandbag-sized fists, and the chicken soup that Margaret made with a casserole...

It wasn't until today that I punched my father so hard that he crashed through three walls of the castle.