Chapter 1

People with High Risk of Transmigrations

Translated by boilpoil
Edited by boilpoil

There is a cup noodle on the drawing pad with the man’s slender hand keeping the cover shut. His slanted eyes, hidden through his slightly overlong bangs, are staring straight at his computer screen.

His other hand is holding a phone. The whitened flesh suggests he is holding it with some force.

“The script’s changed again?” The man says, hoarse and powerless, but still putting an emphasis on the penultimate word.

He retracts his hand to ruffle his hair; the cover of the cup noodles pop open, revealing the soggy, white noodle cake within.

Cheng Zhaoci really wants to throw his phone right onto the ground, but he can do no such thing. He’s passed the test, and signed a contract. He yanks his head back, staring at the ceiling like a fish who has had much grander dreams before dying of suffocation.

He is a comic artist, drawing for manhuas, a job where you might not even have the opportunity to spend the money you earned. Cheng Zhaoci works with an intermediary, who provides the plot to the comics – the scripts – and he has to draw the whole thing.

It was off to a great start in the beginning. Both sides were happy with the negotiated price. All until the company had Cheng Zhaoci start sketches of the shots before they have the plot completely settled, and now upended basically days of work on Cheng Zhaoci’s end.

Cheng Zhaoci only has two more days until the company’s set deadline. He hasn’t had a single shut-eye in three days to get his work done. The coffee mugs on his table has formed an entire row. He feels like he’s just a pile of dead flesh still being commanded to move by a consciousness. He desperately needs rest.

That manager is still blabbering on about dreams and ambitions at the other end of the phone. Cheng Zhaoci wants to yell, that he’s had enough! He is going to sleep and no one can stop him! But the moment he stands up, his vision goes dark. It feels like the blood of his whole body is rushing towards his heart. It is squeezing. Threatening to explode. He can hear his heartbeat so clearly, as if it was right next to his ears.

Cheng Zhaoci would not know what happens next.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t even have time to remark on how his job sure has a high rate of death by stroke, before a man’s form has his full attention captivated.

It looks quite Western to him, with the chiselled features, tall nose, thin lips. The man is biting his lips a little. Honestly, so handsome, that with a new set of clothes, Cheng Zhaoci believes you can drag him off to any studio to get a photoshoot.

Cheng Zhaoci isn’t too bad a looker himself, but his sleep deprivation had him look almost zombified and gloomy, with a constant depressive aura about him. It’s like a debuff, that while he’s good-looking, he honestly doesn’t look like a good person.

Completely unlike this Mr Handsome here. Upright, beaming, with a great bod.

Why he would know of the handsome man’s great body is probably because his head is right next to the prominent chest muscles of him.

It… it’s honestly a little embarrassing.

Cheng Zhaoci knows he isn’t fully straight, so he’s worried he won’t be able to rein his desires in for long. He tries to push away – well, his hand is on there, and he is in complete shock, too.

Whose little lotus-like white arm is this?!

Frozen stiff, a while later, his mind grows cold.

He knew it. A parentless guy who grew up in an orphanage is bound to get transmigrated, isn’t he?!

Being a comic artist, he isn’t unfamiliar with the concept at all. Having come to terms with it, he now only laments that, if he knew he was going to transmigrate, he could have lambasted that mentally challenged manager of his before he died.

Fuck all those crazy redrawing requests! And also, what the hell is with their blinding artistic vision?!

“Baby, what’s wrong?” The handsome man speaks, with such a magnetic, resonant voice. It draws Cheng Zhaoci’s attention immediately.

He doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but Mr Handsome sure has a great voice. He thinks about it, until he finally lands on a conclusion – oh wait, is this guy his father?!

The handsome man watches Cheng Zhaoci’s little face make all sorts of interesting expressions, and is confused, until that face finally looks rather sad and dejected.

Tilting his head to think, he comes up with something.

Then Cheng Zhaoci watches as the big handsome guy lifts up his shirt, revealing the tightly packed muscles inch by inch. This is, in turn, confusing Cheng Zhaoci.

What? Is it really hot or something? Or is he… showing off to his son? Uh, but look at his tiny hand, which can but hold one finger of him in it, is it really a good idea to show off a body to such a young baby?

Then, the man, with Cheng Zhaoci in his lap, slowly brings him closer to his chest muscles. Cheng Zhaoci’s eyes are flickering and trembling.

Oi, oi oi oi! What is this? Breastfeeding?! Jesus, no, no no no thanks! No matter how good-looking that chest is, there isn’t that inside, you know!

Cheng Zhaoci tries to struggle, failing miserably with his tiny arms and tiny legs.

A baby being a baby, when distressed, Cheng Zhaoci feels like crying – thus his mouth opens, only for something to make its way inside his mouth. His gasp turns into a suck… of the object.

Cheng Zhaoci “Holy shit shit shit!”

He’s drinking! Drinking!!!

Never mind what he’s drinking! But why is there liquid inside?! Why?! He knows men do have mammary glands, and if you do suck hard enough, something might emerge.

Don’t ask why he knows that; what comic artist would he be if he had never secretly indulged in drawing unsavoury stuff?

But clearly, no matter how capable the men back in his world were, none could ever produce as much milk as this big tall handsome guy.

Cheng Zhaoci did fantasise something like a handsome ball of sunshine of a man biting his clothes to keep it in place, while getting rocked this way and that way, going full blush because of him.

But he never once imagined, a man who looks quite like a bossy CEO, biting his clothes to keep it in place… to breastfeed him. Even patting on his back gently as he does so.

What a homely scene it is.

Cheng Zhaoci fears he might just have another stroke and die once more. This time from shock.

No! He must not! Cheng Zhaoci wants to move his neck away, but the man seems to have noticed this, and puts his other hand against the back of his head.

“Baby, don’t move,” the man says, somewhat tiredly, with his brows furrowed.

His baby finally emerged from the egg today, but, his xiongzhu has been killed three days ago.

A shemale slave ripped his head right off. He heard that it was his xiongzhu having almost toyed with him to the brink of death, and the shemale slave resisted by instinct while unconscious. The strength of a typical shemale is not something a typically powerless male can withstand.

Males being murdered is quite the heinous felony. All shemales in the male’s harem have been collectively punished – including him, who lost his job in the army, and was exiled to one of the country’s landfill planets.

He just never expected for there to be a male in his egg.

His xiongzhu had many shemales, and he was one of the shemale concubines without much presence. His xiongzhu‘s cijun was also pregnant at the same time that he was, so the family’s attention was on the cijun; besides, he was also dispatched to the front lines not long after the egg was born.

Males on a landfill planet would be rare. Well, unheard of is probably more correct.

What if any shemale goes after his young baby and tries to force it? Those guys would definitely not be above pulling off something disgusting like that.

Well, if he reported the sex of his baby to the authorities, the punishment for them would be waived, but then the insectoids of the cijun family would never let them off the hook. He might not even be able to live through the week.

His family’s cijun has already gone insane. Even while lucid, he cannot accept any other shemale other than himself birthing a male for their xiongzhu. He knew two shemale concubines who’d successfully birthed males for the xiongzhu, but neither males made it to their first birthday.

Sure, both instances were perfectly executed accidents; however, he’s seen how the demis in charge of caring for the little males called the cijun ‘master,’ and his barely concealed excitement when the little males were pronounced dead.

Now that he’s insane, it will just be even worse.

He can only deal with whatever threats as they come, the man thinks, while having a gentle smile looking at the baby in his lap.

Cheng Zhaoci is currently brainstorming the type of insane world he might have transmigrated into. Omegaverse? No, unlikely. Omegas can have breastmilk, he thinks, but omegas are generally depicted as sleek and thin. His dad certainly doesn’t fall in that range.

Sentinels? Well, not that guides can’t be as tall and handsome as his dad is, but… breastmilk? Probably not.

His thoughts are already digressing, but he still can’t come up with a conclusion.

Wait a minute… a father… a bottom with a muscular body, tall, slender, handsome…

Suddenly, he manages to dig up a rather obscure subgenre from his mind. Insectoid setting…

Hell! You must be kidding, that setting with an even more deformed society than an omegaverse…

Cheng Zhaoci looks at his dad’s handsome face again, and prays quietly. Whatever this world may be, please… Maybe his dad is just one of those really un-omega-like omegas good at fighting among the omegas? Or simply a guide with a really strange twist.

He thinks with a serious expression on his face, until he burps, full.

Cheng Zhaoci “!”

The man, chuckling slightly, asks, “feeling full now, my baby?”

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