Sword Sovereign of the Celestial Emperor - Chapter 283, Battle with Ye Chen

After three days of working nonstop, Cheng Zhaoci has transmigrated (read: had a stroke) as is everyone’s wish.

What does it feel like to transmigrate into a male, the rarer s*x of the insectoid race?

Cheng Zhaoci would reply, ‘yeah never mind that, there is still work that is my job to do.’

One day, the internet of the insectoids that had a sore lack of entertainment media suddenly featured a new account that had short serial comics. The comics had sweet love, passionate fighting, and all sorts of imaginative stories. Many fans flock to follow this account. Of course, many shemales were sceptical of the 1-to-1 monogamous love depicted in those comics.

Later, when Wing Commander Wei Zhuo was deep behind enemy lines, his xiongzhu, the Wing Commander Cheng Zhaoci came to rescue him without hesitation. That is when the shemales realised – there certainly can be sweet, sweet, love. It just doesn’t belong to them.

The shemales only want to smile and wave them away.

- Description from Novelupdates

Ian Night’s life was a joke—until it wasn’t.Betrayed, discarded, and left with nothing, he welcomed death when it came. But fate had other plans.Reborn in chains, Ian awakens as a slave in a world where power is dictated by bloodlines and magic.While others wield fire and lightning, he is given dominion over something far more absolute: Death.With every slain foe, every stolen soul, and every corpse bound to his will, Ian will carve his way from servitude to supremacy.He will rise from the dirt. He will shatter his chains. And those who once cast him aside will learn what it means to fear the dead.[Ability Unlocked: Soulbind – Bind the fallen to your will.][Absorb strength of fallen soul?][New Trait Acquired: Gravewalker – The dead whisper, and you listen.]Kingdoms will tremble.The weak will kneel.And Ian Night will never be a failure again.Or, like most in this cursed world, he’ll die trying.

A novel about the Government and its people becoming one to raising their country back up.

A militaristic style novel that implements slight futuristic technology as the plot's basis.

“Y-young master, the Lord is requesting your presence.”

I looked at myself in the mirror as a maid's voice, laced with trepidation, reached my ears.

“Tell him I'll be there shortly.”

“I understand, y-young master.”

I paid no mind to her quivering presence, my gaze fixed on my reflection.

And this is exactly why I despise this character, Yes, He is a villain with my name but does it matter, no, the problem is this guy's weight he is so heavy that this tub of lard is weighing me down, literally.

For someone who prides themselves on muscle, nothing's worse than “fat,” and this guy before me? Well, he's a prime example of that.

“I suppose I need a workout.”

Reaching the door, exhaustion gripped me and I found myself gasping for breath. It was unbelievable – this body was so darn heavy.

After an arduous struggle, I finally made my way out of the room, causing servants carrying a litter¹ to scurry over. They lowered it, creating a path for me to step onto it.

I tried to ignore the spectacle – it was this pampering that turned this fatty into a giant tire. Pushing the annoyance aside, I began to move, managing only about 10 steps before my legs gave out.

Damn it. Seriously? I collapsed, leaving the twenty servants to hastily lift me and place me onto the litter. For me, it felt more like a stretcher. There I was, sprawled on it like some mountain, panting heavily.

“You damn god! I hope the protagonist of your favorite novel gets NTRed!”

“We're here, young master.”

Can you believe it? his father's office is just thirty steps away from this pumpkin room, yet he insists on using a litter.

“Give me a hand.”

I ordered while cursing this hefty body under my breath.

“Oh, come, come, my dear child. How was your day?”

I glanced at the middle-aged man, his face exuding warmth and care.

As for my feelings? This old man right here is the reason this chubby exists. Not that I give a darn about my indulgent father.

“I'm alright, Dad.”

Yes, imagine this: as a noble, this old man spoiled this pumpkin so much that he thinks he can go around scolding the mansion's maids and servants.

“Take a seat. Hey, fetch his chair!”

You might wonder why he doesn't sit on a regular chair. Well, that's because the chair is custom-made to accommodate this hippo-sized frame.

“What's going on, Dad?”

Seriously, why would he summon this big old hippo over to his quarters? There's gotta be a reason for it....

“Your fiancee is coming tomorrow”

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