(I transmigrated to ancient times with my five-year-old son. The first thing I did was go to the prince’s mansion to demand child support.
“Your Highness, this is your biological son. Please settle five years’ worth of diaper expenses.”
The aloof prince looks at the little boy, who bears an uncanny resemblance to him, and scoffs. “Let’s test his blood.”
The two drops of blood chase each other around the bowl like crazy.
The little boy pulls out a QR code. “Dad, WeChat or Alipay?”
The prince stares at the glowing talisman, lost in thought.
That night, all of the capital is buzzing with rumors: The cold-faced King of Hell has been swindled by a woman with a kid!
Later, when the little boy starts glowing in the middle of the night, the prince finally panics. “What on earth did you give birth to?”
I munch on a melon and smile. “Oh, maybe it mutated when I transmigrated?”)
