I Transmigrated Into The Secret Husband Of The Zerg Marshal - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Holy Moly

Anyway, I managed to appease him. The process is best left unsaid.

Now, I’m lying flat on the floor, like an empty soda can crushed by a steamroller. I feel like every component in my body is loose.

The steamroller himself, Marshal Arnold, is resting heavily on me.

His head is resting near my shoulder, his warm breath sweeping my neck, clean and slightly sweet, like the scent of a storm that has just settled.

But I have no time to appreciate any of it.

I’m too exhausted to move a single finger. That appeasement session drained all my energy—it was more tiring than working 72 hours straight and only completing the foundational architecture.

My mind is blank; I’m an overheated, shut-down CPU that can’t even bother to turn its fan.

The room is a mess, and the air is still filled with a dangerous aftertaste. I strain my eyes, looking at the room, which he’d turned into a disaster movie scene, and then at the Marshal, who was sleeping on top of me like a harmless large dog.

What is this supposed to be? Party B successfully resolves a major online bug for Client A, and then Client A’s server crashes directly on me?

I try to pull my arm out. The moment I exert force, Arnold seems to sense it. He frowns slightly, rubs against my neck, and presses down even harder.

Me: “…”

Big Brother, you’re a Marshal, not a koala.

Just as I was contemplating whether to wait for my spiritual power to recover before flipping him over, or just flip him over now, Arnold’s eyelashes fluttered gently.

He woke up.

I instantly held my breath, every muscle tensing. This might be the Party B’s instinctual reaction upon seeing the Client A.

Arnold’s eyelashes trembled, and he slowly opened his eyes. For a moment, those gray-blue eyes were empty.

But the blankness lasted less than two seconds. He first scanned the surroundings, his gaze moving from the twisted ceiling light fixture to the mess on the floor, as if assessing the battle damage. Then, his sight slowly descended, landing on my bloodless face, which was pale from exhaustion and tension.

Finally, his gaze settled on our current position.

An exhausted Male Insect was being perfectly pinned beneath a Female Insect who had just calmed a spiritual frenzy. The posture was as undignified as it was dangerously intimate.

I closed my eyes with a sense of “I’m a goner,” ready for him to elbow me away.

However, the expected violence didn’t happen. Arnold simply looked at me, completely still. Something was rapidly working behind his recovered gray-blue eyes. I could almost hear the frantic whirring of the CPU fan in his brain—data calculating, logic restructuring, new plans rapidly being deduced.

Then, he smiled.

It wasn’t relief, not gratitude, and certainly not the joy of surviving a catastrophe. The smile was faint, hooking up the corner of his thin lips without any warmth.

It was the kind of smile I was most familiar with in my past life—the pure, KPI-shining smile that makes capitalists weep, a mix of “Holy cow, that’s brilliant” and “Get back to overtime immediately,” which a product manager flashes when they realize a core feature that was supposed to take six months to launch can be moved to testing next week because of some clever, unintentional hack by a programmer.

My mind went “BZZZZ.”

The alarm wasn’t red; it was black. The kind of black alert that signals complete devastation, representing the core system logic being tampered with and all firewalls failing instantly.

I, with an E-level spiritual power, could appease his frenzied spiritual sea.

What did that mean?

It meant that the compatibility issue between us, the biggest technical barrier, the greatest excuse to delay the project, had been broken by my own hands.

That long body-conditioning cycle, which would have given me time to struggle and even negotiate requirements, instantly dropped from a necessary condition to an optional patch!

The way he looked at me was no longer like a rare resource needing careful nurturing but like a high-performance server that had been fully debugged and was ready for immediate deployment.

Arnold propped up his upper body, finally freeing my nearly useless arm. He slowly straightened his disheveled clothes and looked down at me, still sprawled on the floor. The smile on his lips deepened.

“My Male Lord,” he spoke, his voice filled with an inexpressible pleasure, “You have once again exceeded my expectations.”

My right arm was still numb, and I couldn’t climb up immediately. I could only lie there, looking at him with the eyes one reserves for a devil. The pleasure on his face was more unsettling than his distorted expression during his spiritual power meltdown.

What do you mean, I exceeded your expectations? I basically pressed Enter on my own death process!

I had actually been smug about successfully appeasing the Client A, naively thinking it would buy me some breathing time.

And the result? All my clever moves didn’t just fail to save me from the stud’s fate; I proved to the Client A with practical action that I, Chen Jiuliu, am not only a qualified stud but a top-tier stud that requires no forced feeding, no special care, is plug-and-play, super-efficient, and perfectly compatible with all the Client A’s needs!

I have never hated my own competence and the potential for early delivery as much as I do now.

“It seems,” Arnold’s voice sounded like a final judgment, “the previous physical conditioning plan can be canceled.”

He squatted down to my level, and the glint in his eyes made me feel like I was looking at that product manager from my past life.

“Practical evidence shows that your gene vitality is far higher than the data indicated. My Male Lord, you truly are a treasure.”

Every word he said sounded like praise, but combined, they were a death warrant for me.

I opened my mouth, but my throat was too dry to make a sound.

A treasure? I’m the idiot who accidentally shortened your project cycle from a year to a week!

“Our plan can be moved up.”

He finally said the words I most dreaded hearing.

At this point, my fighting spirit to uncover Arnold’s secrets had scattered to the winds. I couldn’t even save myself, let alone worry about him!

I groaned and despairingly closed my eyes.

The world went dark, but my mind was clearer than ever. I felt like I could see the future: being confined to the bedroom, regularly providing genes until the so-called “most superior” offspring was born. Playing the Male Lord, the confidential marriage—it was all a facade. Assisting him in producing an offspring was my core KPI.

Arnold, even capitalists aren’t as ruthless as you! I cursed wildly in my heart. Capitalists only want my life; you’ve planned out my lower body and the rest of my life!

I instinctively curled my body, my hands protecting my flat abdomen.

An unprecedented physiological terror shot up from my tailbone to the crown of my head, leaving me icy cold.

He noticed my movement, his gaze falling on my hands, then his own hand, which gently covered mine.

His palm was large and warm, resting on my abdomen through my clothes and the back of my hand.

“Don’t be nervous,” his voice was low, carrying a hint of reassurance that sounded more like a serpent’s hiss. “You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Me: “…” Thank you.

That didn’t reassure me one bit.

As a senior worker bee who toiled in a large company for years, I live by the principle of having a countermeasure for every policy. Just like how I would never deliver a task to my boss before the deadline, I must delay this until I absolutely cannot delay anymore!