Transmigrated into the Son Doomed to Lose His Mother
“Chujeongjeon? For an adult novel, the title's awfully classical. Autumn and chastity combined, maybe?”
While hunting for a solid NTR novel, I'd stumbled on one titled Chujeongjeon by chance and checked out its summary.
Life is often likened to the four seasons. The budding spring, vibrant summer, fruitful and ripening autumn, and the quiet winter preparing for the end. A woman who has borne a child and raised them to adulthood has passed life's greatest trial and entered autumn.
Jeong Hyang. The tale of the beautiful widow Jeong Hyang, striving to preserve her chastity after losing her husband.
Reading through the summary brought to mind the classic tale Chunhyangjeon.
“Must be inspired by Chunhyangjeon.”
Glancing at the tags on this adult novel, sure enough, there was NTR—and oddly, MTR too.
“They twisted it a bit since they couldn't copy it straight? But those tags are exactly my taste.”
With my fetish for lovers or wives getting stolen away, I figured it'd be fun and dove in slowly.
The plot was straightforward enough. The heroine, Jeong Hyang, lost her husband young and struggled as a widow raising her son Jeong Yun. She was the talk of the village—a renowned beauty, chaste and virtuous. The perfect bait for perverts in an adult novel: falsely accused, dragged to the magistrate's office, forced into his bed.
“No Yi Mongryong to save her like in the original, so it'll end in violation.”
One unique twist was Jeong Hyang's son, Jeong Yun. Desperate to save his mother from the magistrate, the boy thrashed about but lost everything. To spread word of his mother's unjust imprisonment and forced service, he set out—but died at an inn. Jeong Hyang ultimately fell, becoming the magistrate's concubine.
The story was ordinary, but the detailed corruption of the heroine made it decent NTR fare.
“Whew…”
A thick wave of satisfaction washed over me. Not too long-winded, just the right length—it hit perfectly.
“Haven't found a gem like this in ages.”
Quality NTR is rare, and with most set in modern times, a historical one like this was even scarcer.
Wrapped in pleasant fatigue, I passed out cold.
How long had I slept, cradled in that warmth? The first thing I felt was the stifling, sharp heat of late summer.
“Nngh…”
Groaning from the swelter, I shoved off the blanket and tossed. Not the soft microfiber I knew, but some coarse, aged fabric—odd. Then a voice pierced my ears.
“...hot! Still sleeping? Get up already!”
A high, jade-bead voice, scolding yet never rude. Living alone as an adult, having someone wake me felt so alien I couldn't process it.
“Heavens! Your mother comes to rouse you herself, and you laze about? Up with you!”
Smack! A sharp, affectionate sting lashed my back.
“Hwah...?”
Utterly confused, I forced open my heavy eyelids. A mature woman filled my vision, gazing down—compassionate yet firm as she chided her fool of a son.
“Ueh?”
A weird noise escaped me unbidden.
“Still out of it? Up, wash your face, and come out.”
Ink-black hair coiled elegantly, a few strands cascading silkily, dizzying my eyes. Eyes like steadfast pine, infused with the resilience of a widow weathering life's storms alone. Flawless skin like ground pearl, plump red lips begging to be sucked—subtly erotic. Her refined, oval face matched perfectly the tragic heroine Jeong Hyang from the novel's illustration I'd seen before bed.
“J-Jeong Hyang...?”
“You dare call your mother by name?!”
The woman looming over me flew into a rage, pummeling my back. Her strikes were fierce enough to draw yelps; I bolted up in panic. There stood Jeong Hyang in full view. Poor and weathered mourning clothes, yet neat and pure, exuding subtle innocence. Her maternal breasts swelled softly against the fabric, hips broad enough to birth a babe with ease under her skirt. Unconcerned with modesty before her son, the gentle curve of thigh and calf peeking out stirred a male's heart.
“Jeong Yun, up now. Wash and let's eat breakfast.”
“E-eh... e...?”
Jeong Yun? She'd called me that. The dazed voice was mine, no doubt. Looking down in disbelief, I saw worn but tidy mourning clothes like hers.
A thatched house?
Glancing around, the scene of a straw-roofed home I'd never known in life unfolded.
“Wh-what...?”
Jeong Hyang—my body’s mother—had stepped out to prepare breakfast. I sat stunned until she burst back in and smacked my lingering daze away.
What the hell? Possession? Something like that?
Even splashing bone-chilling water on my face didn't wake me. Worse, my reflection showed a stranger's face; I barely stifled a mad scream.
Washed and seated across the table, shoving food in, every nerve fixed on the woman opposite.
Jeong Hyang. At 37, her unbelievable beauty defined "mother" for this body.
So the widow before me is this body's mom, from that adult novel I read before sleep...
What? Did I die? Nutted too hard and keeled over from a heart attack?
In this baffling mess, I couldn't stop devouring her form with my eyes—she was that stunning.
Damn, she's like a painting come alive.
In modern times, she'd get scouted on the street. Maturity turned to allure; her neat, ripe matronly grace drew the eye inexorably. No lie about her village fame—a widow stirring conquest's fire.
“What're you doing? Eat.”
“Ah... uh...”
Her cautious tone left me tongue-tied since earlier.
“You're a man now; time to pull your weight. I asked a friend for work—get ready and go.”
Cold, firm words hid deep love and care for her son.
“Mother.”
The awkward word tumbled out; she beamed, pleased at the address.
“Yes. First day nerves? Why so listless today.”
Her hand—Mom's, no, Jeong Hyang's—brushed my cheek like an electric tingle. Slender fingers gliding ecstatically, lewd urges welled unbidden.
After eating, gearing up to leave, she saw me off.
Just standing there, ramrod straight like pine, pure and noble.
“Th-then... y-your son... will go.”
“Good. No slacking on your first day—do your best.”
Forcing archaic speech tangled my tongue. Still, she smiled warmly, sending me off.
The novel's son grew straight despite poverty—must be her influence.
Her neat, chaste aura soothed body and soul. Every gesture rang with purity and grace—like a living saint. Raised by her, even a delinquent couldn't stray. Seeing her weep bitter tears would rend a son's heart.
Enchanted, I trudged to the job she mentioned, sorting my chaotic thoughts.
This is the novel world, right?
Why possess the son whose mom gets stolen by the magistrate?! I'd rather be the magistrate, wielding power and women!
Because of my tastes? Punishment for that kink?! Or a reward...?
NTR's niche; twisted fetish punishment? Or rewarding the dead loser who couldn't live his dream by shoving me into his body?
I had the tastes but no girlfriend or wife to play with. Who'd accept such perversion?
But starting with MTR-laced NTR? Way too hardcore.
This body shared blood with Jeong Hyang, but my mind was wholly replaced. Incest? Step-son vibes? Debatable.
Idly pondering, I reached the workplace: the village's sole herbalist's home.
“Excuse me.”
Inside, a frail old man who could barely move greeted me. The herb shop reeked of greenery, piled mountain-high.
My job: sort useful herbs from the mess, trim them.
Herbalists were like doctors or pharmacists—lucrative. Even menial pay was generous, competition fierce. How'd Jeong Hyang snag this? Impressive.
Proof of her character?
Her pure, chaste beauty earned trust; folks gave her work. Musing, I got to it.
“What herb is this?”
Modern concrete-jungle me knew zilch about plants.
To sort by use, I had to ask each time.
He glanced, identifying expertly.
“Monghwancho.”
“Monghwancho?”
“Grind and burn it as incense; inhaling makes you trance-like, dreaming awake—hence the name. Loses 30 minutes to an hour of memory. Handle carefully.”
“Whoa...”
Novel world confirmed. Bizarre name and effect from a grass I'd never heard of—I fiddled with it curiously.
Half to one sichen—30 minutes to an hour, yeah?
Barely read wuxia; terms slowed me.
Tsking, he eyed it dubiously—how'd it contaminate his stock?
“No telling how much is mixed; sort and burn 'em all.”
“But sir, you said the smoke dazes the mind?”
“Doesn't work on men. That's why scum hunt it. Pick 'em clean.”
Clear enough: optimized for seducing women.
Pocket some secretly?
Jeong Hyang at home flashed in mind. Better me than the magistrate hogging her side.
Blasphemous heaven-shaking thought; I culled every Monghwancho from the pile.
“Tons of it.”
Like a whole field sprouted. I hauled them near the shop.
“Burn later.”
To get paid, finish on time. Penniless home—miss pay, starve tomorrow. I busted ass.
“Today's wage.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Bowed deep, but coins' value? No clue. Pocketed the jangling silver, left—spotted the unburnt pile.
“Oh, gotta ditch that.”
If he found out, no more hires—stranded in this world, starving. Hid it in a secluded spot.
“Next time.”
Not backbreaking, but labor tired me; hurried home.
Delicious smells wafted.
“I'm back.”
Some rote greeting; entering the yard, Jeong Hyang rushed out barefoot, welcoming.
“Jeong Yun, good work. Not too hard?”
Beaming maternally at her proud son, she hugged me tight. Sweet, faint body scent, plush breasts and softness through her clothes—I froze solid.
“N-not... too bad... no, not at all.”
“Good, good. Learn from the herbalist elder's chores. Kind man, and herb knowledge helps in life.”
“Y-yes...”
Patting my back approvingly, she stepped away. First warmth in ages; craving more praise, I pulled out the pay.
“M-Mother, today's wage.”
Awkward word; my idiot mouth stuttered. Undeterred, she smiled, took it—eyes widened in shock.
“My... he paid well. Good boy. Keep it up.”
Handsome sum; her face bloomed like a flower.
“Hungry, right? Inside—dinner soon.”
She hurried to the kitchen for her famished son. Her fading scent lingered wistfully.
“......This'll drive me insane.”
Jeong Hyang. No, living with that arousing woman—my mom—pure torture unspeakable.