I was a little rooster. Early on, Mommy and Daddy were slaughtered for food. I didn’t even know whose stomach they went into.There were probably not even bones left.
But I wasn’t completely alone. I had a bunch of chicken friends who lived in the same coop as me, and there was also my very important owner who carefully raised and fed me everyday.
Owner took care of the land on the mountains that was passed down from his ancestors, and he used it to raise us chickens. Me and my friends had a lot of freedom. We didn’t have to be locked up all day in a dark and narrow cage. During the day, we could run about on the mountain and fool around. At night, we would obediently go back to the coop and sleep in a warm nest made of hay.
During holidays, Owner was very generous. He would send us hens. All of them were good hens as they didn’t grow up eating fodders and weren’t injected with hormones.
I thought life would continue like this. When I grew up, I would mate with a hen and give birth to chicks. Then, just like my daddy and mommy, I would eventually enter someone’s stomach. But…
But everything changed.
After raining for an entire week, the whole world was altered. It wasn’t the end of the world, but all the hens became sick and died one after another. There were barely any hens left on earth, and they were close to extinction.
Usually, the hens who were raised separately would only have one or two roosters within their flock. The presence of a rooster could induce the hen’s sexual desire and facilitate the hen’s hormonal secretion, thus increasing the production of eggs.
If it was a high-quality rooster that came from a foreign land, it would be much more favourable and optimal for breeding. It would be able to improve the chicks’ immune systems and subsequently have stronger chickens. Furthermore, having a rooster to lead the flock of chickens could make them get along better and be more orderly.
Before, a rooster would be surrounded by many hens. But now, in each of the owner’s numerous chicken coops, a hen was surrounded by a bunch of unsatisfied roosters. All of them were fighting to be first. Since they held back for so long, they were now all very thirsty.
As a pure, young chick, I turned my butt to them and didn’t dare look at such a mature scene.
Owner also shook his head and sighed. If there were too many roosters, it was very likely that the chickens would fight each other for the chance to mate first. And because of their fights, the hen would be injured, causing the fertilization rate to drop greatly.
As each day passed, the number of hens decreased. And then one day, Owner’s last hen died as well.
Owner almost cried himself blind. Day after day, he wasn’t in the mood for tea or food. Actually, no, he drank pomelo tea. Owner crazily downed three boxes, drinking continuously for three days before he finally came out of his pain.
In fact, my owner had a unique trait: he loved to drink pomelo tea. He drank it when he was happy, and he also drank it when he was sad. People would normally drink alcohol to numb their pain, but my owner was special. He drank pomelo tea.
Because the last hen had died, many roosters now tried to sneak away to look for a new owner.
They weren’t expecting to live better lives, but there would at least be hens for them to mate with. Else, their vigor had nowhere to be relieved, and they would suffocate from holding back too much.
As the roosters escaped, the number of good-quality chickens gradually decreased, and the number of eggs dropped greatly. Owner was unable to sell his chickens, and as each day passed, the situation got worse and worse. Eventually, Owner ran out of chickens and eggs to sell.
Since Owner didn’t earn any money, he got poorer and poorer.
And as a result, he hugged me everyday, crying out, “I’m too poor! I will soon be unable to afford pomelo tea!”
Pomelo tea was definitely Owner’s true love.
I was deeply concerned. I felt that if the day when he couldn’t afford to drink pomelo tea truly came, he would perish together with us chickens.
Either he would sell us cheaply, gift us to others, or slaughter all of us for food and eat himself to death.
Owner had great potential to go crazy. If this went on, Owner would really go crazy due to poverty!
Fortunately, with the advancement of science and technology as well as economic development, scientists and biologists have developed a type of hormone—the magical ABO hormone.
With this hormone, even a rooster could give birth to a chick. But it all depended on what type of chicken they mutated into after the injection.
The type depended on their genes as well as their subsequent development. For example, if a chicken was born with bad genes, it still had a chance to become an excellent Alpha chicken or even an extremely precious Omega chicken if it was well-taken care of during its growth.
In short, the Omega chicken was currently the most precious chicken and the most lacking in numbers. The Alpha chicken’s genes were excellent, and the chickens were of a superior quality. Their numbers landed around the middle range. The greatest in number were the Beta chickens. Since they appeared frequently, they were considered common and were the cheapest chicken in the market.
The one-hundred percent success-rate for the mutation to an Omega chicken still wasn’t developed. Rumours floated around saying that the most lucky foreign chicken farm only achieved a success-rate of eighty percent. Owner wasn’t very ambitious, so he didn’t expect himself to get many Omega chickens. In the end, he would be content if he could get at least a little more Alpha chickens.
In the region where Owner and I lived, the success-rate of mutating chickens to Alpha chickens for the neighbouring mountain was more than fifty percent. More than half of the chickens were Alphas, so Owner had some level of confidence considering the similar living environment as well as Owner’s meticulous care for us everyday. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as he wished for—
Amongst all of Owner’s chickens, none of them became an Alpha chicken! There wasn’t any Omega chicken that could give birth too!!!
Owner was extremely confused. He became suspicious of the possibility that he bought fake ABO hormones.
After checking with the seller and confirming that the hormones were real, he started questioning his life. Three days later, Owner who had given up all hope made up his mind to hug all of his pomelo tea and jump into the river to commit suicide.
All the chickens were shocked. They all tried to “fly” up to stop the owner.
I usually had a slow reaction time, and it was the same case for me this time. The effect of the ABO hormone on me was slower than the other chickens by three days, but I had successfully mutated into an Omega chicken.
Owner no longer tried to commit suicide. He stared at me with bright, shining eyes and saw his hope.
Owner: “You are my little angel!”
I was a little disgusted by him, and goosebumps appeared all over my body.
However, I was disappointed
What happened to the Omega’s pheromones that were like an aphrodisiac which will attract the Alpha chicken?
What happened to an Omega chicken being the most precious chicken that had a guaranteed fertility rate?
What happened to our agreement to be each other’s angel!
—Owner roared in anger.
I stuttered in shock.
“You’re not my angel chicken.”
After speaking that last sentence, Owner once again bought many boxes of pomelo tea and started drinking day and night.
I really worried that he would drink himself sick.
I understood that Owner felt I was useless. He was disappointed in me, and I hated myself too.
Even though every chicken in the world had been mutated by the ABO hormones, even though I had become the most desired Omega type chicken, there was always an exception. There would always be that one unlucky chicken.
And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was that unlucky chicken.
I had been too embarrassed to admit it before, but I was actually very ugly.
I was very thin and small. No matter how much I ate, I never got fat. My cockscomb didn’t stand up high above my head. The feathers on my body spread unevenly, and the color was lackluster. There were also very few feathers on my tail. Ever since I was born, my tail had been seemingly bald and ugly.
Now that I had become an Omega chicken, Owner had been feeding me with the best food. But I was still as thin and small as before. No matter how much I ate, I still wouldn’t get fat. Worry overcame Owner, and he invited the most famous local vet to check on me.
The vet wore a pair of spectacles. He inspected me for a good while, then reinspected me again. In the end, he showed a regretful expression.
He said that as an Omega chicken, not only was I unable to release any pheromones, I was unable to grow fat. He suspected that it would probably be easy for me to experience obstructed labour and might even be unable to give birth at all.
An Omega chicken like me was quite a waste of resources.
Owner chased the vet away in anger.
This was the first time Owner got so angry. It was different from how he usually messed with us. He could scold us stupid chickens and be disgusted by our uselessness, but he would not allow someone else to criticize us!
In reality, Owner was very worried about me. He spent a lot of money and effort to raise me well. The other Beta chickens felt envious, saying I was just second to pomelo tea.
I was surprised by the pampering I received. But at the same time, I felt guilty.
Even though I was clearly an Omega chicken, I wasn’t able to attract an Alpha’s affection. I also couldn’t give birth to chicks and help share Owner’s burden.
Sigh. I must be the most useless Omega chicken there ever was. There was no use in me living.
Nevertheless, life was precious. And to be honest, I didn’t wish to die at all. I remembered what my mommy told me before she left.
Mommy told me that she loved me a lot. She asked me to continue living well and stay strong with the chicken I love.
Owner accepted the cruel fact after a few days. He touched my bald tail and said, “Just stay with me.”
I was thin, small, and ugly. No one wanted to eat me. And no chicken that liked me wanted to mate with me. I might not even be able to give birth to a chick.
And yet, the Owner asked for me to stay with him.
Except for me, an Omega chicken, the rest of Owner’s flock were ordinary Beta chickens.
Distressed, Owner frequently lamented, “Sigh, what should I do with you silly B chickens?”
The bunch of silly Beta chickens were unhappy, and they shouted, “Owner! Owner! We’re actually the most normal kind of chicken! But the power of the masses is the greatest!”
Although the bunch of Beta chickens were going with the route of “power of the mass”, they were actually extremely envious of an Alpha chicken’s tall, handsome physique and their majestic aura. Many of them wished to mate with an Alpha chicken to give birth to a chick as well.
Technology continued to advance. Now, the market was trending with a new product: the ABO mutation modifier. It was rumoured that the modifier could convert the most common and numerous Beta chicken to an Alpha chicken.
Seeing a new business opportunity, a few people started building specialized schools. These schools contained teachers and instructors in charge of shaping the newly modified Beta chickens into top Alpha chickens.
Under the government’s control, the ABO hormone was sold cheaply. However, the newly invented modifier was very expensive, and sending chickens to the schools required school fees. Owner didn’t earn much, he didn’t dare squander his money. He carefully selected the most excellent Beta rooster amongst the bunch of silly Beta chickens.
As he was the oldest, I had always called him “Silly Brother B” in my heart.
Owner patted Silly Brother B and said, “I’m depending on you!”
Silly Brother B, who was greatly encouraged by the others, raised his head high and was very confident of himself.
Before Silly Brother B left for school, I waved my thin chicken feet and said, “Silly Brother B, have a safe trip.”
Silly Brother B: …
I knew that he absolutely remembered me. Owner didn’t actually give him a name, so after I shouted “Silly Brother B”, everyone silently accepted it.
Oh, so he was called “Silly Brother B”
One day while I swam and bathed in the river, I picked up a rooster.
Initially, I thought he was a perverted chicken that wanted to peep at me. But he turned out to be a “sick chicken”. His eyes were badly swollen, and it was evident he couldn’t see anymore due to the injury.
This rooster was unconscious. I think he floated down from upstream, and I was surprised he could stay afloat in the water with his fat body. I jabbed him curiously. Then, two of our feathers got tangled together.
Eh?! I was tied to him.
What is this! For my entire life, this is the first time I have met such an unscientific situation!
Nevertheless, it still happened.
Since I wanted to go ashore, I could only drag him along. After this chicken regained his consciousness, he kept calling me his “saviour chicken”.
I felt awkward.
It wasn’t my intention to save him. I just so happened to see him and picked him up.
But the fat and blind chicken said insistently that I had saved him. Fine, if he says so then.
Since the fat, blind chicken labeled me as his “saviour chicken”, I felt bad if I just left him be. So in the end, I decided to be a good chicken till the end and save the chicken completely. I brought him back to my chicken coop.
Of course, this did not escape Owner’s eyes.
I had always been slow. As he was fat and blind, I didn’t really think about this chicken’s gender.
Oh my god! He was actually an Alpha chicken!
Owner’s eyes shone brightly, and he happily said, “Perfect! I don’t have to save up money to buy an Alpha chicken anymore. I can use this sum of money to buy pomelo tea. Hahaha…”
Owner was definitely insane. He was a pomelo tea lunatic!
Just like that, the foreign chicken I accidentally picked up turned out to be an Alpha chicken with excellent genes.
Shouldn’t Alpha chickens be like gods? This chicken was fat and blind. He was too pitiful.
Sympathy overflowed from my heart and awakened my fatherly love.
Being called “saviour chicken” by him made me feel guilty, so I introduced myself, “I’m called Xiao Ji, an Omega chicken living on this mountain. What is your name?”
I forgot to mention that I am a chicken with a name. I’m called “Xiao Ji”.
Ugh, you could easily tell that my name was given by an uneducated owner. But I didn’t mind. I understood that my owner didn’t get to study much and was busy with drinking pomelo tea and raising chickens.
Stunned, I quickly corrected him, “No, I’m Xiao Ji.”
“Xiao Jiji, I’m called Da Ji.”
The name was surprisingly simple and rough. The rumours could not be trusted. All the fairy tales were a lie.
Xiao Jiji – Xiao Ji introduced himself as Xiao Ji(小纪), which sound like little chicken. The fat chicken added another Ji (鸡 – chicken) into Xiao Ji’s name, making it Xiao Jiji(小纪鸡), which sounds like Little Cock. Pun intended.