Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 41

Chapter 41: The Blind Widower in the Infinite Game (8)

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The thing that had soaked his pant leg and given him a fright just now was none other than the osprey, returning home after stretching its wings along the coast.

 

It had flown through crashing waves, and most of its feathers were soaked with seawater.

 

Flapping wildly and screeching, it sprayed droplets all over its owner’s face, and the sound alone was enough to make anyone’s eardrums ache.

 

After being pushed off the lighthouse keeper’s shoulder, it hopped twice and tilted its head, eyeing the unfamiliar guest. Surprisingly, it showed no hostility—just curiosity, as if assessing whether this stranger’s shoulder could handle its weight and rough talons.

 

The German Shepherd’s eyes glowed green in the dark, staring at the bird like a wolf. A low growl rumbled from its throat.

 

Shui Que, sweating nervously, tightened the leash.

 

“Coalball, shh—quiet now,” he whispered, gently patting the furry head beside him.

 

The lighthouse keeper gave him a once-over.

 

Compared to his curt “quiet” command and shoving the bird away, the way this man handled his pet seemed overly gentle, even hesitant.

 

He’d read in the monthly papers that city folks treated pets like family or friends.

 

Just like this person.

 

“Lighthouse Keeper…” Shui Que had a habit of pressing his lips together when nervous. He didn’t have much experience asking others for help and didn’t even realize it was impolite to bring up a favor right away when visiting someone’s home. “I wanted to ask you for a favor. Would that be okay? I brought fish and wine.”

 

He lifted the burlap cloth covering the basket.

 

Like offering up a treasure, he presented it—a yellow croaker, still wet, its gills barely moving, and a jar of wine.

 

This kind of fish? The osprey could easily catch two of them in one outing.

 

The lighthouse keeper gave it a cursory glance.

 

His eyes then settled on the man’s lips—made even redder after being pressed together.

 

There was a tiny lip bead nestled in the center of his upper lip.

 

The lighthouse keeper had never seen anyone with lips like that—or perhaps, he’d never paid attention to anyone’s lips before.

 

They were just for speaking—as long as they worked, that was enough.

 

No need for them to be beautiful.

 

He quickly looked away, breaking his own rule of keeping others at arm’s length. Instead of coldly shutting the door, he stepped back and made space.

 

“Come in.”

 

Years of isolation had stripped away any sense of social niceties or conventions.

 

He didn’t bother saying “please,” and didn’t even think twice about inviting a young widower into his home late at night—despite how it might look.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Shui Que, with Coalball in tow, extended his blind cane and tapped cautiously as he stepped up onto the entrance steps.

 

The high-wattage incandescent bulb on the first floor let him barely make out the shapes of the furniture.

 

The lighthouse was built wide at the bottom and narrow at the top. The first floor housed massive equipment and storage cabinets.

 

Shui Que could hear the rumble of a diesel engine.

 

He couldn’t figure out what most of the other bulky equipment was.

 

As he followed the lighthouse keeper’s footsteps, he accidentally kicked a red plastic bag tucked in the corner of the wall—some potatoes rolled out from it.

 

One of them bumped against the heel of the lighthouse keeper’s shoe.

 

“Sorry…” Shui Que realized he had knocked something over.

 

It was a sprouted potato—stored for far too long. The lighthouse wasn’t a suitable place to keep food like that.

 

The man didn’t mind at all. He simply picked it up and tossed it into the trash can.

 

Inside the lighthouse, there was only a spiral staircase with no handrails—extremely dangerous for a blind person.

 

He stood still in front of the stairs. Shui Que, not noticing, walked right into his back, solid as iron and copper.

 

Clutching his bumped forehead, Shui Que asked, “Why did you stop?”

 

The lighthouse keeper was silent for a moment.

 

Then he reached out and took the basket from Shui Que’s hands. Shui Que thought he had accepted the gift and agreed to help—his heart skipped with joy.

 

But in the next second, the lighthouse keeper used his other hand to hoist him up and started climbing the stairs.

 

Shui Que didn’t even have time to react—his feet left the ground in the blink of an eye. Startled, his pupils dilated as he stammered, “W-What are you doing?”

 

In the panic, his white cane fell, the leash slipped out of his hand.

 

The man had no choice but to squat down, pick up the cane, and then continue heading up the stairs.

 

Each step on the spiraling stone staircase made his body rise and fall. His shoulder was hard and jutted out, pressing uncomfortably against Shui Que’s stomach.

 

Still, he understood—the man was just trying to help him up the stairs.

 

It was an awkward position to speak from, and Shui Que’s voice came out muffled, “You could’ve just held my arm and guided me up.”

 

“Too slow,” said the lighthouse keeper, his tone flat and even.

This way of carrying him was really making his stomach feel weird.

 

If it had been anyone else doing this—especially Xie Qian—Shui Que would’ve already lost his temper.


But since he was the one asking for help now, he had no choice but to swallow his pride.

 

He held back his frustration until the man placed him on a stool on the second floor.


The second floor was the living quarters. It was a fairly spacious area, enough to fit basic furniture—a gas stove, solid wood table and chairs, cabinets, and a bed.

 

Next to the bed was a window, through which the wind rushed in noisily. On the nightstand sat an old Remington typewriter.


The lighthouse keeper seemed to have a subtle case of OCD. His room was minimalist and far cleaner than the homes of most single men.

 

Coalball had followed them upstairs and nestled at Shui Que’s feet.


In the corner, a tall standing clock struck eight, its pendulum swaying. An osprey flapped its wings and landed on the clock’s frame, letting out a cry.

 

The basket was casually placed on the table. The lighthouse keeper said, “Wait here.”


Then he headed further upstairs. After dark, he had to wind the rotating mechanism every hour to keep the lens turning, ensuring the light beam rotated 360°—just one of the many exhausting duties of a lighthouse keeper.

 

While he was at it, he would also check that the halogen lamp at the top was working properly.


After passing the turn in the stairs, one could look down from above and see the entire living area.

 

That silly bird stood on the table. The delicate little widower had only lifted his hand halfway, and the bird had already obediently stretched its head under his palm.

 

The lighthouse keeper asked out of nowhere, “Are you a princess?”

 

“Huh?” Shui Que was startled. He looked up toward the source of the voice. “Are you talking to me?”

 

“Who else here can talk besides you?” The man came down the stone steps, pulled out the chair opposite Shui Que, and sat down.

 

Only fairy tale princesses—those made-up ones for kids—looked like him: fair-skinned and naturally beloved by animals.

 

Shui Que didn’t understand why he was being asked this and replied awkwardly, “I’m a guy…”

 

The lighthouse keeper touched the teapot on the table. It was still warm. He poured two cups of tea and pushed one toward Shui Que.

 

His gaze swept over and paused. His brows furrowed. “Where’s the fish?”

 

The basket was empty except for that jar of wine.

 

“Little Hawk just… ate it.” Shui Que’s eyelashes trembled like butterfly wings. To hide his guilt, he kept petting the osprey’s head.

 

In truth, he had fed the fish to the osprey himself.

 

He couldn’t very well refuse to help after eating something Shui Que brought, could he?


…Although putting it like that made it sound a little sneaky.

 

The osprey tilted its head innocently.

 

The lighthouse keeper drank the tea in one gulp and placed the cup back on the table.


Shui Que opened the wine jar, planning to pour him some.

 

“No need.” The man’s hoarse voice, now soothed by tea, remained low and gravelly. “I need to stay clear-headed while working.”

 

Having accepted that, the lighthouse keeper asked, “What do you want me to do?”

 

Shui Que held the teacup with both hands, lightly tapping the porcelain with his index finger. He told him everything about Yuan Yu, expressing his hope that the man would help put in a good word with the old principal.

 

The lighthouse keeper’s eyes were a quiet shade of gray, like some kind of bird’s. He watched Shui Que silently, not saying a word until the story was finished.

 

The old principal was his grand-uncle.

 

That was why Shui Que had come to him.

 

Shui Que said, “I’m sorry to trouble you.”

 

His fluttering eyelashes completely gave away his nervousness.

 

After a moment, the lighthouse keeper said slowly, “That’s not enough.”

 

But he didn’t outright reject him either.

 

Shui Que looked up. “Is there something else you need?”

 

The incandescent bulb on the second floor had burnt out recently. He’d replaced it with a backup, though the wattage was lower. Still, it didn’t stop him from clearly seeing Shui Que’s lips move as he spoke.

 

The tip of his tongue, red and slightly moist, peeked out every now and then.

 

The lighthouse keeper asked, “Is that Yuan Zhou’s favorite wine?”

 

“Mm… yeah.”


He’d found it in Yuan Zhou’s room, so it had to be something Yuan Zhou liked.

 

Shui Que’s answer was too brief. His eyes missed the flash of red. The lighthouse keeper’s pale gray eyes half-closed—not exactly disappointed, but something close—as he continued:

“What does it taste like?”

 

Shui Que took a sip of tea and replied honestly, “I’ve never tried it.”

 

The lighthouse keeper’s gaze locked onto him again. His well-defined features gave off an impression of integrity.

 

“He didn’t eat your tongue after drinking it?”

 

He made the act of kissing sound crude and graphic.

 

Shui Que was stunned and stammered, “N-no, he didn’t.”

 

“Oh.” The lighthouse keeper nodded. Just as Shui Que thought the questions were over, he asked again,


“So does he not eat your tongue after drinking, or does he not kiss you at all?”

 

Even his eyelids flushed a light red when he got flustered, not just his cheeks.

 

The lighthouse keeper silently observed him.

 

How was he supposed to answer that?

 

According to the background story, he and Yuan Zhou were lovers, so… they must have kissed before, right?

 

Shui Que hesitated, as if answering this question would use up all his energy. “He doesn’t… kiss me after drinking.”

 

The lighthouse keeper asked, “Then when does he kiss you?”

 

Shui Que didn’t respond.

 

His expression didn’t change, but his questions became more aggressive—

 

“How many times a day do you kiss?”

 

“When you kiss…”

 

“Does he lick your tongue and swallow your saliva?”

 

Unable to bear it anymore, Shui Que raised his voice sharply: “Stop asking!”

 

He was angry now.

 

The lighthouse keeper fell silent.

 

“…”

 

【Stop asking! Can’t you see our baby bird is mad now!】


【All these questions… If you’ve got the guts, just kiss him already.】


【It’s like someone matched my baby with a rough, dark-skinned, honest man… but turns out he’s a pervy lunatic who just wants to ravage my baby’s little mouth.】

 

When sending him off at the door, the man said:

“I’ll do what I promised.”


“I enjoyed talking with you.”


“Come again next time.”

 

Shui Que: “…”

 

Now he was really mad.

 

He didn’t get home until nearly 10:30 p.m. Yuan Yu still wasn’t back. Shui Que locked the doors and windows and went straight to bed.

 

The next morning, Monday, Yuan Yu had school. He came into the room to tell him there was porridge keeping warm in the pot so he could eat before it got cold.

 

“One of the yellow croakers in the water tank is missing,” he said. “Did someone come into the yard last night?”

 

Half-asleep, Shui Que mumbled nonsense: “Must’ve swum off on its own…”

 

Yuan Yu glanced at him but didn’t press the issue.

 

＊

 

Not long after Yuan Yu left, the sky darkened and it started pouring.


Shui Que had to use an umbrella just to walk over to the tile-roofed house and get porridge.

 

The rain continued into the afternoon.

 

Yuan Yu still hadn’t come back.


Shui Que ate some leftover porridge to fill his stomach.

 

The rain felt endless.


Although Yuan Yu had mentioned there was a cafeteria at school, he usually came home for lunch.


Had he forgotten to bring an umbrella?

 

Worried, Shui Que fretted all afternoon before deciding to bring Yuan Yu one.

 

Normally, it was a parent’s job to send their kid an umbrella, right?

 

Shui Que figured he counted as half a guardian to Yuan Yu, at least for the duration of this scenario.

 

He put on a transparent raincoat and yellow galoshes, held an umbrella in his right hand, and packed a spare one in his backpack.

 

He refilled Coalball’s bowl, locked the house up, and tapped his white cane as he went out.

 

Once in town, he walked beneath shop eaves to avoid the wind and rain.

 

Suddenly, someone called out to him from the corner.

 

It was Li Jianshan’s voice. “Shui Que! What a coincidence, you’re out too?”

 

It was dim out, and only when they got closer did Shui Que see several figures.

 

He nodded. “Mm. Why are you all outside?”

 

“Ugh, don’t even ask.” Li Jianshan, also wearing a raincoat, waved his hand. “The few of us have picked up five or six side quests these past couple days—stupid little errands like helping the village committee kill rats in the sewers, or patching up muddy trails… We’ve practically run around the whole island, and the main quest hasn’t made any progress!”

 

“It’s pouring rain right now, and we still have to help Aunt Wu find her six missing ducks.”

 

Xie Huahuang’s voice was gentle, unlike Li Jianshan’s irritable and impatient tone.

 

“What about you, Shui Que? Did you find anything?”

 

Atticus’s blond hair was a messy mop, his bangs clumped together in the wind and rain. His brows were sharp, and his tone harsh and biting. “What could he have possibly found? Probably too busy making friends with the local high school boys.”

 

He was referring to that time he saw Guan Yizhou carrying Shui Que on his back, and how lately, the name “Shui Que” had been popping up in the conversations of boys from the nearby school.

 

Just thinking about it made Atticus irrationally angry.

 

Why does this guy flirt with everyone wherever he goes?

 

It wasn’t the first time.

 

Back at the gaming hall, Atticus had been waiting for someone to finish a instance run.

 

Then this guy suddenly latched onto his arm, whining about why it took him so long just to sell an item.

 

The problem was, Atticus didn’t even know him.

 

Then he said he was so tired from waiting that Atticus should carry him on his back.

 

Atticus, confused and stunned, actually squatted down. But in the blink of an eye, the guy got yanked away by Xie Qian, who looked furious.

 

“Did I get the wrong person…?”

 

Atticus overheard the boy ask as they walked away. Xie Qian said something in return.

 

The boy seemed to have a temper: “Why are you yelling at me? I only got it wrong because you were gone so long. It’s your fault I was embarrassed.”

 

Xie Qian could only coax him: “Yes yes yes, you’re absolutely right. It’s all my fault. I arrived late—please forgive your humble servant.”

 

The other players in the lobby had all turned to stare at Atticus with strange looks, and he suddenly felt like a complete clown—just a background prop in their couple act.

 

And now, when they met again in this instance, that guy had the nerve to forget all about him.

 

Shui Que didn’t understand why Atticus was suddenly so hostile. Sure, his reputation wasn’t exactly spotless, but even Chu Jingting wasn’t this mean to him.

 

He decided to ignore Atticus altogether.

 

“I went to the lighthouse on East Hill,” Shui Que reported to Xie Huahuang.

 

Chu Jingting abruptly asked, “You went inside?”

 

Shui Que replied that he went last night, and added that the lighthouse was likely the iconic building in the main storyline quest—since they’d already explored most of the island over the past couple days, it ruled out the other landmarks.

 

He felt quite proud of his analysis.


But Chu Jingting nitpicked his wording, his expression growing darker, and out of nowhere he asked, “You went to the lighthouse last night?”

 

The lighthouse keeper had refused to let their group enter, even after they offered a list of conditions no ordinary person would reject.


A single man, nearly 30, opening the door late at night for a pretty young guy who just showed up?

 

You didn’t need to think too hard—there was something suspicious going on.

 

Chu Jingting let out a cold laugh and asked icily, “What did he make you do?”

 

“Nothing…” Shui Que recalled the events of the previous night, feeling a wave of awkwardness. Guiltily, he fidgeted with his fingers. “I brought fish and wine, then we just chatted for a while.”

 

If you ignored the second half of their conversation, honestly, the night had been quite normal.

 

Usually not very talkative, Li Jianshan hesitated but offered a suggestion, “Maybe what Shui Que brought was more to the lighthouse keeper’s taste? What kind of fish and wine did you bring? We can go buy the same kind, and then Shui Que can take us inside. That would complete half of the main quest’s first phase, right?”

 

According to the first main quest, Shui Que had to assist them in touring Thousand Smoke Island for it to be considered complete.

 

Atticus and Chu Jingting had the same thought at that moment.

 

But Atticus’s thinking—and the way he spoke—was far cruder and full of malice.

 

“No need for any fish or wine,” the blond young man said, enunciating every word. “Just give him a little wink, and any guy will lose his mind over you, act like your dog—best if it’s in bed.”

 

Shui Que froze. All the color drained from his face.

 

【Try talking to my baby like that one more time.】


【Mouthy jerks get sentenced to eternal singleness. I’m the cyber judge, and that’s my ruling.】


【Baby, baby, are you about to cry?】

 

The sky turned pitch black, a white flash streaked through it.


Thunder crashed across the heavens just as a loud slap sounded on the street, impossible to tell which was louder.

 

The rain intensified.

 

Atticus hissed through clenched teeth, inhaling sharply. A bright red handprint bloomed on the left side of his face. He lifted his eyes, asking, “Hey, are you crying?”

 

Shui Que kept his head down, chin tucked into the collar of his raincoat. No one could see his expression.

 

Rain flew in slanted under the umbrella, soaking his cheeks.

His voice was barely audible: “I’m leaving first.”

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Huge shoutout to @candycorns2 on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.

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