Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 52

Chapter 52: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (1)

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Why was it this Overseer again?

 

Didn’t the overseeing department have any other staff?

 

But now wasn’t the time to argue with Overseer 01.

 

If he didn’t hurry, the male lead would be off the bridge soon!

 

Shui Que pressed his lips together.

 

He still remembered he was supposed to be faking a twisted ankle, so when he chased after the man, he made sure to hop awkwardly.

 

He hurriedly grabbed the sleeve of the young man in coarse robes.

 

The hand under that sleeve was holding two scrolls, tied together with a thin hemp string.

 

Qi Chaojin half-lowered his eyelids and brushed off the hand grabbing his sleeve. “…What is it?”

 

He didn’t recognize the face. It seemed unfamiliar.

 

Shui Que didn’t give up after being brushed off. He was still balancing on one foot, his eyes drooping—reddened, either from the sun or something else—making him look pitiful.

 

In a soft, timid voice, he asked, “Kind sir… I twisted my ankle. Could you please help me?”

 

His lips were naturally red, and his appearance was pure, but there was something subtly alluring about it.

 

If it hadn’t been noon, he would’ve looked like one of those fox spirits from street novels, the kind that preyed on passing scholars.

 

Qi Chaojin’s face remained unchanged. He replied in a calm voice, “You got it wrong.”

 

Shui Que blinked slowly, not understanding. “What…?”

 

“Your foot.” Qi Chaojin raised his hand and pointed to the one Shui Que was holding up. “When you said it hurt earlier, it was your left foot.”

 

Shui Que sheepishly lowered his right foot.

 

How awkward…

 

In his rush to catch up, he had forgotten which foot he had “twisted.”

 

People were streaming back and forth across Bazi Bridge, shoulders brushing, and many turned to curiously glance at the two handsome young men.

 

Qi Chaojin had no intention of being anyone’s entertainment. He half-lowered his eyes and glanced at the embarrassed Shui Que.

 

There was no visible emotion in his eyes.

 

He simply turned and walked away without another word.

 

Shui Que didn’t care anymore whether this counted as scamming someone. Since he’d already been found out, he jogged to catch up.

 

The male lead was clearly already of age. Though lean, he was tall and strong, striding forward with long, purposeful steps.

 

After entering this world, Shui Que realized he was now a bit shorter than usual. The system said it had adjusted his body to be about eighteen years old to fit the setting.

 

It wasn’t a huge difference from before, but it made him look more delicate and youthful—like a young bamboo shoot just breaking through the soil.

 

The male lead was a full head taller. Shui Que had to rush to keep up.

 

Past Bazi Bridge, shops lined the streets. The place was packed with hawkers and laborers. Leftover goods from the morning market—like dried meats, organs, buns, chicken bits, and other street foods—were still being sold. The street stretched for dozens of miles, full of lively bustle.

 

Jostled shoulder to shoulder, people coming from the east and going west—Shui Que was nearly swallowed by the crowd.

 

Up ahead, someone seemed to sigh. At the quieter end of the street, where the crowd thinned out, he came to a stop and turned around. His expression was cold, brows drawn tight as he stared at the person trailing him like a little tail.

 

“Stop following me.”

 

Shui Que’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t know how to explain.

 

Gurgle.

 

Qi Chaojin’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the tips of Shui Que’s ears, which had flushed red.

 

“I… I didn’t eat breakfast…” Shui Que stammered.

 

That stomach growl couldn’t have come at a worse time.

 

Six copper coins clinked crisply onto the wooden table. The stall’s sign bore two calligraphed characters: Yun Ji.

 

“Uncle Yun, two sour buns,” Qi Chaojin said.

 

“Coming right up.” The shopkeeper pulled two buns from the steaming basket, wrapped them in oil paper, and handed them to Qi Chaojin. The steam curled lazily in the air. He took a few curious glances at the person following Qi Chaojin.

 

“My, what a fine-looking young lad. Qi Erlang*, this a relative of yours? Looks unfamiliar.”

Note: Qi Chaojin is a second son so he can be called Erlang which basically mean second son Qi.

 

Qi Chaojin lowered his eyes slightly, his lips tight and stiff as a string, clearly denying the guess. “…No.”

 

He stepped away from the stall so he wouldn’t block other customers, then handed the two buns, wrapped in oil paper, to Shui Que.

 

The sour buns were fresh from the steamer, still piping hot and letting off thick wisps of steam.

 

Shui Que reached out to take them, but the moment his fingers brushed the paper, he flinched back like a kitten that had burned its tongue.

 

The tips of his fingers were scalded red.

 

He cautiously looked up and met Qi Chaojin’s gaze.


“It’s a bit hot…”

 

Qi Chaojin: “…”

 

Shui Que pinched his fingers, which still held the lingering warmth of the bun.


Someone had kindly bought him the bun, and here he was, complaining it was too hot—how ungrateful that must’ve sounded…

 

Qi Chaojin still held his hand up. “…Eat.”

 

The sour filling was actually just a vegetable bun. The wrapper was the right thickness, and the vegetables inside were steamed until soft. Shui Que ate directly from Qi Chaojin’s hand, taking a bite or two before blowing on it to cool it down.

 

…His breath kept blowing onto Qi Chaojin’s hand.

 

It was warm and soft, like feathers tickling his palm—it made him itch.

 

Qi Chaojin furrowed his brow, bearing it silently.

 

Sunlight streamed down, but they hid beneath the eaves for shade.

 

After finishing, Shui Que licked his lips with the tip of his tongue and looked up at him. “Thank you.”

 

A hint of moist red flickered briefly.

 

It felt like feeding a stray little raccoon roaming the streets.

 

Qi Chaojin said, “You’ve had the sour bun. Stop following me. If your ankle’s twisted, go to the clinic in the alley across the way.”

 

Shui Que, thinking Qi Chaojin’s softened attitude meant the male lead was finally aligning with the plot, hadn’t expected this was all a one-time charity deal. He wanted to shake him off.

 

So he hurried to follow him again.

 

At the end of this street lay the southwest gate of Changzhou County. Beyond that, on both sides were fields and water meadows. The dirt path was flat at first, but as they continued, it became increasingly rugged and narrow. The neat fields fell behind, replaced by sparse mountains and woods ahead.

 

Qi Chaojin had walked this path for over a decade. He moved with steady, quick steps, like treading flat ground.

 

Shui Que could only trail behind, kicking up dust.

 

After they descended a slope and crossed a small river, Qi Chaojin no longer heard hurried footsteps behind him.

 

Had he finally given up?

 

Further ahead was Jiulong Town.

 

Compared to Changzhou County, the town was poorer. Looking up at the hills, one could only see thatched cottages and bamboo fences—tile-roofed houses were rare. Anyone could tell with one look that life here was hard. If someone wanted to swindle money, Qi Chaojin was the worst target.

 

The footsteps were gone.

 

Qi Chaojin paused and looked back.

 

The person who had been following him was now far behind, in the middle of the river.

 

Shui Que had fallen in, soaked.

 

It was actually a very shallow river, not wide either. Its water flow barely surpassed that of a creek—just enough to be called a river. Some previous travelers had placed large stones across the riverbed, and the water only reached up to the knees, just below the top of the stones, allowing others to cross without soaking their shoes or socks.

 

But over the years, moss had coated the stones.

 

Shui Que hadn’t stepped firmly—he slipped and fell in with a splash.

 

This time he was actually injured, banging his knee.

 

System 77 circled around him in distress: [Such a heartless male lead! The male lead is mean!]

 

Shui Que sucked in a few cold breaths, too rushed to even check his injury.

 

The silk cap he had been holding floated from his hand and drifted in the water. He stretched out his arm to retrieve it. The current kept pulling it eastward. The moment his fingers brushed the edge of the hat, it pushed it even farther away.

 

That silk cap had been part of his starter gear, bought with System 77’s points!

 

A hand picked up the hat.

 

Its fingers were slender, with thick calluses covering the middle finger.

 

The book was placed on the edge of the field.

 

Qi Chaojin silently shook the water off the silk cap, then reached out and pulled Shui Que up.

 

He asked, “Where’s your home?”

 

The soaked youth in plain summer clothes, still dripping water, shook his head.

 

“I—I don’t have a home…”

 

This time, he wasn’t lying.

 

In this world, Shui Que’s character never had a background. The plot never once explained where he came from. It was as if he’d just appeared out of thin air, his first scene being taken in by the male lead.

 

To make his story more convincing, he added, “I hit my head. I only remember that I’m called Shui Que. Everything else is blank.”

 

His eyes were clear and didn’t seem deceitful.

 

Shui Que looked straight at him.

 

This river was far from any village or shop. Surely the male lead wouldn’t be so heartless as to just leave him here?

 

Qi Chaojin frowned tightly and finally relented. “Come with me.”

 

“No.” Shui Que said, and when Qi Chaojin turned to look at him—seemingly annoyed by his inconsistency—he softened his tone and said, “I fell… this time I’m not lying, I hit both sides.”

 

As he spoke, he reached down to roll up his trousers and show the bruises on his knees.

 

Qi Chaojin: “…”

 

“Get on.” He turned his back to Shui Que and crouched down.

 

Though lean, his shoulders were broad under his plain hemp shirt.

 

Shui Que twisted his clothes, wringing out a handful of river water. Hesitantly, he said, “I’m all wet. Maybe you could just help me walk?”

 

Qi Chaojin’s temple twitched. He forced himself to remain calm. “Get on, or we’ll still be walking when the sun sets.”

 

Shui Que mumbled, “I’m not as slow as you think…”

 

But since the other had agreed, he climbed onto Qi Chaojin’s back.

 

Qi Chaojin handed the silk cap back to him. “Hold this yourself.”

 

Shui Que: “Mm-hmm.”

 

With one hand holding the book and the other steadying Shui Que, Qi Chaojin inevitably ended up touching a very soft spot.

 

He looked visibly uncomfortable.

 

Shui Que seemed to notice his struggle.

 

It was clearly impossible to carry someone with just one hand.

He wiped his wet hands on the back of Qi Chaojin’s shirt. As he did, he said, “My clothes are wet, and the more I wipe, the wetter it gets. Your clothes are still dry… sorry.”

 

Then, with clean hands, he reached out. “I’ll carry your book.”

 

Now that his hands were dry, he wouldn’t get the book wet.

 

Qi Chaojin: “…”

 

After a long silence, the book ended up in Shui Que’s hands.

 

*

 

Qi Chaojin lived in Qinghe Village, part of Jiulong Town. Even walking fast, it took at least half an hour to get there from Changzhou County. In the winter, when it snowed, it took even longer—by a few sticks of incense.

 

The mountain path was winding and hard to travel.

 

It wasn’t until they reached the outskirts of Qinghe Village that the view finally opened up.

 

Neat rows of houses stood under the shade of green trees mirrored in the water. Along the riverbank stretched a grove of orange trees—likely grown by local families who sold the fruit in Changzhou.

 

Qi Chaojin’s home sat at the foot of the mountain, with a small river curling around the outer edge of the yard.

 

The courtyard was enclosed by a bamboo fence, with a bamboo gate fastened by a bronze lock tinted green from age.

 

Entering the courtyard, straight ahead stood the main house, bright and open. To the left and right were two smaller huts used for storage or other daily needs.

 

All the buildings were made of mud walls, topped with thatched roofs woven from straw, reeds, and wheat stalks. Though modestly built, the windows were clean, and the fences were sturdy and well-kept.

 

In the main room just past the front door, Qi Chaojin set Shui Que down on a round rattan stool by the wall.

 

Like most rural households, they kept some medicinal wine on hand for bruises and sprains. He found a bottle in the cupboard and asked Shui Que to roll up his pants.

 

The scab from the fall in the last world had already healed, but there was still a faint reddish mark. After today’s tumble, there was no broken skin, but his leg was bruised in alarming shades of blue and purple.

 

Qi Chaojin poured some of the medicinal wine onto his own hand and pressed down on Shui Que’s knee to rub it in.

 

Shui Que kept trembling as he worked, so Qi Chaojin had to hold his leg still, otherwise the wine wouldn’t take effect.

 

His skin was soft and smooth—clearly not someone raised in a farming family.

 

Qi Chaojin was sure of it.

 

The rest of his calf was pale as spring snow. When he removed the shoes and socks, Shui Que’s toes were round and dainty, his nails evenly pink like delicate wildflowers in the mountains.

 

Qi Chaojin had Shui Que change out of his damp clothes into one of his old outfits.

 

They didn’t have many clothes at home to begin with. This one he had dug out from the bottom of a trunk—something he wore before he’d grown taller. Fortunately, it still fit.

 

The hemp shirt, worn soft and thin with time, still rubbed Shui Que’s skin red.

 

Even the pampered youngest sons of wealthy landlords weren’t raised this delicately.

 

Qi Chaojin frowned slightly, eyes catching on the intricate design of the longevity locket hanging from Shui Que’s neck.

 

Better hand him over to the authorities tomorrow.

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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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