Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 55

Chapter 55: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (4)

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He slept soundly through the night, dreamless until morning.

 

It had already been several days since he came to this world, and he was gradually getting used to this life of rising with the sun and resting at dusk. So when the rooster from a nearby household crowed today, he woke up right away.

 

Qi Chaojin was already in the courtyard slaughtering a chicken. After scalding it with boiling water, he plucked its feathers. A bowl full of chicken blood now sat on the counter in the kitchen.

 

Shui Que crouched down and looked at him curiously. “Qi Lang, why are there dark circles around your eyes? Did you not sleep last night?”

 

Qi Chaojin continued plucking feathers from the pheasant without stopping. Seeing Shui Que approach, he scooped a ladle of water from the wooden bucket to rinse off the gamey smell of the bird.

 

He didn’t even lift his eyes to meet Shui Que’s.

 

In a flat, indifferent tone, he said Shui Que insisted he fan him all night, so he hadn’t slept a wink.

 

But there was another more important reason he didn’t mention: actually, by the second half of the night, once the fire rope had burned down, the mosquitoes in the bedroom had already disappeared. It was just that while he was fanning, even when he avoided looking directly, the corner of his eye still caught glimpses of Shui Que’s tender, soft skin. Especially when the cool breeze brushed by and Shui Que rolled over, snuggling closer to him.

 

The snow-white cheeks were slightly squished against the mat, his lips parted just a little as he breathed.

 

Because he lay on his side, the collar of his sleeveless summer robe hung open. Though his frame looked slim and delicate, under the moonlight, the pale chest showed the faintest undulations as it pressed against his arm.

 

Qi Chaojin’s peripheral vision swept past him, and he ended up staring at the ceiling beam until dawn.

 

Shui Que had woken up refreshed, with all the mosquito bites gone. Naturally, he didn’t believe a word of what Qi Chaojin had said.

 

He’d slept so soundly—how could he have possibly forced Qi Chaojin to fan him in the middle of the night?

 

Don’t blame your own insomnia on me, he thought.

 

After handling the pheasant, Qi Chaojin took a large knife to the kitchen cutting board and sliced it in half. One half was used for soup; the other half he saved for stir-frying and braising at lunch and dinner.

 

For breakfast, they had porridge and thin pancakes—easy on the stomach.

 

Qi Chaojin changed into a fresh outfit, finally rid of the smell of chicken blood, and was ready to head into Changzhou County. Shui Que, still thinking about the icy cold dessert Qi Chaojin brought back the day before, wanted to go with him.

 

Qi Chaojin didn’t object. The only issue was crossing the same river from before, where he had to hold onto Shui Que to keep him from falling in again.

 

Once they entered Changzhou County through the southwest gate, the first thing they saw on the street was a cold dessert stall.

 

In the previous dynasty, private ice storage was prohibited. Ice vendors had to pay steep fees to lease official icehouses to sell in summer, making the costs exorbitant. People used to say that summer ice was as precious as gold, and most common folk would walk away as soon as they heard the price.

 

But in the current Darong Dynasty, more than thirty years of market liberalization had passed. Summer ice had become widely available, and all sorts of cooling treats had emerged. There were twelve icehouses in Changzhou County alone.

 

A simple canopy was enough—cold dessert stalls could be seen all over the streets and alleys.

 

Golden kumquat snow froth, candied lychee, sweet mung bean soup, marinated papaya…

 

Shui Que sat at a small wooden table by the stall, finished a bowl of cold yuanzi, then had another bowl of kumquat snow froth. Just as he was about to try something else, Qi Chaojin wouldn’t let him have any more.

 

Qi Chaojin left fifteen wen on the table, frowning as he dragged him away. “You’ll end up with a stomachache.”

 

The stall owner smiled warmly, the backs of his hands wrinkled as he slipped the copper coins into his pouch. “Gentlemen, do come again!”

 

Qi Chaojin led Shui Que through winding streets and alleys to a fan shop on the other side of Changzhou County. The shop owner had known Qi Chaojin for many years and was close to him, so he didn’t mind that he brought someone along to work.

 

While Qi Chaojin painted, Shui Que could only watch.

 

Back in his first world, he’d only touched a brush during high school art class, barely learning how to hold it just to fool the teacher. Now, in this authentic ancient setting, he couldn’t understand at all how Qi Chaojin’s few strokes with a brush could bring bamboo groves, rockeries, and rugged stones to life on paper.

 

Shui Que was so focused on the painting that he didn’t notice how Qi Chaojin’s spine had stiffened unconsciously under his intense gaze.

 

“Qi Er, what a coincidence.”

 

A young man’s voice rang out, lighthearted and teasing, from the shop entrance.

 

Shui Que looked up upon hearing it.

 

It was a youth in a dark blue robe embroidered with cloud patterns—clearly a scholar. He held a folding fan made of fine silk and brocade.

 

Could he be Qi Chaojin’s old classmate? Shui Que guessed.

 

Qi Chaojin gave the youth a mild glance and replied, “Third Young Master Cui, what a coincidence indeed.”

 

System 77 gave Shui Que a quick rundown of the character’s background, as mentioned in the plot.

 

Cui Shixin, third son of the Cui family in the capital. The eldest son and second daughter were both already married. Five years ago, Cui Shixin came to study in Changzhou County with his father, who had retired here as a magistrate.

 

He was Qi Chaojin’s classmate at Xijiang Academy. They were of similar age and had taken the county exam together. Qi Chaojin placed first, while Cui Shixin ranked just behind him—something that had long left him feeling disgruntled.

 

He’d heard from another classmate, Deng Cang, that Qi Chaojin had recently hit hard times and was painting fans at a shop in the South Market, so he’d decided to drop by and take a look.

 

Though Cui Shixin didn’t see himself as saintly, he wasn’t the type to mock someone for being poor either.

 

His gaze swept over the person beside Qi Chaojin, and his folding fan paused in his hand.

 

Cui Shixin had striking features, with pronounced brow bones and refined, commanding energy. Beneath his sword-like eyebrows were deep black phoenix eyes, which now locked steadily onto Shui Que. “Qi Er, and this is…?”

 

Why was he so pale?

 

Was that powder?

 

Growing up in the capital, Cui Shixin was all too familiar with the powdered faces of aristocrats—his father’s colleagues included many who followed the trend of applying cosmetics in pursuit of beauty. Cui Shixin had developed a distaste for it, especially since some older guests who visited the Cui household would smile and send flakes of powder falling from their wrinkled faces.

 

It had been a childhood trauma.

 

But now, looking at this person in front of him—he couldn’t spot any powder marks at all.

 

The skin looked naturally tender—paler than powdered skin.

 

He stared so intently that it bordered on rudeness.

 

Qi Chaojin furrowed his brows and set his brush down with a crisp tap. “My distant cousin, Shui Que. His parents passed away, and he’s come to seek refuge with me.”

 

In that dilapidated Qi family courtyard… what was there to seek refuge in?

 

Cui Shixin didn’t say it aloud.

 

But even he had to admit, people from established families in the capital often looked down on poor scholars like Qi Chaojin.

 

Shui Que looked at Qi Chaojin, then glanced at Cui Shixin, and gave a polite nod. “Third Young Master Cui, pleasure to meet you.”

 

Cui Shixin gave him another odd look.

 

Why was his voice softer than even the gentle Wu dialect spoken around here?

 

The market was about to open, and people were starting to fill the area. Cui Shixin had no intention of lingering and stopped bothering the two of them.

 

Over the next two days, the round fans sold out shortly after the market opened. The shop owner was pleased and paid Qi Chaojin extra for his paintings—five hundred coins in half a day.

 

Qi Chaojin had brought extra strings of coins today on purpose.

 

Shui Que had only been alternating between the floral gauze robe he bought earlier and the plain summer shirt System 77 had given him at the start. Qi Chaojin was planning to take him to the tailor’s to buy another new outfit.

 

System 77 urged Shui Que to pick the most expensive one and even suggested he throw a little tantrum to show the character’s vain and materialistic nature.

 

This was the largest clothing shop in the southern market. Both sides of the storefront were lined with garments, and there even seemed to be an upper floor. Shui Que’s eyes spun at the sight—he didn’t understand fabrics or craftsmanship. He could only recognize linen clothing, but this store didn’t even sell hemp shirts, which meant everything here was expensive.

 

Feeling overwhelmed, Shui Que quickly asked 77: [Wh-Which one is the most expensive?]

 

[Hold on, Host. 77 will have the auxiliary program calculate it for you!]

 

Just as 77 finished speaking—

 

The Overseer interrupted: “Pick the third one on the left. It’ll look good on you.”

 

Shui Que did as told, tugging on Qi Chaojin’s sleeve and pointing at the robe. “Qi Lang, I want this one.”

 

A shop assistant came over, beaming, and began singing its praises.

 

First, he went on about the fragrant-colored kesi weaving technique, then about the “four-harmony roundel” with cranes and deer symbolizing spring, and finally mentioned that the material was soft gauze imported from Qingzhou…

 

Shui Que was completely dazed by it all.

 

The assistant smiled and said, “Xiao Langjun, if you’d like to buy it, it’s just ten strings of coins—please try it on.”

 

Ten strings of coins… How much is ten strings of coins?

 

Shui Que blinked slowly. One thousand coins made one string, and ten strings meant ten thousand coins…

 

He carefully lifted his gaze to steal a glance at Qi Chaojin’s expression. It remained calm, as if nothing had changed.

 

Sticking to his role, Shui Que tugged gently at Qi Chaojin’s hand.

 

“Qi Lang… do you think I looked good in that one?”

 

He asked softly, noticing how, despite the sweltering summer outside, Qi Chaojin’s palm was cold to the touch.

 

Qi Chaojin lightly patted Shui Que’s hand, lowered his gaze, and replied earnestly, “You looked beautiful.”

 

Then he glanced again at the soft gauze robe and said in a clear, quiet voice, “The color and the pattern both suit you well.”

 

Suppressing the turmoil in his eyes, Qi Chaojin still said, “But we don’t have enough money right now. Why don’t you pick another one instead?”

 

It was only when the shop assistant heard him say that that he finally turned his attention to the companion of the elegant Xiao Langjun.

 

He saw that Qi Chaojin stood tall and slender, with the bearing of a crane and the grace of a pine—clearly a man well-read and scholarly… but poor.

 

The assistant stole a glance at his rough brown linen robe, which clashed entirely with the luxury of the shop.

 

The Xiao Langjun had such a delicate appearance and seemed pampered—could he truly be married to this poor scholar?

 

The Observer sighed coldly: [Ah, how can a pheasant match a phoenix?]

 

Shui Que pursed his lips and stopped looking at the clothes. Instead, he picked a bolt of snow-blue silk from the flat display table.

 

The assistant sighed in disappointment and said, smacking his lips, “This bolt of silk, for Xiao Langjun, is one string and six hundred coins.”

 

It was the lowest-grade silk—even decent mid-grade silk would cost two and a half strings per bolt, and the high-grade ones went for five.

 

Shui Que turned to Qi Chaojin and said, “Qi Lang, buy this one for me to make clothes. It’s enough for two outfits…”

 

Qi Chaojin’s eyes, as pitch black as his mother’s, lowered halfway. The hand hidden in his sleeve tightened around the copper coins. “Alright.”

 

[Such a soft-hearted little bodhisattva.]

 

Qi Chaojin had left one string of money at home and carried one and a half on him. With the extra payment he’d received today for calligraphy and painting, they barely had two strings.

 

That left four hundred coins remaining.

 

Carrying the bolt of silk, they headed to the market by Bazi Bridge to buy green onions, Sichuan pepper, and white wine—enough to make wine-braised chicken back home.

 

Just after they left, a man in a blue gauze robe strolled down from the second floor.

 

He closed his folding fan and pointed its tip at the soft gauze robe Shui Que had first picked out. “Ten taels of silver. Have it delivered to my house.”

 

Ten strings of coins was the price of one extravagant meal for Cui Shixin at a fancy tavern in the capital.

 

For some reason, even though that robe wouldn’t fit him—anyone could tell it would be perfect on Qi Chaojin’s younger cousin—he still bought it.

 

And he didn’t plan on giving it away either.

 

Cui Shixin tapped the handle of his fan against his palm.

 

Forget it. It’s only ten taels of silver.

 

Just a small price to enjoy the feeling of being one step ahead of Qi Chaojin.

 

…….

 

Qi Chaojin was quiet the entire day.

 

Not that he usually spoke much, but at least he would normally say a few extra words to Shui Que.

 

Now, even though he still responded when Shui Que spoke to him, his words were few.

 

That evening, Qi Chaojin went into Changzhou County again, and returned carrying a stack of scrolls and papers so tall it nearly blocked his view.

 

When Shui Que asked, he found out Qi Chaojin had taken on work from the academy—copying rare books, two hundred coins per scroll.

 

By the time the moon was high in the sky, Shui Que was lying on a bamboo mat by the bedside, knees tucked in, and the breeze drifting in felt like a cool breath of autumn. “Qi Lang, aren’t you going to sleep yet?”

 

His voice was drowsy, eyes misty with sleep as he looked at Qi Chaojin.

 

“You go ahead,” Qi Chaojin replied quietly, continuing to copy books at the desk.

 

Thinking the small lamp on the wooden table might be keeping Shui Que awake, he lit the bedroom’s fire rope, then carried the tung oil lamp and the scrolls to the study.

 

Shui Que couldn’t hold out. The moment his eyes closed, he was fast asleep.

 

He ended up sleeping in well past sunrise, and when he opened his eyes, his vision was filled with a tall, dark shadow.

 

Shui Que startled awake immediately.

 

He looked closely—turned out it was just Qi Chaojin.

 

Still confused, Shui Que asked, “What’s wrong?”

 

Why was he standing there staring at him so early in the morning?

 

Qi Chaojin’s eyes had been fixed on the longevity lock on Shui Que’s chest. He hadn’t looked at it closely the other day, but now, up close, he realized it was made of pure silver, with intricate gold-inlaid patterns.

 

The lock was shaped like clouds and a ruyi scepter, with embossed peony leaves unfolding gracefully, and a tiny bird perched among the vines.

 

The chain was a triple-layered silver strand, and hanging from the bottom were five pieces of white jade, each delicately carved into the shape of a leaf.

 

Clearly, he was a Xiao Langjun raised in a noble household.

 

Qi Chaojin straightened up, eyes dark and silent.

 

Shui Que pressed further, but Qi Chaojin only shook his head and said, “It’s nothing. You woke up late—go wash up and eat breakfast.”

 

The chicken had been stewed until it was tender. Shui Que quickly drank all the porridge and set down his rough ceramic bowl. “Aren’t you going to the fan shop today?”

 

“I’ve already come back,” Qi Chaojin said in a low voice, collecting the bowl and spoon to bring to the kitchen. “I finished painting faster today.”

 

After washing his hands, Qi Chaojin stood in the courtyard and asked, “Around this time, the peaches in the back mountain should be ripe. Do you want to try some mountain peach rice?”

 

Shui Que had never had it before, and he nodded eagerly like a pecking chick. “Mm-hmm!”

 

He insisted that Qi Chaojin take him up the mountain too.

 

Unable to refuse, Qi Chaojin told him to tie up his pant legs tightly so mosquitoes wouldn’t bite him.

 

It wasn’t like the two of them could eat that much anyway. The mountain peach rice was just a way to enjoy the seasonal flavor.

 

Qi Chaojin only brought a small basket.

 

The hills behind Qinghe Village stretched together in a chain. Qi Chaojin chose the nearest one, following a path often used by villagers. The lower slope had a few chestnut trees, and when Shui Que looked at them curiously, Qi Chaojin said they could come back in the fall to collect chestnuts and make candied roasted ones for him.

 

Farther up was a dense bamboo grove, with old bamboo shoots growing underneath. Above that were camellia trees—good for pressing tea oil.

 

The peach trees were scattered from the mid-slope all the way to the summit.

 

The mountain grew oil peach trees. They had just filled half a small basket when a light drizzle began to fall.

 

The rain was misty, but the sunlight was still shining brightly.

 

It was one of those sudden sun-showers.

 

Qi Chaojin led Shui Que to a pavilion halfway up the mountain to wait out the rain.

 

The pavilion had been built a hundred years ago by a Taoist hermit. It leaned against a grove of peach trees and bamboo. Legend said the Taoist once meditated here without food or water for seven days, and one day, someone saw him bathed in sunlight, sitting in the pavilion, ascending to immortality.

 

Hence, the pavilion was named “Attaining the Way Pavilion.”

 

As for what the Taoist had originally called it when he built it—no one remembered.

 

The sudden rain shifted between heavy and light, sometimes splashing into the pavilion. Shui Que, sitting toward the back, drew his feet in a little.

 

But sun-showers came quickly and left just as fast.

 

Qi Chaojin checked the basket of mountain peaches. There was enough to snack on and still steam a pot of mountain peach rice.

 

He started walking ahead. “Let’s head down.”

 

But didn’t hear Shui Que’s footsteps behind him.

 

Qi Chaojin turned to look again.

 

The Xiao Langjun stood in the pavilion with a troubled expression, unwilling to step outside.

 

“The road is all muddy and slippery…” Shui Que bit his lip like he was facing a great enemy and looked up at Qi Chaojin for help.

 

Qi Chaojin: “…”

 

Shui Que muttered under his breath, “These are the black shoes Qi Lang bought me. I don’t want to get them dirty.”

 

When he said that, Qi Chaojin’s frustration truly vanished without a trace.

 

He handed the little basket to Shui Que and had him carry it. Then he bent down on one knee. “Let’s go.”

 

As expected, he knew the male lead would end up carrying him if he said something like that.

 

Delighted, Shui Que clung to Qi Chaojin’s back.

 

Yet the plot progress didn’t move an inch. When he checked with System 77, it showed only 10% progress—when it had been 11% just the day before.

 

Shui Que’s pupils widened in shock.

 

Why had it gone backward?

 

System 77 explained that it was because he had been too quick to show understanding toward the male lead yesterday and didn’t display the character’s inherent snobbishness toward poverty.

 

Shui Que was speechless.

 

But that outfit really was too expensive. It wasn’t realistic to expect the male lead to buy it for him at the time…

 

System 77 told him to sweet-talk the male lead more. Ideally, he should throw in some affectionate words. After all, this character wasn’t supposed to let go of the idea of getting fancy clothes so easily. His performance yesterday had caused the program to deduct points.

 

Shui Que: [Oh…]

 

He hooked his arms around Qi Chaojin’s neck and asked, “Qi Lang, am I good to you?”

 

The moment the words left his mouth, Shui Que nearly bit his tongue.

 

No, wait—how could someone like him, the ‘black moonlight’ living off others, say something like that?

 

His warm breath and sweet, sticky scent wrapped around Qi Chaojin.

 

From an angle Shui Que couldn’t see, Qi Chaojin’s brows lifted slightly, and he gave a noncommittal response: “…Mm.”

 

Shui Que let out a breath of relief and asked, “When will the new clothes you’re making for me be ready?”

 

Qi Chaojin had only just finished copying a scroll the previous night and had only cut the fabric—he hadn’t even started sewing. Still, he said, “Soon.”

 

“Then will you buy me new clothes too?” Shui Que leaned in closer to his ear.

 

The path ahead was a bit steep, so Qi Chaojin watched his step and answered, “Mm.”

 

Shui Que moved right up to his ear, brushing his soft lips against it, and wrapped his arms tighter around Qi Chaojin’s neck. “Qi Lang is so good to me. I’m fond of you.”

 

System 77 had told him to say sweet things, but Shui Que didn’t really know how—so he just went for it, straight and direct.

 

The moment Shui Que’s lips touched his skin, Qi Chaojin froze. Heat rushed to the tips of his ears.

 

Then, hearing those three words—I’m fond of you—he nearly missed a step.

 

His whole body swayed.

 

Shui Que was startled. “You have to watch the road! What if I fall and get hurt?”

 

If Qi Chaojin fell, it’d be one thing, but the one on his back—Shui Que—might go flying.

 

Qi Chaojin: “…”

 

Who was the one saying such things just now, only to now pretend as if nothing had happened?

 

“What’s that?” Shui Que pointed off in the distance at a straw pile.

 

Qi Chaojin had no choice but to walk in that direction. He reached out and parted the grass.

 

Inside was a typical hunter’s trap—and it had caught a white rabbit.

 

Shui Que’s eyes lit up. “Can we keep it?”

 

He’d seen Aunt Liu raising a few hens that laid eggs every day. He had originally wanted Qi Chaojin to buy some chicks.

 

But now, keeping a rabbit didn’t sound like a bad idea either.

 

Even though rabbits didn’t lay eggs.

 

Just then, a tall, broad-shouldered man emerged from the mountain grass. Still dressed in a narrow-cut outfit, expressionless, he lifted the rabbit by its ears.

 

The white rabbit struggled and whimpered.

 

Noticing Shui Que silently furrowing his brow, Wu Chun suddenly adjusted his grip and supported the rabbit from below.

 

Qi Chaojin sensed that Shui Que really wanted the rabbit, so he opened his mouth and asked, “Brother Wu, could I buy this rabbit from you? It’ll save you a trip to the county market.”

 

He planned to pay the standard market price in Changzhou County—or more, if necessary.

 

Wu Chun shot him a sharp look with his hawk-like eyes and replied gruffly, “Not selling.”

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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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