Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 56

Chapter 56: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (5)

---

After speaking, Wu Chun turned away without another word, carrying the rabbit with him.

 

The mountain grass brushed against his coarse trousers, and his straw sandals were caked with mud.

 

Softly, Shui Que asked Qi Chaojin, “Did we upset him?”

 

Wu Chun’s expression had been awful. This was the same man who hadn’t flinched when Shui Que set his dislocated elbow back in place—and just now his face had been so gloomy, it looked like it could drip ink.

 

Qi Chaojin was puzzled. He shook his head and tried to comfort Shui Que. “A gentleman does not take what others cherish. If you really want one, I’ll bring you a rabbit from Changzhou County tomorrow.”

 

Shui Que pouted. He’d only wanted to keep a rabbit because he had felt a connection with that particular white one just now. If it wasn’t meant to be, he wouldn’t force it.

 

Lying on Qi Chaojin’s back, he mumbled, “Forget it. Let’s raise chicks instead. They’ll lay eggs when they grow up.”

 

Qi Chaojin agreed readily. “Alright.”

 

….

 

Two days later, Qi Chaojin became even busier. He spent his nights copying texts and sewing clothes. By the time Shui Que drowsily realized the bamboo mat next to him had dipped under someone’s weight, it hadn’t even been two hours before dawn. When he reached out again at gray light, the spot was already cold.

 

Qi Chaojin had left early to earn some money by painting fan panels before the market opened. At noon, he made lunch, and after their simple meal, he told Shui Que he had to go into town to write land sale contracts as a hired scribe.

 

Shui Que watched him walk out the bamboo door with puppy-dog eyes.

 

【Host, perfect timing! There’s a plotline about the character going to vent to another man.】System 77 jumped on the opportunity. 【It’s that Wu Chun—he’s single and has likely saved up a lot over the years. He’s currently one of the top-ranked targets for “soft rice” value farming!】

 

Shui Que: “Oh…”

 

Why did it feel like swindling money had become the running theme of his whole career?

 

It was always this kind of role. Maybe he’d end up becoming a professional in this field one day.

 

But then again, as a host for a soft rice system, excelling in this area wasn’t exactly something to be proud of…

 

Feeling a bit uneasy, Shui Que asked the system, “77, you still haven’t told me how this world ends.”

 

System 77 replied with a hint of guilt:【You eventually meet a passing marquis in Changzhou County. Seduced by the luxurious life of fine food and silk garments, you fall for it. Even though Qi Chaojin had already passed the county exams by then—hell, even if he’d made top scholar—he’d still have had to start his career as a low-ranking academic in the Hanlin Academy. So on your wedding night, right before heading to the capital for the spring exams, you ran off with the marquis.】

 

【But the marquis was only toying with you. He never had real feelings and never gave you a proper title. Before long, you fell into despair and died alone in his mansion.】

 

【The male lead later uncovered the truth, saw through your nature, and—heartbroken—cut off all affection. He soared through the ranks in the government. That’s when the real story begins.】

 

Shui Que wasn’t surprised. After all, in most stories, even the white moonlight character died—so as the black moonlight, how could he expect to survive?

 

Besides, the original work was about rising through the imperial exams and political circles—his role had nothing to do with that plot.

 

He figured he’d just finish his part of the script, close his eyes, and leave the world behind.

 

Shui Que felt much more at ease.

 

No one in Qinghe Village would have guessed that as soon as Qi Chaojin left, the Xiao Langjun who had been waiting patiently like a faithful stone statue immediately shut the bamboo door behind him and snuck off toward the edge of the village.

 

Wu Chun’s home was even more run-down than Qi Chaojin’s. The roof was covered in straw and reeds. The foothills at the edge of the village were damp and rainy year-round. The thatching on top was probably done by the old bachelor when he was still alive—it was worn, decaying, and no longer fit to live under. Shui Que noticed there was even a broken wooden bucket under the eaves, set there to catch the rainwater seeping in.

 

There was no fenced-in yard made of bamboo, just one large straw hut used as a living space, and a smaller room nearby that served as both kitchen and washroom.

 

Shui Que pressed his lips together. The bolt on the main door wasn’t latched, which meant someone was home. He stepped forward and knocked the door ring up and down.

 

The two old wooden panels opened from within, letting in the light. A man in a rough hemp shirt looked down from inside. His hawk-like eyes seemed even sharper in the dim shadows behind him.

 

He hadn’t expected to see Shui Que and didn’t quite know how to react. His face was wooden, and his voice rough. “Come in.”

 

Inside, the house wasn’t as leaky, damp, or bug-infested as Shui Que had imagined.

 

After the door was pushed open wide, the inside of the house was bright and well-lit. The windows were clean, and all the tables, chairs, stools, and side tables were present and neatly arranged. The floor was spotless, and in the corner behind the door, bundles of straw and bamboo brooms were stacked neatly.

 

On the wall directly opposite the door hung a peachwood bow, barbed arrows, and a piece of animal hide.

 

Shui Que’s pupils shrank—could this man actually hunt tigers?

 

He glanced nervously at Wu Chun.

 

Wu Chun had just taken out a rush cushion and placed it on a wooden chair. Catching the timid gaze of the Xiao Langjun, he tilted his head slightly toward the half-wall-sized tiger pelt.

 

“Mm.”


He affirmed Shui Que’s suspicion.

 

“Sit.”


He patted the rush cushion he had made a few days ago from cattail flowers.

 

It was decently soft.

 

His mind wandered back to the image of that day when Qi Chaojin had carried Shui Que on his back, the poor scholar’s hands wrapped around him, supporting him.

 

The Xiao Langjun’s skin was tender, and it seemed that the soft legs wrapped around Qi Chaojin’s waist and back were just as delicate.

 

Wu Chun suddenly worried the cushion wasn’t soft enough, that the wooden chair beneath would be uncomfortable for Shui Que.

 

Shui Que said nothing and quietly sat down.

 

Wu Chun poured him some tea.

 

There were still dregs and bits of leaf floating in the bottom—not very refined.

 

How could rough tea be a fitting offering to a Langjun like this?

 

Wu Chun lowered his gaze and asked, “Have you had lunch?”

 

Actually, Shui Que had eaten earlier at home. Qi Chaojin had made milky-braised fish for lunch, and he had eaten two bowls of rice with it. But mooching a meal was often a good way to build rapport, so he shook his head.

 

Wu Chun hadn’t eaten yet. He typically skipped lunch—after a hearty breakfast, he would go hunting in the mountains or go into town to trade, then nap at noon and eat the game he hunted in the afternoon for dinner.

 

Two meals a day.

 

But clearly, the young man wasn’t like him.

 

Wu Chun got up and went to the kitchen. Before long, cooking smoke rose, and the sound of a knife chopping against the cutting board echoed as though it could shake the whole house.

 

He wasn’t one for fancy cooking—just aimed to get full. Even the fine meat of a wild boar would only be tossed with oil and salt into the pot to stew until soft and tender. Nothing more.

 

Shui Que had already eaten. The meat Wu Chun cooked was greasy and lacked any refreshing side dishes to whet the appetite. After a few bites, he couldn’t eat anymore and claimed he was full.

 

Wu Chun stared at him intently.

 

No wonder he was so thin.

 

Wu Chun thought his stomach was probably the size of a bird’s.

 

Under that gaze, Shui Que forced down two more bites. Wu Chun’s expression did improve afterward.

 

“…”

 

But Shui Que was really stuffed now.

 

His eyes wandered and caught sight of a bamboo cage in the corner, lined with dried alfalfa hay. A white rabbit nestled inside, its three-lobed mouth twitching as it nibbled on the hay, which rustled softly.

 

Shui Que exclaimed, “I thought you were going to eat it that day…”

 

He had even been sad about it for quite a while.

 

Turns out Wu Chun had raised the rabbit instead.

 

Didn’t quite match his fierce image.

 

Clearly, Shui Que had been too quick to judge. Who would have thought a tiger-hunting woodsman liked raising cute animals?

 

Wu Chun let out a low “Mm,” then said, “If you like it, come by often.”

 

He had raised it because Shui Que liked it. But now that Shui Que was here, staring longingly at the rabbit, Wu Chun didn’t offer to give it to him—he just hoped the boy would keep coming over to see the fluffy creature he’d raised.

 

Shui Que assumed Wu Chun must really love that rabbit and couldn’t bear to part with it. If he wanted to see it, coming over occasionally to take a look seemed reasonable—it wasn’t like he could just force him to give it up.

 

Then Wu Chun asked, “Why didn’t you eat lunch? That Qi Er didn’t feed you?”

 

Perfect opening.

 

Shui Que’s eyes lit up, but he quickly reined in his expression and hesitated a bit before replying, “Qi Lang works so hard, and I spend money carelessly… He said he couldn’t afford to support me, so he wouldn’t cook for me anymore…”

 

He fidgeted with his fingers—lying always made him feel a little guilty.

 

Wu Chun’s hawk-like eyes were locked tightly on him and didn’t notice Shui Que’s subtle movement.

 

He said, “You can come eat at my place from now on.”

 

As expected, the plot progression increased a little. Shui Que let out a breath of relief.

 

Wu Chun was thinking about the conversation he’d overheard on the mountain between Qi Er and Shui Que.

 

So, just by spending money to buy him new clothes, Xiao Langjun would say he liked someone?

 

Wu Chun pondered.

 

He had lived alone these past few years, through wind and rain, with very few expenses. He didn’t even need to spend money on meat, so he had managed to save up several thousand coins.

 

Without a word, he walked into the bedroom and took out the clothes he’d bought yesterday at the tailor’s shop from a chest.

 

He had asked the shop assistant what kind of fabrics and styles the delicate Xiao Langjuns usually preferred.

 

The assistant had taken one look at him and instantly understood his intention. With a secretive air, he led Wu Chun to a sample outfit in a corner on the second floor.

 

It was a narrow-sleeved, peach-pink meditation robe made entirely of plain gauze, with only the cuffs embroidered with a delicate crane pattern.

 

Wu Chun frowned and said it looked too plain.

 

The assistant, his expression unreadable, had him place his palm under the gauze. Against the fabric, the calloused patterns on his palm were clearly visible.

 

He said that in the capital and Jiangcheng, wealthy families loved this kind of style. This type of gauze was especially cool in summer and was ideal for wearing at home to stay cool.

 

Wu Chun was stunned.

 

Compared to the floral gauze fabric Shui Que had worn when he reset his elbow, this material was even lighter.

 

Nothing could be thinner than this—like cicada wings.

 

The assistant happily accepted seven strings of coins.

 

He marveled at how, although this rough hunter didn’t look like much, he actually had quite a bit of money.

 

Not like the poor scholar earlier, who had brought out a Xiao Langjun as beautiful as a celestial being, but couldn’t even afford proper clothes for him.

 

Still, the assistant wondered which Xiao Langjun the hunter had in mind. With all those muscles and rough hands, would he even know how to treat someone gently?

 

Wu Chun emerged carrying the peach-pink gauze meditation robe, and said awkwardly, “Try it on.”

 

The gauze was so light that Wu Chun dared not use any force while holding it, afraid he might tear it.

 

[Host, program evaluation value: seven thousand coins,] System 77 said cheerfully. [The auxiliary program really works. This hunter is perfect for grinding soft rice points.]

 

Shui Que looked up at him, cautiously asking, “Is this… for me?”

 

For common folks, seven thousand coins wasn’t cheap. In Darong, a low-level farmer could only earn one hundred coins a day. But Wu Chun, who hunted in the mountains daily, surely earned more than a farmer who toiled in the fields all day.

 

Wu Chun nodded honestly. “Mm.”

 

He said plainly and firmly, “Try it on. Let me carry you. It’s yours.”

 

Who gives clothes for free and even offers to carry someone on their back?

 

Shui Que hesitated for a moment.

 

Since they were both men, he didn’t think too much about it and took off his light summer outer shirt.

 

Underneath, he wore a sleeveless summer garment with a single button. His shoulders were soft pink, arms like lotus roots, and his chest was as white as spring snow.

 

The cross-collar was cut low, and the style was loose. When Shui Que moved to change clothes, Wu Chun, tall and sturdy as he was, inadvertently glanced down—and was instantly dazed.

 

Soft and smooth, like powdered pink.

 

Wu Chun felt a wave of heat surge through him.

 

Why did this summer feel like it was scorching?

 

He held his breath and barely managed to suppress the heat, thankfully not letting it escape from his nose like steam.

 

Shui Que wrapped his arms around and finally managed to fasten the gauze robe.

 

It truly was thin as cicada wings.

 

Cool and airy.

 

The narrow sleeves made it easy to move, and the cuffs were embroidered with crane patterns.

 

He looked up at Wu Chun, only to see the man’s face dark and lips pressed into a straight line.

 

Shui Que was puzzled. “Wh-what’s wrong?”

 

Being a modern person, Shui Que didn’t think there was anything wrong with this robe.

 

But even though the Darong society was more open than previous dynasties, a robe this sheer—so translucent that one’s snow-white skin showed completely under light—was still only acceptable for indoor wear. It was inappropriate for public settings.

 

Wu Chun didn’t dare look anymore. He turned his back, crouched down, and said, “Let me carry you. It’s yours.”

 

He was still thinking about how Qi Chaojin had carried Shui Que on his back a few days ago.

 

How could cousins behave like that?

 

He had bought him clothes, so he ought to carry him too, right?

 

Wu Chun thought.

 

But he had never carried anyone before. Being tall and big, he didn’t know to squat down lower. As soon as Shui Que climbed on, he slid right off. Wu Chun’s rough palms caught his thighs, and he quickly stood up, lifting him higher with his hands.

 

Shui Que frowned and grabbed the back of his collar from behind, speaking in a soft, breathy voice: “It hurts…”

 

Who knew what kind of rough linen Wu Chun was wearing? The fabric was even worse than Qi Chaojin’s, coarse to the extreme. The stitching on the patches was a mess, and it rubbed Shui Que’s chest raw and burning. Especially with Wu Chun’s back muscles like iron and steel, the whole experience was rigid and painful.

 

“What?” Wu Chun got nervous hearing that it hurt. Thinking he hadn’t carried him properly, he hoisted him up again—causing Shui Que’s inner thighs to suffer more.

 

Unable to hold back, Shui Que smacked Wu Chun’s back and said, “Put me down. I want to get down. What kind of clothes are you wearing? They’re hurting me.”

 

He even bought him a gauze robe, yet didn’t think to buy a better outfit for himself?

 

The Xiao Langjun’s soft, tender body felt like it would melt in his scorching palms. Although Wu Chun was reluctant, he still obediently set him down.

 

Hearing Shui Que say “it hurts” twice in a row made Wu Chun even more remorseful. He was clumsy with words, dull by nature—one could even say stupid—and now completely at a loss.

 

Worried and ashamed, he fumbled around and said anxiously, “Where does it hurt? Let me see.”

 

Shui Que was angry, and now also awkward—he didn’t know what to say.

 

Underneath the thin summer robe, small pink-white buds pushed against the fabric.

 

The insides of his thighs were also rubbed red and burning.

 

Wu Chun leaned in, worried and frantic but with his big rough hands and clumsy manner, he looked like a lecher. Shui Que jumped in shock and, on reflex, gave him a crisp slap.

 

The clumsy man finally realized his behavior was inappropriate, stunned into silence.

 

His dark face turned deep red under the clear imprint of a palm. He stammered, “S-sorry.”

 

“The robe is yours,” Wu Chun said after opening and closing his mouth a few times. In the end, he muttered, “Don’t wear it for Qi Er to see.”

 

…

 

Shui Que felt stifled. He changed back into his light-colored summer shirt, looking down to find even his collarbone rubbed slightly red. That made him even more frustrated. He went home and shoved the gauze robe to the bottom of his clothing chest.

 

Why did it feel like he should’ve profited from this, yet somehow ended up at a loss?

 

Qi Chaojin came home and saw him looking sullen, and asked with concern, “What’s wrong?”

 

Shui Que sat on a small round stool, propped his chin in his hand, and shook his head without speaking.

 

After a moment, feeling he was being too cold, he got up, affectionately asking Qi Lang if he could stir-fry some fresh water bamboo shoots for dinner—with extra Sichuan peppercorns.

 

Qi Chaojin nodded. “Okay.”

 

He set down his bundle and turned toward the kitchen.

 

The poor scholar never would have imagined that, while he was drafting land contracts in the south of the city, the Xiao Langjun who normally clung to him at home had run off to a wild man’s shabby thatched hut, and for a robe worth seven strings of coins, ended up with his chest rubbed red.

 

And that gauze robe was still buried at the bottom of their bedroom wardrobe.

 

…

 

Two days later, the clothes Qi Chaojin had sewn for Shui Que were finished. From the bolt of pale snow-blue silk he’d bought earlier, he first made a cross-collared wide-sleeved shirt with a small stand-up collar. There was still enough fabric left to make another garment.

 

While embroidering the patterns, Qi Chaojin had briefly spaced out. When he came back to his senses, he realized he had stitched a few peonies and a small bird nestled among the leaves on the wide cuffs—identical to the design on the longevity lock.

 

Shui Que liked the densely stitched, neat seams of the shirt, and the little bird by the cuff was lively and adorable. He changed into it immediately.

 

Earlier that day, Qi Chaojin had gone to the county academy to hand in a batch of copied manuscripts. When he returned, he came back carrying another stack of books in his arms, and a bamboo cage with two or three chicks dangling from his hand.

 

He explained that the rare manuscripts this time had been collecting dust for a long while. A few days ago, it had rained, and the pages had gotten a bit damp. Now that it was a sunny day, they needed to be aired out. At the same time, he mentioned he should build a little coop for the chicks.

 

Shui Que rolled up his sleeves, eager to help air out the books, and urged Qi Chaojin to go build the coop quickly.

 

A few young men of similar age rode up on horseback, each one with striking features and refined manners. Among them, the leader stood out most, full of spirit and charisma.

 


As the horses crossed the wooden bridge at the entrance to Qinghe Village, dust rose in clouds along the narrow path between the fields.

 


It was academy recess, and they had already indulged in every possible frivolity back in town. None of the summer food or entertainment excited them anymore.


 

This time, they had set out riding toward the bamboo forest on the mountains southwest of the city to escape the summer heat.

 


They rode fine horses—Cui family horses, known all throughout the capital. Even here in Jiangnan, their quality remained unmatched. Those who were close to Cui Shixin could borrow horses from his family when going out on excursions with him.


 

Deng Cang squinted. “Isn’t that Qi Chaojin’s house? I knew he lived in Qinghe Village, but I didn’t realize his house was right at the entrance.”

 


Qi Chaojin?

 


Cui Shixin suddenly remembered the cousin of Qi Er whom he had seen the other day.

 


From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a pale figure drying books inside a fenced courtyard.

 


Cui Shixin sharply pulled the reins. His horse reared slightly and landed with a neigh.


The others behind him also pulled their horses to a stop.


 

“Third Young Master Cui, what’s this now?” Deng Cang, the son of the county yamen’s secretary and closest to him, complained. “We’ve already reached Qinghe Village. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about going up the mountain and want to go back now?”


 

Another one sighed. “Please don’t. It’s too boring in the county—what a waste of a perfectly good break if we just go home to study again…”

 


Cui Shixin pointed toward the fenced courtyard near the riverbank, lifted his sharp jaw slightly, and gave a sideways glance. “Qi Er’s distant cousin—have you seen him?”


 

Deng Cang: “What?”


 

The group of young men craned their necks, trying to get a look at the simple courtyard.


The pale-faced youth inside looked flushed from the heat. He had rolled up his wide sleeves, exposing a slender wrist, and was wiping sweat from his brow while busy laying out scrolls on the desk.

 


In the corner of the yard, Qi Chaojin was weaving a short fence from willow twigs. He said something, and the youth’s lips curled up as a dimple bloomed on his cheek.

 


The young men outside the yard stared, dumbfounded.


 

The more Cui Shixin thought about it, the more wrong it felt. He let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Distant cousin, my foot. Qi Er’s been ‘busy,’ huh? Turns out he’s been busy playing pastoral romance with his Xiao Langjun.”

---

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

---