Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 57

Chapter 57: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (6)

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With a series of neighs echoing in the distance, Shui Que looked up and saw only the hooves of horses kicking up dust in the sunlight.

 


He turned to ask Qi Chaojin, “Was that Third Young Master Cui?”

 


Shui Que had a vague feeling that the dark blue silk figure on the fine horse looked familiar.

 


As for the others, he had no impression at all.

 


Qi Chaojin looked off into the distance. The young men had ridden off toward the mountains—most likely looking for amusement.

 


He responded coolly, “Mm.”

 


Shui Que was still curious. “Do their families all keep horses?”


 

Though not part of Cui Shixin’s social circle, Qi Chaojin had heard of them since they were classmates.

 


He shook his head. “Most likely borrowed from the Cui family.”


 

Most horses in Darong came from the north, or were obtained through horse-and-tea trade with Hu tribes. In the southeast and Jiangnan areas, horses were rare, and common families couldn’t afford them. People usually traveled by donkey, and even horse riders mostly rented them.


 

The others were either sons of county yamen officials or the county magistrate’s aides. While it wasn’t unusual for their families to keep horses, the ones they were riding earlier were top-quality steeds, comparable to warhorses, far beyond the ordinary kind. Each one cost at least several hundred taels of silver.

 


Aside from Third Young Master Cui, no one else in Changzhou County was known to be so extravagant.

 

Shui Que murmured, “I’ve never ridden a horse before…”


 

It was his first time witnessing a real-life horseback scene like the ones in historical dramas, and it felt rather novel.


 

He spoke softly, but Qi Chaojin still caught his words while weaving the willow twigs.


【Baby, with skin as delicate as yours, even the best saddle will rub your thighs raw and red.】


 

Overseer 01 teased him.


 

Shui Que pursed his lips and retorted in disagreement: 【Stop talking. I’m not that fragile. You’re just prejudiced against me.】


 

The Overseer smirked silently.


With skin that soft, even if Shui Que were to ride that rough brute from before as a horse, the coarse hemp clothes would scratch him all over. He’d end up needing someone to hold him down and apply medicine to his trembling thighs.

 

…..

 

Qi Chaojin’s school break only lasted a month. In the blink of an eye, over half had passed. He painted and copied texts daily, and even took on writing land sale contracts for others. On a good day, he could earn five to six hundred copper coins.
When he went back to the clothing shop with ten strings of cash, the shopkeeper told him someone had already bought that gauzy “light smoke silk” robe earlier.


 

Qi Chaojin had hoped to buy the light smoke silk and make a garment out of it.


 

But one bolt cost about thirteen strings of cash. So the shopkeeper recommended a bolt of Run silk from Youzhou instead—just four strings per bolt, a good alternative.


 

In just over ten days, autumn would arrive. A bolt of Run silk was perfect for making a fall robe.


In the past, there had been the saying “Summer Ninety-Nine Days,” though it had fallen out of favor by the Darong era. Still, the custom of observing the dog days of summer remained.


 

Currently, it was the fourth Geng day after the summer solstice—mid-summer—when every household in Qinghe Village shared cooling herbal concoctions with neighbors.


 

Seeing Shui Que constantly fanning himself from the heat, Qi Chaojin suggested they skip painting fan faces today and instead go to the market street for some cooling jelly noodles, then visit Summer Bay to see the lotus flowers.


 

At the time, the alleys and market gates were filled with hawkers selling pear nectar, papaya juice, plum broth, red tea, cold jelly noodles, and vegetarian skewers. The streets were lined with vendors carrying baskets of palm fans, straw shoes, woven mats, and rattan pillows.


 

The sun blazed fiercely. Qi Chaojin held a green cloth umbrella, tilting it toward Shui Que’s side. The streets were crowded, and he held Shui Que’s hand tightly to keep them from being separated.

 


Earlier, that snow-colored silk had been sewn into a robe—its lake-blue ripple patterns made the already delicate and refined Xiao Langjun look even cooler and more elegant, drawing attention as they walked among the crowd.


 

Crossing the long street and walking along the riverbank, they passed porters and hawkers, as well as small boats loaded with melons, selling to passersby from the docks. Floating melons, submerged plums, and warm summer breezes made the scene feel gentle and pleasant.


 

Shui Que held a bowl of iced plum soup. It had been a long time since he’d had watermelon in this world, so he asked Qi Chaojin if they could buy some from one of the farmers on the little boats.

 


Many along the shore were waving their hands, so one of the melon boats rowed over. Since the sun was hot, Qi Chaojin had to queue to buy the melon. He told Shui Que to wait in a nearby riverside pavilion.

 


The pavilion faced the water, shaded by willows—much cooler there.

 


Shui Que sat inside and could only see Qi Chaojin’s figure from afar, moving through the crowd.


A man in brown stepped inside and took off his bamboo hat. Perhaps from the heat, he was breathing heavily and drenched in sweat, the wet fabric clinging to the deep grooves of his back.


 

He hadn’t come just to cool off.


 

A bowl of chilled lychee syrup was handed to Shui Que.


 

“Wu Chun?” Shui Que asked in confusion. “You’re free today to come escape the heat?”


 

Usually, this man was always heading into the mountains no matter the weather. Shui Que had never seen him indulge in anything else.


 

He had assumed the man didn’t even feel hot or cold…


 

Wu Chun didn’t say yes or no.


 

Only after Shui Que accepted the lychee syrup did he speak in a hoarse voice, “Just made it. Drink while it’s cold.”


 

Shui Que was already used to his terse, word-by-word speech. Lately, Wu Chun had spoken a bit more around him, and his accent had improved—no longer sounding so distinctly Hu.


 

Still, with his high nose and sharp features, it was obvious he wasn’t purely of Darong blood.


 

Shui Que had eaten too many bayberries earlier, and his mouth was tart. The lychee syrup melted into just the right sweetness.


 

Wu Chun stared intently at him as he sipped, his throat tightening. His dry lips parted. “Qi Er bought you sour plums. Held your hand.”


 

Shui Que: “Huh?”

 


Why was he suddenly bringing up Qi Chaojin?


 

Shui Que looked up at him, puzzled.


 

Wu Chun’s face was blank, wooden even, but he spoke one word at a time: “You drank the lychee syrup I bought, so your hand ought to be held by me, too.”

 

He had clearly overheard this young man expressing fondness for Qi Chaojin, and knew the two shared an unusual bond—practically a perfect pair. Yet here he was, taking advantage of Qi Chaojin stepping away to buy watermelon, swooping in to show affection and ask to hold the Xiao Langjun’s hand.

 

Wu Chun knew this sort of thing wasn’t considered proper in the Darong Dynasty. But first of all, the two hadn’t married yet. Secondly, among the Hu people, customs such as brothers sharing a wife were not uncommon—they cared little for such formalities.

 

Though Wu Chun had no memories from before he was taken in by the old bachelor, the Hu blood in his veins still dominated. He did what he wanted and never cared for how others might see it.

 

Shui Que was drinking the syrup water with his right hand, completely unfazed as he extended his left.

 

Hu people’s large frames meant they had broader hands than the average Darong native. Wu Chun could easily wrap Shui Que’s whole hand in his palm.

 

The Xiao Langjun’s hand was nothing like his—his joints were slender and pale, like ginger shoots, unlike Wu Chun’s, thick-knuckled and calloused.

 

His palm was soft and smooth, not a trace of a callus. Wu Chun stared, comparing it to his own hands, roughened by years of drawing bows, working with tools, and surviving through hardship. His lines were deep and rugged.

 

He couldn’t resist kneading the cool, delicate hand in his.

 

His palms were burning hot; his coarse calluses rubbed against that soft skin. Wu Chun stared in a daze—Shui Que’s hand felt almost boneless in his grasp, pliant and yielding.

 

When his calloused thumb brushed across the web between Shui Que’s thumb and forefinger, Shui Que furrowed his brows and finally said, “Stop playing. I’m done drinking. Here’s your bowl back.”

 

By now, he had more or less grown used to playing the role of a flirt who was always chasing after pleasure.

 

Earlier, he was all lovey-dovey with the poor scholar, and now here he was, getting cozy with a rugged brute who bought him clothes and sweet drinks. But once he was in a bad mood, even that little sweetness of hand-holding would be taken away.

 

Like the autumn wind sweeping away fallen leaves, Shui Que coldly shoved the wooden bowl into Wu Chun’s hand in place of his own.

 

Wu Chun stared sullenly at the bowl in his hand.

 

He should’ve bought two bowls.

 

He hadn’t even gotten to hold the other hand yet.

 

Inside the bowl, still cool from the syrup, Wu Chun noticed a faint imprint along the rim—where Shui Que’s full lower lip had pressed against it while drinking.

 

His ears suddenly burned. When no one was watching, he discreetly brought his finger to the spot and wiped it.

 

Now satisfied, Wu Chun looked back up at Shui Que and changed the topic. “Why aren’t you wearing the clothes I bought you?”

 

The sheer robe he gave first was too thin to wear outside, sure, but when Shui Que had admired the rabbits, Wu Chun had clearly given him two proper long robes as well.

 

Shui Que fiddled with his fingers awkwardly.

 

What could he say?

 

He couldn’t let the male lead find out just yet that he was fooling around with some “wild man.” After all, at this stage, Shui Que was still maintaining his innocent façade, his true colors yet to be revealed.

 

The male lead would only start suspecting something later, after seeing him exchange flirtatious looks with the marquis. On their wedding night, when Shui Que disappeared, he thought he’d been kidnapped. It wasn’t until the imperial exams came out and the truth was dug up that he finally believed that the “devoted” Shui Que had actually abandoned him without hesitation in pursuit of luxury and wealth.

 

Since it was too hard to explain why Wu Chun had given him clothes, Shui Que had stuffed all three robes to the bottom of his chest.

 

“You’ve got terrible taste. I don’t like them,” Shui Que replied perfunctorily.

 

Wu Chun’s expression froze. He lowered his head and muttered, “Then next time, come with me to the tailor shop and pick out what you like.”

 

Shui Que brushed him off: “Mhm, when I’ve got time. Now you better go—Qi Lang will be back any moment, and we’re heading to Xiaoxia Bay to see the lotus flowers.”

 

The crowds along the riverbank had thinned. It would be his turn with the male lead soon.

 

Wu Chun pressed his lips together tightly, voice low and unhappy. “I row very steadily.”

 

Shui Que leaned against the pavilion railing, gazing at the crowd along the riverbank, not paying attention to whatever Wu Chun was saying.

 

The man put on his bamboo hat, the shadow falling over his hawk-like eyes, but obediently walked away.

 

It was a scorching summer day, the heat intense enough to melt stone. In Changzhou County, every household sought out places to cool off—temples, Taoist shrines, waterside pavilions—everywhere one could see people sneaking into shaded corners to escape the heat.

 

The best spot was still Xiaoxia Bay in the southern part of the city, nestled beside a lotus pond. Along the shore, red railings and green waters surrounded residential homes.

 

Since they had already come to the south of the city, Shui Que didn’t want to just admire the lotuses from the shore. He nudged Qi Chaojin’s arm. “Can we go boating too?”

 

He had seen many small black canopy boats drifting along the city’s surrounding river.

 

Men and women fanned themselves with round fans. Some of the boats were even moored beneath bridge arches—perfectly situated at narrow breezeways.

 

Qi Chaojin looked around and spotted an old man with a white beard at a stone staircase leading down along the river. He was clearly renting out boats for a living. Several small, flat-bottomed boats were tied together by rope at the shore, all apparently owned by the old man.

 

“Young sir, renting a boat?” the old man asked with a smile, stroking his white beard. “It’s hot today. Nothing better than cooling off in the lotus pond.”

 

Qi Chaojin nodded. “Sir, how do you rent these little boats?”

 

“One hundred coins to stay overnight, fifty for half a day,” the old man replied kindly with a chuckle.

 

At night, with the bright moon over clear water and the scent of lotus flowers in the air, many lovers spent the night at Xiaoxia Bay.

 

But Shui Que tended to attract mosquitoes. Qi Chaojin worried that if they spent the night in the lotus pond, he would become a feast for them.

 

Moreover, thunderstorms had been frequent in the evenings lately—it wasn’t ideal to stay too long.

 

Qi Chaojin took fifty coins from his sleeve and handed it over. “Half a day is enough.”

 

Money changed hands, and the old man untied one of the small black-canopy boats. Qi Chaojin helped Shui Que down, steadying him to ensure he could sit safely inside.

 

These small boats used for cooling off were often used by locals to harvest lotus pods. Narrow from bow to stern, they could barely fit four people—any more and you’d have to sit sideways.

 

But they were light and easy to maneuver on the water.

 

Qi Chaojin took the wooden oar and paddled the boat toward the lotus pond.

 

Shui Que had specifically asked him to buy a melon and have the farmer cut it in half. He also brought along a porcelain spoon. Even while eating watermelon, he kept up his act, murmuring sweet nothings to Qi Chaojin.

 

“Qi Lang is so good to me.”

 

As he spoke, he scooped out a piece from the most watery part of the melon and held it up to Qi Chaojin’s mouth.

 

They had just passed beneath a bridge, a breeze drifting through. Qi Chaojin didn’t think much of it and simply accepted the bite.

 

Only after swallowing the juicy watermelon did he realize—they were using the same spoon.

 

Shui Que noticed the change in his expression and frowned slightly. In a soft voice, he asked, “…You’re not grossed out by my saliva, are you?”

 

He had only brought one spoon—that was on him.

 

Qi Chaojin felt his ears burning. He shook his head.

 

Shui Que looked satisfied. He scooped another bite and happily stuffed it into his own mouth.

 

Just after swallowing, Qi Chaojin suddenly leaned over without a word. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Shui Que’s.

 

The oar dropped. The melon tumbled.

 

The canopy of the boat shielded them from the harsh sunlight. The breeze carried the fragrance of lotus flowers.

 

Qi Chaojin kissed him for a moment, then seemed to realize it wasn’t quite enough.

 

He pried open Shui Que’s teeth with his tongue. Feeling Shui Que leaning backward, he caught the back of his head with one hand to keep him from hitting anything, and awkwardly steadied his waist with the other.

 

He maintained the demeanor of a gentleman—gently sucking the moist, reddened tip of his tongue, slow and tender. Shui Que’s mouth still held the sweet freshness of watermelon. Qi Chaojin couldn’t help but twirl his tongue, wrapping around Shui Que’s and savoring it.

 

It was agonizingly indulgent.

 

Shui Que’s brows furrowed in apparent displeasure, though his snow-white cheeks were flushed pink, and his wet lashes clumped into little tufts. He looked stunning.

 

When Qi Chaojin licked the inside of his cheek, Shui Que couldn’t take it anymore. He started pushing against Qi Chaojin’s chest with real force.

 

Yet, despite his thin scholar’s frame, Qi Chaojin’s chest was solid as a rock.

 

He had done farm work since childhood, and though poverty made his clothing hang loosely, his body was lean and muscled, strong and taut, his wide, high-set bones covered in a streamlined frame.

 

No matter how hard Shui Que pushed, Qi Chaojin didn’t budge.

 

He kept sucking deeply on the soft, wet tip of his tongue, his Adam’s apple moving as if swallowing.

 

“Mm…”

 

Shui Que’s slender white neck tilted back, lips parted slightly. Clear saliva began to drip from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his lovely neckline.

 

Qi Chaojin could no longer be called a gentleman—not when he kissed down from those plump lips, tracing the wet trail as if drinking ambrosia.

 

He didn’t leave a single drop behind.

 

His breathing was so heavy, completely unlike his usual self.

 

Once he was sure every trace had been cleaned, he finally lifted his head. He stared at the flushed-eyed Xiao Langjun and said in a soft voice, “It’s not that I don’t mind. I like it.”

 

Shui Que looked irritated. “If you don’t mind, then don’t. But why’d you drink my saliva?”

 

He pointed at the watermelon lying smashed in the boat. It was now inedible.

 

Shui Que accused him sternly, “You wasted the watermelon!”

 

Qi Chaojin let out a low laugh. Seeing that Shui Que didn’t seem too upset, he finally relaxed.

 

“I’ll go get another one for you.”

 

Shui Que replied with a soft, “Mm.”

 

His face was hot. He regretted it.

 

If he’d known the male lead would suddenly kiss him, he wouldn’t have said all those sweet things.

 

Even though the watermelon was ruined, luckily the paddle had only fallen inside the boat. If it had gone into the water, they’d have had to row back by hand.

 

Qi Chaojin paddled to another stone step, but there weren’t any melon-selling boats nearby. He needed to go ashore to look for a fruit vendor. Shui Que didn’t want to go, so Qi Chaojin told him to stay put in the black-canopy boat and keep out of the sun.

 

Shui Que nodded obediently, but as soon as Qi Chaojin left, he started playing with the oar.

 

His movements were clumsy, but he found the activity amusing.

 

He paddled aimlessly, drifting back into the lotus pond.

 

There was a large painted pleasure boat nearby, its ornately carved wooden windows on all sides wide open to let in the cool breeze.

 

The interior resembled a house—tea table, official chairs, writing desk, bamboo couch, and lacquered screens, all neatly arranged.

 

Four or five young men sat around playing drinking games, gambling with mahjong-style cards. A couple of servants from the Cui household stood nearby, ready to serve them.

 

The boat rang with laughter and cheers as the game grew intense.

 

Deng Cang lost a round and downed the cup of wine a servant handed over in one gulp. Laughing heartily, he said, “They say in the capital, no one can beat the Marquis Wei at mahjong. Third Young Master Cui, have you ever played him?”

 

Cui Shixin raised his brows, recalling an old childhood friend. “It’s about half and half.”

 

He added, “Just a few days ago, he sent a letter home by pigeon, saying he might stop by here. Who knows if he’ll stay till winter—if the lake freezes over, we could gather a group for an ice hockey match.”

 

They were still chatting when suddenly, the boatman shouted, and with a loud splash, someone fell into the water.

 

That was no small matter.

 

Cui Shixin strode to the bow. When he saw who was in the water, his pupils contracted sharply.

 

His sleeves billowed as he leapt into the river.

 

He pulled out a soaked, dripping Xiao Langjun.

 

Shui Que had been leaning halfway out of his boat, trying to pick a lotus pod. The pleasure boat had bumped into his small vessel, and the sudden jolt had sent him slipping straight into the river.

 

The young men who rushed over saw his drooping lashes and pale little face.

 

Cui Shixin let him go.

 

Shui Que wrung out his robe—drip, drip, drip.

 

Cui Shixin’s phoenix eyes widened, voice rising, “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

 

The rest of the group finally tore their eyes away from his face.

 

Shui Que’s fair feet were drenched in the clear river water. His toes were soft and pink, like flower petals adorned with stamens.

 

They were all students from the academy, and yet here they were, openly staring at someone’s feet, dazed like fools.

 

Shui Que glanced at Cui Shixin.

 

What was with him?

 

He had just taken off his shoes on the boat because they were in the way.

 

Darong society was open-minded—who still cared about such outdated customs?

 

Lately, every time it rained in the evening, both men and women could be seen walking barefoot along the riverbank. What was so strange about it?

 

System 77 reminded Shui Que: [Host, that’s the classmate of the male lead, the one you exchange flirtatious glances with in the plot.]

 

Shui Que stiffened slightly.

 

If he was someone his character was supposed to flirt with later, then making him pay for a new pair of shoes after causing him to fall into the water and lose them… shouldn’t be too much, right?

 

Under the guidance of the Soft Rice system, Shui Que had already become quite proficient in his craft.

 

Putting on a sulky expression, he muttered, “Your family’s pleasure boat barged right through and knocked me into the river—I even lost my shoes… Those were a gift from Qi Lang.”

 

Cui Shixin turned his face away and said in a low voice, “My apologies.”

 

Then he added, “Come aboard and head to my place. You can change into some dry clothes.”

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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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