Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 61

Chapter 61: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (10)

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Shui Que held onto Qi Chaojin’s shoulders with both hands and said honestly, “Sir, I was just asking Qi Lang to teach me how to write…”

 


His eyes were like calm autumn water, looking sincerely at Nie Xiuyuan, an expression of pure innocence.


 

But he was clearly still curled up in the man’s lap.


 

It was as if his bones had melted—without the man, he couldn’t even sit upright.


 

Nie Xiuyuan’s expression was cold and stern. His voice was deep and heavy: “Does writing require you to be stuck together like that? Is the study hall missing a chair for you?”


 

His face was so dark it seemed ink might drip from it. “This is disgraceful.”


 

He had come from the study’s corridor. The two of them were so close, their silhouettes entwined, and they hadn’t even bothered to shut the windows properly.


 

At this hour, most of the students were likely resting in their dorms, but there was no guarantee that no one would pass by. What would this look like?


 

He clearly looked like he was in a terrible mood. Shui Que quickly jumped out of Qi Chaojin’s lap, sat properly on the bamboo chair beside him, placed his hands neatly on his thighs, and spoke softly, “Sir, is this acceptable now?”


 

Nie Xiuyuan gave him a cold stare, his face stern and his tone icy: “Do not engage in such disgraceful behavior again.”


 

He wheeled himself away, his retreating figure still brimming with suppressed anger.


He made it sound so awful.


 

Like he and Qi Chaojin hadn’t been studying and writing but doing something inappropriate.


Shui Que nervously exchanged glances with Qi Chaojin. “Sir got angry… What should we do?”


 

Qi Chaojin shook his head and comforted him softly, “It’s alright. Sir is strict and stubborn—he may seem a little unreasonable, but he’s not narrow-minded.”


 

Still worried Nie Xiuyuan might suddenly return, Shui Que didn’t dare sit on Qi Chaojin’s lap again. So Qi Chaojin moved his chair a bit closer and guided him from the side as they continued writing.

 

…

 

As it turned out, Nie Xiuyuan really was that petty.


 

Shui Que fumed silently in his heart.

 

“Upright and unwavering, firm and righteous.” Nie Xiuyuan’s sharp features were set in a cold, strict expression. He stared at the fourth row’s desk by the window. “Explain this.”

 


He hadn’t called out any names, but everyone knew exactly who he meant.


 

All eyes, filled with concern, turned toward the Xiao Langjun by the window.


 

Within seven days, during just two classes, this was already the sixth time he’d been singled out.


 

Shui Que’s pale face looked rather displeased. But out of respect for his teacher, he still got up and stumbled through his answer.


 

He stammered, his response incoherent and unsatisfactory.


 

Nie Xiuyuan’s voice grew heavier: “Chapter Ten of the Doctrine of the Mean. Copy it ten times.”


 

Again!


 

Another writing punishment!


 

Shui Que puffed up his cheeks, unable to vent his anger at the teacher. He just muttered, “Yes.”


 

The corners of his round eyes flushed red with frustration. His lips were bitten and slightly deformed. He looked utterly pitiful.


 

After class, Cui Shixin came up from behind and asked curiously, “What did you do to offend Headmaster Nie?”


 

Even when some students were hopelessly slow, strict as he was, Nie Xiuyuan usually didn’t nitpick like this.


 

Shui Que flattened the bamboo paper and grumbled, “How would I know… Maybe he’s going through menopause.”


 

But Nie Xiuyuan had just barely passed thirty. Shui Que was just angry and trying to slander him.

 


Cui Shixin had never heard of the term “menopause,” but he could vaguely guess its meaning from the characters. He lightly tapped his folding fan against the desk and said, “You better be careful—if those harsh words reach Headmaster Nie’s ears, you’re in trouble.”

 

With a mischievous raise of his brow and his phoenix eyes fixed on Shui Que, he teased, “Call me Hao Gege and I’ll copy it for you—how about that?”

 

Hao Gege was a term used for a lover, a slang expression with a flirtatious, teasing undertone.

Note: it also mean good brother.

 

The classmates present all twitched slightly at the ears upon hearing it.

 

“No way,” Shui Que muttered gloomily. “Qi Lang helped me copy it a few days ago—he saw through it at a glance… made me copy double.”

 

Even though Qi Chaojin’s imitation of his handwriting was almost indistinguishable from the real thing—so much so that even Shui Que himself nearly couldn’t tell the difference.

 

He glanced up at Cui Shixin, his expression lively and charming.

 

But his words weren’t exactly pleasant to hear.

 

“Your handwriting isn’t even as good as Qi Lang’s, and you’re not of much use either…”

 

Cui Shixin felt a throbbing pain in his temples and snapped with irritation, “I’m just trying to help you, and you don’t appreciate it at all.”

 

“You’ve eaten so many of my meals too—how heartless.”

 

He was so angry that he reached out to pinch Shui Que’s face.

 

That little bit of cheek was so soft that it pinched right up between his fingers like silk. Xiao Langjun’s face looked like solid cream—so tender.

 

Cui Shixin didn’t actually use much force. Shui Que shot him a sidelong glance, clearly displeased, his gaze full of subtle flirtation. Just that one glance made Cui Shixin’s head spin.

 

He glared at Shui Que, and for some reason, the plot progression bar ticked up again.

 

Shui Que was thoroughly confused.

 

He pushed Cui Shixin’s hand away and mumbled slowly, “I’m going to copy my books now. Stop bothering me, or I’ll tell Teacher you’re disturbing my studies.”

 

He had just been complaining about Nie Xiuyuan moments ago, but now he was already dragging him out as a human shield again.

 

Cui Shixin tugged at the corner of his mouth and let out a snort.

 

Qi Chaojin sat nearby, his eyes half-closed, silently grinding ink for Shui Que.

 

A few days later, it was time for the monthly “Window Lesson” at Xijiang Academy, held on the twelfth of every month. It was similar to the monthly tests in the first world. The headmaster personally graded the papers, and the top fifteen students received pine soot ink and pale blue bamboo paper as prizes.

 

Though only an internal assessment, its main goal was to evaluate the students’ learning over the month. More importantly, it provided a chance to distribute essential supplies like ink and paper to talented students from humble backgrounds, such as Qi Chaojin.

 

In the first world, Shui Que had relied on Qu Jiuchao’s hints to ace exams. In this world, he could only rely on Qi Chaojin.

 

When the papers were handed out, Shui Que was dumbfounded. The questions were all over the place, none of the punishments he’d copied had come up at all. No wonder Qi Chaojin had warned him not to try predicting the headmaster’s questions.

 

Essay composition? He had no clue—skipped.

 

Writing edicts and official documents? Took too long—moved on.

 

Policy arguments? Saved for last.

 

Classics interpretation? Barely managed a response.

 

He had just finished that section and cobbled together a poem that didn’t even rhyme properly—

 

Dong dong dong—the bell outside the classroom was already ringing.

 

Shui Que frowned. “…?”

 

When the invigilating scholar collected the papers, he glanced at the answer sheets of Cui and Qi in front and behind him—they were filled from top to bottom.

 

Shui Que blinked slowly.

 

It’s not like he’d fallen asleep during the test…

 

Seeing him look so downcast, Qi Chaojin suggested that after class, they could stop by the fish shop to buy some fish and shrimp. With the bamboo shoots and bracken they’d picked a few days ago, he’d cook that mountain-sea hot pot Shui Que had been craving.

 

Shui Que perked up at first, but then slumped again, muttering gloomily, “Do you think Teacher will scold me?”

 

Qi Chaojin had to reassure him that the teacher didn’t really care about the Window Lesson scores and would only post the names of the top fifteen within the academy.

 

Shui Que relaxed a bit. “Mhm, okay.”

 

…

 

But he’d relaxed too soon.

 

The next day, after lunch, a classmate came looking for him, scratching his head. “Shui Que, the Headmaster asked for you—he wants you to meet him at the zhai residence…”

 

A bolt from the blue.

 

Shui Que froze.

 

His anxiety from that day wasn’t unfounded. Aside from leaving most of the paper blank, he’d forgotten how to write several classical characters and had accidentally used simplified modern ones instead. Nie Xiuyuan might think he was just doodling or even inventing his own shorthand system.

 

The classmate reminded him, “He’s in the main room of the inner courtyard.”

 

He walked through the corridor. It had rained that morning, and the plantain trees in the courtyard before the main room were cold and wet, a green so chilly it made the air feel damp.

 

Shui Que cautiously pushed open the red lattice door and stood at the entrance, stiffly greeting, “Sir…?”

 

Looking inside, he saw a long writing table, a large sheet of nearly blank paper spread out across it.

 

Nie Xiuyuan sat in his wheelchair and didn’t look back. He said coolly, “Come in.”

 

Shui Que stepped inside. “Close the door,” Nie Xiuyuan added.

 

At those words, Shui Que glanced around the room warily—and sure enough, he spotted a disciplinary ruler sitting on the small tea table beside the writing desk.

 

…He’s not planning to beat him, right?

 

Nie Xiuyuan gave him a sidelong glance. Shui Que wasn’t sure if he’d just heard a sigh: “…I didn’t call you here to hit you.”

 

Only then did Shui Que agree to close the door.

 

Nie Xiuyuan pointed to the small square stool beside him. “Sit.”

 

Shui Que obeyed and sat properly.

 

Nie Xiuyuan didn’t ask about the test paper. Instead, expression unreadable, he asked, “What’s your relationship with Qi Er?”

 

It seemed he truly had no idea about the ambiguous tension between Shui Que and the male lead.

 

Shui Que fidgeted with his fingers and mumbled, “Qi Lang is… my distant cousin.”

 

“Even cousins should maintain proper boundaries. You mustn’t cross the line of normal interaction.”

 

Nie Xiuyuan’s brow furrowed deeply. He’d seen Qi Chaojin hugging Shui Que more than once. That one time after school when it rained, they had only one oil-paper umbrella between them. Rather than get wet walking side by side, Qi Chaojin had crouched down to carry Shui Que on his back at Shui Que’s suggestion.

 

It’s not like Shui Que was injured—why carry him? The academy even had extra umbrellas available. Cui San* had offered to lend them one, too. So what was the need?

Note: Cui San refers to Third Young Master Cui. San here means third so basically mean he’s the third son.

 

Also, what kind of cousins sat on each other’s laps to write?

 

Nie Xiuyuan found it utterly baffling.

 

He chose his words carefully, but even so, his questioning still came off too harsh.

 

Shui Que shrank his neck and lowered his head. “It’s not… as improper as you make it sound…”

 

Nie Xiuyuan was past thirty, fully devoted to scholarly pursuits, rarely concerning himself with anything else. But that didn’t mean he was completely ignorant of romantic matters. He could more or less guess a few things. His deep, ink-dark eyes locked onto Shui Que. “You should be focusing on your studies.”

 

Shui Que really did find the classics dizzying. Just like he’d told Cui San earlier, he said again to Nie Xiuyuan, “It’s fine—Qi Lang promised to take care of me.”

 

Qi Chaojin was the destined scholar, not him. Shui Que was clearly here to toy with the future top scholar’s feelings. How could a “black moonlight” character seriously commit to studying?

 

He pressed his lips together, his pale face taut with suppressed displeasure. After being targeted by Nie Xiuyuan for so long, it looked like he was finally about to snap.

 

When Shui Que was angry, his round eyes stared intensely, black and white distinct, his gaze heavy and sorrowful, like he was bearing some tremendous grievance in silence.

 

His features were naturally beautiful—almost excessively so.

 

Nie Xiuyuan met his eyes and suddenly felt flustered. He looked away and insisted stubbornly, “Don’t go down a misguided path.”

 

He reached for the cup on the tea table, and Shui Que’s eyelid twitched. He thought Nie Xiuyuan was going for the ruler instead and, without thinking, hurriedly climbed into his lap.

 

Nie Xiuyuan’s pupils shrank. His mind went blank in shock. His normally calm expression cracked slightly.

 

[Host, plot progress increased!] System 77 shouted excitedly. [I told you—he’s been picking on you because you weren’t pushing his storyline.]

 

[…]

 

Shui Que didn’t respond to 77.

 

He gently pulled Nie Xiuyuan’s hand back from the tea table and pressed it onto the armrest of the wheelchair.

 

Images from countless costume dramas about seducing those in power flashed through Shui Que’s mind.

 

Clumsily, he leaned into Nie Xiuyuan’s stiff body and whispered, “You said me and Qi Lang were walking a crooked path… Well, what about now? I’m sitting on your lap too…”

 

He was terrified that Nie Xiuyuan would throw him off in anger.

 

He clutched the man’s neck, stammering, “So… does that mean you’re indecent now too, Sir?”

 

Nie Xiuyuan stared at his soft red lips as they opened and closed, a ringing buzzing in his ears. He didn’t catch a single word of what Shui Que said.

 

All he could register was that sweet, thick scent wrapping around him—clinging to his clothes, his skin, his senses.

 

Xiao Langjun sat on his lap, arms around his neck, upper body leaning in close.

 

As long as Nie Xiuyuan kept his eyes open, he could see the curve of that waist pressed against him—

 

It was just like the tales from the streets—those about scholars on their way to the imperial exams getting entangled with seductive fox spirits. Nie Xiuyuan had nowhere to hide and completely lost his composure.

 

“Get down!” he barked sternly, trying to put on the air of a strict teacher. “What kind of behavior is this!”

 

But the plot progress had only just gone from 45% to 47%…

 

Shui Que blinked slowly in confusion.

 

He couldn’t quite tell whether Nie Xiuyuan was truly angry or just pretending.

 

“But…” Shui Que cautiously lifted his gaze, the folds at the corners of his wide eyes resembling a crescent moon. “…Sir, your heart is beating so fast.”

 

His soft palm shifted down to the left side of Nie Xiuyuan’s chest.

 

Shui Que murmured, “It’s really fast.”

 

How can it beat that fast and not get tired?

 

He took Nie Xiuyuan’s hand and pressed it against the spot over his own heart.

 

Shui Que said smugly, “Mine doesn’t beat as fast as yours.”

 

As if even in this comparison, he had won a little victory.

 

Nie Xiuyuan’s mind thundered, the string of reason snapping in his head—he couldn’t think, couldn’t argue.

 

His background wasn’t all that different from Qi Chaojin’s, having grown up in poverty, and completely alone. As a child, he had crossed many mountains and worked tirelessly.

 

Because of that, his hands, apart from the calluses on his middle finger from holding a brush, were covered with thick, hardened calluses at the base of his palms.

 

That kind of palm, resting on a flat chest through layers of gauze robe—he wasn’t even sure if the base of the hand was pressing against a barely perceptible rise.

 

The heat in Nie Xiuyuan’s head surged up in an instant, leaving him completely speechless.

 

As soon as Shui Que let go of his hand, he quickly and clumsily pulled it back, gripping the armrest of the wheelchair.

 

The calm composure he’d shown at first was completely gone; even his neck had turned red.

 

Nie Xiuyuan turned his head away, avoiding Shui Que’s gaze, and his voice came out rough and strained: “…Get off.”

 

Shui Que still remembered how he had been scolded earlier. He was very petty and let out a couple of disgruntled snorts, grumbling, “What a shame there’s no bronze mirror here—Sir, you look just awful right now…”

 

Still, one must leave some room for dignity, lest they meet again in the future.

 

Shui Que decided to wrap things up nicely.

 

“You have to promise me not to punish me by making me copy books ever again.” Feeling like he had the upper hand, Shui Que tugged on Nie Xiuyuan’s collar and insisted he turn his head to look at him, “Swear it. If you don’t, I won’t get off.”

 

He had the pure, watery appearance of an innocent, yet when he acted out, he could really go to extremes.

 

Nie Xiuyuan stared at him in a daze.

 

Seeing him frozen like that, Shui Que gave him a little shake. “Come on, say it.”

 

Nie Xiuyuan let out a muffled groan, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked like he was struggling miserably, and forced out the words, one by one, in a hoarse voice: “Fine. I swear—I won’t make you copy books again.”

 

But Shui Que wasn’t about to let him off so easily. In this regard, he’d actually learned strictness from none other than Headmaster Nie himself. “And what if you do it again?”

 

Sweat trickled from Nie Xiuyuan’s forehead down to his jaw. He clenched his teeth and bit out the words: “Then—may—thunder—strike—me.”

 

Shui Que nodded like a pecking chick, satisfied, and hopped off his lap. “Then I won’t bother you anymore, Sir. I’ll be going…”

 

He was afraid Nie Xiuyuan might come to his senses and fly into a rage, so he made his escape swiftly and cheerfully—vanishing in the blink of an eye.

 

Leaving behind only the “Sir,” sitting there alone.

 

Nie Xiuyuan reached out toward the teacup on the table.

 

Crash! The black-glazed porcelain shattered into pieces, tea spilling all over the floor.

 

Nie Xiuyuan’s chest heaved. He exhaled a heavy breath.

 

——

 

After that, Nie Xiuyuan truly didn’t target him anymore. Even when everyone else around had been called on to answer questions, Shui Que remained untouched.

 

Before and after the Zhongyuan Festival, there would be a holiday. Just before classes ended for the break, Cui Shixin clicked his tongue in disbelief. “Didn’t Headmaster Nie call you away the other day? What did you say to him? Now he’s avoiding you like the plague.”

 

With every autumn rain came a wave of chill. The drizzling mist covered the city.

 

Shui Que made Qi Chaojin carry him home on his back, holding a paper umbrella above them.

 

Water splashed off the tips of their black shoes. Qi Chaojin asked why he hadn’t answered Cui Shixin’s question earlier.

 

“Me…?” Shui Que clung to Qi Chaojin’s neck, shaking his head. “I didn’t do anything.”

 

He added, “It’s just that Sir realized he had been biased against me before, misunderstood me. Now he’s changed his mind.”

 

Qi Chaojin didn’t press him further and instead said he would take him to the opera house tomorrow to watch the Qinglong play.

 

That was a ritual performance for the Zhongyuan Festival.

 

This year it might be even more exciting, as a troupe of Hu performers had recently arrived in Changzhou County.

 

Shui Que nodded.

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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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