Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 62

Chapter 62: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (11)

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The Zhongyuan Festival—common folks in Darong preferred to call it “Seventh Month Half.”

 

In Jiangnan, it was customary to pay respects to deceased family members, much like during the Qingming Festival.

 

Shui Que was roused by Qi Chaojin even earlier than a typical school day.

 

Darong used toothbrushes made of horsehair, already quite similar in shape to modern brushes. Tooth powder was made from herbal ingredients like soapnut, ginger, and rehmannia.

 

After rinsing his mouth, Shui Que couldn’t help but yawn.

 

The sky was still a pale fish-belly white, tinged with a bit of hazy red like morning clouds.

 

It was a holiday, and yet he had to get up this early…

 

How was that any different from not having a break at all?

 

A hand stretched across, holding a cloth towel soaked and wrung out with water, and began scrubbing Shui Que’s face.

 

“Mm mm…”

 

The water had been drawn by Qi Chaojin from the well that morning—chilly and refreshing.

 

When the cloth was removed, Shui Que’s snow-white face was scrunched up in displeasure. He opened his eyes and looked at him with obvious discontent.

 

Qi Chaojin scooped more water with a wooden ladle, rubbing the towel between his hands, and asked gently, “Are you awake now?”

 

Shui Que: “……”

 

The way he had been scrubbed just now—even if he hadn’t been awake, he was now.

 

“Qi Lang… when will the academy actually give us a break?” Shui Que slumped bonelessly against his shoulder, whining softly, “Why do we have to wake up this early every day…”

 

He added, “I don’t mean those one-day weekend breaks. I mean real holidays… like summer or winter vacation. Do you know what I mean?”

 

Qi Chaojin thought for a moment and seemed to understand. He explained, “After Frost’s Descent in the ninth month, there’ll be a month-long clothing break. The academy lets us return home to prepare winter clothes.”

 

“Will you make winter clothes for me, Qi Lang?” Shui Que looked at him with sparkling eyes.

 

Qi Chaojin nodded and said softly, “I’ll take you to the fabric shop to pick out silk padding.”

 

He hung up the towel to dry.

 

A faint trace of worry appeared on Shui Que’s face. “Qi Lang… when it snows in winter, do you think our roof will collapse?”

 

Even though most homes in Qinghe Village were thatched with straw, wheat stalks, or reeds, Shui Que still felt uneasy.

 

Qi Chaojin looked up at the main house’s roof. The thatch, about a foot thick, had clearly seen better days.

 

Rather than replacing it again with straw, it would be better to repair the beams and rafters and cover it with green tiles. The walls on both sides also needed extra bricks and stones to keep out the wind during winter.

 

He himself didn’t mind, but Shui Que would definitely get sick from the cold.

 

Thinking this over, he realized he’d need to start budgeting early for winter preparations.

 

The two side sheds weren’t a priority, but the main house—where they ate and slept—had to be fixed first.

 

And they’d also need charcoal, braziers, hand-warmers, and hot-water bottles to get through snowy days.

 

Thinking carefully, there were still many expenses to come.

 

After a moment of thought, Qi Chaojin said, “When the clothing break comes, I’ll go to Changzhou County and find some work. I’ll try to have green tiles laid down before mid-October. The roof won’t collapse.”

 

After comforting Shui Que, he turned toward the kitchen.

 

The chicken had already been slaughtered and cooked in the pot—but that would be used for the offering first.

 

Qi Chaojin plated the whole chicken and added melons, fruits, and tea, placing everything neatly into a bamboo basket.

 

He cleaned the pot and then cooked two bowls of noodle soup with slices of meat, along with a plate of vegetable cakes.

 

Once breakfast was finished, they would head to the back mountain of Qinghe Village for ancestral rites.

 

The tombs in this area were all made of bricks, with brick-lined walls forming a square enclosure and a domed roof like an upside-down pot. Though made of brick, they were covered in soil, so from the outside, they looked like small earthen mounds.

 

The burial sites of Qinghe villagers were relatively clustered. Early in the morning, the air was filled with greetings from familiar families.

 

Since people had already come to offer respects during Qingming, the weeds and brush hadn’t grown wild enough to completely cover the graves. Those who arrived early would cut away the tall grass as they walked, making it easier for others to find their family plots.

 

Afraid Shui Que might get lost, Qi Chaojin carried the bamboo basket in one hand and held his hand with the other.

 

Aunt Liu’s husband asked out of curiosity, “Is something good happening at the Qi household soon?”

 

She elbowed him and lowered her voice—Qi Chaojin was just up ahead.

 

A sharp-tongued woman nearby muttered, “Didn’t his mother pass less than a year ago? Already dragging that Xiao Langjun to worship at the ancestral tablet? What kind of filial son is that…”

 

“There’s still over a month before the full year,” Aunt Liu retorted. “They’re not getting married yet. Maybe their relationship is good and they want her to take a look from the afterlife—what’s wrong with that? You think crying at the grave every day is the only way to be filial? The boy studies hard, and he’s at the age where he needs to start a family and find someone who understands and cares for him. That would comfort his mother’s spirit far more.”

 

The sharp-tongued matron was left speechless after being snapped at a few times. She mumbled, “That Xiao Langjun looks so delicate—can he really take care of Qi Er? More likely it’s Qi Er who has to juggle studying for the imperial exams while looking after him…”

 

Aunt Liu curled her lips. “That’s between the two of them. Why are you so nosy?”

 

“Tch…” The woman said no more, but her belly was still full of bitter muttering.

 

That Xiao Langjun looked like something straight out of a fox spirit tale—why would someone like that settle for dirt-poor Qi Er when he could have anyone?

 

Qi Er treated him like his heart and soul, but for all they knew, that beloved sweetheart might’ve already been touched all over by some rich wild man in some hidden corner.

 

Meanwhile, Qi Chaojin led Shui Que to his mother’s earthen grave, completely unaware of how some people in the village were gossiping behind his back.

 

He brushed the dirt and dust off the gravestone, then took plates of chicken, melons, and fruits out of the bamboo basket one by one and set them before the grave.

 

Just then, an autumn breeze blew through. The cup tilted slightly, and the bowl of tea spilled from right to left along the movement of his hand, soaking into the earth.

 

Dark stains spread on the muddy ground.

 

On their way down the mountain, Qi Chaojin held Shui Que’s hand, their fingers tightly intertwined.

 

His eyelids drooped halfway, and suddenly he spoke. “Shui Que.”

 

Shui Que turned to look at him. “Hm?”

 

Qi Chaojin’s breath hitched slightly. After a moment, he turned to face him and asked, “Would you be willing to…”

 

His clear, luminous eyes stared into Shui Que’s without blinking. “What is it?”

 

There was a long silence before Qi Chaojin finally shook his head. “No, it’s nothing.”

 

Shui Que glanced sideways at him.

 

Weird.

 

Qi Chaojin’s fingers tightened again, somewhat anxiously.

 

Forget it. It was too early for that now.

 

At the very least…


He should wait until after passing the imperial exam next year.

After descending the mountain, at a crossroad in the fields, there were farmers setting out rice cakes and chicken millet to worship at the edge of the fields.


“They’re worshiping the Field God.”

 

Qi Chaojin explained.

 

However, the few mu of farmland owned by the Qi family had already been sold off when Father Qi died to cover funeral expenses. Mother Qi had to raise a pair of children on her own, relying solely on her needlework. Her health was too poor for field labor, and the only two mu of land that remained were sold off by Qi Chaojin last year to pay off debts.

 

Now, they only grew a few vegetables in a small patch just in front of the courtyard—enough for cooking porridge or noodles on ordinary days.

 

So they skipped the ritual of worshiping the Field God.

 

Back at home, Qi Chaojin mentioned that the opera at the Pear Garden wouldn’t get lively until the afternoon. For now, everyone stayed home folding water and drought lanterns, waiting until the gongs and drums sounded to burn them at the city’s corners and along the streets.

 

Shui Que yawned. “Then I’ll take another nap…”

 

Qi Chaojin quietly took out some paper cuttings and started folding lanterns. He nodded. “Alright. I’ll call you for lunch.”

 

After lunch, they could go to the Pear Garden in Changzhou County to watch the opera.

 

Qi Chaojin lit the folded lanterns at a corner of the city. Drums and horns sounded from the city wall, and along the river encircling the southern part of the city, people were also releasing lanterns into the water. Shui Que followed suit and let one go too.

 

“It would look even better at night, wouldn’t it?” he said, turning to Qi Chaojin.

 

The paper-cut lotus-shaped lanterns floated down the river, resembling blooming lotuses when viewed at night.

 

Qi Chaojin nodded. “But we’ll need to head back before evening.”

 

It would be too dark at night. The mountain roads, rivers, and bridges would all be too dangerous.

 

Because they rarely had a chance to go to the opera together, Qi Chaojin spent a little extra to get seats on the second floor. Each table was surrounded by folding screens—not quite as private as the third-floor boxes, but still offering a full view of the stage below through the windows.

 

The drums thundered.

 

Just as Qi Chaojin had said earlier, the Hu opera troupe took the stage.

 

Each actor was tall and powerfully built, with striking, deep-set facial features.

 

One by one, they entered in full character, with grand momentum. The music and songs were loud and energetic, with gongs and drums blaring.

 

Several people by the stage held carved redwood sticks, with incense braziers hanging below them. White smoke curled up into the air, filling the stage with mist and a lively commotion.

 

One performer wore a green dragon mask and a white cloth costume tied at the waist with a hemp rope. His muscles bulged beneath the coarse cloth, clearly visible with each movement.

 

Shui Que felt a strange sense of familiarity.

 

Probably playing a green dragon demon or something—his entrance was quite impressive. But not long after, another character entered with a bow, and the green dragon was quickly defeated and retreated.

 

The opera continued into the dusk. The music reached its climax, the crowd buzzing with excitement.

 

Afterwards, another group of Hu performers came on to do acrobatics—kicking bowls, flipping bottles, juggling flower drumsticks. Shui Que leaned on the windowsill, fully absorbed, his snowy cheeks pressing into his elbow and squishing into soft, slightly deformed flesh.

 

His features were delicate, and even just lying there quietly, he was a scene unto himself.

 

Someone came behind the screen looking for Qi Chaojin. It was the fan shop owner from before. “Qi Erlang? You’re watching the opera here too?”

 

Qi Chaojin clasped his hands politely. “Boss Chen. A pleasure.”

 

Boss Chen smiled. “Why not come up to the third floor and sit with me for a while? The wife of the calligraphy and painting shop owner from the north side of the city recently bought a fan you painted. Boss Liu saw the artwork and is interested in meeting you…”

 

“This is a great opportunity. Selling your work in a painting shop is much more profitable than on the face of a fan.”

 

Boss Chen hinted.

 

Besides, it was already mid-July. In just a few weeks, deep autumn would come—who would still be buying fans then?

 

Qi Chaojin glanced at Shui Que, who was fully engrossed in the opera.

 

Boss Chen understood his concern for his younger cousin. “It won’t take long. Boss Liu is also here for the opera. He probably just wants to meet you today and talk in detail another time.”

 

Qi Chaojin leaned close to Shui Que. “I’m going up to the third floor for a bit. Stay here and watch the opera, don’t wander off. I’ll be back soon.”

 

Shui Que waved him off without hesitation. “Go, go.”

 

Qi Chaojin’s footsteps faded away.

 

The acrobatics ended, and a new troupe took the stage—this one was the local opera group from Changzhou County.

 

They began playing and singing with traditional instruments.

 

But Shui Que found it far less exciting than the previous acrobatic act.

 

He stood up to pour himself a cup of tea. As he turned around, he was startled by the green dragon mask.

 

The actor saw he’d scared him and quickly removed the forgotten mask from his face. In his haste, he even yanked out a few strands of hair.

 

Shui Que had been right to think the face looked familiar.

 

Beneath the dragon mask was someone he knew.

 

Wu Chun’s rough voice came out. “…It’s me. I’m not a demon.”

 

His eagle-sharp eyes locked tightly onto the figure before him.

 

That snow-white face still had a pink mark from where it had been squished earlier.

 

He hadn’t lost weight.

 

But hadn’t he said before that Qi Er couldn’t afford to feed him?

 

Wu Chun had waited and waited. He had brought clothes, found ways to deliver sweet drinks—

 

Yet this person never came to his little straw hut again.

 

Even the white-furred little creature in the bamboo cage had grown round and chubby under his care.

 

It was useless in attracting Xiao Langjun.

 

Later, Wu Chun heard that Shui Que had followed Qi Chaojin to attend the academy.

 

Wu Chun had never been to school. Maybe he had in the past, but he had lost his memory and couldn’t recall.

 

He couldn’t understand—why would Shui Que follow Qi Er to study and never come to see him?

 

Night after night, he thought of the day in the pavilion when they had held hands. Those fingers were as pale and smooth as polished jade.

 

One day, Wu Chun passed by a restaurant. The flags fluttered in the wind, and when he looked up, he saw Shui Que sitting by a second-floor window, next to a young man.

 

He recognized him—he was the son of the county magistrate.

 

Wu Chun entered the restaurant and asked the waiter what the guests in that window-side room were eating.

 

The waiter gave him a strange look, wondering where this country bumpkin had come from.

 

“That’s Third Young Master Cui and a few of his schoolmates. All from official families,” the waiter said pointedly. Seeing Wu Chun’s expression remain blank, as if he didn’t understand, the waiter sneered and then recited a long list of dishes they usually ordered.

 

Not just the names—he even gave the prices.

 

Wu Chun walked out of the restaurant with a dark expression.

 

As a hunter from the mountains, even with several tens of thousands of coins saved over the years, it wouldn’t be enough to dine there for three days, eating like that.

 

No wonder Shui Que hadn’t come to see him.

 

No wonder Shui Que followed Qi Chaojin to the academy.

 

So it was the magistrate’s son who had been treating him to meals.

 

“You joined an opera troupe?” Shui Que asked, confused. “And played a giant green dragon demon?”

 

Wu Chun didn’t know how to explain.

 

He hung the fearsome dragon mask from the hemp rope at his waist.

 

Then he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a green jade hairpin. It was elegant in color, with clearly etched patterns and a carved tip.

 

He placed it in his palm and offered it to Shui Que.

 

Shui Que didn’t understand. “You’re giving this to me?”

 

His soft rice points had definitely increased again.

 

But where did Wu Chun get the money for this?

 

He looked at him with suspicion and pushed the hairpin back hesitantly. “How’d you suddenly get so much money? Wu Chun, don’t tell me you… did something bad?”

 

The sharp-eyed, high-bridged-nose man shook his head repeatedly. He wasn’t good with words, couldn’t tell the truth, and didn’t know how to explain. His mouth opened and closed several times, struggling to form broken sentences. “Didn’t do anything bad.”

 

Shui Que knew he was being unfair to suspect someone without reason.

 

He checked again, “You really want to give it to me?”

 

Actually, given his character setting as someone who’s all about money, he shouldn’t be this cautious.


He should’ve accepted it right away the moment it was handed over.

 

Wu Chun nodded earnestly. “It’s for you… but let me kiss you first.”

 

Last time, he only knew to carry the other on his back. But just a few days ago, he read a popular street romance. In the story, a Xiao Langjun, living alone, always found himself entangled with different men, kissing daily.

 

His ears burned at the thought—only then did he realize that people could kiss each other on the lips.

 

The performance on stage had changed to comedic banter to make the crowd laugh.


The noise of the audience and the drums created an even livelier atmosphere.

 

【Host… this is part of the plot,】 System 77 stammered, 【And based on the original character’s profile, he would have accepted the hairpin with only token resistance.】

 

But System 77 didn’t want the host to be kissed by some wild man either.

 

Shui Que was still wavering between sticking to his character or not, hesitating—when he was suddenly pulled by the waist and pinned behind a screen. The windows were wide open, and the autumn breeze was streaming in. But the man pressing against him was burning hot, like he’d been tempered by fire.

 

He hadn’t even nodded to agree—just held the hairpin, face full of uncertainty.

 

But Wu Chun pounced like a wolf spotting fresh meat, his sharp eyes nearly glowing green.

 

His rough, iron-like palm clamped down on the young man’s narrow waist, no different from a beast. He lowered his head and opened his mouth to bite and lick those tender red lips.

 

Licking until they were glistening, biting until they were a bright red, especially that small lip bead in the center of his upper lip—it was repeatedly teased, sucked hard with focused attention.

 

Usually discreet and hardly noticeable, it was now swollen, and anyone with eyes could tell it had been thoroughly sucked by some wild man.

 

Shui Que whimpered as he tried to push him away.

 

Wu Chun’s chest was solid like a wall of iron—he didn’t budge. His huge frame easily enveloped Shui Que entirely.

 

It was just like in the romance novel—the young widow acted reluctant but didn’t really resist.

 

Wu Chun thought he’d understood.

 

He pried open the other’s teeth, hastily seeking the retreating, soft red tongue, sucking on it as if he wanted to swallow it whole.

 

Shui Que’s tongue went numb. Trails of wetness streamed from the corners of his lips down to his chin.

 

His waist, held tightly, softened like a willow branch. As he nearly collapsed, Wu Chun wrapped an arm around him, holding him upright—forcing him to tiptoe, legs trembling, nearly lifted off the ground.

 

He heard footsteps approaching.

 

“Stop—don’t kiss me.” He hurriedly grabbed Wu Chun’s collar, his voice frail and trembling. “If someone… someone sees us…”

 

His eyes were red, and his lips wouldn’t close—he looked especially pitiful.

 

Wu Chun grunted, “There’s a screen.”

 

But Xiao Langjun was still worried—mainly scared that Qi Chaojin had come back.

 

Wu Chun frowned. The green dragon mask covered both of their faces from the side as he lowered his head and continued devouring the other’s lips.

 

Fortunately, the footsteps didn’t come their way.

 

They passed by the screen without stopping.

 

Wu Chun was the worst kisser Shui Que had ever encountered—no contest.

 

As soon as Wu Chun let go, Shui Que leaned against the table, gasping like he’d just survived a disaster.

 

Wu Chun stepped forward to check on him, only to get slapped across the face.

 

Shui Que’s palm stung, his little face backlit so his expression was hidden, and he muttered, “I didn’t give you permission to kiss me.”

 

Wu Chun awkwardly held his hand and checked the reddened palm. “Does it… does it hurt?”

 

He wasn’t worried about his own face—only concerned if Shui Que had hurt his hand slapping him.

 

Because Shui Que slapped him after the kiss, the system didn’t penalize him for being out of character—barely passed.

 

He quickly sent Wu Chun away.

 

…

 

When Qi Chaojin returned, the sky outside the window was filled with glowing clouds—it was already evening.

 

The obedient Xiao Langjun who’d been waiting for him had somehow acquired a floral fan, hiding half his face, peeking at him with bright eyes.

 

The colors of the sunset outside the window reflected in his eyes, like still water stirred by a breeze.

 

Even though Qi Chaojin had been around him daily, he still found himself momentarily dazed.

 

Shui Que had drunk several cups of tea to calm down and soothe his throat, but his voice still trembled slightly. He tried his best to speak steadily, praying Qi Chaojin wouldn’t notice anything strange.

 

“How did it go?” he asked, feigning concern.

 

Qi Chaojin nodded with a smile in his eyes. “Boss Chen wants me to take on the job if I have the time. If all goes well, we’ll have a long-term partnership with the calligraphy and painting shop. Details like pay and duties will be discussed in a few days.”

 

Working at the calligraphy shop would surely be more profitable than painting on fans.

 

That way, they’d have the funds to repair their home and buy warm things for winter.

 

Shui Que was happy for him too, his smile sweet and captivating.

 

Qi Chaojin, staring at him, reached for his hand and gently asked, eyes lowered, “Can I kiss you?”

 

Shui Que was still hiding behind the fan—his pupils widened instantly at the question.

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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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