Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 66

Chapter 66: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (15)

---

Just moments ago, Wei Yan had stood motionless even after taking a full-force kick, yet now, after a light poke on the forehead, he wobbled and sat down heavily on the floor as if struck by a pressure point.

 


The floor tiles of the side room were carved with winding floral patterns. When he reached out for support, his hand landed in the middle of the leafy design, and a small patch of wound salve spilled out.

 

Coming back to his senses, Wei Yan quickly plugged the bottle and stood up. He turned his head away from Shui Que, refusing to look at him. “Interrogation! Of course we’re continuing! Y-you, hurry up and put your underclothes on!”


 

Then, hastily added, “And socks, and shoes too!”


 

Why were there so many rules for an interrogation? Shui Que grumbled quietly. He had to be fully dressed—even shoes couldn’t be left off.


 

Still, since the kick hadn’t caused any serious issue, and Wei Yan didn’t seem furious or looking to argue, things seemed fine now.

 


Once Shui Que was properly dressed, Wei Yan finally called in the servant from the main hall to clean up the medicine spilled on the floor tiles.

 


The servant didn’t dare lift his head as he left, afraid to meet the heir’s eyes.

 


Should he report this to the Marquis?


 

They even had to use wound medicine…


 

The heir really was a man of weapons and warfare. That Xiao Langjun looked so delicate, and the heir didn’t even feel sorry—just let him suffer…

 


Wei Yan didn’t notice the servant’s odd expression. No matter what, he refused to sit anywhere near the vermillion-lacquered canopy bed where Shui Que had been.

 


Instead, he sat at the table, unrolled a sheet of paper—ink already ground—and despite the image burned in his mind, forced himself to look like a righteous judge or a crime-solving Bao Zheng.

 


He picked up the brush and recorded the date and time.


 

Drinking down a mouthful of tea to ease his dry throat, he began, “Your name and birth date?”


 

He already knew the name, of course—this was just going through the motions.


 

Shui Que obediently recited what the system had instructed him to say.

 

Wei Yan jotted it down, his brows lifting slightly in surprise.


 

Still not of age, huh?


 

Wei Yan himself was already twenty-three, turning twenty-four after the winter solstice.


 

He stared at the recorded birth information.


 

Would their signs be compatible…?


Note: as in birth chart signs (usually Chinese wedding requires to check this kind of sign before marry to avoid inauspicious marriage).

 

No, wait.


 

Wei Yan!


 

He pinched his own arm to snap back to reality.


 

Why was he paying attention to another man’s birth date?


 

He blinked rapidly, cleared his throat, and continued, “Where are you from?”


 

Shui Que fiddled with his fingers. “Changzhou County, Jiulong Town, Qinghe Village, the Qi family.”


 

Finally, Wei Yan found an opportunity to ask, “What’s your relationship with that Qi Chaojin? Do you live together?”


 

Why did people keep asking this…?


Still, Shui Que stuck to the original explanation, honestly repeating, “Qi Lang is my distant cousin. My parents were merchants, but they were killed by mountain bandits. So I came to seek refuge with him…”


 

“Hold on.” Wei Yan’s sharp eyes caught sight of something when Shui Que had bent over earlier to put on his underclothes—a longevity lock had slipped out from his round-collared robe.

 


He dropped the brush and paper, walked over, and with slender, well-defined fingers, lifted the lock by its chain.


 

Frowning, he examined it carefully.


 

The cloud-patterned ruyi-shaped lock was a fairly common design among longevity charms.


 

It was carved with peonies in full bloom and a little bird resting among the branches.


 

The bird was plump and sleek—part sparrow, part magpie.


 

Either way, it matched Shui Que’s name quite well.


 

These types of longevity locks were usually worn from childhood, likely made not long after the name was chosen.


 

Whether the shape, pattern, or materials—silver with gilded details—it was all explainable. If the family were merchants, they’d be wealthy enough to afford it.


 

All still reasonable.


 

Except…


 

Wei Yan rubbed the small dangling leaves at the base of the lock.


 

They were top-quality mutton-fat jade.


 

Even wealthy merchants couldn’t easily buy this—only high-ranking nobles in the capital could afford such luxuries.


 

He looked again at the bird carving. Somehow, it seemed familiar.


 

He felt like he had seen it before—or heard someone mention it.

 


Wei Yan was certain Shui Que was hiding something.


 

He stared at the lock for a bit too long. Shui Que, bracing himself against the bedpost, kicked his leg lightly and asked impatiently, “What’s wrong with you?”


 

To accuse Shui Que of hiding things was a bit unfair.


 

He had been wearing the lock ever since he arrived in this world.


 

Where this character came from, who his parents were—none of that had ever been mentioned in the original plot.


 

Wei Yan had wanted to ask more detailed questions about his background, but seeing the downward tilt of Shui Que’s eyes, clearly unwilling to talk, he had to change the subject.


 

“I see your longevity lock is finely made,” Wei Yan said, sounding like he was just making a casual comment, then returned to his seat in the grand armchair. “When did you first meet that Hu leader—your village calls him Wu Chun, right?”


 

Wei Yan was working with the Gongwei Division this time, having traveled to Jiangnan because an informant stationed in Suwu Prefecture sent an urgent report about suspicious movements by King Wu.


 

The Gongwei Division was the emperor’s personal guard. Its predecessor had been a unit of loyal death warriors raised by the Ninth Prince, a key force that helped him secure the throne among more than a dozen contenders.

 


The late emperor had been a capable ruler politically, but when it came to raising sons, it was like raising venomous insects. For the imperial succession, the noble princes fought each other to the death. By the time the current emperor ascended, most of his brothers had died or soon would. Only a single mad, deposed Crown Prince remained.


 

Out of kindness, the emperor named him King Wu and exiled him to Suwu Prefecture, confining him to his estate and forbidding him from leaving. The estate was vast, and two-thirds of the tax revenue from the fief was granted to him.

 


Mad or not, a first-rank prince with that much income could still live in splendor.


But two months ago, a letter surfaced—evidence that the estate’s chief steward had privately contacted the Daxiang Hu people, conspiring to betray the empire.


 

Apparently, King Wu had only been pretending to be insane and let his guard down once he reached his fief.


 

Captain Liang had tracked the Hu performing troupe along their route from Suwu Prefecture all the way to neighboring Changzhou County.


 

At first, Wei Yan had other imperial duties to attend to—he needed to discuss matters thoroughly with Nie Xiuyuan and follow up on Captain Liang’s progress.

 

He was busy every day, barely touching the ground with how much he had to do, and yet he still remembered giving that small golden leaf to a student from Xijiang Academy that day.

 

He waited and waited—his residence had already been set up and furnished—yet no one ever showed up at the county office holding the gold leaf and asking for him through Magistrate Cui.

 

Instead, during an investigation, he saw Shui Que mingling frequently with the sudden leader of the Hu performance troupe.

 

The relationship between Daxiang and Darong wasn’t as hostile as that between Shuo Dan and Darong. Da Xiang was located in the northwest and often conducted border trade with Darong. Citizens of both nations traveled and visited each other often. Without concrete evidence, Wei Yan and the others couldn’t just arrest the performance troupe outright.

 

To prove he was a law-abiding Darong citizen, Shui Que explained everything to Wei Yan honestly—though he did leave out some minor details.

 

“You’re saying you helped him reset his dislocated elbow, and now he considers you a friend?”

 

Wei Yan narrowed his eyes, and the scar at the corner of his left eye pulled tight, like a bow being drawn, radiating a sharp, beast-like menace.

 

“A friend who gifts you a hairpin and then kisses you?”

 

He actually asked such a question—Shui Que’s eyes widened in shock.


What—what? Someone saw them that day at the opera house?

 

That was the first time the Hu people’s troupe performed in Changzhou County—how could Wei Yan not go to investigate?

 

He had sat in a private box on the third floor. The moment he pushed open the carved wooden window, right across from him at an angle was exactly where Shui Que had been seated.

 

Wei Yan stared at him closely. “Is this how you make friends with people?”

 

Shui Que stammered, not knowing how to explain.

 

“Qi Chaojin is your cousin,” Wei Yan repeated the relationship Shui Que had claimed earlier. His tone was stern. “Does he know about this kind of thing? With your parents gone, he should be the one disciplining you!”

 

A son of noble character and iron will—how could he let someone kiss him over something as petty as a jade hairpin?

 

Wei Yan fumed at the thought.

 

He had only gone to investigate the troupe. Wu Chun had left just ahead of him, and Wei Yan had followed immediately to track the Hu people’s whereabouts. That meant he’d left the theatre early and hadn’t seen the later moment of intimacy between Qi Chaojin and Shui Que.

 

So he really believed Qi Chaojin was just a distant cousin of Shui Que’s.

 

When Shui Que heard he was going to tell Qi Chaojin, he panicked. Without thinking, he covered Wei Yan’s mouth and desperately shook his head. “No, no, don’t tell Qi Lang…”

 

He hadn’t been exposed yet—no need to throw everything off now. If Qi Chaojin kicked him out, what would happen to the marriage plotline?

 

And there it was again.

 

That faint, sweet fragrance.

 

The fluttering eyelashes, the delicate, pitiful expression.

 

Wei Yan had never seen a son from any household behave like this.

 

Even his lips… soft and pink like carved jade…

 

No!

 

Wei Yan!

Why are you thinking about those images again?

 

Wei Yan felt his whole body heat up, the burning warmth pooling behind his ears. Afraid that someone might notice his odd reaction, he brushed Shui Que’s hand aside and began scribbling down their conversation in flowing, forceful script.

 

Of course, he left out the part where Shui Que had been kissed.

 

His handwriting was so messy, pages flipped so quickly, that Shui Que couldn’t make out what he’d written. All he could do was sit sulkily in the sandalwood chair beside him.

 

Once he finished writing, Wei Yan looked up and asked, “Did you know Wu Chun is the son of Daxiang’s Chan Yu?”

 

“Chan Yu” was the title for the ruler of Daxiang.

 

Which meant…

 

Shui Que’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No wonder he suddenly had so much money. He used to not even be able to afford a jade hairpin or ivory fan…”

 

He thought back to how Wu Chun had been rescued and adopted by an old widower in the village when he was a teenager.

 

So it seemed he had reunited with his people and regained his memory and status.

 

Wei Yan furrowed his brow as he observed Shui Que—he truly seemed unaware of Wu Chun’s identity.

 

So he really had only interacted with the man because of those fancy gifts?

 

Setting his suspicions aside, Wei Yan put down the paper and brush.

 

It was already 7-9pm.

 

The sky outside was pitch black, with only the lanterns from the night market still glowing along the streets and alleys. The rest of the households, not venturing out, had shut their doors to enjoy dinner, wash up, and prepare for bed.

 

As expected, Shui Que couldn’t return that night. The mountain path leading to Qinghe Village in the south of the city was narrow and unlit. It was too far to walk, and riding on horseback would be unsafe in the dark.

 

Wei Yan told him to stay the night, and Shui Que said he still needed to go to the academy the next day.

 

Only then did Wei Yan remember that Xijiang Academy hadn’t reached its seasonal break yet.

 

“Alright, alright,” Wei Yan said. “We’ll leave early tomorrow morning. I’ll take you.”

 

Shui Que muttered, “I don’t want to ride your horse again.”

 

Wei Yan was silent for a moment, then brought him to the main hall of the front courtyard for dinner. The kitchen had already prepared a large table full of dishes.

 

“I’ve had someone change the saddle gear overnight, and I’ll add a soft camel hair blanket to it. Will that satisfy you?” Wei Yan said, sitting across from him as the attendant skillfully arranged the dishes for the two of them.

 

The chef had come with them from the capital, descended from a line of imperial cooks. His culinary skills were exceptional—far better than anything in Changzhou’s Drum Belly Restaurant.

 

Since Shui Que was staying the night, they would also need to wash up and change clothes after dinner. Time was tight, so Wei Yan had a servant ride fast to the city’s largest Li’s Clothing Shop to purchase new garments.

 

The next morning, at the break of dawn, Wei Yan was already awake.

 

The Xiao Langjun who was supposed to go to the academy didn’t seem nervous at all. He slept in until the hour of the rabbit, when the first rays of morning sunlight spilled into the sky.

 

A servant helped him get up, wash, and change clothes, and he had a simple breakfast.

 

When he stepped out into the front courtyard, Wei Yan was there—surrounded by flashes of sword light. The sword moved in his hands like a dancing dragon or serpent, with ever-shifting forms that stirred the wind and echoed like distant thunder.

 

Catching a glimpse of Shui Que from the corner of his eye, Wei Yan twirled the sword mid-air into a flourish, then smoothly sheathed it.

 

It dawned on him—he had just become the type of person he used to criticize: the kind who deliberately performed flashy sword moves just to draw others’ attention.

 

He cleared his throat and turned to look at Shui Que.

 

Last night, he had handed the servant a gold leaf and simply told him to buy something that fit well and felt comfortable.

 

It fit perfectly.

 

Wei Yan stared at him, completely unable to look away.

 

A diagonal-collared inner robe underneath, topped with a pipa-sleeved, round-collared outer robe made of shimmering sky-blue brocade. The embroidered trim featured painted clouds and cranes. As Shui Que walked toward him in slow, measured steps, his face—delicate as carved jade in the sunlight—was framed by clothing that outlined his elegant, graceful figure.

 

The hem of his robe fluttered like flowing clouds and water. His refined brows and eyes curved into a soft smile at Wei Yan—and in that moment, Wei Yan felt as if all light and color had faded from the world.

 

What Xiao Langjun? He should be called a Xiao Zhenzhu (little celestial) instead…

 

Around his snowy white neck was a choker of glazed pearls, the string of gems hanging all the way down to his chest.

 

Wei Yan had only ordered clothes, not accessories. That must’ve been the servant’s decision.

 

A moon-white palace sash tied snugly around his slender waist.

 

Wei Yan suddenly found the sash familiar.

 

Wasn’t that the one bestowed by the Emperor last year? He hadn’t liked the white color, so he’d shoved it to the bottom of a chest.

 

Thinking it over, Wei Yan called for the attendant. “Qiaoshan, go fetch the jujube-green jade belt hook from my room.”

 

“It’s right here, young master.”

 

Qiaoshan said immediately, having waited for that command. He presented the belt hook in his hands.

 

Wei Yan raised a brow in surprise. “…You’ve certainly been thoughtful.”

 

Qiaoshan replied, “It’s only natural for me to look after the heir.”

 

Shui Que didn’t understand what kind of wordless exchange was going on between the two of them.

 

“Aren’t we leaving yet?” he asked, softly and timidly. “Don’t make me late… or the teacher will hit me with the discipline ruler…”

 

Wei Yan bent slightly and replaced the belt hook at Shui Que’s waist with his own jujube-green jade one. Once fastened, he realized Shui Que’s waist was so slim, it seemed like he could wrap one hand around it.

 

Wei Yan said, “Nie Xiuyuan doesn’t hit his students.”

 

Straightening up, he took a good, long look at Shui Que.

 

The palace sash was his, the jade belt hook was his, the robes had been bought with his gold leaf.

 

Wei Yan suddenly felt his ears grow warm.

 

Why run to Qi Chaojin, some poor distant cousin from the countryside with no money? A perfectly fine Xiao Langjun, always dressed like a village flower…

 

He ought to recognize him as his own cousin.

 

Wei Yan thought shamelessly.

 

He wasn’t the only son in his family. He had a useless younger brother—a spoiled scoundrel who couldn’t lift a thing—who relied on Marquis Anyuan’s name to bully others. Just the thought of him made people angry. Every time they returned to the capital, Marquis Anyuan had to string him up for a whipping. Wei Yan would clap and cheer from the side.

 

Wei Yan had assumed all brothers were like that.

 

Now, dressing Shui Que up like this, he finally understood what people meant by “an affectionate elder brother and a respectful younger one.”

 

Wei Yan clicked his tongue thoughtfully.

 

Marquis Anyuan household didn’t have many members—he might as well make Shui Que his sworn younger brother.

---

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

---