Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 68

Chapter 68: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (17)

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As Shui Que stepped out of the study hall, he saw Qi Chaojin and Wei Yan facing off outside the academy’s western gate.

 

One stood tall like a pine, his figure upright, aura sharp and unyielding, arguing on principle. They were a bit far away, so Shui Que only caught phrases like “taking someone away without permission,” and “violates the regulations.”

 

The other seemed to have just mounted his horse and was immediately intercepted and accused in a stern voice. Clearly annoyed, he sat atop his horse, tugged on the reins, and raised his brows, his demeanor sharp and overbearing.

 

Wei Yan’s face was already grim. The scar at the corner of his eye made him appear even more menacing. “Yes, I took him with me. But what do you mean by ‘torment’? You scholars love twisting words to suit yourselves!”

 

When Shui Que got angry, even cursing came out soft and sweet—his words lacked any sting. But how could this distant cousin of his sound exactly like those old corpses from the Censorate who filed complaints all day? Every sentence was like a hard, stinking stone—immovable and unbearable!

 

Wei Yan raised his voice, his tone firm and rhythmic, resonating like a bell: “All I did was bring him to the manor for questioning. I didn’t torture him—not even a finger laid on him!”

 

“He’s been well-fed, well-treated! And right now, even the underclothes he’s wearing were bought with my money!”

 

As his voice boomed, Shui Que’s eyelid twitched.

 

How could someone casually mention underclothes in broad daylight?!

 

Flushed with embarrassment, Shui Que quickly stepped forward, his robes fluttering. “You… You need to stop talking!”

 

Seeing Shui Que’s fair, pink-tinged cheeks, Wei Yan didn’t understand why he was suddenly angry at him again.

 

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, no longer aggressive, his tone softer. “Wasn’t it true? Even your inner shoes and silk slippers—I paid for them too.”

 

At this point, he looked completely aggrieved, as if Shui Que’s anger was entirely unjustified.

 

There was no shortage of people coming and going through the west corner gate—aside from academy students, there were also vendors from the nearby markets delivering fresh vegetables and fruits to the academy’s kitchens.

 

Hearing the commotion on this side, everyone couldn’t help but glance over at the handsome, jade-faced Xiao Langjun, trying to see whether beneath that resplendent brocade robe, he really was wearing undergarments given by another man.

 

Shui Que was so ashamed that his lips trembled almost imperceptibly. He nearly wanted to cover his face and flee, but felt that doing so would be no different than trying to cover up a lie.

 

He tugged at Qi Chaojin’s wide sleeve, softly urging him, “Let’s go, let’s go, Qi Lang, let’s hurry back to the classroom.”

 

If they kept this up, by tomorrow the entire academy would know. How would he ever be able to lift his head again?

 

He was also worried that Qi Chaojin might argue a few words more with Wei Yan, and that Wei Yan, who had no filter, might end up blurting out what happened between him and Wu Chun.

 

If that happened, the storyline wouldn’t need to play out anymore—Qi Lang would throw him out, and he’d be left with nowhere to go but to sleep under a bridge. How pitiful would that be?

 

Qi Chaojin noticed his displeasure and stopped talking, silently allowing himself to be dragged away by Shui Que.

 

The wind gusted behind them.

 

Wei Yan shouted loudly, “Turn around—catch this!”

 

Shui Que instinctively turned and reached out, catching a tassel string of red agate pearls that flew through the air and landed squarely in his arms.

 

Wei Yan raised his brow, looking proud and high-spirited. “Hang it on your palace sash—it’ll look good.”

 

But Shui Que’s sash already had a jade pendant on it.

 

What was this even about…

 

Shui Que already wore a beaded necklace around his neck, and his waist sash had a jade ornament. Now with this addition, he looked like one of those porcelain dolls on display during the Lantern Festival, all dressed up and decorated.

 

Though he was still muttering under his breath a little, he still said to Wei Yan, “Thank you.”

 

Marquis Anyuan’s heir waved his hand nonchalantly, stepped into the stirrups, and rode off in dashing fashion.

 

Wei Yan was riding high—after being lectured by Qi Chaojin with a long-winded speech about what was “against propriety,” he’d finally found the chance to show this poor scholar cousin of his what he was truly capable of.

 

That string of red agate pearls alone was worth no less than fifty guan (50,000 coins).

 

With Shui Que looking the way he did, even sitting on a saddle chafed his thighs—he was someone who needed to be pampered with pearls and jade. That cousin of his—could he afford that? Then why meddle so much?

 

…

 

Nie Xiuyuan’s decision to resign as Headmaster of Xijiang Academy hadn’t leaked. He likely intended to return to the capital and resume office quietly, so he had only told Shui Que.

 

The others would have to wait until after the holiday break to return and discover, to their surprise, that the strict and taciturn headmaster had been replaced by someone else.

 

On the day of his farewell, Shui Que broke off a small branch of willow at the ferry dock and gave it to Nie Xiuyuan.

 

With the Double Ninth Festival approaching, the academy had given the students a break. That day, blind rain filled the entire city. A young attendant held an umbrella for Nie Xiuyuan, who sat in a wheelchair by the ferry dock, while porters and servants moved back and forth from the boat, loading his luggage.

 

Nie Xiuyuan was to board the boat at the ferry in Changzhou County, travel along the Jingwu Canal to Suwu Prefecture, then transfer through the Bian River to reach the capital.

 

Shui Que wore a raincloak and a conical straw hat, and on his feet were wooden clogs. A cool breeze stirred, and the willow leaves shimmered a cold green.

 

His raincloak was soaked, and under the straw hat, his pale little face was so cold that the tip of his nose turned red.

 

Nie Xiuyuan accepted the willow branch and gazed at him for a long time.

 

As if wanting to remember this moment well enough to recall it in dreams.

 

Shui Que smiled at him. Behind them, crows fluttered around the roof eaves near the ferry buildings.

 

His final words were drowned out by the sound of the crows.

 

All Nie Xiuyuan heard was: “I wish you great success in your official career, rising through the ranks!”

 

He nodded. “I’ll take your auspicious words.”

 

Ripples danced across the water surrounding the ferryboat.

 

There was an old saying among the people: if there was blind rain on Double Ninth Festival with autumn winds, then the coming winter would be one of heavy rain and snow.

 

Nie Xiuyuan looked back at the receding Changzhou County. The green raincloak was already out of sight.

 

He wondered whether the Qi family had started making winter clothes yet.

 

From what he could tell, among all the academy’s students, Qi Chaojin was not someone destined for obscurity. Once the spring civil exams began, he would surely see him again at the capital’s Gongyuan Examination Hall.

 

Thinking back to Shui Que’s earlier joking remark about being born to be someone’s Xiao Langjun, if nothing unexpected happens—Qi Chaojin would most likely take him to the capital.

 

The wind blew cold, and the rain came down in a drizzle. Shui Que pulled his rain cloak tighter. He looked up at the rain; his bare feet, exposed in wooden clogs, had toes that were already red from the chill.

 

Qi Chaojin was waiting for him at the mouth of a nearby alley.

 

Shui Que hurried over, and Qi Chaojin opened his oil-paper umbrella, letting Shui Que take off the palm-leaf hat he’d been using to shield himself from the rain.

 

They walked together through two alleyways, and once again came upon the familiar Yun Ji Bun Shop.

 

Shui Que still remembered the first thing Qi Chaojin ever treated him to—it was from this very shop.

 

Six coins could buy two buns.

 

Shui Que tugged at Qi Chaojin’s sleeve and said, “Qi Lang, I want the sour filling kind.”

 

He licked his lips. Eating a warm, savory bun on a cold rainy day sounded perfect.

 

Qi Chaojin replied gently, “Alright.”

 

When they reached the shop, they bought two sour-filled buns, wrapped in oil paper.

 

Yun Ji seemed to be doing even better business these days. Before, the shop had only the front counter, but now there were two wooden tables and five or six bamboo stools for customers to sit.

 

As the rain began to fall harder, Shui Que and Qi Chaojin decided to sit and eat their buns inside, waiting for the rain to ease before heading back.

 

The sour-filled buns had just come out of the steamer, and even through the oil paper, they were scalding hot to the touch.

 

Just like before, Shui Que let Qi Chaojin hold the bun while he leaned in and ate from his hand.

 

He blew on the glossy, steaming bun skin, white steam curling up into the air.

 

Then he looked at Qi Chaojin’s expression—it was calm, his eyes gazing off into the distance at the stone-paved street, as if deep in thought.

 

Shui Que blinked and took a bite. Half of the bun was gone in an instant.

 

Lately, the male lead’s mood seemed gloomy, didn’t it?

 

He couldn’t think of the reason. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of red.

 

“Brother Xiao Yun, what’s that tied around your waist?” As the man moved, Shui Que turned his head and asked curiously.

 

Today, it wasn’t Uncle Yun at the stall, but his son, whom the locals affectionately called Brother Xiao Yun.

 

Xiao Yun-ge’s face turned red. He wiped his hands on his stained apron, then carefully lifted the item with both hands as if it were a treasure.

 

It was a red-and-black embroidered pouch with a mandarin duck design.

 

Looking shy, he said, “Third Miss Ding gave it to me.”

 

Third Miss Ding was the third daughter of the Ding family, who ran a tea shop two streets over.

 

It was rumored their families would soon be joined in marriage, and Shui Que congratulated him along with Qi Chaojin.

 

The rain had lightened, so the two of them shared the umbrella and headed back toward Qinghe Village. Along the way, Shui Que kept thinking about the embroidered pouch he had just seen, lost in thought.

 

…

 

On the first day of the clothing break, Qi Chaojin went to the Chen’s Calligraphy and Painting Shop in the north part of town.

 

His paintings and calligraphy were displayed there for sale, though he wasn’t a famed artist—just an average hand. A single landscape painting sold for somewhere between one hundred and five hundred coins. His main work at the shop, however, wasn’t selling his own art, but mounting calligraphy and paintings for walk-in customers. Sometimes, people who didn’t want to buy art would come in just needing help drafting contracts or letters.

 

When one of his pieces sold, the shop owner took ten percent as commission. But mounting calligraphy was his main source of income—three hundred coins a day. As for the writing jobs, the owner considered those side gigs and didn’t take a cut.

 

Qi Chaojin had just taken an advance on a month’s wages—9,000 coins. He needed to put green tiles on the roof of his cottage. Even if he only tiled the main building, he would need 700 tiles. In Changzhou County, each tile cost thirteen coins—just buying the tiles alone would eat up his entire paycheck.

 

There was also the labor cost for hiring a mason to do the work.

 

Luckily, in earlier quiet times, Qi Chaojin had copied texts for academies and temples and managed to save quite a bit.

 

Combined with selling paintings and taking on writing work, he would have enough to cover house repairs and sewing winter clothes by the time October came.

 

The only worry left was heating—coal and braziers for the winter. He hadn’t managed to arrange that yet.

 

Judging by the days of cold rain before the Double Ninth Festival, it was bound to be a snowy winter.

 

The painting shop closed early, so when Qi Chaojin returned home, the sun had yet to set. But his mind was weighed down with thoughts.

 

Back at the house, Shui Que was sitting in the courtyard on a little round stool made of woven cane, using the last rays of sunlight to work on his needlework.

 

On his lap was a small piece of cloth—it was some leftover runluo silk from when Qi Chaojin made him an autumn shirt.

 

Qi Chaojin walked over and asked, “What are you working on?”

 

“Don’t block my light…” Shui Que grumbled as he shifted his stool, trying to catch the westering sunlight. “I’m sewing a pouch for Qi Lang.”

 

His voice was soft when he said this, and Qi Chaojin froze for a second, his expression changing. “Why did you suddenly think of sewing that?”

 

Shui Que looked up at him with a bright smile and a little dimple in his cheek. “So you’ll know that I’m fond of you.”

 

Qi Chaojin just stared at him, speechless.

 

Hearing the system’s progress tick upward, Shui Que quickly lowered his head and pretended to concentrate seriously on his sewing, trying not to let anyone see his gloating smile.

 

The male lead had been in a bad mood lately, and the storyline was progressing slowly—it must be because he’d forgotten to shower him with sweet words.

 

“Shui Que,” Qi Chaojin crouched beside him and asked gently, “Do you like pearls?”

 

But Shui Que wasn’t even listening—he was too focused on threading the needle. He absentmindedly replied, “Mm-hmm.”

 

Qi Chaojin looked at the runluo silk on his lap and said, “I’ve heard that in the capital, they have northern pearls—brilliant in color, each one worth a hundred strings of coin… If you like them, I’ll definitely buy one for you someday.”

 

Shui Que, still threading the needle, suddenly flinched when he heard him say “someday.”

 

He pricked his finger.

 

He gasped, more distressed by the pain than anything, and held his finger up to examine it.

 

A tiny bead of blood had formed.

 

He pursed his lips and sucked it away, the color blooming on his lips, making them even redder.

 

He pouted. “It’s all Qi Lang’s fault. You distracted me, and I pricked my finger.”

 

He had clearly been the one daydreaming. If he’d looked a moment later, the needle’s eye would’ve disappeared from view.

 

Qi Chaojin didn’t know what to say. He could only try to comfort him, “I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

 

Shui Que glanced at him, then softened his expression and asked, “Do you like me too? Do you really like me?”

 

Qi Chaojin’s eyelids trembled, unable to speak, but he nodded solemnly. “Mm.”

 

“What does ‘mm’ mean?” Shui Que poked his shoulder. “Say it. Say you’re fond of me.”

 

Qi Chaojin couldn’t win against him. “Yes. I’m fond of you. I like you very much.”

 

His voice was low and quiet, even softer than when he read aloud—he had always been reserved with emotions.

 

Not like the Xiao Langjun at home, who could spout sweet talk without blinking.

 

Shui Que beamed when he finally gave in. “Good. Then, do you like me just a little bit more than I like you?”

 

He held up two fingers, pinching them close to show a tiny gap.

 

He didn’t notice how Qi Chaojin was looking at him.

 

A little bit? More like far, far more.

 

Qi Chaojin replied, “Mm.”

 

“In that case,” Shui Que shoved the silk and needlework into Qi Chaojin’s arms, “since you like me so much, you should be the one to make me a pouch.”

 

Qi Chaojin helplessly accepted it. “Alright.”

 

How wonderful.

 

He had just gotten himself a pouch.

 

Shui Que happily patted his waist, as if he could already see himself with a pouch hanging there.

 

[77, someone’s making a pouch for me!] he said gleefully to the system. [I’ve never received one before!]

 

Important characters in historical dramas often had several pouches on their belts—it looked rather grand.

 

Shui Que felt a bit of curiosity, and even a little envy.

 

System 77 shyly admitted that although it didn’t have hands to sew with, it could buy one for him in the system shop.

 

The Overseer cut in abruptly, [Those people with multiple pouches on their belts are emperors. Why don’t you go sit on that seat too?]

 

The second half of the sentence turned sarcastic: [Just wait for those who want to climb into your dragon bed all day to sew you a hundred sachets.]

 

Shui Que imagined himself with a hundred sachets hanging from his waist and quickly shook his head. [Better not.]

 

…..

 

Two days later, Qi Chaojin hired the county’s masons to lay green tiles and repair the main house.

 

That day was the Double Ninth Festival, but Qi Chaojin still had to work during the day. Shui Que told him that he had agreed to meet Cui Shixin to climb Le Ping Mountain and view the autumn leaves.

 

It was still early, so Qi Chaojin helped him put on a newly embroidered pouch.

 

The pouch was decorated with seed embroidery—a magpie perched on a cluster of bamboo branches. On both sides of the pouch, he had woven double-heart knots with flat thread, linked to a fringe of coiled tassels.

 

Shui Que looked to the left, then to the right, and raised his head to compliment him, “Qi Lang, your hands are truly skillful. I’ll wear it carefully.”

 

Qi Chaojin reminded him, “Inside is some small silver I exchanged. You can buy whatever you want to eat on the road. I’ll make Double Ninth cake for you when I come back tonight.”

 

Shui Que: “Mm-hmm.”. The horse neighed. The Cui’s family carriage was already parked at the entrance of Qinghe Village.

 

The road on this side of Qinghe Village was narrower, so the coachman had to spend quite some effort maneuvering, which made them a bit late.

 

Shui Que lifted the curtain. As soon as he sat down, the coachman whipped the horse forward. Since the carriage was lined with thick, soft bedding, no matter how bumpy the road through Qinghe Village was, it wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

 

There was a secret compartment inside the carriage containing pastries and fruits. Le Ping Mountain sat at the border between Changzhou County and Suwu Prefecture, and it was quite a journey even by carriage. Cui San, worried that Shui Que might get hungry, had prepared plenty of snacks and fruits.

 

Le Ping Mountain wasn’t very tall, but it was known for its abundance of maple trees. Come late autumn, the red leaves intermingled in a brilliant cascade of color across the mountainside. Facing a river, with winding streams flowing gently down the slopes, the mountain scenery was endlessly picturesque.

 

People from the Darong, Suwu regions loved coming here, whether for springtime outings or Double Ninth hikes.

 

At the foot of Le Ping Mountain stood a banquet hall-style restaurant, and by the riverbank, there were painted pleasure boats also operated by the same establishment. Guests could rent boats to enjoy the scenery out on the river.

 

If anyone wished to host a grand banquet among the mountain’s pavilions and terraces—letting the wine flow along winding waterways—the restaurant at the mountain’s base could take care of all the arrangements.

 

One of today’s banquets had been specially ordered by a noble heir from the capital, and his entourage included young gentlemen from both Changzhou County and Suwu Prefecture.

 

The Yanbin Restaurant dared not be careless. Servants in white linen shirts bustled about, arranging the setup.

 

Deerskin cushions were laid out by the water among blooming flowers, where the ten-thousand-year chrysanthemums were in full bloom.

 

Layered tables made of finely polished Chinese giant redwood were set out. Incense was burned in bronze burners, and dual-purpose water-fire stoves were placed: one side held a kettle for brewing tea, the other a wine pot for warming liquor.

 

The food offerings for now only included things like stir-fried ginkgo nuts, chestnuts, lion’s sugar, and honey-preserved herbal sweets—meant only to whet the appetite.

 

The rest of the dishes were still being feverishly prepared in the restaurant kitchens. As each dish was finished, a servant would rush it up the mountain in a delivery box with great urgency.

 

The moment someone pushed out a stack of Ma Diao (a traditional card game) tiles, there was a chorus of sighs. A young man in a green robe quickly waved his hand and said, “This is no fun anymore! Little Marquis Wei, just count how many rounds you’ve already won against us?”

 

Wei Yan laughed and cursed lightly.

 

But his gaze drifted aimlessly elsewhere.

 

“Why isn’t Cui San here yet?” he asked halfheartedly while pretending to fiddle with the cards. “Only Cui San can give me a proper match in Ma Diao.”

 

What he was actually thinking was—didn’t Cui San say he went to the Qi residence to pick someone up?

 

What kind of carriage takes this long? Could he be hauling the person on his back?

 

Deng Cang chimed in too, “Yeah, why’s Cui San so late today? Shui Que doesn’t even live that far.”

 

Finally, someone voiced what he had been thinking.

 

Wei Yan took a sip of wine.

 

Three or four of the young men present were from the Suwu Prefecture. Everyone else here was either from noble households or long-standing scholarly families. Though one or two might not know each other personally, they had at least heard of one another. Only Deng Cang’s mention of “Shui Que” left them all baffled.

 

The young man in the green robe looked puzzled. “Deng Cang, you say this classmate of yours looks like a celestial being? I’ve never heard of any noble son from Jiangnan with that name. Where’s his family from?”

 

Wei Yan set his cup down. “Changzhou County, Qinghe Village.”

 

The green-robed youth almost thought he was joking, but seeing the serious look on the heir’s face, he hesitated. “So… Cui San brought a little village flower from Qinghe Village?”

 

Wei Yan gave him a sideways glance.

 

At last, the sedan chair was slowly carried up from the base of the mountain.

 

Cui Shixin got off first, lifting the curtain with one hand while reaching inside with the other to help the person out.

 

But the person inside swatted his hand away. Though his voice was soft, it clearly held a note of displeasure. “Why do you keep leaning over to my side while we’re in the sedan?”

 

Shui Que stepped down, lips pursed and visibly annoyed.

 

The sedan wasn’t small—plenty of room for two to sit side by side. But Cui San kept leaning toward him, practically squashing him.

 

Even when angry, the Xiao Langjun looked stunning.

 

With eyebrows like ink strokes, lips like rouge, and a fair little face tightened in frustration, his lowered lashes looked like dove feathers.

 

Cui Shixin tried to defend himself. “It’s the bumpy mountain path. I didn’t squeeze you on purpose.”

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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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