Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 70

Chapter 70: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (19)

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The others looked as Shui Que and Wei Yan returned.


 

Neither of them knew what had happened during their time away, but Shui Que looked as if he wished to be at least eight feet away from Wei Yan. He quickly walked around the stacked tables and sat on the deerskin cushion, deliberately positioning himself closer to Cui Shixin, increasing the distance between him and Wei Yan.

 


“What happened?”


 

Cui Shixin would have preferred Shui Que to sit closer to him, so he happily waved for Shui Que to come over, though he pretended to be worried.


 

Shui Que, awkward, responded in a muffled voice, “…Nothing.”


 

He had just washed his hands in the stream and the servant handed him a towel to dry off, which he thanked them for. He then adjusted his long robe and sat up properly, looking very well-behaved.


 

Cui Shixin noticed his posture and examined him closely.


 

Wei Yan couldn’t figure out where he had offended Shui Que.


 

Though his previous words had been somewhat improper, didn’t Shui Que overreact a bit?


 

He had just asked a question and didn’t intend to stare at him to verify it…


 

How could he himself be so… so shameless?

 

It made him look like some kind of lecher.

 

It was as if even being sent three miles away wouldn’t be far enough. If Shui Que hadn’t remembered someone needed to stay and keep watch, Wei Yan suspected Shui Que might have told him to roll all the way down the mountain.

 

Meanwhile, someone on this side continued drawing lots for the drinking game. “’Fine words and an ingratiating appearance are rarely found in a virtuous person’—drink half a cup.”

 

All was calm again.

 

Shui Que realized that just during the short time the two of them had stepped away, the people here had already gone through three rounds of drinking.

 

The side dishes were nearly finished, and the servants continued to bring out more food.

 

This season was perfect for eating crab, especially lake crabs from the Jiangnan region. In the ninth month, it was best to eat those with round bellies. By the tenth month, crabs with pointed bellies would be tastier.

 

There were stir-fried crabs, cold-marinated crabs, hand-washing crabs*, and also stir-fried clams, shrimp with mushrooms, and various fresh delicacies from rivers and lakes.

Note: literally “hand-washing crabs,” a playful or poetic name, possibly for a dish you eat with your hands.

 

Shui Que hadn’t eaten much earlier, so he was about 70–80% full just from the drinking snacks—he had deliberately left room for these dishes, soups, and rice.

 

The golden crab roe was rich and creamy, and the crab meat was tender and smooth.

 

Even the host and the people beside him thoughtfully peeled shrimp for him.

 

The banquet was excellent—if only there weren’t so many drinking games making the host babble nonsense, it would’ve been perfect.

 

Once they were mostly done eating, and since it was still early, Zheng He suggested they play two more rounds before wrapping things up.

 

As he spoke, it happened to be his turn to draw a lot for the drinking game: “’You look to the front, and suddenly it’s behind’—penalty for arriving late, drink half a cup!”

 

It was said that anyone who arrived late to the banquet had to drink half a cup of wine.

 

Shui Que had just barely finished eating a bowl of shrimp that someone had peeled for him.

 

A chill ran down his back—it was now his turn to drink.

 

Cui Shixin lowered his voice and asked, “Can you still drink? If not, I’ll give you my wine pouch.”

 

Whenever he went out drinking, his mother at home always prepared a wine pouch for him, tucked in his sleeve.

 

But Cui Shixin was usually lucky when playing drinking games and had a high tolerance. Normally, he never needed it; he only carried it to put his family at ease.

 

This time, going out with Shui Que, he figured it might actually come in handy.

 

Shui Que had eaten a bit, and the drunken haze he’d been in seemed to have cleared up somewhat.

 

He said, “I’m okay.”

 

Cui Shixin saw that he didn’t look like he was forcing himself, so he signaled the servant to refill the cup.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of red.

 

Cui Shixin raised his hand and pointed to a red ribbon tied to the mouth of a distant wine jar, gesturing for a servant to bring it over.

 

It was just a simple red silk ribbon. Cui Shixin held it in his palm, stared at it for a moment, and an idea came to mind.

 

“Since we both came late and are drinking together…” As he thought of something, the tips of his ears grew hot. His expression remained calm, but his long, jointed fingers deftly played with the ribbon—twisting, looping, and tying.

 

The two wine cups with tall stems were now tightly bound together by the red ribbon.

 

Shui Que didn’t think much of it, assuming it was just part of the game for the two of them to be punished together.

 

They each held a wine cup, connected by the ribbon hanging between them.

 

The red silk swayed gently as they downed the wine in one go.

 

Everyone was already slightly tipsy, but upon seeing this scene, a hush fell over the room.

 

The autumn wind blew through, and Deng Cang, stunned, muttered, “Third Young Master Cui, this…”

 

A red silk ribbon tying the wine ladles—it was practically the same as drinking wedding wine.

 

The room was filled with distinguished guests.

 

The sky was a clear blue.

 

Cui Shixin’s intentions were blatantly obvious; he didn’t even bother hiding them anymore.

 

Shui Que didn’t notice the strange atmosphere. He still didn’t react much, merely licking his lips. It seemed like they’d switched to a different wine—this one tasted quite good, especially the lingering aftertaste.

 

Cui Shixin held the wine cup, a slight smile playing on his lips. He leaned in, tilting his head close to Shui Que’s cheek to whisper in his ear.

 

“You talk about Qi Lang day and night. But when the time comes, in the bridal chamber under candlelight, how could he ever imagine that his little lover has already drunk wedding wine with another man?”

 

His voice grew lower and lower.

 

As if, with this flowing banquet and a single pull of red silk, Cui Shixin’s dream had finally come true.

 

Even if Shui Que eventually married that Qi Chaojin, the second son of the Qi family, he would still be a second-time bridegroom.

 

His last words were so low that Shui Que didn’t catch them. At that moment, Wei Yan strode forward decisively. With a swift motion of the bronze scissors in his hand—snap—the red ribbon was cut cleanly and fluttered to the floor.

 

His brows, dark as if painted with ink, were furrowed deeply, and his face was stormy.

 

Wei Yan was inexplicably furious. “If you’re going to drink, then drink cleanly and straightforwardly. What’s with all these flashy tricks?”

 

He looked like someone who was mad for no apparent reason.

 

Shui Que was a little confused.

 

Cui Shixin just gave a faint laugh and let it go.

 

To break the awkward tension in the air, the others quickly tried to liven things up again by drawing lots and continuing the drinking game.

 

Wei Yan felt like a fire was burning in his chest. He returned to his seat, his face so dark it could drip ink. Anyone with eyes could see he was in a foul mood.

 

He didn’t even know what was wrong with himself.

 

Just seeing Shui Que get close to someone else made his chest feel tight and unpleasant.

 

…Was that normal?

 

Wei Yan raised his brows in thought.

 

The Analects and Jade Candles wine game made another round and returned to his side. He absentmindedly drew a stick. “The young shall be feared—youth loses five points.”

 

“Who’s the youngest here? Be honest and report your age.”

 

He casually rested his hand behind his head and leaned back against the table.

 

As soon as the words left his mouth, his body stiffened.

 

Almost everyone here was of similar age—only Wei Yan was a few years older.

 

He knew exactly who the youngest person present was.

 

There was still someone here who hadn’t even reached adulthood.

 

Wasn’t it Shui Que?

 

Looking over, Shui Que had already pressed his lips together. His gaze practically said aloud, “Blame it on Wei Yan’s cursed luck.”

 

Wei Yan scratched his face uncomfortably. He didn’t know what was going on with him today—he kept drawing lots that targeted Shui Que.

 

He moved over, bent one knee casually, and sat at the corner of Shui Que’s felt mat, testing the waters with a smile. “Want me to drink it for you?”

 

After all, this was just a friendly game. Letting someone else drink for you wouldn’t really be considered cheating.

 

“…Forget it.”

 

Shui Que was willing to accept the punishment of the game. Following the rules, he lifted the white porcelain wine cup, raising his snow-white neck.

 

This time, he drank a little too fast.

 

He even choked and coughed a few times, covering half his small face with his hand, tears spilling from the irritation.

 

His pale cheeks flushed red, and the previously neat lashes were now soft and clumped together, his eyes brimming with watery sheen.

 

He had just washed his hands earlier, and his sash wasn’t tied properly. His robe had come open at the collar.

 

A few drops of the clear wine had dripped.

 

They gathered in the hollow of his exposed collarbone, the scent of wine rising as his whole body seemed to flush a tender pink.

 

His lips too—damp and reddened, stained darker by the wine.

 

It made one want to lean down and lick them clean.

 

Wei Yan’s heart trembled.

 

It was like waking from a dream. He cursed himself inwardly.

 

Wei Yan, oh Wei Yan—was this how a big brother should think?

 

What kind of brother keeps imagining his little sworn brother’s flushed thighs, the pink hidden beneath his robe, even wanting to lick the hollow of his collarbone?

 

Even after being kicked or having his ear bitten, he found Shui Que’s angry face incredibly cute?

 

If Shui Que was just a little nicer, didn’t need to do anything at all, he would already be completely smitten?

 

This had gone far, far beyond the bounds of fraternal affection.

 

It was like a blow to the head—he sobered up instantly.

 

Wei Yan came back to himself and immediately wanted to help Shui Que retie his sash and fix his loose robe.

 

His sharp eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his fingers, a pouch appeared in his hand.

 

Shui Que stared blankly at him, then looked down at his waist. Sure enough, the sash was loose, and the pouch that had been hanging there was now in Wei Yan’s hand.

 

“…Give it back.” He said in a small, timid voice, reaching out to take his pouch.

 

But Wei Yan leaned back instead, raising his hand higher and further away.

 

His cold eyes swirled with emotion. “Why don’t you hang the red coral pearl I gave you?”

 

Shui Que did think the pearl string looked nice, but it felt like a burden to wear on his sash. After receiving it, he had put it away and forgotten about it.

 

He made an excuse. “I got tired of wearing it. What are you doing with my pouch… give it back already.”

 

He stretched out his arm as far as he could, leaning forward practically into Wei Yan’s lap, grabbing at the hand that held his pouch.

 

But Wei Yan was tall and broad, with long limbs and a lean, muscular build as solid as iron. Shui Que pulled at his sleeve, but couldn’t move it an inch. He tried to bend Wei Yan’s arm, but it wouldn’t budge.

 

Seeing how anxious Shui Que was over the item, Wei Yan pinched the pouch between his fingers and gave it a light squeeze. It seemed to contain only a few silver coins—not anything valuable.

 

Which meant the important part was the person who made the pouch.

 

The stitching was tight and even, the craftsmanship fine. Wei Yan hadn’t paid much attention earlier, but it seemed to have an embroidered pattern of a magpie perched on bamboo.

 

Who was the bamboo?

 

Thinking back to how Shui Que had been willing to kiss that Hu barbarian just to get a jade hairpin, now this person giving him a pouch… had he kissed Shui Que too?

 

That was clearly a token of affection.

 

Wei Yan came to a firm conclusion.

 

The more he thought about it, the more the fire raged in his chest. His breath burned with anger, and resentment surged up to his throat. The delicate lines of his face, already marred by injury, now twisted with a cold, hostile air.

 

“Who stitched that pouch for you?” he asked in a low, heavy voice.

 

He looked like a wild wolf who had been feeding a human while hunting outside every day, believing the person to be under his protection—only to suddenly discover that his territory had been encroached upon, and the human had long since raised a pet dog of their own.

 

Shui Que was too focused on snatching his pouch back to answer the question right away.

 

Since Wei Yan wouldn’t return it, Shui Que treated his body like a tree, clinging and climbing up, arms stretched out, reaching for it.

 

Wei Yan leaned against a stack of desks, and Shui Que pressed up against him, climbing onto him.

 

His robes were disheveled, the palace sash barely clinging to his waist, and his collar hung open, revealing a corner of the white inner garment beneath.

 

Wei Yan had sharp brows and deep-set features, with a tall nose—at that moment, a warm body pressed up against him through the fabric.

 

His whole face was buried in the loose folds of Shui Que’s chest.

 

A faint, warm fragrance enveloped him, skin soft as snow separated by only a thin layer of cloth.

 

Wei Yan’s whole body went weak and numb.

 

Someone stepped forward to break up the commotion.

 

Wei Yan never intended to actually bully Shui Que—it was just a pouch, after all. Could he really keep it?

 

He gave in with a muffled voice, “Alright, alright, I’ll give it back.”

 

But Shui Que was still reaching for the pouch.

 

In the midst of the chaos, he lost his balance and slipped off Wei Yan’s arm.

 

Wei Yan managed to catch him in time with one hand while steadying the nearly-toppled stack of desks with the other.

 

Still, the cups and wine pot couldn’t be saved—they clattered noisily to the ground.

 

Wei Yan wore a dark black python-embroidered robe. Unless you looked closely, you wouldn’t notice the wine stains.

 

But Xiao Langjun’s robe, dyed in cloud-water blue, soaked up the spill in a deep, unmistakable patch.

 

His collar and sash hung loosely; he looked disheveled and pitiful.

 

Shui Que, still in shock, eyelashes trembling, looked lost as he asked, “Where’s my pouch…?”

 

Wei Yan cursed silently.

 

He took a few long strides and waded into the looping stream to retrieve the now-soaked pouch.

 

Kneeling down, he handed it to Shui Que, who still sat dazed where he’d fallen.

 

Wei Yan said quietly, “…Here. It’s yours. Just got a little wet—hang it out, it’ll dry.”

 

He opened his mouth, lips moving, but couldn’t bring himself to say an apology.

 

“It’s just a pouch anyway, only had a few silver bits inside. If it’s ruined, I’ll make it up to you.”

 

Before he could finish speaking, a crisp smack rang out. The birds in the trees startled and scattered in all directions.

 

Wei Yan stood there stunned, a bright red handprint blooming across his cheek. “Y-You… why are you so quick to anger…”

 

The onlookers fell silent in shock.

 

Xiao Langjun had slapped someone and still looked utterly miserable—his robe stained by wine, the beautiful cloud-water blue marked by a large, damp splotch.

 

His lovely eyes shimmered with unshed tears, lips bitten red as though holding back sobs.

 

He looked like he might cry any second but was doing his best not to.

 

His voice trembled as he choked out, “You’re not allowed to bully me.”

 

Wei Yan, terrified that he might actually start crying, leaned in quickly to coax him. “I was wrong, I didn’t mean to bully you. I won’t take your things again, okay?”

 

He was no good with words, hardly read books, and couldn’t come up with anything sweet to say—so anxious he didn’t know what to do.

 

Shui Que pulled the soaking pouch from his hand.

 

Everything people had ever given him—aside from food—he always kept safe and carefully stored.

 

Even if it wasn’t useful, he’d lock it away in a box or chest.

 

He knew that when people gave him things, it was because they liked him, and he couldn’t trample on those feelings.

 

He poured out the silver pieces and tucked them into his sleeve pocket.

 

Then he squeezed and wrung out the pouch—water dripped down in steady little streams.

 

Shui Que looked dispirited, the skin around his eyes still red.

 

That morning before heading out, he had promised Qi Lang he’d wear it properly and carefully.

 

That he’d wear it, wear it…

 

He had worn it, only for it to fall into the water. What should he do now?

 

…..

 

The road into Qinghe Village was bumpy, but with soft cushions in the carriage, the ride wasn’t uncomfortable.

 

Cui Shixin lifted the curtain. The village entrance was already in sight, so he dropped the curtain and turned to Shui Que. “Are you still mad?”

 

“No.”

 

He said it, but his pale pink cheeks were still tightly drawn, flushed slightly from drink, clearly still sulking.

 

He clutched the pouch tightly the entire way, crumpling it from all the worrying.

 

Cui Shixin glanced at it a few extra times.

 

“Did Qi Er make it for you?”

 

Shui Que: “Mm.”

 

Cui San pretended to admire it. “Nicely done. Very skillful hands.”

 

Heh, he thought to himself. Tomorrow, he’d go find the best embroiderer in Changzhou County. What’s the big deal about stitching a pouch by hand?

 

As long as Shui Que would wear it like a treasured token.

 

Suddenly, Cui Shixin reached out and pinched Shui Que’s neck near his collarbone.

 

He hadn’t used much force, but Shui Que’s soft, delicate skin reddened instantly.

 

Shui Que looked up at him, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

 

Cui Shixin looked away. “Nothing. Saw a mosquito there, I killed it for you.”

 

?

 

Mosquitoes this time of year?

 

Shui Que didn’t think too much about it.

 

After all, his body always seemed to attract them anyway.

 

Once off the carriage, Shui Que asked if Cui Shixin wanted to come in for tea.

 

But Cui San had no intention of visiting Qi Chaojin and Shui Que’s little home.

 

He waved his hand. “Make sure you drink some hangover soup. Otherwise, you’ll wake up with a nasty headache tomorrow.”

 

It was already dusk.

 

The scent of rice-flour cakes drifted out from the kitchen.

 

Shui Que hesitated at the door, not daring to go in.

 

Hearing footsteps, Qi Chaojin came out from the kitchen.

 

He had rolled up his sleeves to make the cakes, showing strong, muscular forearms—nothing like a frail scholar.

 

“Aunt Liu brought over a jar of her homemade Sanbai wine from last year—said we should try it.” Qi Chaojin spoke while washing his hands. When he saw Shui Que sitting on the little round stool looking downcast, he asked, “What’s wrong? Didn’t enjoy yourself?”

 

Shui Que hesitated, then opened his hands to reveal the still-damp pouch.

 

“Qi Lang made this for me… but I accidentally dropped it in the water…”

 

He spoke nervously, looking up with a small face and naturally drooping eyes, making him look even more pitiful.

 

Qi Chaojin had no resistance to that look and said gently, “Leave it out to dry for a day—it’ll be fine. Just don’t go too close to the river’s edge; it’s slippery this time of year.”

 

Seeing he wasn’t angry or upset, Shui Que nodded seriously. “Mhm, mhm.”

 

Qi Chaojin’s brows furrowed slightly as his gaze dropped to Shui Que’s robe. “What happened to your clothes?”

 

Shui Que stammered, “I spilled some wine accidentally.”

 

Truthfully, if Wei Yan hadn’t held the table down in time, the whole thing would’ve toppled.

 

His face was flushed, his expression hazy from the wine, and his clothes were stained too.

 

Like a little drunken, dirty kitten.

 

Qi Chaojin said, “Go take a bath first, change clothes. Wine stains should wash out with lotus root.”

 

He had Shui Que pick out clean clothes while he went back to the kitchen to brew a bowl of osmanthus and black plum hangover soup.

 

The bath water had already been prepared, ready to wash off the dust of travel.

 

He made Shui Que drink a full bowl of the soup.

 

Shui Que closed his eyes as he finished, then said he wanted to wash his hair too.

 

So they needed to boil another bucket of water.

 

Qi Chaojin filled the tub with hot water and told him to start bathing.

 

Shui Que hung the clean clothes on a wooden rack for after his bath.

 

Once undressed, he slid into the tub.

 

The autumn evening was cool, and the warm water felt comforting and soothing.

 

Qi Chaojin had originally used plant ash or soap pods to wash his face and bathe, but Shui Que wasn’t used to them, so he went to the county and bought bath beans instead.

 

Foam quietly floated atop the surface of the water.

 

White mist filled the air.

 

A wooden bucket filled with hot water was brought in and set down on the floor with a muffled thud.

 

Behind him, a pair of cool hands gathered Shui Que’s damp, inky-black hair.

 

It left his nape and round shoulders exposed to the air—his skin pale and smooth like polished jade.

 

Qi Chaojin’s voice was low and deep: “What is this?”

 

His eyes were shadowed, fixed intently on a red mark near Shui Que’s collarbone.

 

Shui Que tilted his head back. “Hm?”

 

Then lowered his gaze to follow Qi Chaojin’s line of sight, but the angle was tricky—he couldn’t quite see what he was referring to.

 

A warm, cool fingertip pressed gently on the mark.

 

He said, “Here, it’s red.”

 

Shui Que thought for a moment. “Cui San said it was a mosquito bite.”

 

But it was already deep into autumn—where would there be mosquitoes?

 

Qi Chaojin felt as if his heart had dropped into a ravine, a chill spreading through his whole body.

 

Shui Que smelled alcohol on him. It had seemed to linger ever since his return—not coming from his own body, and it didn’t smell like the wine served at today’s banquet.

 

—Today, Aunt Liu had brought over a jar of the Sanbai wine she brewed last year.

 

Shui Que suddenly recalled Qi Chaojin’s casual remarks earlier.

 

Did he drink?

 

Just as Shui Que lifted his face to ask, he was met with a flurry of delicate, intense kisses raining down on him.

 

Qi Chaojin’s broad shoulders tensed silently. His fingers gripping the edge of the bathtub turned white from the pressure. His mouth and tongue tasted bitter, but he couldn’t stop kissing the one he loved, as if seeking comfort.

 

In a low, hoarse voice, he asked, “Did he kiss you?”

 

The sour ache in Qi Chaojin’s chest, mingling with the alcohol, surged up all at once.

 

Steam and mist swirled, hot and dense.

 

He suckled at Xiao Langjun’s flushed, swollen lips.

 

He didn’t know if it was just his imagination, but he couldn’t shake the thought that Shui Que’s lips had been swollen by another man’s kiss—full and puffy.

 

Qi Chaojin continued, kissing again and again, tightly and without pause.

 

He covered Shui Que’s face, leaving him no room to speak, dazing him with the endless kisses.

 

Qi Chaojin took Shui Que’s silence as silent consent.

 

The chill from the floor crept up his broad back.

 

In a fleeting moment, Qi Chaojin’s gaze swept from Shui Que’s shoulder to his neck, and further downward—his pale, delicate skin glowing amidst the rising bubbles, subtly moving with each breath.

 

What had once been soft and smooth now appeared plump and round from the hot water.

 

Drunk and hazy, Qi Chaojin murmured bitterly, “What about here? Did he kiss you here too?”

 

His calloused fingertips, slightly cool, brushed over Shui Que’s skin.

 

The warm and tender like jade Xiao Langjun splashed into the water with a “swoosh,” bubbling as he went under.

 

His eyes were red at the corners from embarrassment. He emerged and immediately protested, “He didn’t! He didn’t!”

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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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