Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 71

Chapter 71: The Snobbish Black Moonlight (20)

---

Washing one’s hair was quite a troublesome task, especially in ancient times without a hairdryer to speed things up.

 

Ideally, hair should be washed after noon. That way, Shui Que could drag out a reclining chair and lounge in the courtyard, letting the sun and wind dry his hair naturally.

 

Qi Chaojin had originally come in to help him dry and tie up his hair.

 

Shui Que didn’t quite understand what Qi Chaojin had suddenly mumbled about marks, or something turning red.

 

By the time new hot water had been added to the tub, and his dark hair had been washed smooth and silky, the foam on the water’s surface was almost gone. Shui Que had already been kissed so thoroughly that he was dazed. He was lifted from the warm water, changed into clean inner garments and underpants, then draped with a long robe.

 

The setting sun still cast a faint, warm glow across the courtyard in the crisp autumn air.

 

The reclining chair resembled a modern lounge chair—it allowed one to lean back in a half-reclining, half-sitting posture. Xiao Langjun’s skin was smooth like snow, his body steamed and flushed pink all over, and he leaned against the chair’s backrest, drowsy and about to fall asleep.

 

His lips were plump and swollen, impossible to hide, with the center drooping slightly over his upper lip. He breathed through parted lips, giving glimpses of the moist red inside.

 

His chin was still sharp as the day they met, but being doted on by so many men in and out of the household, a slight fullness had crept into his cheeks. When he pressed on them, soft flesh easily popped out.

 

Qi Chaojin had just been kissing those cheeks too.

 

Qi Chaojin lowered his eyelids and used a fine hemp cloth to gently dry Shui Que’s damp black hair. Even in his drunken stupor, his hands moved with practiced ease, separating the strands with a wooden comb while softly wiping them dry.

 

Yet after a few strokes, he would fall into a daze, his hazy eyes searching for something to soothe himself with—licking and swallowing softly.

 

Though the hair wasn’t fully dry, the sweet taste in Xiao Langjun’s mouth was something Qi Chaojin couldn’t resist finishing.

 

If it was just kissing, Shui Que could tolerate that.

 

But he quickly clutched his robe closed tightly.

 

Even the gentle rub of the inner garments now made his skin tingle and shiver with a prickling sensation, as if electricity were crawling along his nerves, making him twitch.

 

Where there had once been smooth and subtle lines, now everything had been kissed and bitten into round, swollen red shapes.

 

There was no way they could go back to normal anytime soon.

 

They hadn’t been able to stretch out properly in the bathtub earlier, but now that he was lying on the reclining chair, Shui Que fumed and gave Qi Chaojin a hard kick.

 

“No more kissing! I’ll dry it myself…” he mumbled in a small, sulky voice, “Go drink the hangover soup already.”

 

Qi Chaojin leaned in to listen to him, blinking slowly. After a moment, he finally processed what Shui Que had said.

 

The black hair was half-damp and nearly dry.

 

Only then did he hand over the hemp cloth and, with steady steps, walked into the kitchen. Obediently, he scooped up a bowl of sweet-sour osmanthus plum soup and drank it down in one go.

 

No one knew how much of that Sanbai wine Qi Chaojin had actually drunk.

 

Shui Que resolved to secretly rebury the jar of Sanbai wine under the tree—away from Qi Chaojin.

 

Neither of them should ever touch alcohol again.

 

He’d never seen a male lead with such terrible tolerance…

 

After drinking, he looked clear-headed and spoke more than usual, but in reality, he was a mess—clinging to mysterious marks and going on a drunken rampage that spiraled out of control.

 

He’d kissed Shui Que’s tongue until it went numb.

 

Shui Que vented his frustration through his hands, rubbing the black hair with the hemp cloth in rough, angry motions.

 

As if rubbing hard enough would generate sparks and dry the hair completely.

 

Qi Chaojin returned, took the hemp cloth, and without a word, directly carried Shui Que to the wooden table in the main house.

 

His body carried the scent of soapberries, leftover wine, and a faint trace of rice cake flour from making Double Ninth festival pastries.

 

He must have bathed before Shui Que.

 

That night, they only ate two small pieces of rice cake. Shui Que had eaten too much during the day and didn’t have much of an appetite for dinner.

 

Qi Chaojin cleaned up the dishes, setting aside the remaining rice cakes to be steamed hot for breakfast the next day.

 

Back in the bedroom, he lowered the bamboo curtain to block the wind.

 

On the bed, a bundled-up lump under the quilts didn’t even reveal its head.

 

The tung oil lamp was blown out.

 

Shui Que cautiously peeked out from under the quilt for a breath of air.

 

Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around him from behind. The body was warm, cool to the touch, holding him close.

 

Qi Chaojin buried his face against the snow-white nape of his neck. Surrounded by the sweet, thick scent of Shui Que in the covers, he finally felt completely at ease.

 

He pulled him closer, retreating toward the center of the bed.

 

“If you sleep on the edge, you’ll fall off.”

 

So he stubbornly held onto Shui Que.

 

…

 

When Shui Que groggily opened his eyes, the bamboo curtain was half-rolled up, letting in a beam of cool daylight.

 

A tall figure stood by the bed, staring at him with hesitation, as if unsure how to speak.

 

Seeing that he had woken up—

 

Qi Chaojin opened his mouth, hesitating before finally speaking in a soft voice, “I’m sorry. I was drunk yesterday.”

 

His ears turned red behind, his face forced into calmness, pretending nothing had happened.

 

His palm was sweaty from clutching the porcelain bottle.

 

Shui Que sat up, pursed his lips, and muttered, “Qi Lang’s alcohol tolerance is really terrible.”

 

Qi Chaojin nodded silently, admitting it.

 

“You… does it hurt?” he stammered, not finishing his sentence. His gaze flickered toward Shui Que’s chest for a split second before quickly looking away like he’d been burned. He extended the porcelain bottle. “This is ointment.”

 

Qi Chaojin’s lips were drawn tight like a stretched string. He lowered his voice again, “I’m sorry.”

 

Not waiting for Shui Que’s reply, as if he couldn’t face him, Qi Chaojin placed the porcelain bottle on the bedside and hurried toward the door.

 

“The rice cake is warming in the pot, and the tung skin noodles are done, they’re on the table,” the young man almost tripped over the door threshold as he left. “…I’m going to the calligraphy and painting shop to work now.”

 

Shui Que looked at his retreating figure in confusion.

 

What’s so strange about him?

 

Could it be that he’s not fully sober yet?

 

In the span of two days, the thatched roof and reeds in the main house of the Qi family had been removed. In its place were neatly stacked blue tiles, and the broken walls in the corners of the house had been rebuilt with new bricks. The courtyard looked completely revitalized, giving off a refreshing appearance.

 

When Aunt Liu passed by the laundry area, she smiled at the woman walking with her and said, “Qi Er has reached the age to settle down and start a family. He’s found a Xiao Langjun, and not only does it give their life a sense of hope, but look at this—he’s so fond of Xiao Shui Langjun, he’s even fixing up the house before winter.”

 

The woman walking with her was the same one who had spoken harshly during the ancestor worship in the middle of July. Seeing this situation, she was so surprised that she was left speechless. “Then… then it seems they are about to have good news soon?”

 

At this point, she could no longer bring herself to say anything negative.

 

After all, the couple seemed to be a perfect match, and there had never been any noticeable quarrels between them. Especially Qi Er, the way he looked at Shui Que was full of affection, always so obedient.

 

Aunt Liu shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but I estimate it’s about time. When Qi Er finishes his mourning period, he’ll be just in time for the imperial exam in August next year. When the osmanthus flowers bloom, they’ll be able to announce the marriage, right?”

 

The other woman, who hadn’t received any formal education, didn’t understand these matters, so she immediately covered her mouth in shock. “Then Qi Er will pass the exam and become a juren*, and will be a government official?”

Note: Juren is someone who passed provincial imperial examination.

 

Aunt Liu replied, “Not yet! I think Qi Er is likely to go to the capital again after the autumn exams in February to take the spring imperial exam. If he passes, he’ll be a gongshi. That would be ideal, and then the court examination…”

(Note: Gongshi is someone who has passed the first-grade imperial examination and is eligible for the next stage, the court examination.)

 

She suddenly lowered her voice, speaking mysteriously, “Who knows, maybe His Majesty will personally appoint him as the top scholar.”

 

The woman muttered, “Is it really that impressive? Could someone from our poor backwater actually become the top scholar?”

 

Aunt Liu, known for being the biggest gossip in the village, said, “Ah, that’s what you don’t know. When Qi Er had his first birthday, a fortune-teller looked at him and said he had the fate of the reincarnated Wenqu Star!”

Note: constellation governing scholarship and examinations.

 

Still skeptical, the woman said, “Who knows which shady street-side Taoist came up with that…”

 

She absolutely didn’t believe it. Aunt Liu lost interest in arguing with such people and simply sighed, “I said back then that Xiao Shui Langjun’s good days were still ahead of him.”

 

……..

 

Xiao Shui Langjun was feeling very troubled.

 

He stepped to the left, and the other person followed. He moved to the right, and that person mirrored him again.

 

The tall man completely blocked out what little sunlight there was.

 

Shui Que rolled his eyes at him flirtatiously.

 

“What are you doing…” he pointed at the street, “It’s so wide, and yet you insist on standing right in front of me.”

 

Wei Yan cleared his throat. The air he breathed out turned white in the chilly wind.

 

It was already well past the beginning of winter, now into the tenth month.

 

After the Double Ninth Festival, Wei Yan had spent more than half a month rushing back and forth between Changzhou County and Suwu Prefecture. His feet barely touched the ground, but he had finally managed to imprison King Wu, who had been privately colluding with Daxiang.

 

He had also submitted a full report on the entire incident with Captain Liang and the others.

 

Now, he had just returned to Changzhou County and happened to catch Xiao Langjun walking on the street alone.

 

“I…” Their last meeting had ended on a sour note, and now that they were face to face, Wei Yan didn’t know what to say. “The things I had my servant deliver to you… did you receive them all?”

 

Shui Que looked up at him. The man seemed exhausted from travel; dark shadows sat under his eyes. Shui Que nodded to say he had received everything.

 

“Mhm, mhm. Thank you.”

 

Wei Yan had sent over all sorts of strange trinkets collected from Suwu Prefecture—jade, pearls, brocade clothing, and even snacks like milk candies, persimmon paste, and dried banana chips. Scattered bits and pieces, each batch came with a letter. Shui Que had counted—he had received six or seven letters so far. The man seemed to write one every three days.

 

Every letter started with an apology, and then rambled on about sights in Suwu, funny stories from his days stationed in the Northern Frontier, and other trivial chatter. Each letter was three full pages long.

 

Even in the early winter chill, Wei Yan was dressed no differently from autumn—still in his dark black python robe. He noticed Shui Que was wearing the padded jacket he had picked out and gifted earlier, which made him secretly happy. He scratched his head and asked, “So… are you still mad at me?”

 

Shui Que shook his head. “I’m not that petty.”

 

He wasn’t fond of the cold, and after a few words, he buried his face into his scarf.

 

The scarf was made of fur gifted by Wei Yan and sewn by Qi Chaojin.

 

Underneath, he wore two inner layers, topped with the silk-cotton long robe made by Qi Lang, and even that wasn’t enough. Over it, he had to wear a silver-red padded jacket from Wei Yan, making his skin look almost like it glowed.

 

He looked completely pampered and cared for.

 

His delicate pinkish face was tucked into the scarf, with refined brows and eyes—like a soft, snowy doll.

 

Wei Yan was completely dazzled.

 

He finally snapped out of it and remembered what he was there for. He pulled something from the slanted collar of his robe and bent down to attach it to Shui Que.

 

But then he suddenly raised his voice, “You—why do you have another pouch?!”

 

Shui Que was startled.

 

Why did Wei Yan always have to be so loud and dramatic?

 

The Xiao Langjun had two pouchs, both sewn by men, hanging innocently from his waist. He said, “That one was a gift from Cui San earlier.”

 

He recalled, “He said he learned embroidery from the seamstresses at Jinxiu Workshop. He sewed a pair of mandarin ducks on it—look.”

 

He reached into his sleeve and pinched the pouch hanging on the left.

 

Sure enough, it showed two ducks swimming side by side.

 

The gift Wei Yan had brought wasn’t even on yet—because Shui Que already had a “Mandarin Ducks Playing in Water” on the left, and a “Magpie Leaning on Bamboo” on the right.

 

Wei Yan grumbled, “Wearing two pouches on your waist—aren’t they heavy?”

 

Shui Que looked confused. “Pouches are so small. I just use them to carry little things. They’re light, not heavy at all.”

 

Wei Yan choked and then forcibly bent down to hang his on too. “One more from me won’t hurt.”

 

Shui Que looked down curiously. “What did you embroider on it?”

 

“…It’s a tabby cat,” Wei Yan replied. “Isn’t it cute? I thought of you when I made it.”

 

The boy was small, a little moody, kind of like a cat.

 

Shui Que was silent for a moment.

 

He honestly couldn’t tell it was a cat.

 

Blinking, he said sincerely, “I thought it was the tiger that Wu Song fought.”

 

Wei Yan: “…”

 

“But thank you.” Shui Que patted the pouch and promised, “I’ll wear it properly.”

 

Wei Yan looked left and right. It really was true—his was the worst-looking one. The stitching was even crooked and visible.

 

But he genuinely had no skill in these things.

 

He could handle spears and swords with ease, but an embroidery needle? That was beyond him.

 

He changed tactics. “Do you like horses? I met some merchants from Tuyuhun in Suwu and bought a blue roan colt. It’s still young, so it’s a bit smaller than the White Dragon Colt…”

 

As he talked, Shui Que caught his meaning and asked, “You’re giving it to me?”

 

Why was he giving him a horse now?

 

Wei Yan saw that Shui Que didn’t look excited, so he shifted again. “You don’t like it? Then—do you like swords?”

 

With a flash of cold light, he drew his sword and casually twirled it into a flower-like flourish.

 

Grinning with a glimpse of canine teeth, he said, “I’ve collected a bunch of fine swords. If you like any of them, I’ll give them to you.”

 

Shui Que was puzzled. “What would I do with so many swords?”

 

Wei Yan also looked troubled. “Then… I can teach you how to twirl a sword, teach you a few moves for self-defense. That way they’ll be useful.”

 

He coughed lightly, his ears turning suspiciously red, and added, “I’ll teach you hand-in-hand. It’s easy to learn.”

 

The Overseer mocked ruthlessly: 【He doesn’t look good, but he sure thinks he’s charming.】

 

Shui Que felt like Overseer 01 had quite the prejudice against Wei Yan.

 

Actually, Wei Yan had a very heroic look—sharp brows, bright eyes—not ugly at all.

 

Except for that scar at the corner of his eye, which had marred his looks.

 

Shui Que shook his head. “No, I don’t want to learn. I’ll get all sweaty and catch a cold in winter.”

 

Wei Yan was practically tearing his hair out. He had just started to get a clue about courting and was trying so hard to show off—like a peacock in full display—only to realize he didn’t have anything that could truly impress his crush.

 

Suddenly, inspiration struck.

 

He almost forgot about this.

 

From his sleeve pouch, he took out a small cloth bag filled with pine nuts—still warm.

 

Last time, he saw Shui Que liked eating nuts.

 

So he had shelled a whole basket of pine nuts until midnight and had the kitchen steam them today.

 

They were fragrant and tender.

 

Seeing Shui Que enjoy them so much, Wei Yan finally breathed a sigh of relief.

 

While the boy bent down to eat, Wei Yan gently placed a warm lambskin hat over his head.

 

Then he straightened up and said seriously, “I still have to report back to His Majesty. In a while—by the latest, twelfth month—I’ll have to return to the capital.”

 

Shui Que looked up. “Huh?”

 

Wearing the lamb hat and scarf, his snow-white little face peeked out—it was tiny.

 

He looked even more like a pitiful, adorable little tabby cat.

 

Wei Yan asked sincerely, “Would you like to come to the capital with me?”

 

Shui Que’s eyes widened.

 

But… wasn’t it too early in the plot for this?

 

The male lead was still waiting at home for him to come back with the salt to pickle mustard greens.

 

System 77 was confused. [This shouldn’t be right. Didn’t the Little Marquis only decide to take the host away the second time he went to Changzhou County? They haven’t even started preparing for the wedding yet, and the plot hasn’t reached the wedding night…]

 

Shui Que looked frustrated.

 

This person was hindering the host’s progress.

 

System 77  got angry and used language from the books they’d read to scold, [Why is this person so impatient!]

---

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

---