Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 88

Chapter 88: The Child from the Pay-to-Win Parenting Game (5)

---

Every day, Shui Que’s action point list was packed with tasks like [Study Geometry], [Study Logic], [Learn an Instrument], and so on.

 

It seemed the player was desperate for him to succeed—rotating through all seven subjects every three days, even skipping those simple favorability-raising actions like greetings.

 

It was like he was chasing some numerical goal…

 

Thankfully, Shui Que only had a limit of three action points per day. Otherwise, he suspected the player would have made him cram all seven subjects in one day.

 

Though time inside the game passed differently than in the real world—one in-game month translated to just a day in the male lead’s reality—Guan He couldn’t possibly watch Shui Que every minute of every day. Sometimes he would just leave the game and stream running in the background, letting the game proceed on its own.

 

By the way, that autoplay service cost 500 Interstellar Coins.

 

And after digging for a while, Guan He realized that this game had only a single save slot, which could only be selected at the beginning of each run.

 

In other words, once you started the game, there was no turning back.

 

You had to play all the way to the end. You could keep it running in the background of the full-dive game pod, but you couldn’t shut it down. If you did, it would reset everything, and you’d be back at square one.

 

Guan He couldn’t fathom how the game developers could be so cruel.

 

He wasn’t a full-time streamer. Guan He also did some programming gigs on the StarNet as a side hustle, and occasionally helped solve issues for his brother’s company online.

 

The full-dive game pod sent its daily reminder that it was time to rest.

 

Guan He looked at Shui Que, who was still diligently sketching, and said to his stream viewers, “Watch over him for me, okay?”

 

【You’re logging off already, streamer?】


【It’s fine, we digital parents are all here in the chat.】


【Ahhhhh don’t you dare look! Don’t look! That’s MY baby! Did he just call me ‘Mommy’? Damn those evil devs, how could they lock my child inside a game? Mommy misses you so much TvT】

 

The corner of Guan He’s eye twitched. He left the game pod running with the game and stream in the background and stepped out.

 

No sooner had he gone than System 77 went to tip off Shui Que.

 

“Mr. Brown,” Shui Que raised his hand, interrupting the lesson taught by the former royal court painter, Mr. Brown. In a soft, timid voice, he said, “I think I need a little… break.”

 

It meant he needed to go relieve himself.

 

Mr. Brown stopped his enthusiastic lecturing and nodded gently. “Please be quick, young master.”

 

This wasn’t the first time.

 

Shui Que lay lazily on Leon’s back, lifting a finger here and there to direct him. Leon obediently carried him from the main castle building, across the connecting corridors and spiral stairs, through the front hall, and out the door leading to the rear castle grounds.

 

At this hour, the rear castle grounds were nearly empty. Most of the servants and craftsmen were busy working in the front grounds. The knight trainees and squires also trained with swords in the mornings, not now.

 

The rear grounds were desolate, so sneaking out from the castle’s back door wouldn’t draw any attention.

 

From upstairs came the distant, flustered shouting of Mr. Brown. Shui Que, filled with guilt, still quietly covered his mouth to suppress a laugh.

 

Outside the castle stretched a wide field, dotted occasionally with short shrubbery. Rolling hills extended outwards, and at the edge stood towering blue oaks with pale green-blue leaves and white trunks. These trees stretched toward the horizon, where they turned into dark forests and distant mountains.

 

Shui Que actually liked Leon quite a bit. Though he wasn’t talkative, he was obedient and dependable.

 

If it had been John the manservant, he definitely wouldn’t have helped him skip lessons like this.

 

But Leon never said a word, occasionally replying softly just enough for Shui Que to know he wasn’t mute.

 

Shui Que asked Leon to lift him onto the huge, drooping branch of the old blue oak tree.

 

The branch was thick—wide enough that it would take two people to wrap around it. Though Shui Que couldn’t move his legs, he could still lie on a branch that broad.

 

The acorns of the blue oak could be used as dye, and its fallen branches made good matches. Count Louis had granted permission for the locals to gather fallen natural resources from his lands without additional tax, so nearby residents often came to collect them, creating well-trodden paths.

 

From his perch on the tree, Shui Que could see the yellow-brown grassy plains stretching into the distance. The flocks of sheep grazing there, owned by tenant farmers, looked like patches of gray carpet.

 

The late summer wind wasn’t strong, but there was a stifling hint of early autumn in the air. Leon held down the fluttering corners of his linen shirt and looked up at Shui Que in silence.

 

His deep green eyes, shaded under the tree, looked dim and gray, but they were locked firmly onto Shui Que.

 

Shui Que propped up his head and murmured to himself, “If I were a little lamb, I could roll and run on the grass.”

 

He still wasn’t used to his inability to walk. Sometimes when he got too anxious after waking up in the morning, he’d roll right off the bed, startling Leon, who slept in the small adjacent room.

 

Noble children were encouraged to move from birth—to somersault, run, walk on stilts, play ball. A healthy body was considered essential for raising a worthy heir.

 

But in this small world, Shui Que had been born frail. Just being able to lie under the sun already made Count Louis feel deeply gratified.

 

Leon was no longer the dull, wooden vagabond he used to be. Now, he could understand basic language and logic.

 

He knew his master was imagining things.

 

If his master were a little lamb…

 

Leon’s gaze froze, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly.

 

With his back turned, he looked out toward the distant grassy fields filled with sheep.

 

Scattered among the fallen acorns were small blue-violet cornflowers. A butterfly flitted by, its powdery wings glittering like fragments of hornblende. It trembled as it landed right on Shui Que’s nose.

 

Shui Que’s expression froze, eyelids twitching. His long lashes gently fluttered, just like the butterfly’s wings.

 

【Such a beautiful baby…】


【Don’t move, Mommy’s taking a screenshot first】

 

A gust of wind blew. The butterfly took off, and Shui Que instinctively reached out—but misjudged his position on the branch. His body tilted—

 

And he fell straight off the tree!

 

Leon’s pupils contracted.

 

In the rushing wind, the ground below was covered in acorns. Shui Que shut his eyes tightly.

 

…It didn’t hurt.

 

It felt like he had landed on a blanket.

 

Shui Que opened his eyes to find Leon looking at him in panic.

 

Leon had cushioned his fall. His linen shirt was now dirty.

 

Shui Que thought the green in his eyes looked even deeper than before—maybe it was just his imagination.

 

【Wait a sec…】


【Did I see that right just now? B-big grey wolf?】


【Wolf blanket…】

 

When Guan He came back, a week had passed in the game.

 

“Nothing major happened, right?” he asked the chat while opening Shui Que’s status panel, satisfied to see that his Intelligence stat had reached 88.

 

The stream comments were hesitant.

 

【You’re not gonna say it?】


【You say it.】


【None of you are saying anything? Fine… then I won’t say anything either】

 

…………

 

The seven-subject rotation had dragged on from May all the way to August.

 

Shui Que was utterly miserable, just hoping each day that Guan He would go AFK so he could sneak off for a break.

 

He used the same trick again—climbing on Leon’s back and directing him to sneak out the back of the castle.

 

But just as they passed the corridor, a large hand suddenly grabbed the collar of his velvet coat from behind.

 

“Where are you off to?” Garrick had caught him red-handed. “Didn’t I just hear Father praising how diligent you’ve been in class lately?”

 

He had just returned from Virginia Academy, looking travel-worn. Since Dorian still had to study estate management under Count Louis, Garrick hadn’t even taken off his coat or hat—he had rushed up right away to see his poor, hardworking little brother.

 

Poor Mr. Brown was even more pitiful.


From the end of the corridor came his mournful voice again: “Young master—?!”


His footsteps pounded heavily.


Garrick made a gesture, and the three of them quickly turned from the main building to the front hall.


They descended the stone spiral staircase.


Garrick asked, “I heard you can go out in the sun now?”


Shui Que gave him a sidelong glance. Since this person hadn’t tattled on him, he decided to overlook the earlier incident where Garrick had tugged at his collar.


He nodded in reply.


“No wonder…” Garrick looked him over for a moment and muttered softly, “Your complexion looks better, cheeks nice and rosy.”


“Want to go out and have some fun?” Garrick tempted, “Call me ‘brother,’ and I’ll take you to see a puppet show. How about it?”


In the two months since they last met, Garrick had grown taller again. He wore a narrow-sleeved shirt with a vertically pleated wool vest fitted snugly around his waist and torso, outlining a build that leaned more toward adulthood.


But he was still just as annoying.


Shui Que turned his head away to avoid looking at him and muttered, “Then forget it. Leon and I will go back and play chess.”


As he spoke, he patted Leon’s shoulder, intending for him to head back toward the bedroom.


Sure enough, Garrick gave in first. “Alright, alright, let’s go. Honestly now, Brother Garrick will take you to the puppet show.”


Since Shui Que wouldn’t call him “brother,” there was no way Garrick could just keep referring to himself that way, right?


Shui Que rested his head sideways on his arm and asked Garrick, “Is your academy on break?”


Garrick led the way and answered, “Of course, it’s the Harvest Month.”


August was the season of reaping, which the Tuva people called the Harvest Month.


The hills rolled gently, the fields were lively with activity. Vast fields of golden wheat stretched as far as the eye could see. Tenant farmers used crescent-shaped sickles to harvest the stalks, bundled the sheaves onto carts, and slowly wheeled them back to the front of the farmhouses, where they rhythmically beat the grain with flails.


It was the season of abundance, the so-called “Days of Grace” spoken of by the lords.


Count Louis brought Dorian along to demonstrate how to host a banquet on the Day of Grace within the territory—important knowledge if one wished to become a beloved grand lord of the land.


The church stood upstream of the waterwheel and mill. The banquet would be held there. It was now evening, and the rumbling of the mill and the sound of threshing had subsided.


Garrick led Shui Que to the clearing outside the church.


The crackling bonfire, the free-flowing malt ale, plenty of white bread, pies, whole roasted chickens, thick soups, harp and flute music, and people gathered in song and cheer—


It was far livelier than inside the castle, even if the meals there came with private musicians and jesters for entertainment.


“Look.” Garrick nodded toward a spot where a group of children had gathered.


It was a traveling circus troupe putting on a performance.


Acrobats walked tightropes and performed fire shows.


A clown in colorful clothing played the magic flute while a magician stood with open hands, indicating that he wasn’t controlling the puppets. Yet on the small wooden stage hastily set up, glove puppets acted out the tale of the dragon-slaying hero and the wind dragon.


The magician had a refined air, wearing a pointed hat and a robe of rough linen that draped over his tall, broad frame.


“There’s no one under the stage either,” he replied patiently to a child’s doubts, his smile soft, his eyes long and narrow. He lifted the red curtain under the wooden stage to show that apart from some wooden supports, it was completely empty.


Cheers erupted, mixed with gasps of amazement from the crowd.


The flute melody turned graceful under the hands of the colorfully dressed flutist. From all around, small and slender black shadows appeared, tails trailing behind them.


Leon raised his foot, and Shui Que felt a jolt. Clinging to Leon’s shoulder, he looked down—mice, large and small, were streaming from the nearby farmhouses, lining up in orderly fashion toward the open ground in front of the flutist.


The flutist lifted the flute again, and the tune shifted.


A great horde of black rats rushed toward the river, drowned themselves, and were carried downstream by the surging current.


So this was how the rat plague was eradicated?


Shui Que blinked blankly.


As the flutist turned his head, his gaze landed right on Shui Que, who was lying on the back of a servant. The firelight made Shui Que’s delicate features glow, his cheeks flushed pink.


“The next magic trick requires another person’s help.” The magician took off his pointed hat, revealing brown hair and blue eyes. “Young ladies and gentlemen, who among you would like to help me with this performance?”


His sapphire eyes met Shui Que’s in the firelight.


“How about this young gentleman?”


The magician gave him a respectful bow as one would to a noble, clearly recognizing the three of them by the fabric of their clothes.


Shui Que came to his senses and quickly shook his head.


A bit shy, he hid behind Leon’s shoulder and back.


The magician didn’t press him and instead invited another boy who had raised his hand.


He placed a wooden box, open on one side, over the boy’s head. Facing the audience, the boy looked a bit nervous.


The magician said, “Now I will use this panel to cover the front and insert these daggers into the box.”


A circus apprentice handed over several gleaming daggers.


The magician’s movements were smooth as he used the wooden panel to cover the boy’s face, then slowly inserted five daggers into the sides and top of the box.


The children in the audience covered their faces and peeked through their fingers.


Shui Que shrank his neck and carefully leaned out from behind Leon’s head to watch.


There was a cool feeling on the back of his neck.


When the panel was pulled away, there was no blood or gore—the boy’s entire head had vanished. Only the daggers remained inside the box, glittering coldly in the empty space.


Shui Que gasped along with the other children.


The magician let the crowd’s amazement linger, then closed the panel again and lifted the box. The boy was completely unharmed.


He seemed a little dazed, trying to return to his group of friends but stood still, looking to the adults for a hug.


The magician subtly took a step back.


This put the boy facing the flutist instead. The black-haired flutist wore a robe patched together from various coarse fabrics. He raised his flute and said, “Child, I’m used to holding light instruments. I might drop you. Better go find your parents.”


Though the boy didn’t get the hug he wanted from the all-powerful circus members, he had just participated in the performance and happily rejoined his friends.


Garrick saw how Shui Que was staring intently at the performance and muttered discontentedly, “Figures. Just tricks meant to fool kids.”


Still, after a while, he went up to speak with the circus magician.


Shui Que watched them from a distance, unable to hear what was said.


The fire crackled and popped. All he caught was the magician’s reply: “It would be an honor, sir.”


The circus’s caravan was drawn by just two blind horses. The wooden dome was round, topped with rough red cloth. The oak carriage was long and narrow, taking up only a small space in the castle courtyard.

 

Today was Shui Que’s birthday.

 

To be precise, it was Que Louis’s birthday.

 

Shui Que had forgotten.

 

He stared in surprise at the grand castle hall decked out with lanterns and golden streamers.

 

The scent of food wafted through the air, and the long table was piled with dishes.

 

Everyone gathered around him and ushered him into his seat.

 

The Tuva believed that birthdays were the day one was most vulnerable to demonic influence, so friends and relatives had to gather around the birthday person to offer blessings and bring a cake.

 

In the center of the long table sat a massive cake.

 

Though called a cake, it resembled more a large, round pie, made with barley flour, pomegranate seeds, nuts, and raisins, drizzled with comb honey.

 

The food was served in gold-rimmed baskets, carried continuously to the table by servants—roast baby goat, roast suckling rabbit, cod, plums soaked in wine, pears in syrup, matsutake cream soup…

 

There were circus performances, musicians playing, and dancers swirling.

 

Count Louis reeked of malt beer as he pulled his son into a tight embrace.

 

“Good boy, sweet boy…” he slurred, words thick with alcohol, “Father’s good child.”

 

Presents were stacked all around Shui Que.

 

Dorian gently said, “Happy birthday. May this year bring you luck and peace.”

 

Garrick held a large gift, contents unknown. “Happy birthday, Que. You must accept your big brother Garrick’s gift.”

 

Shui Que decided that, for a night like this, he wouldn’t torment his two older brothers.

 

He quietly accepted the gift and murmured, “Thank you.”

 

The little waltz was cheerful and melodic.

 

Circus apprentices spun wheels and plucked the strings of a hand-cranked organ, harmonizing with the flute player’s long flute.

 

When the stars bloomed in the night sky like lilies on the ground, and the circus troupe had eaten and drunk their fill, they finally drove away into the dark with their blind horses. The long wagon wheels rumbled along, carrying away half a chest of gold and silver, a reward already granted by the lord.

 

Tuva roads were not straight or smooth. The wheels, over years of grinding, had worn deep ruts into the sunken ground. Especially in the countryside, where fallen trees often cut off the road entirely.

 

The long wagon was pulled by two blind horses. The best way to prevent a horse from returning home or recognizing its original master was, naturally, to blind it.

 

One couldn’t expect a wandering troupe to have much money. That half chest of treasure was likely their entire annual income.

 

Whether in village or city, patrolling guards paid little attention to such wooden wagons covered by domes or tarps. The roads were rough enough that these wagons could fall apart from the bumps alone.

 

There wasn’t much onboard either. They might need to spend their silver on new traveling furniture once they reached the next city.

 

Inside the narrow, long wagon, coarse fabric curtains divided the space. The shared area was at the front. Aside from knives, all utensils were wooden. Thick tallow candles burned. The only valuable cupboard contained wooden combs, brushes, tough thread for sewing saddles, and a few leather wine bags full of malt beer.

 

Behind layers of curtains were the sleeping quarters—linen blankets, mats, and pillows.

 

Apprentices weren’t allowed in the inner sleeping areas.

 

They sat in small groups at the front communal space, the smell of malt beer overwhelming, tongues loosened, talking nonsense.

 

“That nobleman’s castle was seriously grand…!”

 

“Did you see all the leftovers today? Even ten troupes couldn’t finish it all. After giving some to the servants, the rest will be handed out to the tenant farmers. Damn, a mountain of meat and a sea of wine! If I were a male servant in that castle, I’d be feasting every day, huh?”

 

“Then you should be that little master’s personal valet. He eats the least. You’d get all his leftovers!”

 

They babbled on until even they couldn’t understand each other anymore, heads slumping, probably to sleep on the table until morning.

 

The castle was now far behind them.

 

Crows startled into flight.

 

Moonlight spilled into a small room at the far end of the second floor. Leon jolted awake, head foggy, and stumbled into the master bedroom.

 

His pale green eyes narrowed sharply.

 

…………

 

A circus performer stepped over the collapsed apprentices with a look of disgust. “Can’t you tell these idiots to drink less? Don’t puke on my wagon!”

 

Inside, it was unnaturally quiet.

 

The performer sensed something was off. He yanked open the curtain.

 

The magician sat on a wooden stool drinking. His wine bag was nearly empty, yet he still looked clear-headed and composed.

 

His sky-blue eyes glanced at the performer.

 

The performer hesitated. “Uh, have you seen the flute player?”

 

The magician shrugged.

 

The performer frowned in suspicion and strode toward the very back of the wagon.

 

He yanked open the red curtain with force.

 

“Shh.”

 

The flute player frowned, annoyed at the performer’s reckless movements. He raised a finger to his lips, signaling silence.

 

The performer’s eyes widened.

 

The flute lay discarded on the floor. The black-haired, black-eyed flute player was holding the noble’s young master in his arms, gently rocking him to sleep.

 

The boy’s cheeks were rosy, his skin smooth and fair, eyes closed. He wore a dark red velvet coat with gold embroidery and white lining. His sleeves were tied with thick silk bows.

 

No matter how one looked at it, the boy clearly did not belong in a wandering circus wagon.

 

“Damn it…”

 

The performer gritted his teeth at his trouble-making companion.

 

Guan He had only returned briefly to his body.

 

After reading the scrolling chat log—

 

“F*cking hell!” he couldn’t help but curse. A vein throbbed on his forehead. “That black-hearted bastard—where is he trying to take Shui Que now?!”

---

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

---