Chapter 3 - Deeply In Love With You [Quick Transmigration]

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well. I have decided to pick up a second Quick Transmigration novel. This time, the gong is the MC and I hope you appreciate this novel as much as I do.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

And, as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

The Start of the School Term

 

 

Compared to the Rescue Division, the Execution Division was wrapped in an air of lethal intensity. They too had the power to save—but also to destroy. That kind of force was something far beyond what Zong Que could handle right now.

 

He didn't ask what the Execution Division did. Instead, before the system could react, he said:

 

[Working hard on missions needs direction too. Is the goal to complete a specific mission or to accumulate star coins?]

 

1314, ever dutiful, replied: [Accumulating star coins. Each mission is settled and evaluated upon completion in its respective world.]

 

[Alright. Thanks.] Zong Que glanced at his battery level, unplugged the phone, and stood. His gaze drifted toward the light and shadow dancing in the kitchen. "I'll get going."

 

A few quick footsteps sounded. The young man poked his head out from the kitchen and asked, "The phone's charged already? I made some noodles—want to eat before you leave?"

 

He wore an apron, chopsticks in hand, and the look in his eyes was genuine—a sincere attempt to get him to stay, not just empty politeness.

 

On a rainy night like this, finding a place to eat wasn't easy. Zong Que paused, then plugged his phone back in. "Thanks."

 

"No problem—won't be long." Lin Heng smiled and ducked back into the kitchen.

 

Soon, two steaming bowls of noodles were placed on the table. A light shimmer of oil floated on top, two poached eggs nestled in each bowl, sprinkled with chopped scallions. It looked like a proper dinner—but the taste was rather bland.

 

Zong Que's chopsticks hesitated for a moment before he took another bite. It was flavorless, but it filled the stomach—that was enough.

 

Across the table, Lin Heng removed his apron and watched as Zong Que ate with focused, unhurried bites. Strangely, watching him eat made Lin Heng's own appetite rise a little. But as soon as he put the noodles in his mouth, his brows furrowed.

 

It really wasn't very good.

 

It was not only bland, but oddly sticky and overcooked. Compared to the dishes the auntie at home made, this was clearly boiled too long.

 

But wasting food felt shameful.

 

Lin Heng dipped his spoon into the broth and tasted it, then got up and fetched the spice box. "Want to add some salt?" he asked.

 

Zong Que paused and glanced at the slightly embarrassed expression on the young man's face. "No need. Bland is better when you're recovering."

 

"Oh, that's good then… I don't actually cook that often," Lin Heng said as he seasoned his own bowl with salt, sesame oil, and a bit of chicken powder. After a few tries, the taste became passable. Still, as he watched the nearly empty bowl across from him, he found it a little hard to believe.

 

Aside from the rumors about Zong Que's fighting, there was another one Lin Heng had heard—that Zong Que didn't come from a wealthy family. His parents were divorced, and he lived with his widowed grandmother.

 

So he often turned in class fees last, and his clothes were never of good material. But his striking good looks led most people to overlook those details.

 

Compared to the rumors of violence, this one seemed more like a sensitive subject—almost no one brought it up.

 

And honestly, his personality didn't seem so bad after all.

 

When Zong Que finished his noodles and stood up to clear the dishes, Lin Heng instinctively said, "Leave them—I'll take care of it."

 

"Alright, I'll head out then." Zong Que picked up the phone and went to the door to change shoes.

 

His soaked shoes squelched unpleasantly—walking in them felt like going barefoot in the mud. It was the kind of damp that got into the bones. Zong Que looked up just as Lin Heng approached with a charger in hand.

"Do you have—"

 

"Your shoes are soaked. Want to borrow mine for now?" Lin Heng looked at the muddy mess.

 

The inside was clearly drenched too—wearing them any longer would be miserable. Just the thought of it was uncomfortable.

 

Zong Que's question died mid-sentence. "Alright. Thank you."

 

"Don't mention it." Lin Heng, who by now had heard "thank you" more times than he could count tonight, added, "This charging cable's an older type, but it still works. And for your clothes—do you want to take them home, or should I wash them and return them later?"

 

He had a washing machine at home—hardly an effort.

 

Zong Que was silent for a moment. "Wash them, please."

 

He had no intention of going home for the next few days. If he returned in this state, his grandmother would worry herself sick, probably lose sleep trying to figure out what had happened—and if she took the issue to the school, things would only get worse.

 

Bringing the clothes back would be inconvenient too. Even hand-washing them in this rainy weather wouldn't get them dry anytime soon.

 

"Alright. Try these shoes—they should fit, we're about the same size." Lin Heng brought over a pair, then picked up an umbrella leaning in the stand by the window, rainwater still trickling down the glass. "Here—take this umbrella too."

 

Zong Que put on the shoes. They were a bit snug, but dry and comfortable. He accepted the umbrella, opened his mouth to say "thank you" again, then swallowed the words. "Mm. I'll return it another day."

 

"Sure. Take it slow out there." Lin Heng watched as he stepped outside. He almost called out to ask him to message when he got home—but seeing the quickly closed door and the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs, he held his tongue.

 

They weren't close enough for that. Saying too much would only be a burden.

 

Lin Heng turned back to the table and resumed his battle with the leftover noodles, while Zong Que stood beneath the building, opened the umbrella, and stepped out into the night.

 

Rain had been falling steadily since afternoon. The chill in the air was more reminiscent of early winter than April. Puddles had begun to pool on the roads. The streets were quiet, almost deserted, save for the soft glow of streetlamps scattering their light through the falling rain—just enough to stop the darkness from swallowing the night whole.

 

Across from the apartment block stood the school. This neighborhood was part of the school district—some families owned their homes here, others rented so their children could walk to class.

 

Usually lively, even this area lay shrouded in silence on a weekend night.

 

"Where to?" a car approached, its headlights cutting through the gloom.

 

Zong Que closed the umbrella and climbed in. "Ping'an Road."

 

That street had cheap inns, and plenty of internet cafés nearby—enough to suit his needs for now.

 

…

 

"One hundred for the deposit, fifty a night," the front desk owner muttered without looking up, eyes glued to the game on his screen. From the sounds of it, he was still deep in a chaotic match.

 

"Two nights," Zong Que replied, scanning the QR code to pay.

 

The owner glanced up, taking in the bandages on Zong Que's forehead and limbs. Without comment, he grabbed a key and placed it on the counter. "Room 316. Don't get blood on the bed, or you won't get your deposit back."

 

"Got it." Zong Que took the key and headed upstairs.

 

The hallway didn't smell great, thick with the scent of disinfectant. But the room itself was decent—just a single large bed. The restroom and washroom were at the end of the hall.

 

In a city like this, that was all one could expect for such a price.

 

Night had deepened. Zong Que lay on the bed, still in his clothes, curled slightly to the side. The pain from his wounds had eased, letting his mind work more clearly as he contemplated the task ahead.

 

The system had chosen him—but it could just as easily abandon him. His existence was entirely tied to the system. Though it didn't currently seem malicious, having your life in someone else's hands always came with a measure of helplessness.

 

But the promise of more than one lifetime with a lover hinged on the accumulation of star coins. That also meant, perhaps, that with enough coins, he could one day break free of the system entirely, rather than being tethered to it.

 

Of course, there was also the possibility that he was just being fattened up for the slaughter. After all, the highest-grade beef often enjoyed the highest-grade care while alive. Caution was never wasted—he'd need to keep probing further.

 

The most difficult missions were ranked S. Apart from a guaranteed ten million star coin reward, they also came with additional bonuses, based on how significantly one improved the trajectory of that world.

 

That was the extent of what he knew for now. Only with enough accumulated star coins could he unlock more information from the system.

 

[Host, can't sleep? Would you like a lullaby? I guarantee you'll be out in three seconds, tops.] 1314 asked cheerily, sensing how alert he still was.

 

After all, maintaining a host's mental wellbeing was part of the job. A breakdown before the mission even started would be a serious failure.

 

[No need. I'm thinking about the mission,] Zong Que replied, listening to the rhythm of the rain outside.

 

Changing someone's fate wasn't as simple as preventing a particular event. The moment a task-bearer entered the world, the butterfly effect would already begin. The original course of events might shift. But the gears of fate kept turning—even if the specific nodes changed, the outcome could still recur in new ways.

 

Given that, becoming friends with Lin Heng might be the fastest way to understand what was happening around him. But after what happened in the last world, it was probably best not to get too close.

 

[Understood. Take your time.] The system fell quiet.

 

Night deepened, and once Zong Que had drafted a rough plan in his mind, he finally drifted off to sleep.

 

The rain whispered on through the night. Morning arrived with the chirping of birds. By the time Zong Que stepped out of the inn, most of the streets had already dried. A cool breeze passed, bringing with it a faint crispness.

 

He checked the map and walked into a relatively quiet internet café. After registering a temporary account, he found a spot in the corner and sat down.

 

Getting a part-time job was out of the question. The original owner of this body had fallen far behind in his studies—he'd basically wasted the entire first semester of high school. To catch up now would require significant time and effort.

 

His parents were divorced. His father, after piling up debts to relatives and friends from failed business ventures, was now hiding out, too afraid to return. His mother had remarried. The only one left at home was his grandmother—relying on a small welfare stipend and occasional handcraft work to patch together a living, while still saving for his school fees each year.

 

At sixteen, he had technically reached the age where he could support himself if he stopped attending school.

 

The original owner had no way to earn money. But he did.

 

Because it wasn't just his personal needs—missions could be unpredictable, sometimes requiring immediate funds. Relying solely on a fixed wage would never build the wealth he needed.

 

For two days straight, Zong Que immersed himself in research—scanning the financial ecosystem of this world. He kept aside enough for a week's worth of meals and funneled the rest into investments.

 

It started small—bit by bit. But once he built a stable base, he could move on to larger, long-term ventures that would generate steady, compounding wealth.

 

[You're putting it all in? What if you lose it?] 1314 asked, worried.

 

Sure, the host had a sharp head for money—but in the past two worlds, at least he hadn't needed to worry about starving. This time, failure meant real, visceral consequences.

 

[The capital is small. There's only a five percent chance of loss.] Zong Que adjusted his baseball cap, making sure the bandages were fully concealed before stepping into the classroom.

 

It was Sunday evening, and without a teacher present, the class was buzzing with low chatter. But the moment he walked in, silence fell.

 

Some students quietly turned back to their books, others hurriedly stashed their phones. A few exchanged glances and pulled in their legs to clear a path for him to pass to the back of the room—all while stealing glances at the youth whose lowered cap made his features look even more sharp and unreadable.

 

Lin Heng turned to look at him. Seeing his steady, unhesitant steps, he felt a breath of relief—only to watch as Zong Que headed straight to the back row, slumped down onto the desk, and closed his eyes. Clearly planning to sleep.

 

"What are you staring at, class rep?" his desk mate whispered, following his gaze. "Weird that he even showed up to class today, right? And wearing a cap, too. Kinda dramatic."

 

"Don't say that," Lin Heng murmured, eyes scanning the long sleeves Zong Que wore. Those wounds must all be hidden beneath. The cap, too, probably concealed more than just his face.

 

He hadn't changed clothes—had he not gone home?

 

As Zong Que closed his eyes, the classroom slowly returned to its previous hum. The students were still half-stuck in holiday mode, too relaxed to care.

 

But it was like this every time a break ended. You could scold them now, and they'd be noisy again in five minutes. Writing names down was pointless. Lin Heng kept his eyes on his book and pretended not to hear. Once the teacher came, things would settle down.

 

That was, until a low voice cut in from the back of the classroom.

 

"Quiet."

 

Lin Heng turned. The youth's eyes, still tinged with sleep, held a faint edge of irritation and coldness. The entire class fell into immediate silence.

 

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Lin Heng's lips.

 

Mm. Same effect as the teacher.

Last Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter

 

❧ Join Bella Novels' Newsletter by clicking here ↫ and
receive an email for each New Update -͙✧˖*°࿐