Chapter 4 - 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.

Exam Score

 

 

The classroom had returned to silence. Zong Que lowered the brim of his cap once more to shield his eyes from the light and lay down on his desk.

 

It wasn't that he couldn't handle a noisy environment—it was just that the past two days had been exhausting. His head throbbed faintly, and fatigue tugged at him. Besides, the original host hadn't exactly been known for his good temper.

 

The upside was that now he could rest quietly for a moment; the downside was that it made it all the more difficult to mend relationships with his classmates.

 

The teacher wouldn't bother with him—after all, the original host had once gotten into a physical fight with a teacher and lived to tell the tale.

 

Such a reputation would make navigating school life a challenge, but that, too, was part of a tasker's trial.

 

The classroom remained quiet for a long time. Even when the noise returned, it came in hushed murmurs—until the distinct click of heels echoed from outside the door.

 

When the teacher entered, she instinctively glanced at the podium before smiling and stepping forward. "So quiet today. What's the matter? Feeling guilty about the monthly exam results?"

 

"You sound way too happy about that, Teacher," a boy in the front row laughed.

 

"Exactly!"

 

Laughter rippled through the room. The teacher chuckled. "You all actually did decently. Class rep, take a few students and hand out the exam papers. Let's go through them this period."

 

Desks scraped softly as a few students moved around to distribute the papers. Those who had done well couldn't hide their smiles; those who hadn't let out a few quiet sighs.

 

Zong Que sat up at the sound of footsteps drawing near, watching as the class rep distributed the tests. His eyes darkened with thought.

 

Liao Yan. English class rep. Parents divorced. His father, burdened by gambling debts, had long disappeared, leaving his mother to raise him alone.

 

A similar family background, equally impoverished—but his academic performance was far superior. He was constantly vying with Lin Heng for the top spot in class and was also the protagonist shou in the original storyline.

 

He was tall, though slender, which made his loose school uniform pants look even baggier. His expression was calm, his lips pressed into a thin line. There was something closed-off, almost aloof, in his bearing.

 

Liao Yan looked down to check the names and then turned, dropping a test paper on Zong Que's desk. Zong Que glanced at the score, then went quiet for a moment before casually tucking the paper into his desk.

 

Twenty-eight.

 

Out of a total of 120 in English. Even stomping on the answer sheet shouldn't yield a score this low.

 

Liao Yan gave him a glance before walking off to deliver the rest. Zong Que reflected on that glance—disdain, and a touch of indifference.

 

Yi Zhong was one of the top high schools in the city. For students from outside the area, the bar for admission was extremely high.

 

The original host's grades in middle school had been decent. Since he'd attended a branch school, he managed to secure a place here.

 

But then, that summer—right after he'd received the acceptance letter—everything at home fell apart. In just a few days, his personality had changed completely.

 

In a place like this, talent was never in short supply. With effort and discipline, one could still forge a future. Liao Yan had chosen that path—despite wearing the same uniform for years, eating the cheapest meals in the cafeteria, and sometimes even surviving on buns and pickled vegetables, he always ranked at the top.

 

In the original timeline, he earned a coveted recommendation to a top university through stellar academic performance and national competitions. He went on to become an exceptional interpreter—and met the one who would walk alongside him for life.

 

To someone like that, the original host likely seemed like a waste of potential, squandering precious resources. And he wasn't alone in that thought—many classmates probably shared that quiet contempt.

 

Zong Que didn't bother judging the original host. Everyone walked their own path and bore the consequences of their choices. Any debts incurred would be compensated through the world's transactional balance—it had nothing to do with him. What he was concerned with was the possible connection between Lin Heng's kidnapping and Liao Yan.

 

Liao Yan's household was barely holding it together. Even after the divorce, his father's creditors still came knocking. When they couldn't find the debtor, they came for the family. His mother, a factory worker, spent most of her wages appeasing those people just to maintain a semblance of peace.

 

The school did what it could to help. Teachers offered leniency, and Lin Heng, as class monitor, had quietly helped in his own ways. But even well-meaning kindness can become dangerous.

 

Even in times of peace, the old adage holds true: wealth should not be flaunted. Lin Heng didn't live extravagantly, but there were still subtle signs—his clothes, his school supplies—that hinted at a more comfortable life. A little asking around would reveal that his parents were business owners and quite well-off.

 

And those who surrounded Liao Yan's family were lawless, with no regard for consequences. That was why his family dared not report them. Even if they succeeded in putting someone behind bars, who knew how many more would still be out there?

 

Liao Yan escaped unscathed. Lin Heng paid the price. Even with the police rescue, his legs were ruined. His body, his spirit—both left in ruins.

 

By now, the teacher had begun going over the test. Students were taking notes, asking occasional questions. The classroom was orderly, filled with the kind of calm assurance that belonged to those with bright futures. No one seemed to notice the one person drifting apart from that current.

 

Zong Que took the test out from his desk and stared at the errors on the page.

 

The world, the technology—they were all roughly the same. Language and formulas, too, bore striking resemblance. It was only the culture that diverged: a few different words, different pronunciations, usage that varied just enough to matter.

 

[Host, you can purchase a universal language pack—instant full marks in English.] 1314 chimed in eagerly. [Only 100,000 star coins!]

 

[No thanks,] Zong Que replied calmly. He glanced at the grammar the teacher was writing on the board and dug into the drawer, pulling out a vocabulary list that had been stuck on the first page for far too long.

 

He wasn't yet at the point of analyzing mistakes—he still needed to build his word base from scratch.

 

[Alright then...] 1314 sounded a little dejected. [It's just… learning like this is a lot of work.]

 

[Mm,] Zong Que hummed, flipping to the second page.

 

[You memorized it already?] 1314 asked.

 

[Yes,] he replied.

 

1314, half mechanical and half in awe, couldn't help thinking No wonder I picked this host. Then it asked:

 

[So how many days to finish the whole thing?]

 

Human memory was fickle—learn the front, forget the back. Repetition was necessary. Even if the host had mastered multiple languages before, learning a new one still took time.

 

[Three days,] Zong Que answered.

 

All he needed was to match patterns, tweak the grammar accordingly. Three days would be enough.

 

1314 fell silent. For a moment, it wondered if it had made a mistake—should it have chosen a less competent host instead? That would've made selling things much easier.

 

[Host, you're amazing!] 1314 praised at last, with exaggerated cheer.

 

[Quiet,] Zong Que said simply.

 

[Okay!] 1314 responded obediently.

 

Cold, efficient, and deeply committed to the task at hand—yes, this host was exactly right.

 

There were three evening self-study sessions that night. Three exam papers were handed out—and not a single one, when added together, even reached 100 points.

 

As students packed up to leave in groups, Zong Que waited until most had gone before rising. He tucked the vocabulary list under his arm, picked up his folded umbrella, and stepped outside—under the curious, almost stunned gazes of some classmates.

 

"Zong Que's studying vocab?!" someone whispered, wide-eyed. "Did the sun rise in the west today?"

 

"What vocab? Bet it's just a novel in disguise," another classmate scoffed.

 

"As if you haven't done the same thing," someone nearby laughed.

 

"Shut up, at least I do it on the sly so the teacher doesn't catch me. Zong Que hiding it too? Isn't that ridiculous?" the boy said.

 

"Yeah… it's beyond ridiculous!"

 

Lin Heng had caught fragments of their chatter. As Zong Que's figure disappeared down the hallway, he picked up a paper bag and quietly followed.

 

"Class rep, not going home with us?" someone called out.

 

"I've got something to take care of. Next time," Lin Heng waved and turned to leave.

 

"Alright."

 

"Man, I'm jealous of you guys living right across from the school."

 

"Jealous? You'll change your tune when the lights go out and the teacher catches you slacking on homework."

 

…

 

"Were you waiting for me?" Lin Heng asked, walking up to the figure standing beneath a tree.

 

He lived nearby and always left a little later to avoid the rush. By now, the school grounds were nearly empty.

 

"Yeah. Returning your umbrella." Zong Que turned, handing it over.

 

Lin Heng glanced at the neatly folded umbrella, then at the boy's calm eyes. As he accepted it, he also offered the paper bag. "Here—your clothes."

 

"Thanks," Zong Que replied, catching the subtle scrutiny in Lin Heng's gaze. "What is it?"

 

"Why didn't you give it back in class?" Lin Heng asked.

 

Back in the classroom, Zong Que had seemed cold, unapproachable. That air of indifference had made him hesitate.

 

"Keeping your distance from me will be better for you," Zong Que said plainly.

 

Setting aside his own complicated social ties, even the people his father had borrowed money from weren't limited to relatives. His situation was only marginally better than Liao Yan's.

 

He couldn't monitor someone twenty-four hours a day—better to hire someone to keep an eye out.

 

Lin Heng studied him for a moment, then tilted his head and suddenly laughed.

 

Zong Que gave him a puzzled glance. "What's so funny?"

 

"Nothing. Do you want to get better at English?" Lin Heng asked.

 

Zong Que looked down at the book tucked under his arm. "Didn't you think this was a novel?"

 

"If you were reading a novel, would you bother changing the cover?" Lin Heng chuckled, then added before Zong Que could reply, "Actually, there are tricks to learning English."

 

If he'd shoved his test paper into his desk drawer out of embarrassment, and spent three whole periods poring over a vocabulary book, then he probably did want to learn.

 

He told Lin Heng to stay away from him—not out of apathy, but because he didn't want to bring trouble to others. Even with only brief interactions, Lin Heng believed that people were fundamentally good.

 

And maybe… if someone spent more time studying, they'd have less time to fight.

 

Zong Que regarded him in silence for a moment. Some of what he did was to stay consistent with the original host's personality—but improving grades did require some practical reasons. "What kind of tricks?"

 

He didn't detect any disdain in Lin Heng's expression—no judgment toward the original Zong Que. Maybe he was just used to treating people kindly, assuming the best of others. But that kind of person could easily be hurt when faced with true malice.

 

"I'll put something together for you when I get back. I'll bring it tomorrow," Lin Heng estimated.

 

"Alright. Thanks." Zong Que turned to leave, but Lin Heng called after him.

 

"Want math too?" Lin Heng grinned under the tree, eyes warm with a mischievous glint.

 

"You think you can finish that today?" Zong Que raised an eyebrow.

 

Math was different from English—the formulas were complicated. It would take real effort.

 

"Nope, that one takes time. But you can borrow my notes." Lin Heng laughed, then quickly added before Zong Que could say anything, "And don't bother thanking me. Words don't count. Improve your grades—then I'll consider myself properly thanked."

 

"Mm. I'll leave the other subjects to you, too," Zong Que replied.

 

Smart, then. He knew when to go with the flow—maybe he wouldn't end up on the losing end after all.

 

"Deal," Lin Heng said as he turned around. "Let's talk on the way. Oh, by the way—your shoes still aren't dry. Auntie helped wash them, but it's been cloudy the last few days."

 

"Mm. Yours aren't dry either," Zong Que said, falling into step beside him. As they walked, the school buildings faded behind them. If they didn't hurry, the school gate would close soon.

 

"You washed mine?!" Lin Heng looked at him in shock.

 

"Laundry shop," Zong Que replied.

 

Fifteen yuan could solve everything.

 

"Oh, I see." Lin Heng chuckled to himself—guess he'd overthought things again.

 

When they reached the gate, Lin Heng waved goodbye. "I'll head off then."

 

"Mm." Zong Que watched him retreat, then reminded him, "Don't take the alley tonight. And if you're going somewhere isolated, make sure you're not alone."

 

Lin Heng paused, turned back, and smiled. "Got it."

 

Even if he was a guy, it was still nice to know someone cared.

 

I knew he wasn't that bad.

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