Chapter 5 - 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.

Standard Configuration

 

 

Lin Heng was a day student, while Zong Que lived on campus. But the original Zong Que had spent at least eight out of ten nights at an internet café instead of the dormitory. So, when Zong Que stepped through the dorm room door, the few roommates who had been roughhousing immediately fell silent.

 

Zong Que paid no attention to their sudden stiff postures or the glances they exchanged. He simply walked over to the lower bunk by the window—his bed—and stared at the sheets and blanket that looked like they were on the verge of gathering dust. Without a word, he began stripping the bedding.

 

His movements were calm and methodical, yet the other boys who sat watching from the bunks looked as though they'd just seen a ghost.

 

It wasn't until Zong Que picked up the basin and left for the washroom that the dorm, silent for three full seconds after his departure, erupted into noise once again. One of them even peeked out the door twice and gave a discreet nod.

 

"Why's he back? I swear I saw him leave campus earlier," a boy said, scrambling up to the top bunk.

 

"Who knows? Looks like he's washing his sheets now. Hey, you didn't step on his bedding, did you?" another asked.

 

"No way! I wouldn't dare. I stepped on Li Ke's," the boy climbing up replied.

 

"You bastard! You a damn dog or what?!" the guy below jumped up the ladder to smack him. "Why don't you try stepping on Zong Que's bed instead..."

 

As the noise escalated, the door suddenly opened again. Everyone froze at once, staring at the tall figure in the doorway—Zong Que, his eyes shadowed under a cap, standing silent and still.

 

[Host, your aura rivals that of a dean of discipline.]

 

[Mn.] Zong Que replied internally.

 

He walked to his bunk and searched the area based on the original owner's memory, but couldn't find what he needed. He turned around and asked, "Anyone got disinfectant I could borrow?"

 

Everyone stared at him, caught off guard. The dorm was so quiet you could hear a pin drop—no one responded right away.

 

Just as Zong Que considered going to the campus store to buy some, a boy on the top bunk coughed and said, "Mine's on the balcony. Look for the one with a handle."

 

Zong Que nodded and found it. Before leaving the room again, he looked up and said, "Thanks."

 

"You're… welcome." The boy's face was taut with effort as he responded.

 

The dorm remained tense and stiff. Just as Zong Que stepped out the door, voices broke out behind him.

 

"Holy shit, did you hear that? He thanked me! He actually said thank you!"

 

"Correction—he said 'thanks,' not 'thank you.' Just one word."

 

"Is he turning over a new leaf?"

 

"Could you guys keep your voices down? He hasn't gone far…" One of them peeked outside—only to meet Zong Que's steady gaze.

 

Their eyes locked. Zong Que showed no reaction, but the boy froze in place, stammered, and smiled awkwardly. "You… you haven't left yet?"

 

What an astronomically awkward moment.

 

"Mn. Keep it down," Zong Que said with a nod before walking away.

 

"…Oh."

 

"What? What?!"

 

"He heard us…"

 

"Are we gonna have to prepare for a fight now? I've played basketball but never been in a fight!"

 

"He said to keep it down."

 

"…Oh."

 

"…Got it."

 

By the time Zong Que hung the freshly washed, disinfected, and bleached bedding out to dry, lights-out had long passed.

 

The dorm matron was shouting down the hallway for everyone to sleep, but slivers of light still spilled from various beds—some were on their phones, others using flashlights to study.

 

This school had an incredibly high university entrance rate. Even the top-ranked national universities weren't out of reach. Some students even secured early admission as early as sophomore year, so many had already started preparing from the first year.

 

The vocabulary book Zong Que brought back hadn't been put to use. The original owner's dorm area needed far more cleaning than expected—far more than just the sheets.

 

A spring breeze drifted in through the window, cool and crisp. One by one, the small lights from each bunk were turned off. The night, at last, fell completely silent.

 

***

 

When the monthly test papers were returned, Zong Que once again broke records—this time by achieving a total score of less than 200 across nine subjects. He sat firmly in last place in the entire grade.

 

At the very top sat Lin Heng, while Liao Yan wasn't far behind in third.

 

[Don't be discouraged, Host! This isn't really your score—it's the original body's! Coming in last just means all the space ahead is room for improvement—infinite potential!] 1314 cheered.

 

In his own world, and in his previous two mission worlds, his host had always been the top student. Ending up at the very bottom now—it was a massive blow to the system's pride.

 

[Mn.] Zong Que, however, remained calm.

 

Given the original's past performance, the path of academic competition was already closed to him. Add to that a history of fights and near-expulsions—no matter how well he did now, the school wouldn't consider him for early admission.

 

He would have to rely on the college entrance exam. And to go from last to first—he figured it would take at least a full year of steady progress.

 

[Well, if you think about it, it's kind of a novel experience! Taking first is easy—taking last is hard! Look, your mission target's never even experienced coming in last.] 1314 encouraged.

 

Zong Que paused for a moment, then replied,

 

[Mn. You're right.]

 

The system, it seemed, was an incurable optimist.

 

Still, he had to admit—it was a novel experience.

 

Classes carried on as usual. Zong Que was flipping through a notebook filled with English grammar points and mnemonic tips.

 

The handwriting was neat and elegant—not flamboyant or showy, just meticulously penned, carrying a subtle warmth that somehow reflected the personality of its writer.

 

He had found the notebook on his desk that morning. The other person had clearly kept their distance, as promised, but… not entirely.

 

Zong Que finished reading the notebook and moved on to his vocabulary set. The words were grouped with sample sentences, which helped speed up his memorization.

 

The teachers left him alone, and outside of the structured daily schedule, Zong Que had plenty of time to himself.

 

Even the seat rearrangements following the monthly exam had nothing to do with him. No one wanted the last row, and no one was willing to sit beside him. It suited him just fine—peace and quiet.

 

At the end of the last period, students began trickling out of the classroom. Zong Que stood, leaving the notebook on his desk, and walked out amid the din of voices.

 

"Lin Heng, want to walk home together? My mom just sent over some allowance—let me treat you to skewers."

 

"That place open again?" came Lin Heng's voice.

 

"Yeah, looks like the owner's back from a wedding in his hometown. Eat whatever you want, no need to be polite with me."

 

"I want crayfish tails."

 

"...Fine." The voice sounded pained.

 

Lin Heng laughed. "Alright, alright. You buy me skewers, I'll buy you crayfish."

 

Their voices faded into the distance as Zong Que stepped into the evening.

 

The next morning, a notebook nearly identical to the one before appeared on his desk, while the old one had quietly vanished.

 

The same handwriting, this time filled with fundamental math formulas for first-year students. Detailed steps, example problems—thorough enough that even someone with his previous academic background could understand it. It was more than enough to keep him occupied for a day.

 

Unlike English, math was a whole different beast. Zong Que picked up his pen and began working through the examples, solving problems step-by-step. When he finished, he clipped his calculations and answers inside and left the notebook on his desk after the final study period.

 

The sky was still dark in the moments before dawn. As usual, Lin Heng was the first to enter the classroom. He walked to the back and placed down another notebook. Just as he picked up the old one and noticed the inserted pages, a sound of footsteps pausing at the door made him look up.

 

He turned and met Liao Yan's curious gaze. Smiling, Lin Heng shut the notebook. "Here already?"

 

Liao Yan stepped into the classroom and pursed his lips slightly at Lin Heng's smile. "The class rep's here earlier than me. What are you doing back here?"

 

"The back door wasn't shut properly. Wind was leaking in—it was freezing," Lin Heng replied smoothly, walking to his seat without further explanation.

 

Zong Que had probably wanted distance for two reasons: first, to avoid dragging him into any of the fighting rumors; second, to keep others from gossiping about their connection.

 

Zong Que himself probably didn't care, but he clearly didn't want to trouble the other party.

 

Liao Yan glanced toward the back door, then said nothing more. Returning to his desk, he opened his vocabulary book and began reading aloud.

 

Mastering English took more than memory—it required a feel for the language.

 

He read with focus, while Lin Heng opened the notebook and found the rough draft paper tucked inside. The handwriting was precise and bold, with a sharp edge near the end that couldn't be hidden. Every step and formula had been written out according to the method he'd taught—every answer correct, clearly done with care.

 

Such handwriting…

 

Lin Heng's fingers brushed over the faint indentations in the paper. A smile crept to his lips.

 

Mm. That would definitely earn high presentation marks.

 

But wait. If he scored full marks for presentation, how had he ended up with less than 200 total across nine subjects? Surely Chinese couldn't have been that bad… unless all the points really had come from presentation?

 

Zong Que's new notebook for the day was for Chinese. On top of it sat a poetry anthology, with a folded page tucked inside. It didn't just list the lines to be memorized—it had a question scribbled at the bottom:

 

Would you mind letting me see your monthly exam papers for each subject?

 

[Is this... kicking someone when they're down*?] 1314 asked solemnly.

 

[T/N: "鞭尸" literally means "whipping a corpse." Idiomatically, it's used to describe someone continuing to criticize, humiliate, or mock someone who's already down, defeated, or even dead — often unnecessarily and cruelly.]

 

Failing that hard, and now letting the top student see? The contrast was brutal.

 

Zong Que paused as he reached for his test papers. [Your Chinese isn't very good*.]

 

1314: [??]

 

[T/N: 1314 isn't technically wrong — but Zong Que is deliberately acting like it is, for humor and control. It's a deadpan way of saying:

"You're being dramatic. No one is humiliating me. Don't act like I'm some tragic figure here. Also, if you're gonna be dramatic, at least use the idiom right."]

 

Lin Heng arrived at school even earlier the next day. When he placed the new notebook down, he found a stack of test papers tucked neatly beneath it. They were spotless—no scribbles, no stray marks. Only a few ticks on the multiple-choice questions, and even those seemed half-hearted, as if he remembered halfway through that he was supposed to fill in the answer sheet.

 

That night, Lin Heng sat at his desk flipping through the papers, wondering just how Zong Que had the nerve to hand in something that was nearly blank.

 

Utterly baffling.

 

Later that evening, Zong Que received a friend request from Lin Heng in the class group chat, along with a short message:

 

Lin Heng: You could've at least written something for the long-answer questions.

Lin Heng: Show some effort.

 

Zong Que tapped back calmly:

 

Zong Que: The college entrance exam doesn't award points for just writing down the method.

 

He sounded perfectly justified.

 

But he did have a point. Lin Heng twirled his pen between his fingers before typing back:

 

Lin Heng: Still, your handwriting's really good.

 

Praise where praise is due—he didn't want to crush any budding motivation.

 

Zong Que: Mn. Thank you.

 

Seeing the "mn," Lin Heng couldn't resist a little teasing.

 

Lin Heng: Be modest, classmate.

 

After hitting send, he pinched the pen between his fingers, feeling like he'd said too much again. He was about to delete the message when another one came through:

 

Zong Que: Mn. Rest early. Good night.

 

His finger paused. No need to unsend.

 

Lin Heng replied with two words: Good night.

 

Putting the phone down, he continued working through his notes. But when he reached a certain character, his pen paused on the page and he chuckled softly to himself—

 

"So that handwriting is his Standard Configuration now?"

 

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