Chapter 6 - 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.

Break-Up

 

 

The notebooks kept coming, and so did the growth of Zong Que's investments. As it turned out, he had both sharp insight and remarkable luck. Short-term trades came with high risk—but they also gave his capital the momentum to multiply quickly.

 

Buy low. Sell high. Profit from the difference.

 

[Host, aren't you going to start paying back the debt?] 1314 asked, watching as he once again poured nearly all his money into the market.

 

[Returns are good in this phase.] Zong Que replied as he stepped out of the corner of the internet café.

 

Investment wasn't just about insight—it was also about timing. When returns were strong, you had to dive in and harvest quickly. His goal now was to build capital. Miss the right moment, and the effort required later would multiply tenfold.

 

By the time he left the café, night had swallowed the sky. Zong Que took the subway, then switched to a bus. After another ten-minute walk along dimly lit streets, he turned into a worn-out alleyway.

 

The cement bricks once neatly laid were now cracked and broken, with chunks of earth and gravel exposed beneath. No one had bothered to repair them. The alley stretched deep, and the streetlights barely reached its shadows. Only passing car headlights lit the way ahead.

 

One such car pulled into the alley, headlights blinking off. Zong Que raised the flashlight on his phone and picked his way carefully through the uneven ground. Just as he neared the farthest doorway, he heard the crunch of shoes scuffing over gravel—and saw the flicker of a cigarette's ember in the dark.

 

He turned the beam of light, and a figure stepped from the shadows, shielding his eyes with one hand. "Fuck, don't shine that damn thing in my face. I'm going blind."

 

The guy had dyed blond hair, streaked with highlights, and behind him loitered a few others with the same rough, delinquent air.

 

Zong Que tilted the flashlight away and looked at the group of guys—ones the body's original owner had once hung out with. "What do you want?"

 

"Just checking in," Blondie slung an arm around his shoulder. He shifted uncomfortably. "Damn, why are you so tall? Makes this whole 'brotherhood' thing kinda awkward."

 

Zong Que glanced at the arm draped over him, then turned his gaze toward him. "You here to see if I'm dead yet?"

 

Blondie stiffened under his stare, then tightened his grip. "Don't be so dramatic. We heard you're back on your feet—living in the dorms, doing well at school. You're fine. What's with the hat?"

 

"I cracked the back of my head. Needed a few stitches," Zong Que replied coolly. "When I woke up, everything valuable on me was gone."

 

"That must've been those students!" Blondie met his eyes and suddenly felt a chill creep into his chest. He let go, casually grabbing the phone in Zong Que's hand. "Nice phone."

 

"Rented." Zong Que tightened his grip on the device. "Lu-ge*, ever heard the saying: barefoot people aren't afraid of those wearing shoes?"

 

[T/N: Ge: "哥" means older brother. Though adding "哥" to someone's name doesn't mean they're literally your brother.]

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blondie licked his lips.

 

"If I report what happened that day, where do you think you'll end up?" Zong Que asked evenly.

 

He used to trek through wild, remote places for photography—encountering sketchy people was nothing new. Sometimes money could resolve a situation, but other times, he'd slam the gas and get out fast. These guys didn't have any real power backing them, just bullies who liked to extort students. Tough to deal with, sure—but not untouchable.

 

It was inevitable they'd come looking to verify things. It just happened a little sooner than expected.

 

And with people like this, you had to be more ruthless—not join them. Only then could life get a little quieter.

 

"Fuck, I didn't hit your head," Blondie shrugged. "Go ahead and report it. We'll all go down together."

 

"Fine. Let's go down together." Zong Que stared at him, voice calm. "I've got nothing left. I don't care if I live or die. What about you?"

 

That sentence, carried on the cold wind of night, chilled them more than the air. The others glanced at each other, suddenly unsure.

 

"Who are you trying to scare?" one of them said, tossing away his cigarette. "You think I'm afraid of you?"

 

"Yeah!" another echoed.

 

"Come on, then." Zong Que stuffed his phone into his coat pocket, its weak light casting pale shadows across the narrow alley.

 

Blondie instinctively tensed, but before he could react, an arm clamped around his neck and slammed him into the wall. The chokehold cut off his breath. He clawed at that arm, face turning red, veins bulging in his neck. "Let… go…"

 

The others raised their phones to light the scene. In the dim glow, Blondie couldn't make out Zong Que's features—but he could see his eyes. Cold. Unflinching. Not a trace of fear or hesitation.

 

"You guys just gonna stand there?!" he gasped.

 

The group hesitated, then tried to move forward. Zong Que's grip tightened, lifting Blondie slightly off the ground. "Stay where you are," Zong Que said coldly. "If you want to die, then let's all go together."

 

He had died more than once already—whether buried under desert sands or through the quiet decay of time and illness. He had experienced the moment when life slipped away. So it was only natural that he lacked the instinctive fear most people had.

 

The others froze, nerves taut. "Don't do anything crazy!"

 

They were no strangers to street fights, but killing someone? That was a death sentence.

 

"I… I want to live…" Blondie finally choked out. The moment he spoke, the arm around his throat released him.

 

He dropped to his knees at once, gasping and coughing violently as if trying to expel his lungs, his whole body trembling.

 

Too terrifying. It was too terrifying. His vision had already started going black—Zong Que had genuinely meant to kill him.

 

"People like us, we're in it for the money. No need to go all the way," Zong Que said, shaking out his arm. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two bills, crouching to offer them.

 

Blondie flinched instinctively, bloodshot eyes wide. "W-what're you doing?"

 

"Break-up money. I won't go after whoever hit me that night—but from now on, stay far away from me. Otherwise, I can't say what I'll do," Zong Que said flatly.

 

The two bills fluttered slightly as he handed them over. Blondie snatched them, still panting, and with help from his friends, got to his feet.

 

"Fine, fine. We're done," he muttered.

 

The group slunk off, the scent of cheap cigarettes lingering in the air. A faint light spilled through the gap of a door nearby, and an elderly voice called out, wary yet kind, "Who's there? Who's outside?"

 

"It's me," Zong Que answered.

 

"Ah, Xiao Que*. Come in, come in." The old voice softened with joy.

 

[T/N: 小 (xiǎo): "Little" or "small," but in names, it's more like "little [someone]"—not about size, but about affection, age, or seniority. So "小阙" literally means "Little Que".]

 

[Host, you must respect life. Every life takes tremendous effort to nurture. You must treasure your own, and others' as well. You can't casually talk about dying together—there are serious penalties for that,] 1314 said.

 

[I was only trying to scare them,] Zong Que replied. [Barefoot people aren't afraid of those wearing shoes. And the ones who don't fear death? They're the scariest of all.]

 

Though what he said made some sense, the system still felt uneasy. When it had first found its host, the man hadn't exactly seemed thrilled about getting another shot at life.

 

"When did you get home, Xiao Que? Why didn't you knock?" An elderly woman with silver hair squinted at him. Though her body was thin and wiry, there was a rugged strength about her.

 

"Just now," Zong Que said, stepping through the gate.

 

The old woman closed the door behind him. "Have you eaten? Want me to make you something?"

 

"I've eaten. No need," he answered, weaving his way past the clutter piled in the courtyard.

 

The small yard held just two rooms—one in front, the kitchen, and one in back where they slept. Unlike modern flat-roofed houses, this one had a tiled roof covered in moss. When it rained, it would pour in shimmering veils from the eaves.

 

The courtyard, they said, had been built by his father's generation. In a city where every inch of land was precious, it should have been worth something. But it sat in a half-forgotten urban village, far from the city center. It took ages just to reach it by bus. And the place itself was so old and rundown it could almost be declared uninhabitable. Even if they wanted to sell, no one would buy.

 

The yard was piled with sacks filled with bottles, cans, and neatly bundled cardboard boxes. These were what had kept the former Zong Que from starving at school It was also the reason the relatives who'd lent money hadn't come hounding the old woman for repayment—they were all chasing after Zong Que's runaway father.

 

As Zong Que's eyes swept over the courtyard, the old woman wiped her hands nervously on her apron. "These'll be sold tomorrow. They're not dirty—I clean everything when I pick them up."

 

"Mm." Zong Que walked toward the back room. "I'm going to do my homework."

 

She wasn't lying. The courtyard may have been cluttered, but there was no foul odor. Instead, vines of grape leaves twined along the rusty wires, bursting with vibrant green that seemed to pulse with life.

 

In the room, seedlings of fruits and vegetables sat neatly in flowerpots. The furniture was old, the fabrics faded with time, but everything was spotless. Even the old woman's clothes were clean—just heavily worn from years of use.

 

"Homework's good." She patted her pocket, remembering something. "You didn't come home last week, so you missed your allowance. I wasn't sure how to get it to you."

 

From her pocket, she pulled out a bundle wrapped in a handkerchief—small bills, counted one by one with care. When he took them, they still held a trace of her warmth.

 

"Eat well at school, don't starve yourself," she said, eyes full of concern.

 

"You too, Grandma," Zong Que replied gently.

 

"Don't worry, I don't eat much anymore." Her voice held joy, but under the lamplight, her eyes shimmered with emotion. "Go do your homework—I won't bother you anymore."

 

"Alright." Zong Que stepped into the small room and turned on the desk lamp, sitting at a worn desk that had seen many years.

 

In his past life, he hadn't been close with his own family. They'd never let him go hungry or cold, but affection had been scarce. Even when others called him cold-blooded, his parents always leapt to his defense.

 

Still, he couldn't claim to have been a good son. And the original soul who'd inhabited this body had clearly been worse.

 

Much of the money the old woman scraped together had gone into internet cafés and arcade games. And the boy had not only looked down on the money's origin—he'd exploited it.

 

[Host, you see? Even with such a hard life, Grandma cherishes life deeply.] The system spoke earnestly, hoping to guide him away from dangerous thoughts.

 

[You mentioned "serious penalties." What are they exactly?] Zong Que asked.

 

[Those who disregard their own life will not only fail their tasks but also be penalized with negative star coins.] The system replied gravely. [Those who kill indiscriminately in violation of world rules are considered "bugs."]

 

Bugs were first cleaned up by the system. If they exceeded its capabilities, they would be assigned to the Execution Unit. Even if such individuals escaped the small world by their own power, they would still be erased.

Last Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter

 

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