Sickly Bigshot CH 09 Take Me With You
Translated by The BL Muse (ko-fi)
Zheng Qi was already uneasy, and Qin Yancheng’s gaze made his skin crawl. Fortunately, the cold dishes arrived just then, and the group began chatting aimlessly before starting the first round of toasts—beginning with Qin Yancheng. Only then did Qin Yancheng look away, as if his earlier stare had been nothing more than a casual glance.
Shi Zhou, staring into space, assessed his situation. At the very least, clinging to Qin Yancheng’s thigh tonight is non-negotiable. I have to make sure he takes me with him after this.
He still couldn’t fully grasp Qin Yancheng’s temperament. The novel’s descriptions of the "white moonlight" were sparse, offering only glimpses of a man whose actions were unpredictable.
Though Shi Zhou prided himself on being adaptable, the young master he’d once been rarely had to "adapt." As a result, he was at a loss for words when it came to flattery. The silence between them lasted until the hot dishes were served.
Shi Zhou took a bite of the sizzling beef and found it delicious—then remembered how others used to curry favor with him. Inspiration struck. He eagerly picked up a piece with his chopsticks and placed it in Qin Yancheng’s bowl.
But Shi Zhou didn’t realize he’d missed a crucial detail—
Others had used serving chopsticks when they did this for him.
Qin Yancheng had been watching the hollow flattery around him with indifference. When Shi Zhou’s chopsticks appeared in his bowl, he turned, frowning at the meat, then gave Shi Zhou a baffled look.
His gaze met Shi Zhou’s sparkling eyes—bright and cunning, like a fox proudly wagging its fluffy tail. Though Shi Zhou tried to maintain a composed facade, his blinking eyes seemed to scream, "Praise me! I did so well!"
Seeing Qin Yancheng frozen, Shi Zhou tilted his head slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the others subtly observing their interaction. Master Qin, please don’t embarrass me in front of everyone. I’m counting on your attitude to warn these people off! At least appreciate how damn good this beef is!
Perhaps it was the sheer brilliance of Shi Zhou’s eyes—so unlike the sickly gloom of Qin Yancheng’s own youth. Shi Zhou’s pupils were dark and large, gleaming like polished obsidian, effortlessly captivating.
After a pause, Qin Yancheng wordlessly pushed the meat aside. He didn’t eat it, but he didn’t reject it outright either.
Taking this as tacit approval, Shi Zhou felt he’d cracked the code. He immediately began piling more dishes into Qin Yancheng’s bowl—the crispy duck was delicious, the steamed pork ribs were excellent...
By the time the others finished their hollow pleasantries and Qin Yancheng had endured two rounds of toasts, his bowl was overflowing.
Qin Yancheng finally pressed down on Shi Zhou’s chopstick-wielding hand and said quietly, "Enough. Get me a glass of warm water."
Shi Zhou noticed Qin Yancheng pulling out a pillbox, his complexion growing paler by the second. "What’s wrong? Stomachache?"
Qin Yancheng’s jaw tightened, his lips pressed into a thin line. Seeing he was in too much pain to speak, Shi Zhou quickly stood to fetch a server.
Their intimate exchanges—the food-sharing, the whispered conversations—hadn’t gone unnoticed.
This was unprecedented, entirely unprecedented.
Those familiar with Qin Yancheng knew that if someone used their own chopsticks to serve him, he’d refuse to touch the entire bowl. The fact that he didn’t dump it over the offender’s head was solely due to his ingrained manners.
But for Shi Zhou, he made an exception. Such double standards, Mr. Qin.
Zheng Qi watched the entire scene, baffled. When did Shi Zhou and Qin Yancheng even meet? How did they get this close? An uncomfortable knot twisted in his chest, something stuck in his throat that he couldn’t swallow or spit out.
—Shi Zhou was just a cheap stand-in, trash Zheng Qi had discarded. Who he ended up with shouldn’t matter.
So why did it have to be Qin Yancheng?!
Qin Yancheng was someone who had always been untouchable, even in their youth. Zheng Qi still remembered the first time he’d mustered the courage to approach him—Qin Yancheng, preparing for a speech backstage, had merely glanced at Zheng Qi’s stammering attempts at conversation, uttered a single "Mnn," and nothing more.
Now, everyone addressed him as "President Qin," treating him with even more reverence.
So why was Shi Zhou—this cheap, lowly thing—the sole exception?!
Zheng Qi gripped his chopsticks so hard they nearly snapped, unable to suppress the jealousy and resentment burning inside him. It felt like an unspeakable humiliation.
Someone suddenly remarked, "Hey, Zheng Qi, weren’t you and President Qin schoolmates?"
Zheng Qi snapped back to reality, hastily masking his bitterness with an ingratiating smile. He raised his glass. "Ah, yes! I was fortunate enough to share a campus with President Qin. You probably don’t remember me, but let me toast you first." He stood, bowing slightly as he extended his cup.
Qin Yancheng nodded slightly without expression. A slender finger tapped the base of his glass cup—
Just as he was about to pour it onto the floor outright, denying Zheng Qi even the slightest courtesy—
Shi Zhou returned, immediately spotting the glass in Qin Yancheng’s hand.
Is Zheng Qi blind? Can’t he see Qin Yancheng’s already in pain from drinking?
No wonder he couldn’t win over his white moonlight.
Shi Zhou stepped forward. "Hold on—since Zheng Qi and I have some history, let me drink this on President Qin’s behalf."
Without waiting for a response, he took the glass from Qin Yancheng and downed it in one go.
The word "history" sent ripples through the room.
Those who hadn’t believed the rumors about Shi Zhou and Zheng Qi now wore odd expressions. Shi Zhou might as well have stamped a seal on the gossip himself.
Even more astonishing was Qin Yancheng’s reaction—or lack thereof. Aside from a faint flicker of surprise, he showed no displeasure at Shi Zhou’s audacity. No reprimand, no scolding.
Shi Zhou casually returned the glass to Qin Yancheng and resumed eating. His manners, refined and effortless, made him seem every bit the young master from a privileged family. Next to Qin Yancheng’s imposing presence, he didn’t seem the least bit out of place—as if they were a perfect match.
Unaware of the scrutiny, Shi Zhou focused solely on the food. The last few days’ meals have been miserable. Might as well enjoy this while I can.
This could be his last supper after all.
—Cannon fodder existed to be trampled with the shittiest luck ever. Who knew what other traps lay ahead?
A server approached. "Sir, your warm water."
Shi Zhou handed it to Qin Yancheng, urging him to take his medicine. Up close, he could see the sheen of cold sweat on Qin Yancheng’s forehead, his lips drained of color despite his stoic expression.
This is what they call "cherishing beauty." Hard not to feel bad seeing someone so good-looking in pain.
The others pieced together the reason for the discomfort and the intercepted toast. Shi Zhou’s got guts. After all, no one knew where Qin Yancheng’s unpredictable temper might flare, so most erred on the side of caution.
Yet Shi Zhou, whether by luck or instinct, walked the tightrope with surprising balance.
Zhang Zhenqing, belatedly realizing Qin Yancheng’s discomfort, hurriedly asked what tea he preferred. Qin Yancheng, staring at his wine glass—as if still feeling the ghost of Shi Zhou’s lips on the rim—noticed the flush creeping up Shi Zhou’s cheeks and the corners of his eyes.
"Get him orange juice," Qin Yancheng said.
Zhang Zhenqing rushed to comply, inwardly kicking himself. If he'd known earlier he would’ve treated Shi Zhou better. He’d assumed Qin Yancheng’s interest in this nobody was fleeting—something to indulge and discard. All he had to do was dress him upsendpresent him on a platter.
But this "nobody" might be more than he seemed.
Shi Zhou, feeling the alcohol’s effects, sipped his juice, lamenting the loss of his former physique with high alcohol tolerance. The room’s initial leering and speculation had shifted to awe and curiosity.
The original Shi Zhou had reached the point of being trampled into the dirt, a target for anyone’s scorn. Even after narrowly escaping his fate upon transmigrating, he’d been dragged back into it days later—forced into a dress, reduced to a plaything and returned to his former fate.
In that case, no matter what comes next, I have to make Qin Yancheng take me away tonight. Falling into these pigs’ hands would be disastrous.
He tried to express concern for the beauty again, hoping to foster goodwill, but the alcohol dulled his inhibitions. Without thinking, he clapped Qin Yancheng on the back like an old buddy.
"Your stomach’s bad—stay away from alcohol. Feeling any better?"
Qin Yancheng stiffened, as if unaccustomed to such casual concern. He averted his eyes from Shi Zhou’s earnest gaze, his fingers curling slightly against the table.
—His expression was strange. Not quite happy or unhappy, but... suppressed. As if holding back something repulsive or terrifying. A secret.
Shi Zhou, trained in acting, was more attuned to microexpressions than most. He immediately realized he’d overstepped—
Thankfully, Qin Yancheng didn’t call him out in public.
Just as he prepared to fade into the background, he locked eyes with Zheng Qi’s scorching glare—
Shi Zhou raised a brow and flashed a bright, provocative smile.
—Die, scumbag. Forgotten about Song Duannian already?
The whole "lovers-to-rivals" dynamic between Shi Zhou and Zheng Qi was bizarre, but firstly, Shi Zhou and Qin Yancheng weren’t nearly as close as everyone imagined. They’d barely spoken.
Besides, Zheng Qi, despite his muscular build and passable looks, couldn’t compare to Qin Yancheng’s long legs and broad shoulders. What, was he planning to be a short top?
Night had fallen. Qin Yancheng’s driver waited outside.
Overjoyed, Shi Zhou plopped into the backseat, shutting the door neatly. "President Qin, as beautiful inside as out. Good deeds bring good karma."
He scooted closer.
Qin Yancheng, who usually avoided these chaotic gatherings, had—after terrifying Zhang Zhenqing into a cowering mess—ultimately taken Shi Zhou with him under those pleading eyes.
Away from prying eyes, Qin Yancheng’s last shred of pretense vanished. "Stay away from me," he said coldly. "...Do you really enjoy cross-dressing that much?"
Seeing Shi Zhou’s face—so similar to his own younger self—paired with that long hair was unsettling.
Shi Zhou protested immediately. "Of course not! I’m all man, okay?"
—This was all Zhang Zhenqing’s stupid idea to suck up to you. Who’s the one with the fetish here?
Shi Zhou blinked, his large eyes gleaming in the dim car. He leaned in, deliberately pitching his voice higher. "Master Qin, do you like me~?"
But Qin Yancheng, slumped against the seat, didn’t respond.
His long, elegant fingers pressed tightly against his upper abdomen, veins standing out from the strain. His knuckles whitened from the force of his grip—clearly struggling against the pain.
"Hey, still hurting?" Shi Zhou sobered slightly.
Qin Yancheng’s health wasn’t great. Shi Zhou remembered the novel’s ending—Qin Yancheng’s death from an asthma-triggered heart attack.
Logically, his asthma and heart condition shouldn’t have been severe. He might not even have considered himself sick, given how he never carried medication. In the end, it was a rather senseless way to go.
Shi Zhou sighed, feeling a kinship in their shared misfortune. A scripted death, just like mine.
And if memory served, Qin Yancheng didn’t have much time left.