Can I Become Emperor by Being This Lazy? - Chapter 67

Chapter 67

After reading the ending, Wu Hongying’s eyes flickered with astonishment. Though she held the thin yellow paper in her hand, it felt weighty and powerful.

Absolutely brilliant! I believe we only need to introduce it in the city, and it will surely be widely acclaimed, sung far and wide. Who knows, it might even be passed down through the ages. What should we name it?

Wu Hongying snapped back to attention and looked solemnly at Du Caiwen. Should it be called ‘The Noble Consort’s Defense’ or ‘Judge of the Underworld’?

Du Caiwen thought for a moment. Either would work, but since this story unfolds based on Feng Qiuye’s life, I think it would be better to simply call it ‘Feng Qiuye’.

Simple and clear.

The focus of the play is on Feng Qiuye—she is the protagonist. From the title alone, the audience would know this. Starting with her suicide, Feng Qiuye’s soul returns to the underworld. Initially, the audience would not know her identity, creating a small suspense to capture their attention. Thus, naming it ‘Feng Qiuye’ was more fitting.

Wu Hongying clapped her hands in admiration. Together with Du Caiwen, she refined the details and wording before presenting it to the others. Once everyone agreed it was satisfactory, the new play ‘Feng Qiuye’ was handed over to Xu Mao.

Xu Mao had not expected them to work so quickly. Surprised, she took the script and carefully examined it.

She had no particular interest in play scripts. Initially, Xu Mao intended to skim through it quickly, get a general idea of the plot, and ensure there were no elements that could cause trouble before approving it for public performance.

But as Xu Mao lowered her head and began reading the opening, by the time she looked up again, the sky had already turned dusky, the light dim.

Xu Heng brought a lamp to Xu Mao’s side. What time is it already? Sister, you didn’t even light a lamp. Be careful not to strain your eyes.

It’s fine. I’ve finished reading—no harm done. Xu Mao reluctantly pulled her gaze away from the pages, rubbing her sore neck as she turned to Wu Hongying and Du Caiwen. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she exclaimed, How did you come up with such an adaptation?

Wu Hongying replied, Most of it was written by Madam Du. The brilliant ideas all came from her. After Madam Zhang and the others reviewed it and offered suggestions, I brought it back for further refinement. The credit belongs to Madam Du and Madam Zhang.

Xu Mao’s mind lingered on the ending, savoring it with quiet admiration. She couldn’t help but inwardly marvel at Du Caiwen’s innovative and bold thinking—a truly promising talent who had been buried in the inner courtyard for so many years.

Alright, I’ve read ‘Feng Qiuye.’ There are no issues. It’s not the same old clichés—it’s striking enough and might even stir a response, helping us achieve our goals.

Xu Mao was not the type of client who demanded endless revisions only to settle on the first version. Seeing no problems, she handed the script back to Wu Hongying. You two, withdraw some silver from the accounts, disguise yourselves, and enter the city. Order all performers in the city to start singing it immediately. Be quick—time is of the essence.

This was the first time Wu Hongying and Du Caiwen had been entrusted with such an important task by Xu Mao. Overwhelmed and flattered, they felt somewhat uncertain. Exchanging a glance, their brows furrowed with faint worry.

Faced with their Marshal’s trust, they did not want to back down or disappoint Xu Mao. Even though their hearts felt hollow and their steps unsteady, Wu Hongying and Du Caiwen mustered their courage and accepted the responsibility.

Wu Hongying collected a sufficient amount of silver from Xu Mao, tucked it into her bosom, and changed into clean, muted-colored clothing that wouldn’t draw attention. Wu Hongying dressed in male attire, with a long fake beard covering her face, while Du Caiwen wore a white long-veiled hat.

Xu Mao bustled about, helping Wu Hongying and Du Caiwen with their disguises.

Xu Heng stood by, holding clothes and watching silently, then murmured a quiet doubt: Sister, I don’t think the difference is that great. Anyone with ill intentions could easily uncover their identities if they investigate carefully.

Xu Mao replied nonchalantly, It doesn’t matter. Let them investigate if they want. There’s no solid evidence anyway.

Exposing Wu Hongying and Du Caiwen’s identities would actually suit her purposes—Xu Mao would be delighted if people discovered she was the one behind the scenes orchestrating Feng Qiuye. As a master of public opinion, she had no fear. The more her reputation crumbled, the more public support waned, and the more people despised and couldn’t stand her, the higher the chance that someone would take action in frustration, allowing her to trigger an ending and escape the game world. She wasn’t afraid of others knowing—she was afraid they wouldn’t find out.

Finally, Xu Mao emphasized, Just deliver the script to those wandering performers and ensure Feng Qiuye is smoothly performed on stage. Don’t linger afterward—I’ll handle the rest.

Du Caiwen nodded. It was her first time doing something like this, and the novelty thrilled her. Compared to her past life, this transgressive act stirred her emotions—her heart pounded, her body trembled slightly, and the excitement was overwhelming. She was both nervous and afraid, yet couldn’t resist the urge to step forward eagerly.

Suddenly recalling additional details, Xu Mao pulled Wu Hongying aside for extra instructions. The two nodded, then set off carrying the revised and finalized script.

For safety, Xu Mao dispatched five or six soldiers dressed in the most common coarse linen clothing, disguised as ordinary civilians, to follow Wu Hongying and Du Caiwen covertly, protecting them and preventing any unexpected incidents.

Following Xu Mao’s orders, Wu Hongying and Du Caiwen blended into the city and headed first to the Theater District, arranging to meet the theater manager under the pretense of selling a script.

I can give you this play for free, Wu Hongying stated before handing over the script, but I have one condition: it must be performed continuously for three months. If others are interested, you cannot withhold it—you must allow them to copy and perform it as well.Hearing such a tricky and harsh condition—allowing others to perform the same play—the manager immediately shook his head and waved his hands in refusal. If the play became popular, he’d be giving away a potential goldmine for nothing—a huge loss!

No, no, I won’t take it, the manager declined at once.

The next moment, a cold blade pressed against his neck. Startled, his eyes widened, his body stiffened, and he slowly turned his head to see the knife-wielder, instantly terrified out of his wits.

Wu Hongying smiled warmly, as if unaware of the gleaming blade. Unfazed and relaxed, she said, Manager, don’t be so quick to refuse. Think it over. You can read my script first—then decide.

Trembling with fear, the manager didn’t dare move recklessly, worried the sharp blade might slit his throat. Shakily, he slowly raised both hands to receive the script, holding it up before his eyes.

Sir, this matter can be discussed. Let’s not damage our harmony. The theater manager forced an awkward smile, beads of sweat covering his forehead as he displayed a bizarre mix of extreme fear and careful flattery—two conflicting expressions that created an unsettling sight.

Wu Hongying gave a slight nod, and the plainclothes soldier sheathed his cold blade, stepping back into position.

Seeing this, the manager secretly exhaled in relief. Without wiping away his sweat, he immediately focused on the crucial matter at hand—his attention fully captured by the play script Wu Hongying had given him.

Sweat dripping, he turned to the first page. His frantically pounding heart gradually calmed, the frantic drumming in his chest growing fainter until it faded completely from his awareness.

After a while, as the manager turned a page, he suddenly widened his eyes in shock. His head jerked up, pupils trembling, his body swaying unsteadily until he stumbled back two steps to regain balance.

You… who are you people!

Daring to write such a bold story—and about the current emperor’s affairs at that! While common folk certainly gossiped about imperial matters, most discussions either condemned Consort Feng for seducing the sovereign or romanticized the emperor’s love affairs with his concubines through conventional tales of talented scholars and beauties. These typically portrayed the emperor as deeply devoted, depicting tender yet tragic romances that moved audiences to tears, sighing over the doomed love between the emperor and Consort Feng.

But this play—Feng Qiuye—was different. It employed blunt and biting language to condemn the emperor’s incompetence and tyranny, the corruption of court officials, and the cowardice of hundreds of officials who achieved nothing. It trampled upon everyone’s reputation.

Consort Feng’s characterization defied convention entirely. She wasn’t portrayed as a country-wrecking seductress—her ruthless methods and venomous heart stemmed from self-preservation.

Nor was she molded from the traditional template of virtuous, obedient concubines—the gentle demeanor she displayed was merely disguise.

When Feng Qiuye first entered the palace, she suffered greatly from etiquette training. She refused to hunch her back or lower her gaze submissively, instead standing straight-backed and meeting others’ eyes directly.

She wasn’t gentle either. Before gaining favor, when facing injustice, she would often throw tantrums that drew mockery, even rolling up her sleeves to fight—behaving like a shrew from the marketplace.

The emperor and the Feng family would surely be astonished upon reading this, denouncing it as sheer fabrication and demanding the playwright’s execution.

If this play were actually performed, their lives would undoubtedly be forfeit.

The manager’s hands trembled as he turned the final page. He became certain that the people standing before him were no ordinary figures. This play titled Feng Qiuye wasn’t mere entertainment—it concealed daggers aimed at everyone in court, including the emperor.

The purpose behind crafting such a play was crystal clear.

—Treason!

The manager’s back was soaked through with sweat. He hardly dared lift his head to examine their faces clearly. Countless words clogged his throat; he swallowed them down and carefully selected his response, not daring to relax for even a moment, terrified that any misstep might provoke them and cost him his head immediately.

Wu Hongying lowered her voice, Why concern yourself with such matters? I only ask you one question—can you stage this play or not?

The manager’s pressure intensified dramatically, cold sweat pouring down.

Staging a play that insulted the emperor and officials’ incompetence—this was clearly forbidden theater with malicious intent. Performing it would guaranteed land him in prison.

But if he refused to stage it, these mysterious individuals would surely end his life right then and there.

The manager found himself trapped between two impossible choices—whichever path he took would lead to disaster.

The cold gleam of the blade flashed, stinging the theater manager’s eyes. In that instant, he made his choice—raising the script high, he knelt and declared, Sir, we’ll perform it! We’ll rehearse this play and ensure the entire city witnesses it!

Seeing his pragmatism, Wu Hongying sheathed the sharp sword and politely helped the manager to his feet. With a gentle smile, she said, In that case, there’s no need for such formality. Rest assured—once your troupe finishes performing, you may take your belongings and leave. We’ll escort you out of the city to other places. You may then teach this play to others and permit them to copy and perform it.

Hearing the same phrase again, the manager’s heart trembled, his earlier disdain instantly transforming into relief as if a weight had been lifted.

They could pass this dangerous task along to others once their performance ended—letting other people carry on singing this perilous tune.