Can I Become Emperor by Being This Lazy? - Chapter 68

Chapter 68

Wu Hongying sat down with the theater owner to discuss the specific timing, location, and evacuation route for the performance.

Sweat poured down the owner’s temples as he secretly lamented his misfortune. He cautiously maintained an ingratiating smile while attending to them. The moment Wu Hongying and her companions departed, he rushed back to count his accumulated assets, frantically packing his belongings. He resolved to flee to the countryside after the final performance to hide and preserve his life.

As for reporting Wu Hongying to the authorities to resolve the crisis?

He dared not even entertain the thought.

Setting aside Wu Hongying’s ability to infiltrate the city and her exceptional martial skills, even if he successfully reported the case, without silver to grease the wheels, the officials wouldn’t believe him or make special efforts to handle it. Merely stepping into the county magistrate’s office would cost him dearly.

Choosing the lesser of two evils, he decided to perform one last time before retreating to his rural hometown to avoid disaster.

With even the emperor currently fleeing and the world in chaos, returning home to avoid trouble was actually a favorable outcome.

Having made his plans, the owner assigned roles and began rehearsals. The play Feng Qiuye wasn’t lengthy, with lyrics that were simple, understandable, and easy to memorize. Within a day or two, the cast could basically sing it completely, and with an extra day of practice, they gradually became proficient.

Indeed, the singing itself was manageable, but the content was truly taboo, making it difficult to perform openly. They feared being thrown into prison mid-performance and charged with treason and inciting rebellion.

During rehearsals, everyone kept pre-packed bundles at their feet for quick escape. No one dared to sing at full volume or chant freely, their eyes constantly darting around to monitor their surroundings.

When the day of public performance arrived, everyone resigned themselves to fate, closed their eyes, and committed fully. After applying their makeup, they ascended the stage to perform.

The owner beat drums and gongs outside, shouting: New play today—’Feng Qiuye’! Free admission! Unusual plot! Only one performance! Miss it and it’s gone! Come quickly for the show!

They would flee immediately after singing, not foolishly waiting for government officers to arrest them. Claiming it was a single performance wasn’t false.

Passersby on the street were astonished. Owner Lu of this Theater District was notoriously stingy—a true miser who wouldn’t part with a single coin. Normally, he’d chase people with a broom demanding payment if they so much as glanced at his performers or took a sip of water. What possessed him today? Was he haunted?

While terror gripped Owner Lu, his body tense with fear, he simultaneously felt heartache watching continuous streams of audience members entering the theater.

This was all money—silver that should be filling his pockets.

But never mind. Preserving his life was more important.

Owner Lu glanced at the sky, calculating the timing. He remained poised to escape, knowing the optimal moment would be when the audience reacted with discussion and unrest after watching the play.

The audience took their seats, with latecomers forced to stand outside, seeking good vantage points by clinging to railings, hoping to see clearly and hear comfortably.

Clang—

The gong struck, signaling the start of the performance.

The crowd stirred, everyone leaning forward with hopeful, excited eyes, exclaiming: It’s beginning!

Amid urgent musical accompaniment, heavily made-up actors wiping cold sweat mustered their courage and mounted the stage, formally beginning the performance of Feng Qiuye.

Thanks to their solid foundation, the moment they opened their mouths, the audience closed their eyes in enjoyment, attentively absorbing the lyrics and immersing themselves in the storyline.

As the Judge of the Underworld pronounced the charges, the female ghost’s life story gradually became clear. A twist of fate had forced her into the palace, where wealth and luxury dazzled the eyes. The more the audience watched, the more familiar it seemed, murmuring in low voices, Why does this feel like we’ve heard it somewhere before…

The plot swiftly advanced toward its conclusion: the capital in crisis, the emperor fleeing, and the consort being ordered to die midway. Suddenly, a clear clapping sound erupted from the crowd as someone exclaimed in astonishment, Isn’t this the current Emperor and Consort Feng?

Like a stone causing a thousand ripples, the rest of the audience immediately realized, Yes, it’s Consort Feng—Feng Qiuye. Everything matches.

At this moment, the performance on stage reached its climax. The female ghost fiercely condemned the emperor for his indulgence in pleasure, incompetence, and deliberate tolerance of Prime Minister Feng’s monopolizing power. She accused the Feng clan of committing evils, disregarding laws, while court officials acted cowardly, turning a blind eye to protect themselves—some even colluding with the treacherous prime minister. Yet when reckoning came, only Consort Feng was deemed guilty; the others vanished from accountability.

The crowd gasped in unison, unable to hold back their shock. The lyrics were far too bold and audacious—how dare they criticize the emperor and speculate wildly about the civil and military officials?

Who wrote these lyrics? Do they not value their lives?

Yet the words sung just now hold some truth. Consort Feng never interfered in state affairs—the root of the disaster lies with Prime Minister Feng. How can she be blamed for the nation’s downfall? If the Emperor had been resolute and diligent in governance, how could a woman have restrained him? It’s not as if she tied his hands… It was the Emperor who lightly pardoned the Feng clan’s crimes, granted them titles and rewards, with no court official opposing. Why pin the blame solely on Consort Feng? In the end, she was the only one who died!

The audience, following Feng Qiuye’s perspective, could empathize with her early struggles, feeling pity and sympathy. Most smoothly accepted the critique presented in the opera through Feng Qiuye’s viewpoint.

By the time the Judge of the Underworld concluded the accusations, no one accepted the notion that a woman could ruin a nation. Abruptly, the plot shifted to reveal a cause from a past life: Feng Qiuye, pushed beyond endurance, devoured the Judge, and the opera rushed to its end.

With the final word spoken, ignoring the audience’s stunned expressions, the performers hastily concluded, discarded their costumes, and—according to plan—grabbed their bundles and fled before government officers could arrive.

While audiences with differing views argued over Feng Qiuye’s criticisms, the stage emptied in an instant, dramatically demonstrating what the end of the song and the dispersal of the crowd truly meant.

The spectators were astounded—it was their first time seeing an opera troupe dismantle a performance so swiftly. Before they could emerge from the story’s grip, the performers had vanished.

So, when they advertised ‘only one performance,’ this is what they meant—a rebellious opera? someone finally grasped.

When they looked for Manager Lu, he too had long disappeared.

The crowd broke into a cold sweat—they had just witnessed a seditious play. Those incompetent officers who couldn’t catch the real culprits might arrest them instead to fulfill their duties!

They firmly believed this was exactly the kind of thing the authorities would do.

A chill ran down their spines as they realized the danger. All urge to argue vanished instantly as they hurriedly rose and rushed away, not daring to look back, swiftly leaving the perilous scene behind.

By the time the government received the news and hurried over, the place was already deserted—no one lingered at the site or nearby, not even the vendors from the surrounding area remained.

The government runners grumbled discontentedly, complaining, Who said there were rebellious plays being performed? The Theater District seems completely closed today—not a soul in sight. We’ve made this trip for nothing!

To fulfill their duty, they turned around to arrest the person who had reported the case.

Even if there truly were people performing rebellious plays, tracking down those actors now would be impossible. Avoiding trouble was preferable to stirring up more, so they decided to simply apprehend the available informant, sparing themselves further complications.

The play had indeed been performed. Its existence couldn’t be erased just because the officials covered their ears and stole bells, or because people avoided mentioning it openly.

After the audience returned home, memories of the play swirled repeatedly in their minds. While going about their tasks, they unconsciously hummed the opera’s melodies.

But when they sang the words Son of Heaven, they would suddenly jolt awake, as if scalded, cutting off the fluent lyrics abruptly. Trembling all over, they felt as if struck by lightning.

Upon reflection, their thoughts shifted strangely. Their views of the emperor and court officials abruptly transformed, and long-accumulated grievances found a vent.

As Feng Qiuye had eloquently stated in the play: Those in power failed to fulfill their responsibilities. Despite years of continuous disasters, the high officials who enjoyed all worldly luxuries remained oblivious to suffering, indulging in wine and pleasure day after day, untouched by sorrow. Meanwhile, the impoverished populace exhausted their blood and sweat to support them, only to be abandoned when trouble arose. Why should this be?

Resentment simmered among the common people. Feng Qiuye spread rapidly, discussed far and wide, and public opinion gradually fermented.

As for Manager Lu, he had initially assumed it would be difficult to offload Feng Qiuye. To his surprise, the play seemed wildly successful. Those who had seen it hummed it all day, while those who hadn’t learned of it through word of mouth. Some enthusiasts even secretly inquired multiple times, painstakingly piecing together segments of the play, which they then sold at high prices.

Everyone was asking about Feng Qiuye—officials urgently chasing clues, opera fanatics curious about the missed performance—making the play an instant sensation.

When Manager Lu mentioned he had the complete script of Feng Qiuye, other opera troupes rushed to him immediately, fighting fiercely over the script.

Manager Lu was stunned, yet his heart itched with temptation.

With so many people competing, he could surely fetch a high price.

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Wu Hongying’s face instantly invaded his thoughts. Shivering, Manager Lu shook his head vigorously and dismissed the idea outright.

There was no doubt he could earn this money, but he needed to be alive to spend it.

He truly didn’t dare to gamble with his life for the sake of profit.

Manager Lu pulled apart the two brawling parties, now bloodied and bruised. Stop fighting! This script isn’t mine. Its owner said it can be given to all of you for free, on one condition. Otherwise, bloodshed will follow…

He relayed Wu Hongying’s earlier requirement to the crowd: anyone could perform the play, and if others wished to learn it, they must not refuse or hoard it privately.

Really? The bruised and battered troupe leaders stepped forward excitedly, grabbing Manager Lu’s arms and pinching him until he yelped.

Unlike Manager Lu, these script-seeking troupe leaders were itinerant performers, constantly on the move. They might stage a show in a bustling area today and move to the countryside tomorrow.

Hearing that Feng Qiuye was the most discussed topic among the people, they aimed to capitalize on the hype—perform it once, make their money, and leave quickly. They had little interest in the play’s deeper implications or whether it was rebellious.

Earning more and moving fast—that was their survival principle.