Can I Become Emperor by Being This Lazy? - Chapter 69

Chapter 69

While the authorities couldn’t touch Xu Mao, the idle scholars with ample leisure time and no real industry to pursue wouldn’t let her off so easily. Seizing upon this point, they launched fierce attacks, determined to tarnish her reputation and thwart her carefully laid plans.

Rumors about Xu Mao spread rapidly—accusations of her being cunning and ambitious, skilled at manipulating right and wrong, daring to dictate to the Son of Heaven, and even shortsightedly spouting nonsense about state affairs planned by the emperor and his ministers.

Wu Hongying and Du Caiwen, who were covertly assessing the effects of Feng Qiuye in the city, unexpectedly overheard these filthy remarks. Furious, the soldiers assigned to protect them rolled up their sleeves, ready to charge forward. But Wu Hongying, alert, immediately grabbed hold of them.

Don’t ruin the Marshal’s plans, she whispered, halting their actions in time. Her eyes fixed on the scholars loudly discussing the matter, flashing with a cold gleam. She continued, Wait until the sun sets and it’s dark enough that faces can’t be clearly seen—that’s when we’ll make our move.

The soldiers’ anger subsided slightly. Beside them, Du Caiwen added, Mind your strength. Leave them breathing. Don’t let them die by our hands and cause trouble for the Marshal.

Rest assured, Madam Du, we understand that well.

The group waited nearby, biding their time until the light faded. Each of them rubbed their hands in anticipation, ready to act.

The scholars, drunk and merry, dispersed from their banquet, bidding each other farewell as they staggered out the door.

Wu Hongying and her team split into several groups, picking up suitably thick branches and wooden clubs along the way. They followed the isolated scholars into dark, deserted alleys—places where no one was around, where cries for help would go unanswered, perfect for ambushing and retaliating.

With a thud, Wu Hongying helped cover a scholar’s head, and a rain of fists immediately pummeled his body. She delivered several fierce kicks.

Already dizzy from drinking, the scholar felt the world spin. One moment he was walking fine, the next he was inexplicably knocked to the ground, rolling in the dirt, his mouth filled with dust.

His consciousness blurred, his limbs refusing to obey, and under the relentless beating, he struggled to get up. Helpless, he could only shield his head with his hands, whimpering as he arduously wriggled his body outward. At the same time, he slurred loudly, Help—!

Yet, in the quiet night, only the sounds of punches, kicks, and his own cries of pain echoed. There were no kind passersby, no patrolling officers—only more violent blows in response.

The physical pain forcibly sobered the scholar. Mostly awake now, his thoughts clearer, he flipped over and knelt, crawling. Spare me, brave ones! I don’t know how I’ve offended you! I admit my fault, I sincerely apologize—please show mercy!

His words only infuriated the soldiers further, who wished they could correct his phrasing—the ones beating him were his grandmothers!

But they couldn’t speak and risk exposure, letting him seize any leverage. Suppressing their anger, they intensified their efforts, pounding hard at the foul-mouthed scholar’s waist and abdomen.

When the time was about right, the scholar lay gasping weakly, unable to even muster loud groans, collapsed on the ground like a dead dog, motionless.

Faint voices sounded in the distance. Wu Hongying, sharp-eared, turned alertly to investigate closely. Immediately, she signaled for everyone to stop and withdraw quickly.

The group gathered at the prearranged location, caught up with the main army, and reported to Xu Mao. When mentioning the alleyway beating of the scholars, they still seethed with resentment, lamenting, It’s a pity bystanders showed up—otherwise we could’ve landed a few more punches.

Xu Mao stared wide-eyed and hurriedly said, That’s enough. Let them say what they want—without solid evidence, it’s all speculation. We’ve achieved our goal.

The provocation had been highly effective. Xu Mao pulled up the System data panel and nodded in satisfaction. At this rate, becoming universally despised was no pipe dream.

Just as Xu Mao prepared to counsel Wu Hongying and the others, Xu Heng lifted the tent flap and rushed in. Elder Sister, trouble! Look at this—the Celestial God Sect just shot a sneak arrow with a message demanding you immediately stop exposing their tricks, especially our demonstrations debunking the boiling oil scam. They threatened to make you pay otherwise!

Clutching the note, Xu Heng fumed, How dare they challenge you? They parade around pretending to be divine, swindling people, yet can’t handle being exposed? Such insolence is unbearable! Elder Sister, we must teach the Celestial God Sect a lesson!

Such a… thing happened? Xu Mao swallowed the word good in surprise, her attention instantly captured. She stood and took the note from Xu Heng to examine it.

This was the Celestial God Sect’s warning to her.

She had started in Jin Province, moved to Jiangzhou, deliberately preached in Song’an, and continued along the journey to the capital—seizing every opportunity to expose them, short of touring the nation with a loudspeaker. Perhaps her exposés were working: some commoners had awakened and begun questioning, shaking the sect’s foundation until they couldn’t sit still and came to silence her.

Xu Mao crumpled the note, a smile curling her lips. Perfect timing—the Celestial God Sect’s arrival spared further complications from delay.

None understand me like you, Heng. You’re right—what is the Celestial God Sect to us? Our Loyal Army could crush them with a flick of the wrist! How dare they spout threats in my face! Xu Mao patted Xu Heng’s shoulder, her expression turning icy. The Celestial God Sect is a national cancer, a societal pest. It deludes the people with demonic superstitions, squeezing profits from them. Every day it exists, the commoners suffer.

She whirled around. He wants to teach me a lesson? Fine—I’ll see what form it takes. Our Loyal Army must excel at stirring trouble and fear none—we’ll haunt those vile creatures until they squirm in discomfort!

Du Caiwen looked up in astonishment, gazing at Xu Mao, her spirit shaken by such fearless audacity.

All her life, everyone had told her harmony was paramount—to endure first and never risk offending others, lest they retaliate wildly. But Xu Mao was different: no matter the circumstance, even at a disadvantage, she always maintained confidence and the courage to draw her sword.

Du Caiwen hastily committed Xu Mao’s words to heart: The Loyal Army must excel at stirring trouble and fear none.

Perhaps this was one secret to Xu Mao’s undefeated leadership—a golden rule worthy of universal reverence.

A pity only those present heard it, while the soldiers missed out. What a loss.

Du Caiwen sighed silently, when suddenly an idea flashed through her mind.

Marshal Xu had spoken many profound words. Following the tradition of disciples recording the words of sages, it would be worthwhile to compile the Marshal’s speeches into a book and teach them to the soldiers.

This way, the soldiers could learn from the Marshal’s wisdom while also bridging the gap between them and the Marshal. By understanding her character and methods, they would strengthen their bond and cooperate more seamlessly in battle, making victories easier to achieve.

There was another benefit: numerous rumors circulated about the Marshal. Many who had never met her personally didn’t understand her true nature, believing malicious gossip instead. This bred prejudice against both the Marshal and the Loyal Army.

If there were a channel or method to show the people the Marshal’s actions and familiarize them with the Loyal Army—demonstrating Marshal Xu’s care for the people and the Loyal Army’s protection of them—it would win public support, paving the way for greater plans.

Envisioning that final scene, Du Caiwen’s heart raced uncontrollably. If her strategy could be successfully implemented, it would greatly benefit the Marshal.

However, while the idea was beautiful, its execution would be a massive undertaking—collecting and organizing the Marshal’s quotes, summarizing and selecting specific examples.

Du Caiwen’s gaze dimmed slightly with worry. Until she could produce results, she dared not casually present this to Xu Mao. If it failed, it would be humiliating.

After careful consideration, Du Caiwen cautiously spoke up with a suggestion: Marshal, regarding dealing with the Celestial God Sect, I have a plan. I’m not sure if I should mention it.

She said it anyway. Previously, Du Caiwen had given the impression of being quiet and introverted—a melancholic literary young woman. Her sudden suggestion today was truly unexpected.

Curious about her strategy, Xu Mao asked, There are no outsiders here. Speak directly without hesitation.

Encouraged by this affirmation, Du Caiwen felt reassured and slightly more confident. Organizing her thoughts, she bowed and said, Reporting to the Marshal, I believe we could reuse the method of ‘Feng Qiuye’—writing a play to expose the profit-driven nature of the Celestial God Sect and their evil deeds. The crimes they’ve committed are infuriating, and after watching, the people will gradually change their views.

Xu Mao was startled. Du Caiwen was planning infiltration—using the educational power of theater to subtly shift public perception of the Celestial God Sect.

However, the Celestial God Sect was ultimately part of the Treason rebellion. The court would be delighted to see her and the sect fight each other, waiting until both sides were weakened before stepping in to clean up.

Xu Mao pondered, This is different from ‘Feng Qiuye.’ It needs to balance entertainment and education. If it becomes too preachy, the story will turn dry and dull, and the people might not accept it.

Moreover, ‘Feng Qiuye’ succeeded and resonated because, firstly, it benefited from luck—the current situation is special, with people suffering, the emperor fleeing the capital, and officials being negligent, creating a favorable environment for the performance.

Secondly, the play’s subject is unique, telling the story between Consort Feng and the current emperor. It’s bold and novel, possessing natural advantages that attracted many curious viewers.

Speaking of which, if we want to replicate the success of ‘Feng Qiuye’, the script is easy to solve—with careful polishing, we can create a brilliant play. The only problem is there aren’t enough theater troupes competing to rehearse it. Whether we pay them to perform or establish our own troupe, the effort required is considerable and hardly worthwhile.

If we were to form our own cultural troupe, performers who play music and sing operas currently hold low social status, so it’s unlikely anyone would be willing to join.

Most importantly, commoners lead monotonous lives with few entertainment options—they flock to wherever there’s excitement. This tactic is too potent; I’d hate to wake up one day and suddenly find myself draped in an imperial yellow robe.

Using opera for promotion is out of the question.