After Pretending to be an Idiot, I Was Targeted by the Cold-Blooded Zhangyin - Chapter 11

Xie Changsheng blinked, standing still on the spot.

Gu Feiyi arched an eyebrow, his tone both ambiguous and threatening. “Have you forgotten what you promised me last night? Do you not want the puppy anymore?”

At the mention of a puppy, Xie Changsheng’s ears practically perked up, and his eyes grew bright and sparkling.

“Want! Want! Heh heh heh, want puppy, heh heh heh!”

He immediately became obedient. Smiling foolishly, he reached behind his back and rubbed his hands against his clothes to clean them.

Watching this, Gu Feiyi’s brow furrowed. That “servile” impulse to wipe Xie Changsheng’s hands for him flickered in his heart once more.

Xie Changsheng had no idea what he was thinking. Seeing the frown, he assumed Gu was unhappy with his slow movements. He sped up, slapping the mud and dust off his hands onto his lower back with even more vigor.

Gu Feiyi gave a light tsk.

Once Xie Changsheng drew near, Gu Feiyi asked, “Do you still remember how to write?”

Xie Changsheng nodded. Then, after a pause, he shook his head. After another pause, he nodded again.

“Do you remember or not?” Gu Feiyi asked.

Xie Changsheng nodded… paused… shook his head… paused… and nodded.

This method of torture was something Xie Changsheng had learned from a client back when he worked a part-time job making PowerPoints—when given a “Yes or No” choice, the answer that makes people most want to commit murder is actually “Or.”

Sure enough, Xie Changsheng heard Gu Feiyi take a sharp breath, as if suppressing his impatience.

Xie Changsheng immediately behaved. Using a hand gesture that would make men from a certain country lose their minds (the “tiny” pinch gesture), he answered obediently, “I seem… to remember… but I also… don’t seem to.”

Gu Feiyi stared at him with eyes like cold stars. Suddenly, he shoved the calligraphy brush into Xie Changsheng’s hand and gave a cold command: “Write a few characters.”

Xie Changsheng had only held a calligraphy brush twice in his life. The first time was at a scenic tourist spot. It looked like a normal wolf-hair brush, but the price tag said 9,998. Such a malicious price tag! Xie Changsheng had put it back in less than three seconds.

The second time was now.

Xie Changsheng gripped the brush like Sun Wukong holding chopsticks. His wrist wobbled as he scribbled three things on the paper.

Gu Feiyi lowered his gaze. His eyes, like soft yet cool silk, followed the tip of the brush. Gu Feiyi believed that handwriting revealed the man—whether one was cautious, bold, careless, or calculating. A person’s character, traits, and preferences could always be glimpsed through their script.

But ink blobs did not count. Three pitch-black splotches of ink were not characters. They were an eyesore.

Gu Feiyi asked, “What has the Little Highness written here?”

Xie Changsheng looked up. Using those drooping, affectionate eyes, he stared blankly and replied, “My name. Can’t you tell?”

Gu Feiyi wanted to say: How could anyone possibly tell?

However, his attention was stolen by Xie Changsheng’s lips. He stared at them. As they opened and closed while he spoke, Gu felt an urge to feed him more pastries.

“Speaking of names,” Gu Feiyi asked, “Little Highness, do you remember what this servant is called?”

Xie Changsheng knit his brows and thought for a while. Suddenly, he slapped the table in realization. “Right! I remember! Your name is Audrey Hepburn!”

Gu Feiyi: “…” Who on earth is that?!

Gu Feiyi was nearly incensed into a laugh. “You remember Feng Wang’s name clearly enough. Why can’t you remember mine?”

“Or perhaps, this servant’s name does not suit the Little Highness’s palate.”

Gu Feiyi took a step forward and reached out. In a posture that resembled a hug from behind, Gu Feiyi’s tall frame completely enveloped Xie Changsheng. The heavy, cold scent of plum blossoms overwhelmed Xie Changsheng’s senses.

Xie Changsheng had never been this close to a man in his life. His body stiffened, but fearing Gu Feiyi would notice, he quickly forced himself to relax.

An icy right hand covered Xie Changsheng’s right hand, which was holding the brush. The hand applied pressure, guiding the brush tip onto the paper. The tip moved up, down, left, and right, leaving clear black-and-white strokes.

Xie Changsheng struggled to recognize them: “Hu, Ye, Si, Fei, Qi?”

Gu Feiyi: “…”

A powerful sense of speechlessness clogged Gu Feiyi’s chest. He took a deep breath to dissolve his frustration, released the hand, and leaned his thin lips close to Xie Changsheng’s ear.

He spoke in a deep voice: “These three characters are this servant’s name.”

“Gu Feiyi.”

“The Little Highness must be very careful to remember them firmly.”

“If you forget your Master’s name again next time… the Little Highness should be careful…”

At this point, Gu Feiyi paused. Careful? Careful of what? He had never spoken to anyone this stupid before. Those who flattered him, bribed him, begged him for mercy, or asked him to kill were countless. They were all clever people; many things didn’t need to be said aloud. A single look was enough.

But Xie Changsheng was different. He was truly stupid. You could break down a name and teach it to him three times, and the next time he saw you, he’d still look at you like a stranger and ask, “Who are you?”

Gu Feiyi thought for a moment, then grabbed Xie Changsheng’s forearm. He increased his grip strength gradually until Xie Changsheng’s face twisted in pain. “Ow, ow, ow! It hurts!”

Only then did Gu Feiyi retract his hand. He said sinisterly, “If you forget again, I’ll have you caned.”

After teaching Xie Changsheng to write, Gu Feiyi spoke with Feng Wang for a while. By the time he was leisurely dressed and ready, over an hour had passed. Gu Feiyi woke Xie Changsheng, who had begun to doze off in his chair, and finally prepared to take him to the Hall of Mental Cultivation to see the Old Emperor.

Xie Changsheng looked up dizzily. “Oh, okay… Gu, Gu… Gu Feiyi.”

Gu Feiyi arched an eyebrow, his lips curving into a mocking smile. He leaned down and whispered a few instructions into Xie Changsheng’s ear.

Upon arriving at the Hall of Mental Cultivation, Xie Changsheng saw the Old Emperor lounging haphazardly on a couch. In his left hand, he held a wine flask; his right arm was draped around a beautiful consort. A small princess, about three or four years old, sat in a corner biting her finger.

Seeing Gu Feiyi, the Emperor struggled to sit up, his tone fawning. “Feiyi, Feiyi… have you brought what I asked for?”

Gu Feiyi stepped forward, pulled a small black gourd from his sleeve, and handed it over. The Emperor opened it, took a sniff, and a look of obsession crossed his face. He beamed with joy.

“Good! With the tip-of-the-tongue blood of these virgins, I can refine a few more Pills of Longevity to consume.”

He added, “Feiyi, the memorials are piled up over there. Go and help me process them.”

Gu Feiyi responded as if this were a common occurrence. He walked to a small side table and began flipping through the mountain of official documents with his slender fingers.

Xie Changsheng stood there, his stomach churning with disgust. He glanced at Gu Feiyi, silently praying that next time Gu would trick the Emperor into refining arsenic into his pills so he could drop dead immediately.

Speaking of which… when the Old Emperor eventually died, if Xie Chengjing, Xie Hemiao, Fang Ling, and Gu Feiyi could all spare him on account of his “idiocy,” he wouldn’t bother being a prince anymore. He’d just sneak out of the palace during the chaos.

As for what to do after leaving… that wouldn’t stop Xie Changsheng. He had read too many novels. He could open a shop or move to the countryside to farm. There were plenty of options and ways to live.

He was deep in thought when he heard the Emperor call his name: “…Sheng. Changsheng.”

Xie Changsheng snapped back to reality and looked at the Emperor. The Emperor adopted the facade of a grieving father. “Changsheng, at the banquet yesterday, how could you do something so embarrassing to me? Have the imperial physicians seen your illness? What did they say?”

Xie Changsheng opened his mouth and suddenly asked clearly, “Is Imperial Father annoyed that I’ve become stupid?”

The Emperor froze.

“I had a dream yesterday. I dreamed of Mother. She and I look so much alike.”

Xie Changsheng continued, “Mother said… oh, I remember now. She said she misses you.”

The wine cup in the Emperor’s hand hit the floor with a clang. He stood up unsteadily, stumbling toward Xie Changsheng, reaching out both hands to cup the boy’s face.

Xie Changsheng took two steps back, nimbly dodging him. The Emperor stumbled after him. “A’Lan, A’Lan… is it you? Have you come back?”

He was so drunk he was mistaking Xie Changsheng for his mother, Consort Lan.

Consort Lan had been a mere palace maid, but her beauty caught the Emperor’s eye. He had been particularly fond of this beautiful, gentle, and obedient woman. When she gave birth to Xie Changsheng, she was favored above all others.

But how long can an Emperor’s love last? It was soon divided among new beauties. Without background or support, Consort Lan fell gravely ill after losing the Emperor’s favor and never recovered.

She died under the pear blossom tree in her courtyard. The white petals drifted down onto her body and her cheeks. The sight had stunned the Emperor. Thus, from that moment on, Consort Lan became the Emperor’s “most beloved” woman. Xie Changsheng became his “favorite” son.

And Xie Changsheng, the reader, became the Emperor’s most loyal “anti-fan.”

He dodged the Emperor’s hands while giggling, as if playing hide-and-seek. But it was all a front. No one knew how hard Xie Changsheng was working under that laughing exterior to avoid being touched by the Old Emperor. If he wasn’t a champion sprinter, he could at least be called a professional athlete. Xie Changsheng was truly pushing his limits.

To the side, Gu Feiyi looked up. The smile that usually hung shallowly on his lips deepened with genuine emotion.

He smiled for two reasons. First, because he had orchestrated this farce—the words Xie Changsheng spoke were the very ones he had taught him. Sure enough, once Consort Lan was mentioned, the Emperor lost his mind again. Seeing the Emperor in such a disgraceful state was truly a feast for the eyes.

Second, Gu Feiyi felt an immense sense of satisfaction. In this room:

The Emperor left his official duties to Gu to handle.

Beautiful consorts once blushed and asked if he wanted to become “companion-spouses” (for non-sexual companionship).

The “idiot” son had to call him “Master.”

Even the little princess biting her finger would eventually have to follow his every word.

How could one not feel delighted?