Transmigrated as the Emperor, but Slacking Off - Chapter 1

“Sudden cardiac death. Time of death: July 2025.”

The blurred voice of a doctor and the long, continuous drone of a heart monitor swirled around his ears, refusing to dissipate for a long time.

Stimulated by a sharp pain in his chest and the echoing voices in his mind, Wen Xing suddenly snapped awake. He had dreamed of the moment of his sudden death again.

He wasn’t sure if it was because his death in his previous life had been too agonizing, but he suffered from frequent nightmares. It had even left him with a lingering chest pain a condition that flared up the moment he started working.

When he first transmigrated, he had tried to work hard. However, he soon discovered that whenever he looked at official memorials or discussed state affairs with ministers, it wouldn’t be long before the pain returned, leaving him in absolute agony.

Eventually, he gave up. Having been given a second life, he only wanted to be kind to himself and “slack off” properly.

Wen Xing placed his palm over his heart, which still throbbed with a faint ache. He stared blankly at the top of the bed canopy, waiting a long time for the pain to fade as his consciousness fully returned. After another long while, he finally made a decision with the resolve of a man facing execution:

He would get out of bed.

A slender, pale arm reached out from the layers of gauze curtains. The protruding wrist bone appeared exceptionally distinct due to his thinness elegant like a jade carving, yet hanging there lifelessly. Finally, two well-defined fingers gave a weak, listless wave.

The previously silent sleeping quarters immediately bustled into action.

Attendants silently drew back the curtains and helped the soft, limp figure who had been huddled in the blankets to the mirror to change clothes.

The man in the mirror possessed an exquisite face with a hint of exotic flair. Since the original host’s mother was a Western barbarian, he had inherited a pair of blue-gray eyes that looked like glass beads. His naturally fair skin appeared even paler due to his sickly state. Beneath his beautiful eyes were dark circles—a clear sign of frequent late nights.

He was thin, with broad but slight shoulders. The wide robes and loose sleeves hung off him like they were draped over a clothes hanger; he looked as though a single gust of wind could blow him over.

The original host had been a “workaholic” who woke at 4:00 AM for morning lessons and 6:00 AM for the Morning Court. The rest of his time was spent either reviewing memorials or meeting with ministers until well past midnight insisting on doing everything personally, 365 days a year.

And so, he had pushed his body to the brink of death.

Thinking of this, Wen Xing shuddered. How terrifying. He didn’t want to die from overwork a second time!

After washing up, Wen Xing noticed a eunuch standing by the door holding a stack of memorials, hesitating to step forward. Seeing the pile stacked so high it nearly topped the eunuch’s head; Wen Xing almost had another heart attack.

His tone was displeased: “Didn’t I say to leave the memorials to the officials of the Six Ministries? What are those you’re holding?”

The eunuch lowered his head. “These are important. They don’t dare to approve them.”

“Then go find the Grand Tutor.”

The eunuch buried his head even lower. “The Grand Tutor, says he’s going to ram his head against the Dragon Pillar.”

Wen Xing: “……”

The Hall of Supreme Sovereignty

The officials had been waiting from the first light of dawn until the sun was high in the sky, yet the Emperor was still nowhere to be seen. The court was already abuzz with discussion.

“Ever since His Majesty took the reins of government, he has worked from dawn to dusk, never slacking for a single day. Now, his temperament has changed completely; he’s dead set on abolishing the Morning Court.”

“If it were just the Morning Court, that would be one thing. But now, His Majesty refuses to even look at a memorial, saying they should all be handled by the Six Ministries.”

“Memorials are of grave importance. Only His Majesty can make the final decision. How can the power of the ‘Vermilion Ink’ be distributed among various officials? This is child’s play!”

“In the previous dynasty, eunuchs caused chaos in the court. Does His Majesty wish to raise a flock of ‘pen-holding’ ministers instead?!”

“Mind your words! His Majesty is currently ill. You all saw it at the last Morning Court—he collapsed on the spot, crying out in pain. If your Censorate cannot share His Majesty’s burdens, fine, but to slander your colleagues, what are your intentions?”

“If you truly cared for the Sovereign, why hasn’t the request for military supplies for the Northwest Army been approved? Is it not because you lot are intentionally delaying it?”

“Nonsense! The Emperor said that any memorials we cannot decide upon should be given to the Grand Tutor. He is a veteran of three reigns and the teacher of the realm’s scholars. Does your Censorate dare to doubt him?”

The topic was thrown to the Grand Tutor. The ministers all turned to look at a purple-robed old man with white hair and a beard standing in the crowd.

Sensing the many gazes, the old man let out a long sigh. “For months, His Majesty has skipped court and neglected state affairs, even handing the power of approval to me. But my Fang family has been loyal for generations; how could I commit such a transgression? I would be ashamed to face the late Emperor and my ancestors!”

“Fine. Since the current ruler is this negligent, what face do I have to remain as the Imperial Teacher? I might as well go to the underworld and apologize to the late Emperor myself!”

Seeing his expression of heroic sacrifice, an official cried out: “Grand Tutor! You must not hit the pillar!”

At that cry, the ministers rushed in from all directions.

The old man, who hadn’t actually started running yet: “?”

However, the officials had already swarmed him, some grabbing his collar, others squeezing his neck—nearly sending him to the grave then and there. The old man’s face turned the color of pig liver as he squeezed out a few words through his teeth: “Cough… cough… stop… stop it…”

In the chaos, a shrill voice suddenly rang out from outside: “His Majesty arrives—!”

Everyone froze and turned toward the hall entrance.

The young Emperor was reclining comfortably on a palanquin carried by sixteen men. He was not in formal ceremonial dress, but wore a simple sky-blue patterned silk Daoist robe. A bunch of grapes hung from his fingertips; he plucked one, tossed it into his mouth, and watched the comical scene in the hall with great interest.

Swept by that mocking gaze, the ministers quickly stood up, straightened their caps, and shouted “Long live the Emperor.”

Seeing the Emperor appear, the Grand Tutor scrambled up from the floor. “Your Majesty! You’ve finally come!”

The palanquin was lowered, and Wen Xing walked into the hall with a lazy gait. “I heard my teacher was going to stain the Hall of Supreme Sovereignty with his blood. How could I not come” to watch the show, he added internally.

After all, having been here for so long, he had learned this Grand Tutor’s tricks. A minor pillar-ramming every three days, a major one every five. As long as Wen Xing slacked off, this old man would stage a suicide attempt. It was no wonder the officials had rushed to stop him just now.

It wasn’t surprising the original host had worked himself to exhaustion; it was likely the result of being “PUA’d” by this teacher since childhood. Wen Xing couldn’t feel much affection for someone who kept pushing him to work even while knowing he had a heart condition.

Wen Xing walked slowly up the high steps and slid into the Dragon Chair like a cat. His posture could hardly be called “sitting”—”slumping” was more accurate.

The old man was moved to tears by the Emperor’s words. He walked tremblingly to the jade steps and bowed. “With those words from Your Majesty, I can die with no regrets.”

But he immediately took on a stern face again. “However, the power of Vermilion Ink concerns the foundation of the state. I dare not transgress. I implore Your Majesty to rescind the order!”

At these words, half the ministers echoed: “We implore Your Majesty to rescind the order!”

Wen Xing arched an eyebrow. What’s this? A collective strike?

His blue-gray eyes narrowed as he said leisurely, “And if I refuse?”

The old man was resolute. “If I, as the Imperial Teacher, cannot advise Your Majesty, I can only apologize with my life.”

Wen Xing was getting tired of it. “Apologizing with your life again to threaten me? Fang Bingyuan, can’t you come up with something new?”

Whether it was because his student had dared to call him by his name for the first time, or because his performance had been exposed, the old man was momentarily stunned. Then, his eyes filled with desolation as he sighed. “How would I dare threaten Your Majesty? I simply do not wish to imitate the treacherous ministers of the past and approval memorials in the Emperor’s stead, only to be cursed for a thousand years.”

Wen Xing waved him off. “My mind is made up. This matter is not up for discussion.”

Seeing that there was no room for rebuttal, the old man’s face previously flushed from being squeezed turned deathly pale.

A moment later, Fang Bingyuan seemed to make a final decision. He gave a tragic cry: “Late Emperor! Your servant is coming to apologize to you!” With that, he charged toward the Dragon Pillar in front of the steps.

Wen Xing remained calm. He even raised a hand to stop the Imperial Guards from intervening. I’m not playing along this time, he thought. Let’s see how you’re going to awkwardly act your way out of this.

However, this time, the old man’s steps were exceptionally determined. There was no sign of him slowing down. The elderly body found a sudden burst of strength from somewhere, and in a few strides, he was right in front of the pillar. His forehead was about to collide with the stone.

Wen Xing’s pupils contracted. He finally realized something was wrong. No way, he’s doing it for real this time!

But it was too late to stop him.

“Grand Tutor!” someone screamed.

Wen Xing’s slender fingers gripped the arms of the Dragon Chair. “Imperial Guard!”

In a flash, a black shadow darted out from the crowd, streaking across the hall like lightning. The figure flipped in the air, landing behind the old man like a startled swan, and reached out to grab the hem of his purple robe.

The old man was yanked back several steps, staggering. Just as he was about to fall backward, he was caught steadily by the figure behind him.

The speed was so great that the eye could barely follow. Once the figure stood still, Wen Xing could finally see his form.

The youth wore the uniform of a military officer a black, silver-patterned robe wrapped around a long, lithe frame. His high ponytail was bound by a gold crown. He was tall, with long arms and a narrow waist. His tensed back looked like a drawn bow, sharp as a blade.

The image of a dashing, vigorous young general that Wen Xing had only seen in movies was now manifesting before his eyes. So, people really can fly, he thought.

Although it wasn’t the Imperial Guard who had acted, Wen Xing breathed a secret sigh of relief seeing the man saved.

Fang Bingyuan, still shaken, looked back at his savior and bowed in thanks. Then, he immediately knelt again, trembling. “Your Majesty! I implore Your Majesty to rescind the order!”

The ministers followed suit. “Your Majesty, for the sake of the Grand Tutor being a veteran of three reigns, please reconsider!”

This shout only fanned the flames of Wen Xing’s suppressed anger. Threatening him with death at every turn… In his last life, he was “PUA’d” by his boss until he died of overwork. In this life, he was being “PUA’d” by his ministers. For what?

He was the Emperor now. No one could force him to work overtime!

Enduring the heart pain that was nearly flaring up, he caught sight of the Imperial Seal on the desk. In an act of pure venting, he snatched it up and threw it with all his might.

The ministers watched in horror as the symbol of imperial power was tossed aside like trash. In their terrified eyes, the flying seal seemed to move in slow motion, tracing a long arc through the air.

Clang—!

The seal hit the ground with the crisp sound of jade on stone, rolled a few times, and stopped by the black boots of the young general. The youth looked down, saw a long crack running through the jade seal, and his handsome brows slowly furrowed.

The court fell into an eerie silence. What happened? The Emperor threw the seal?!

Before they could react, the Emperor spoke from the steps in a cold voice, tinged with 30% anger and 70% disdain: “You want to force me, right? Fine. I’m not being the Emperor anymore.”

Hearing this, Fang Bingyuan’s pupils shrank. “Your Majesty—!”

That cry woke the ministers. In an instant, the sound of kneeling filled the vast hall as they shouted in unison: “May Your Majesty appease your anger!”

The young general scanned the surroundings. Seeing the court filled with people prostrating themselves, he hesitated for a moment and knelt on one knee in a military salute. However, his back remained ramrod straight, and he didn’t bow his head even an inch standing out like a crane among chickens compared to the officials huddled on the floor.

Wen Xing sneered at the white-haired old man below. “If you want to die, I’ll abdicate immediately. History will record that you were the one who forced the Emperor to step down.”

As if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him, Fang Bingyuan’s body swayed. He slumped to the floor, all his strength drained away.

Seeing the old man finally quiet down, Wen Xing let out a cold laugh in his heart. Ha. Against PUA, slacking off is invincible.

The ministers didn’t dare to breathe. “May Your Majesty reconsider! We are guilty!”

Wen Xing raised a hand to silence them, then slumped leisurely back into the Dragon Chair. His tone shifted. “However, since the Grand Tutor is unwilling to share my burdens, I will not force him.”

As he spoke, his gaze swept over the only person in the hall with a straight back. He pointed a finger at the youth. “You. You’ll work overtime in my place instead.”

Since you saved the Grand Tutor’s life, you might as well take his job too, he thought.

The ministers’ gazes swarmed over the youth. His lowered eyelids finally lifted, his gaze like a blade cutting across the nine levels of imperial steps to clash directly with the Emperor’s eyes.

Wen Xing finally took note of his appearance. The boy had black hair and black robes, with a face beautiful enough to overturn the world. His eyes were like deep pools at night, and his brow held an inescapable sense of nobility and sharpness.

Rarely curious, Wen Xing asked, “What is your name?”

The youth spoke slowly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it rang through the hall like an ancient temple bell: “Your servant is the General of the Yue Horsemen of the Ningyuan Army Ning Wujie.”

The name sounded familiar. As Wen Xing wondered where he had heard it, a line of character information appeared in his vision.

Yes, Wen Xing had a system. However, it seemed to be a broken, “trash” system that was always in hibernation. In the months since he arrived, he hadn’t received any special treatment or missions. But whenever he had a question about the people or things in this world, the system would automatically display search results.

Ning Wujie. The legitimate youngest son of the Marquis of Ningyuan. In the final years of the Chen state, he led rebel forces into the imperial city, burned the Hall of Supreme Sovereignty, and established the new Great Zhou Dynasty.

Official history records: He stood eight feet tall, possessed a beautiful countenance, and was naturally brave. He ruled the world for twenty-eight years, suppressed the warlords, expanded the borders, and achieved magnificent feats…

[Click for details >>]

Wen Xing was enlightened. No wonder it sounded familiar. This was the founding Emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty, which would last five hundred years! He was also the military genius who would personally kill the Emperor of Chen in three years Ning Wujie!

And as luck would have it, Wen Xing had transmigrated as that unlucky “Emperor Ai of Chen,” who had exhausted himself trying to save the collapsing state but failed.

The last emperor of the old dynasty and the founding emperor of the new dynasty locked eyes in the magnificent hall. It was as if the flames that would consume the palace in three years were already burning today.

Wen Xing didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But then he thought: Haven’t I just stumbled upon the ‘Chosen Worker’ for myself?

When it came to governing a country, who among the officials could compare to this future Great Emperor? He was a workaholic even more extreme than the original host!

At this thought, his eyes lit up. “It’s settled! You will enter the Grand Secretariat immediately.”

Ning Wujie thought he had misheard. “What did Your Majesty say?”

The ministers were equally shocked. Someone immediately jumped out to object. “Your Majesty! You cannot!”

“Your Majesty, General Ning is only seventeen! He just returned to the capital from the border. His rank is only of the fifth grade. How can he enter the Grand Secretariat?!”

“Please reconsider!” The ministers knelt in unison.

The Grand Tutor, Fang Bingyuan, also scrambled up from his slumped position. “Your Majesty! I implore you to rescind this order. The Grand Secretariat is the core of the government; it cannot be treated as a joke!”

Amidst the protests, Wen Xing stood up, walked down the high steps, and nodded. “You have a point.”

Fang Bingyuan’s eyes lit up, but before he could breathe a sigh of relief, he heard Wen Xing mutter as if to himself: “We don’t actually need a Grand Secretariat. He’s enough on his own.”

The old man’s pupils dilated. Even Ning Wujie’s stoic expression showed a crack.

The Emperor walked past the kneeling crowd toward the door, not looking back. “From today onward, he shall be on duty in the Imperial Study.”

As the Emperor stepped out of the hall, his voice and figure vanished, leaving only the incredible cries of the ministers echoing through the hall. Fang Bingyuan’s vision went black, and he fell straight backward.

Ning Wujie reached out to catch the unconscious old man. He turned to look at the figure disappearing into the afternoon sunlight, his sharp eyes flickering.

You tyrant!