Transmigrated as the Emperor, but Slacking Off - Chapter 5

Wen Xing rested his head on one hand, reclining on the Arhat couch by the window with his eyes closed. Behind him came the voice of a eunuch reading a storybook: “…At this moment, Mother Xue caught a gap and led Chen Dalang through the Jiang family’s main gates…”

The eunuch’s voice was shrill, rising and falling erratically. He seemed to be straining to give the reading some rhythm, but unfortunately, every emphasis was misplaced, making the experience quite grating.

Wen Xing’s brow slowly knitted together. He waved a hand and said, “Stop reading.”

It’s better to just read it myself.

The eunuch was terrified. “This servant is incompetent.”

“Perhaps Your Majesty would like the palace musicians to sing a passage? Storybooks always sound better when sung.”

Wen Xing waved him off again. “No need.” Those high-pitched, warbling operatic tones were even harder to stomach.

He let out a sigh, beginning to miss the audiobook apps from his previous life. The AI-simulated “cold male god” voices were always the best he could close his eyes and listen until he fell asleep.

…Wait.

His eyelids snapped open, and his gaze brightened. Isn’t there a “cold male god” voice right here?

Fifteen minutes later.

Ning Wujie was led into the inner hall. Wen Xing turned around to see the youth dressed in a sky-blue, diaphanous silk robe with narrow sleeves. A gilded belt hook inlaid with jade was fastened at his waist, accentuating his lean, powerful frame and adding to his dashing appearance.

Ning Wujie bowed and asked, “For what reason has Your Majesty summoned your servant?”

Hearing him speak, Wen Xing nodded in satisfaction. That’s the voice, alright.

He gestured for the eunuch to hand the storybook to Ning Wujie. “Read.”

Ning Wujie took the book, glanced at the man lounging lazily on the bed, and quickly understood the situation. He was swamped with government affairs and had a case to investigate; he was incredibly busy. Yet, he had been summoned in a hurry just to read a storybook?

He closed his eyes, cursing the tyrant in his heart for the thousandth time. But knowing this tyrant wouldn’t listen to reason, he thought for a moment, sat down on the low stool by the couch, and opened the book.

“…Chen Dalang was a seasoned veteran of the pleasure quarters. Entwined like mandarin ducks, he knew every intimacy and delight, leaving the woman’s soul scattered…”

“Cough, cough, cough!”

Ning Wujie broke into a fit of coughing. He flipped forward a few pages in disbelief, and he felt as if he had been struck by lightning. What kind of book is this tyrant reading?!

Wen Xing had been on the verge of falling asleep to that pleasant voice, but the sound had come to a dead stop. He frowned slightly and looked up, seeing Ning Wujie sitting there in a total daze.

The youth’s pale earlobes had turned a deep, dark red, like pigeon’s blood.

Wen Xing thought to himself, Oho he turns red even without being teased?

Curious, he reached out two fingers, plucked the book from Ning Wujie’s hand, and skimmed it. After seeing whatever he saw, he arched a slender eyebrow, tossed the book back with indifference, and scoffed, “Such a small scene, and you’re this scared.”

Ning Wujie stared at Wen Xing with his beautiful eyes, his words practically squeezed through his teeth: “This is an insult to common decency.”

Wen Xing suppressed the urge to curl his lips into a smile. “This is an insult to decency? This author is a modern-day literary giant.”

Well, he isn’t yet, Wen Xing thought, but he will be in a few hundred years.

The more he watched the boy blush, the more interesting it became. He lazily propped his chin on one hand and said, “Continue.”

Ning Wujie refused. “I will not.”

“Really?”

“I will not.”

Wen Xing’s eyes shifted. He beckoned to Ning Wujie. “Come here.”

Ning Wujie looked over in confusion. Four pale, slender fingers beckoned him. As if possessed, he walked to the side of the couch.

Suddenly, Wen Xing reached out a hand, grabbed the youth’s collar, and yanked him down. The distance between them vanished; their noses nearly touched. The heavy scent of ambergris invaded Ning Wujie’s senses, and his breathing grew erratic.

The young Emperor looked up, his pale neck appearing even longer, the elegant lines curving from his jaw to highlight a delicate Adam’s apple before disappearing into his slightly open collar.

This sight fell unavoidably into Ning Wujie’s eyes. His gaze felt scorched, and he hurriedly closed his eyes.

He heard the Emperor say in a low voice, “If you won’t read, then ‘sell your charms’ to me, and I’ll let you go.”

Ning Wujie snapped upright and backed away half a step, his face a portrait of shock and resistance. Hearing the words “sell your charms,” his mind uncontrollably replayed the descriptions from the storybook, and the “pigeon’s blood” red began to spread to his cheeks.

His breathing grew even more ragged, but his heaving chest now signaled only righteous indignation. He grit his teeth. “Your Majesty might as well grant your servant death.”

Wow. Wen Xing found this fascinating. A true “death before dishonor” type.

“How could I bear to let you die?” If you die, what happens to my five-hundred-year Zhou Dynasty?

Hearing this, Ning Wujie froze for a moment, only to hear the tyrant continue: “But since you won’t sell your charms, I shall issue a decree summoning your elder brother to the capital to take your place.”

Wen Xing smiled at him. “Since you’re brothers from the same mother, I imagine he must be quite good-looking as well.”

“You…”

Ning Wujie’s pupils dilated. He looked at Wen Xing in utter disbelief, a wave of fury nearly overflowing. Wen Xing saw the youth’s cold gaze fixed on him, his fists clenched so tight the knuckles were white and trembling.

If it weren’t for the fact that attacking an emperor meant the execution of nine generations, the boy would probably pounce on him right now. This is way better than the storybook, Wen Xing thought.

But as he watched, he couldn’t keep smiling. Ning Wujie seemed to be fighting a fierce internal battle. Finally, after a long silence, he suppressed his rage with immense effort and forced a sentence through his teeth: “I beg… Your Majesty to let my brother go.”

The youth’s bloodshot eyes were now hazy with moisture, and his clenched jaw strained to hold back surging emotions. Wen Xing had no doubt that if he teased any further, the boy’s tears of humiliation would fall.

Fine.

“I was just kidding. If you won’t read, you won’t read,” Wen Xing said, taking back the book with some regret. He’s too easy to get a reaction out of.

He lay back down, but the sleepiness from before had vanished completely. He looked at the boy, whose chest was still heaving with anger. “If you won’t read the storybook, you can read the memorials, can’t you?”

Ning Wujie blinked, momentarily stunned. This tyrant is actually asking to hear the memorials?

His frustration dissipated instantly. After a moment, he gave a muffled nod.

Wen Xing’s thin lips curled slightly as he closed his eyes. “Go ahead. And don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Ning Wujie straightened his robes and sat down. He took a deep breath to suppress the last of his emotions. Then, with his hands placed neatly on his knees, he began to recite the recent memorials from memory.

“A petition from Wang Shizhen, an editor of the Hanlin Academy, regarding a trip home. ‘Your servant was originally a poor scholar from Xincheng, graced with a position in the imperial ranks. However, my mother fell ill last year, and despite frequent letters, no medicine has worked…'”

The clean, low-frequency voice surrounded Wen Xing like the perfect lullaby. His eyelids grew heavy.

“…Zhao Shirong, the Magistrate of Jiangning County, has privately increased the land tax by thirty percent and allowed his servants to extort merchants…”

“Your Majesty?”

Seeing no response, Ning Wujie hesitated. He wanted to leave, but remembered the Emperor’s command: Don’t stop until I tell you to. He thought for a moment and looked at Wen Xing. The evening light crossed the window frame and gilded his profile, outlining exquisite features. The naturally pale skin was warmed by the sun, showing a rare tranquility.

He looks much better than when he’s being shameless, Ning Wujie thought.

He let out a quiet sigh. He decided not to leave without permission; if the tyrant woke up and didn’t hear him reading, who knows what annoying things he’d say next. The threat to summon his brother was still ringing in his ears. He could endure this humiliation alone, but he couldn’t drag his brother into it.

But with so much official work, he couldn’t afford to waste time. He said to the attendants, “Bring the unprocessed memorials and secret reports from the Imperial Study.”

The eunuchs bowed and withdrew silently. Soon, the tables in the sleeping quarters were piled high with official documents.

Wen Xing slept until the middle of the night.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was lit by lanterns. He turned his head and saw Ning Wujie’s handsome face right in front of him. The youth was still on the stool, leaning slightly against the couch. He was propping his head on one fist, his eyes closed and his brow relaxed in a deep sleep. The dim light reflected off the jade hairpin in his hair.

Wen Xing’s gaze followed the falling ponytail down to a scroll resting on the edge of the couch. It bore the mark of the Surveillance Bureau; the wax seal had been broken.

This holdout… did he really keep reading until he fell asleep?

He looked up and saw the tables were covered in scrolls and documents. It had turned into a second Imperial Study.

“Ning Wujie,” Wen Xing said in a low voice.

The youth’s ear twitched. His pupils moved behind his eyelids, and he slowly opened his eyes. As a military man, he remained alert even in sleep. The candlelight reflected in his dark eyes like a shimmering lake.

“Your Majesty.” Ning Wujie snapped back to his senses, sat up straight, and picked up the secret report. He cleared his throat and continued: “A secret report from the Surveillance Bureau in Yingchuan…”

“Quiet,” Wen Xing said, rubbing his temples. “Stop reading.”

He pointed to the room full of paperwork. “Who gave you permission to bring work to my sleeping quarters? Who gave you permission to work in here?”

Did he think I wouldn’t notice this workaholic is working overtime in my room? Doesn’t he know I hate work the most? Using memorials as a lullaby is fine, but bringing them right in front of me is another story.

Workaholics should be destroyed!

Ning Wujie remained calm. “Your Majesty wanted me to read, but my memory is poor, so I had to bring them all.”

Wen Xing: “……” What a sharp tongue.

“Throw them all out,” Wen Xing ordered coldly. “No work is allowed in my sleeping quarters.”

The servants moved in a steady stream to clear the room. Wen Xing added to Ning Wujie: “From now on, you are not allowed to read memorials to me, either.”

Give them an inch and they take a mile. He couldn’t allow this habit to start. Today it was bringing work in; what about tomorrow? Would he be dragged into working to death too? At the thought, Wen Xing’s chest pain flared up again.

Sensing the ache becoming sharp, he called out: “Medicine.”

Seeing Wen Xing’s lips turn pale, Ning Wujie finally realized something was wrong. Is the tyrant truly unable to govern because of a heart condition? He had always assumed it was an excuse.

If the ruler of a nation falls ill at the sight of work, isn’t that a disaster for the country? He had thought acting as a substitute was temporary, but it seemed the Emperor truly couldn’t lead. Power would inevitably fall into someone else’s hands.

What should I do?

The attendants quickly brought the medicine. As the pain receded, Wen Xing leaned back. He waved a hand at Ning Wujie. “Go away.” He didn’t want to see a workaholic who had just fallen asleep working in front of him. It was a nightmare.

Ning Wujie thought for a long time before testing the waters: “Your Majesty, do you still want to hear a storybook?”

Wen Xing eyed him suspiciously. “Your servant has a storybook I wrote myself. Would Your Majesty like to hear it?”

Intrigued, Wen Xing found a comfortable position. “Let’s hear it.”

Ning Wujie pondered for a moment, then began: “They say in Yingchuan County, there was an old woman who lived with her daughter-in-law. Her only son lived far away, yet throughout the ten-mile radius, he was known as a famous filial son.”

“The woman had a rare illness and was bedridden. She required tiger bone as medicine to sustain her life. However, live tigers are hard to hunt; only the Imperial Guards can do it. Thus, it is rare among the common folk and worth a fortune.”

“But even though that old woman was destitute, she received tiger bone every day to prolong her life.”

Wen Xing’s curiosity was piqued.

Ning Wujie continued: “Others said her son, who worked in the capital, secured it for her from the palace. But how could a mere sixth-rank official obtain tiger bone from the Imperial family?”

“So where did she get it?” Wen Xing asked.

“I will set that aside for now,” Ning Wujie said.

Wen Xing: “……” Hooking me. Fine.

“The son was indeed filial. He sent a letter every half-month, but his latest letter said he was resigning to return home and care for his mother. The woman was confused; her son was in his prime with a bright future. Why resign? The letter was vague. After that, no more letters came.”

“The woman was worried and asked around. She learned from a distant relative that her son had been dismissed and investigated for negligence he had been sent to the Imperial Prison.”

Wen Xing caught the detail. “The Imperial Prison?” That wasn’t for ordinary cases.

“It turns out her son was a Secretary in the Ministry of War. He was responsible for categorizing and marking memorials. Due to ‘negligence,’ he overlooked an extremely important border supply petition. However, in prison, he couldn’t withstand the torture and confessed that it wasn’t simple negligence he had suppressed it intentionally. As for the reason, he claimed a personal grudge against the border army.”

“He also said that because all memorials are first copied and filed in the Records Office, destroying or modifying them is a capital offense so he only dared to delay it. Delaying can be excused as negligence; destruction cannot. But he never expected to end up in the Imperial Prison.”

Wen Xing understood everything. His excitement died instantly. He said with a wooden face, “That isn’t a storybook. That’s a secret report from the Surveillance Bureau.”

It was the case of the delayed Ningyuan Army supplies.

Ning Wujie lowered his gaze. “Your Majesty is wise.”

Wen Xing: “……” Impressive. Secret reports are usually brief and factual. This kid had woven a story with hooks and cliffhangers just to keep him interested. He’s finding ways to make me listen to official business.

“It was quite… interesting,” Wen Xing admitted.

Ning Wujie asked, “Would Your Majesty like to hear more ‘stories’ like this?”

Wen Xing smiled. “That depends on how well you tell them.”

Ning Wujie nodded. “Understood.”

Seeing him make no move to continue, Wen Xing pressed: “So where did the tiger bone come from? And did the official tell the truth?”

Ning Wujie shook his head. “To know what happens next, you must wait for the next installment.”

Wen Xing: “……” He trapped me with an unfinished story! He wanted to curse.

Seeing the Emperor’s annoyance, Ning Wujie added, “I have not finished the investigation yet. Once it is clear, I shall report it to Your Majesty.” He then tested: “Does Your Majesty still require me to report on this matter?”

Wen Xing understood. The youth was digging a hole to make him follow the “stories”… no, the memorials! It was ridiculous, but he really wanted to know the ending.

He waved a hand helplessly. “Report back when you have results. Now get out.”

“Yes.”

Ning Wujie bowed and left, his figure disappearing into the night outside the Hall of Funing.

One hour later.

Ning Wujie had shed his elegant blue robes and changed into the black “Flying Fish” uniform of the Surveillance Bureau. He strode through the brightly lit corridors of the Imperial Prison. The sounds of screams, whipping, and clashing metal echoed off the stone walls.

The guards bowed as he passed. “Commander.”

Ning Wujie reached the interrogation room. The man inside was covered in blood-stained prison rags, his limbs bound to a chair of nails. The prisoner let out low moans of agony.

Ning Wujie removed his hat and placed it neatly on a table. When he looked up, his gaze was as cold as a judge of the underworld.

“How long?”

“Half an hour,” his subordinate replied.

“He can endure,” Ning Wujie said coldly. He leaned against the interrogation table, looking at the prisoner with zero emotion. “Shao Jian’an, you didn’t think you’d leave the Imperial Prison alive, did you?”

The prisoner looked up, saw Ning Wujie, and his pupils shook. “The Commander is… you? The Emperor actually gave you the Surveillance Bureau?!” He laughed tragically. “That tyrant!”

In the next instant, a pair of black boots appeared in his vision, and a silver flash severed the ropes binding him. Before he could look up, he was seized by the jaw and slammed upward, his feet nearly leaving the ground.

Ning Wujie said darkly, “Is ‘tyrant’ a name you’re fit to call him?”

A moment later, a horrific scream filled the prison.