Chapter 119: Who Doesn’t Feel Tempted Isn’t a Man

Feng Bai finally finished the extra push-ups he was punished with, his limbs weak and trembling as he was helped by a few comrades in misfortune to the cafeteria. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to lie down in the dormitory; rather, there was something far more important that needed their attention.

“Damn it, they actually resorted to corporal punishment. Not even the military training last semester was this brutal,” Feng Bai complained as his entire body went limp, collapsing onto a spot his roommate had reserved in advance. The others were similarly tended to.

Returning from winter break, he hadn’t expected to run afoul of the perimenopausal English teacher’s wrath and be punished on the spot. Lucky it wasn’t just him. Losing face was secondary—his thick skin was legendary—but the real issue was that it almost derailed his main priority.

That priority was the premiere of the first episode of “Dynasty.” Didn’t they see how the usually dreadful cafeteria was packed even outside regular meal times? Despite the large space and multiple TVs, it was still not enough. Where two usually sat, now three or more squeezed in, layered atop one another like a human pyramid.

“Don’t you always say that failing English means you’re patriotic? Got punished, huh!” teased the roommate, half-mocking but with a hint of sympathy.

“That old woman must be going through menopause. I didn’t even complain about my own failing grades, but she feels embarrassed and has been finding every excuse since the term started to pick on us,” Feng Bai said helplessly; this wasn’t the first time since the semester began.

Since waiting around in the cafeteria wasn’t a waste, and some girls had snacks ready, Feng Bai decided to buy some food to replenish his severely depleted energy. To his amusement, the cafeteria staff had also gathered near the TV, waiting to watch the show.

Luckily, his reflexes were sharp. By the time Feng Bai returned with several dishes, someone shouted, “It’s starting!” Instantly, silence fell as everyone lifted their eyes to the screen, fixated on the five grand characters “Dynasty: Beauty’s Plot.” The atmosphere was majestic, tinged with bloody tragedy, yet infused with a heroic fervor that stirred the soul.

Everyone said “Dynasty” wasn’t just about “Beauty’s Plot,” but also “Dynasty’s Plot.” That explained why this so-called “women’s drama” held the interest of so many men, all eagerly awaiting the broadcast.

Especially the opening prologue, woven with epic scenes to boost grandeur and visual impact. The passionate energy and commanding gestures made many men involuntarily thrilled. “Dynasty” promised not to disappoint.

Nowadays, grand scenes and big productions only appeared in films. In dramas, either optical illusions or post-production tricks were used. Whether intentional or not by the director, the result was always flawed, leaving discerning viewers unimpressed and feeling cheated by the artificiality.

But during “Dynasty’s” promotion, they emphasized the authenticity of the grand scenes. Those with a keen eye felt the difference immediately, and the opening prologue alone raised the conservative estimated ratings considerably.

Audiences weren’t fools; no one wanted to be duped. The so-called grand scenes of “Dynasty” were comparable to movie-level production, and everyone held that in their own estimation.

After what felt like an eternity waiting, the prelude ended and “Dynasty” finally began. The opening depicted the death of the old emperor and the young emperor overcoming countless hardships to ascend the throne—a tense and thrilling contest of wit, courage, and martial prowess rivaling the climax of many entire series.

Though this alone didn’t guarantee the show’s quality, it undeniably marked it as extraordinary and distinctive.

All eyes were glued in anxious anticipation as the young emperor finally took the throne. Just as relief seemed possible, it turned out to be only the beginning.

The imperial power waned, the eunuchs seized control, and the emperor’s lofty ambitions were gradually crushed by constant restrictions and opposition. Even when he wished to name his beloved as consort, he hesitated, weighed down by caution.

Unknowingly, the audience was drawn deep into the plot, feeling the youthful emperor’s bitterness and frustration, yet also his burning determination to rise. They found themselves rooting fervently, cursing the power-hungry ministers who usurped authority, sympathizing with the emperor’s plight, and developing impressions of the women in the harem.

Among them, without any noble background but gentle and beautiful like flowing water, Consort Rou caught everyone’s eye. She was the emperor’s most beloved.

Her understanding tenderness towards the emperor’s small affections, her clever covert maneuvers to balance the harem’s factions, her swift wisdom and resolute decisiveness—all made her the embodiment of perfection, instantly capturing and holding the viewers’ hearts.

“Damn, this Consort Rou has got to be the BOSS, the big BOSS, the perfect goddess!” Feng Bai exclaimed during a commercial break, still savoring the tightly woven plot. Everyone had been glued to the screen, afraid a single blink would miss a shred of brilliance.

Only during these ad breaks could they finally breathe out, releasing the tension that had gripped them.

The collective sighs felt like a shared exhale of relief—no one had felt this exhilarated in a long time, and, it seemed, for the first time, no one complained about ads interrupting the drama; instead, they welcomed the chance to catch their breath.

Finally, the commercials served their proper purpose—to relax the audience.

“Yeah, a goddess! Did you see those eyes? Now that I’m grown, I finally understand what ‘eyes that speak’ means. Every close-up makes my heart skip a beat…” the roommate said, utterly enchanted, with no one judging his obvious infatuation because everyone was still lost in the mesmerizing allure of those soulful eyes.

“Ha, boss, seems like you’re smitten…” the third roommate chuckled, surprised to see Feng Bai’s dishes barely touched. For a group that usually devoured food as ferociously as wild dogs fighting over scraps, this was unbelievable.

“So what if I’m smitten? Who says I’m not?” The roommate smacked the table, surprisingly candid about his infatuation, then grabbed his chopsticks and devoured his food with gusto. Whatever the kitchen staff had cooked tasted heavenly—when did the cafeteria chef become so skilled?

“Yeah, smitten. Any man who isn’t would be no man at all…” Feng Bai said with a grin. “No wonder she’s the emperor’s favorite—what great taste! ‘Dynasty and Beauty’ indeed. This is what it means to be an emperor…”