Hot Search Alert! The Princess Goes Viral Worldwide-Chapter 87

Susu had been gone for quite some time, yet Feng Chengxi remained dazed, his expression blank.

"Empress Gu, Susu is still underage!"

Feng ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‍Chengxi truly didn’t know how to articulate his thoughts.

Without even looking up, Gu Nanyan countered indifferently, "So what if she’s underage?"

Did being underage mean she couldn’t show filial piety? After all, Gu Nanyan was her ancestor.

Seated calmly in her chair, Gu Nanyan’s tone carried an air of nonchalance and absolute certainty. She had that kind of presence—as if everyone ought to serve her.

Not a trace of unease could be detected.

Feng Chengxi’s resolve instantly crumbled.

Not daring to press the matter further, he brought up something else instead. "Empress Gu, the netizens who saw your calligraphy copybook adore your handwriting. Over a million have petitioned to purchase it for practice. Would you consider releasing a copybook for sale?"

Feng Chengxi mentioned it casually, never expecting Gu Nanyan to agree.

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After all, creating a copybook was time-consuming, hardly profitable, and seemingly pointless.

Yet, to his astonishment, Gu Nanyan not only agreed but even smiled, her eyes curving with genuine delight.

Gu Nanyan rarely smiled, seldom showing happiness—even when her Weibo followers surpassed 300 million, she remained composed.

But now, something so trivial had brought her joy.

Feng Chengxi was stunned.

Little did he know that as a former grand princess, Gu Nanyan took the greatest pleasure in enlightening and uplifting the people.

How could she refuse when the public showed such eagerness to learn?

"The script I used for Susu is too intricate and hard to master. I’ll refine it into a simpler style—easy to learn, practice, and yield quick results," Gu Nanyan declared.

Feng Chengxi was puzzled. "Why simplify it? Don’t people nowadays prefer complexity, something difficult and flashy? They’d probably write in oracle bone script if they could."

Gu Nanyan ignored him. She preferred simplicity—the simpler, the better.

Take simplified Chinese characters, for instance. Despite their flaws, their greatest merit was accessibility. Had they existed during the Great Qi era, literacy rates would’ve soared.

Spending the entire night, Gu Nanyan devised a streamlined script and compiled a copybook of commonly used characters.

By the next morning, Feng Chengxi had sent it for printing, and by noon, sales had already begun.

The demand for Gu Nanyan’s copybook was overwhelming—50,000 pre-orders were placed before its official release.

Feng Chengxi was floored by the staggering sales figures.

During the afternoon livestream, only Gu Nanyan and Susu were in the classroom. Gu Nanyan spread out a large sheet of paper and began writing stroke by stroke.

At first, viewers didn’t grasp what was happening. But after she finished a line, realization dawned, and they erupted in excitement:

"Ahhh! Empress Gu is teaching us calligraphy! That’s the same script from the copybook—I already have mine, and it’s identical!"

"Wait, is she personally instructing us? How am I worthy?! Guys, grab your pens and start practicing!"

"Let’s go, let’s go!"

Netizens were electrified, scrambling for paper and pens to follow along.

After a while, one viewer lamented in the chat: "So depressing. How come Empress Gu’s characters look so elegant while mine resemble chicken scratch—loose and sloppy."

Susu spotted the comment and immediately relayed it to Gu Nanyan.

She had grown into her role as an assistant, stepping in whenever Feng Chengxi was absent.

Hearing the complaint, Gu Nanyan’s expression remained unchanged, but her strokes slowed. Calmly, she began explaining character structure and brush techniques.

Viewers who followed her guidance were astonished by their progress—

"Ahhh! Long live Empress Gu! My handwriting isn’t trash anymore! Is this really my work? It’s gorgeous—I’m framing it!"

"I could cry. Never thought I’d write decent calligraphy in my lifetime."

"Empress Gu’s teaching is flawless—no fluff, just pure essence. Even with a ballpoint pen, my writing looks polished now!"

While many tuned in for entertainment, countless others genuinely practiced. By the end of the session, they marveled at their improvement, flooding social media with boasts:

"Behold the masterpiece of this calligrapher extraordinaire.jpg"

"Pfft, as if yours is special. Check out mine—way prettier."

Parents, after testing the method, dragged their kids to the livestream for practice. In just one day, handwriting skills leaped forward.

Netizens were beside themselves, spreading the word like wildfire.

Empress Gu was miraculous—her techniques actually worked!

The initial print run of 5 million copies sold out instantly. Countless users tagged the show’s official accounts and Gu Nanyan’s page, demanding reprints.

Public sentiment shifted dramatically, with praises pouring in for Gu Nanyan.

Even her earlier exchange with Feng Chengxi resurfaced:

"‘If popularity drops, so be it! If I obsess over fame and trends, I’d become their slave!’"

The declaration rang with conviction.

Celebrities and influencers often stooped to anything for clout. Here was someone who prioritized learning, indifferent to declining engagement.

This was Empress Gu—a woman of profound compassion.

Some perceptive netizens were moved to tears.

"To witness Empress Gu in my lifetime—what an honor."

"She’s in a league of her own, steadfast and unshaken, unlike those pretentious hacks."

"Her magnanimity knows no bounds."

"She’s a candle—burning bright to light our way."

"‘The silkworm labors till death, the candle drips till its last tear’—this is our Empress Gu."

Gu Nanyan’s popularity surged again, but this wave differed from the last.

On the island, fans admired her bold, striking demeanor—superficial charm. Now, multitudes were touched by her character, her essence.

Casual admirers transformed into devoted followers.

Zhan Lingfeng remained unaware of all this. Buried in work, he couldn’t monitor Gu Nanyan’s livestreams constantly, delegating updates to his team.

Earlier, hearing her ratings had dipped due to backlash, he’d been concerned.

Yet this was her career, her choice. His role was to offer support—a shoulder when she faltered, reassurance that he’d always stand by her.

If nothing else, Zhan Lingfeng had wealth to spare.

If "Let’s Go to School" underperformed, he’d fund her ventures—films, dramas, whatever she desired.

With a project wrapped up and a rare break ahead, Zhan Lingfeng resolved to visit Gu Nanyan on set.

Before heading out, Zhan Lingfeng decided to check online updates first.

Frowning, he opened Weibo, bracing himself for a flood of crude insults.

But when he clicked on Gu Nanyan’s profile, he was stunned—her follower count had skyrocketed to 400 million!

Zhan Lingfeng was utterly baffled. What the hell happened?

He switched to Douyin, only to find it flooded with short videos about Gu Nanyan.

Countless edits of her clips dominated the platform, each racking up insane likes.

Even a handful of her photos had tens of thousands of likes.

The comments were a chorus of:

"Awooo, my Queen Nanyan is the most gorgeous!"

"Sniffles—my focused, dedicated, one-of-a-kind Queen."

"Queen Nanyan’s charm is unstoppable."

Zhan Lingfeng: "…"

What the hell went down while he wasn’t looking? Now hundreds of millions more were trying to steal his wife?