Futile Devices Scans

Hearing this, the two of them finally let out a breath of relief. Yet when they saw Ning Xuan’s utterly serious expression—clearly the look of someone who would not rest until he had an answer—they could not help but feel awkward.

They exchanged glances.

After a long moment, Qing Zhu—who was the more lively and talkative of the two—cleared his throat and spoke up. Still, mindful of Ning Xuan’s feelings, he chose his words carefully.

“Have you ever looked in a mirror?” he asked cautiously. “Or heard what others say… about your appearance?”

This time it was Ning Xuan’s turn to be baffled.

He had always had a fairly clear idea of what he looked like. True, he wasn’t some peerless paragon of heroic masculinity or devastatingly handsome charm—but he could at least be considered elegant and agreeable, someone people generally found pleasant enough to look at.

At the very least, he was nowhere near ugly enough to make people flee in terror.

But as the thought settled in his mind, Ning Xuan suddenly froze.

Ever since transmigrating, he had never once seen his own reflection.

Could it be that the distortion of space and time during the transmigration had disfigured him?

In those web novels he used to read, people would transmigrate at the drop of a hat—some while using the toilet, some while scrubbing the bathroom—and they always arrived perfectly intact. So how had things turned out like this for him?

Ning Xuan suddenly felt the urge to raise his head and howl at the heavens.

You can’t do this to me!

Meanwhile Qing Zhu and Mo Qi exchanged another glance, both wearing expressions that clearly said: Just as we suspected.

“Your face…” Qing Zhu finally said. “It’s very beautiful.”

Ning Xuan’s scattered consciousness slowly returned, but his mind still struggled to process the word.

Beautiful?

Could that even be used to describe a man?

After thinking it over for a moment and realizing the term might indeed be somewhat inappropriate, Qing Zhu quickly corrected himself.

“No, that’s not quite right. It’s not beauty—it’s more like… demonic charm. Too alluring. Too… enchanting.”

He delivered this verdict with complete seriousness.

Beside him, Mo Qi nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Demonic…?”

The word echoed in Ning Xuan’s mind.

For some reason it sounded strangely familiar, as if someone had said something similar to him long ago.

He tried desperately to get his stunned brain working again—but instead of calm reasoning, the result was another explosive eruption of his inner cosmos.

Only this time he didn’t bother suppressing it.

“Damn it!” Ning Xuan suddenly roared. “Explain yourself! What the hell do you mean by demonic!?”

With the ferocity of a starving tiger pouncing on prey, he lunged at Qing Zhu, knocking him flat. Grabbing Qing Zhu’s slender neck with both hands, he shook him violently as if determined to rattle him apart.

“I’m a man! A man! Can’t you see that?!” he shouted furiously. “Demonic my ass—this is called handsome, got it?!”

Mo Qi hurried forward and dragged Ning Xuan off Qing Zhu.

His expression looked as though he had just witnessed a ghost.

Inwardly he reminded himself over and over:

Never judge a book by its cover.

Who would have guessed that someone who appeared so delicate and willow-fragile could unleash such terrifying energy when he lost his temper?

At last freed from Ning Xuan’s clutches, Qing Zhu clutched his throat and coughed violently, still looking utterly bewildered.

What on earth had he said wrong?

In the end, the three of them could be said to have become friends through conflict.

After a full day of exhausting labor, Ning Xuan finally learned the truth of his situation: he had been sold into a princely household.

Not just any household, either.

It belonged to none other than the Fifth Prince of the empire, Feng Xuanyi—the Prince Rong.

By piecing together bits and pieces of information from different sources, Ning Xuan gradually formed a rough understanding of the era he had transmigrated into.

The dynasty was called the Hua Dynasty. Many nations existed across the continent, but Hua was among the largest and most powerful.

The current emperor possessed countless consorts and concubines, which naturally meant he had produced no shortage of sons. Yet in recent years his health had steadily declined. With so many adult princes vying for power, it was inevitable that many of them coveted the imperial throne.

Feng Xuanyi, the Fifth Prince, had been born to the Empress, granting him extremely noble status. Yet in the emperor’s eyes, he seemed little different from the other princes.

Traditionally, the rule of succession favored the eldest or the legitimate heir born of the empress.

However, to everyone’s astonishment, the emperor ignored both traditions. Instead, he named as crown prince the son of his current favorite consort—Consort Jing.

That son was the Second Prince, Feng Xuanmo, known as Prince Xun.

The decision shocked the entire empire and caused endless debate within the court. But ministers were still ministers; in the end they could not oppose the emperor’s will.

Yet the Crown Prince’s position soon grew unstable.

The emperor’s declining health threatened the very source of his favor, and court officials began quietly choosing new allegiances. The princes themselves also formed factions.

Gradually three major camps emerged:

• One supporting Crown Prince Feng Xuanmo

• One supporting the eldest legitimate son, the First Prince Feng Xuanzhe, Prince Yi

• And a third group of princes and officials who remained undecided, waiting to see which way the wind would blow.

As for Ning Xuan’s own master—the Fifth Prince, Feng Xuanyi—he naturally stood with his elder brother, the First Prince.

Ning Xuan quickly mapped the political factions in his mind.

He couldn’t help sighing inwardly.

Poor families had children until they grew poorer and poorer. But emperors seemed to have children simply because they had nothing better to do.

And in the end?

All those sons only led to power struggles, dynastic upheaval, and chaos under heaven.

Being human is hard, Ning Xuan concluded silently.

Being an emperor is even harder.

But being an emperor who produces a whole army of sons… that must be the hardest of all.

“What are you muttering about over there?”

Crack!

A sharp knock landed on Ning Xuan’s head before he could react. Pain shot through him instantly, tears welling up in his eyes.

He glared resentfully at Qing Zhu, who looked completely innocent.

Grinding his teeth, Ning Xuan cursed inwardly.

It had only been a few days since they met. The shy boy who once blushed furiously just because Ning Xuan greeted him had vanished entirely.

After spending time together, Ning Xuan had concluded that Qing Zhu wasn’t merely lively and cheerful.

He was thick-skinned and utterly incorrigible.

Not only did he repeat the same mistakes endlessly—he did so without the slightest awareness, and even seemed to enjoy it.

Watching him sometimes made Ning Xuan think that if he were Qing Zhu’s mother, he might have sold the kid off long ago too.

Keeping him at home would simply be a disaster.

Mo Qi, on the other hand, was completely different.

Quiet. Steady. A man of few words.

Though the three often joked and played together, Ning Xuan always felt there was something hidden beneath Mo Qi’s calm exterior—something difficult to read.

Still, when it mattered, Mo Qi proved himself loyal.

Just two days earlier, Ning Xuan and Qing Zhu had been starving and sneaked into the back kitchen to find food. Unfortunately they had run straight into Xiao Tang during an inspection.

Before Xiao Tang could even scold them, Mo Qi calmly stepped forward and said the two had gone to the latrine.

Naturally, Xiao Tang had no interest in verifying that claim personally.

And so the matter passed.

When Ning Xuan and Qing Zhu later returned—arms stuffed with stolen pastries—they finally realized how badly things could have gone.

Both nearly burst into tears with gratitude.

They treated Mo Qi like a living bodhisattva.

The three of them crouched behind some stacked crates and devoured their spoils like a pack of starving wolves.

From that day on, Ning Xuan firmly classified Mo Qi as the type of person who spoke little but possessed deep loyalty.

By now Qing Zhu had grown completely immune to Ning Xuan’s watery-eyed pitiful expression.

With lightning speed he snatched the untouched spring roll from Ning Xuan’s bowl.

“I know you don’t like sweets,” Qing Zhu said smugly. “So I’ll be kind and help you finish it.”

Before Ning Xuan could protest, the spring roll vanished into Qing Zhu’s mouth.

He chewed slowly and exaggeratedly, smacking his lips with obvious enjoyment—as though determined to make sure everyone around him knew just how delicious it was.

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