Merely being brought out by the Third Prince filled Mu Xueshi with excitement. When he saw the wondrous scenery along the way, he could hardly contain himself.
To him, the prince’s courtyard was nothing short of a mortal paradise. With a touch of mist, it would rival the heavenly palace itself.
The moment he grew cheerful, he forgot himself entirely—chattering beside the Third Prince like a noisy little sparrow, speaking of things the prince did not understand. Whenever he noticed the prince’s expression darken, he would abruptly remember his precarious situation and fall into obedient silence—only to burst into exclamation again at the next marvel.
He snapped a century-blooming Yanran Blossom from its branch, twirled it between his teeth, then tossed it aside. He knocked the caps from rare mushrooms, leaving bare stems behind. Anything curious caught his eye—he plucked, kneaded, and discarded it. At times he even tucked insects into his sleeve, watching them crawl downward with fascination.
The Third Prince had painstakingly cultivated a vine called Qiqi Teng—an exceedingly rare plant found only in Qinyi Courtyard. It bore precisely forty-nine blossoms; only when all bloomed and withered together would it produce fruit said to extend one’s lifespan. This year, for the first time, all forty-nine had blossomed at once.
Naturally, Mu Xueshi selected that very vine—simply because it had the most flowers.
Gripping it firmly, he stripped it from end to tip in one swift motion. One hand held a bare vine; the other overflowed with petals. Laughing, he scattered them into the air and twirled the vine like a switch.
Further ahead, he spotted several trees bearing four-cornered fruits that resembled misshapen starfruit. Though he had rarely eaten starfruit before, seeing something familiar in a foreign land stirred warmth in his chest.
Calling out to the Third Prince, he ran beneath the trees and shook them vigorously. No fruit fell—only fluffy white catkins drifted down.
Standing beneath the snowfall of blossoms, he spun like an elf.
The Third Prince’s gaze softened—only for Mu Xueshi to suddenly shout and scramble halfway up the tree like a monkey.
The tree bore Soapberry Horn pods, used to make cleansing powder. Its bark trapped dust, and a thin layer of sand coated its trunk.
Mu Xueshi’s climb was awkward. Each meter gained cost him half in sliding descent. A tree barely three meters tall took him an eternity to scale.
The Third Prince merely observed below, offering no assistance. With a single leap he could have carried Mu Xueshi to the top—but he preferred watching the spectacle.
At last Mu Xueshi seized a large pod and yanked. The force sent him tumbling down.
Fortunately, the sandy earth cushioned his fall. Springing up unharmed, he hurried over proudly, clutching his prize.
The Third Prince asked nothing and continued walking toward Lingzi Lake.
Mu Xueshi wiped the pod clean with his sleeve. Just as he was about to bite into it, he paused—then held it out instead.
“There’s only one. You should have it.”
The Third Prince stopped.
Mu Xueshi’s face was utterly sincere. The pod gleamed from his polishing; to the unknowing eye, it might indeed look like some exotic fruit.
Futile Devices Scans 
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