Futile Devices Scans

Mo Qi had long since grown accustomed to Ning Xuan’s excitable temperament. Half-asleep, he merely let out a drowsy hum in response.

Ning Xuan, however, chose his words with great care, fearful that one misstep might unsettle Mo Qi as well. It would be one thing for himself to suffer, but dragging a newly acquainted friend into trouble because of careless words would be far too much.

“Well… a man and a woman falling in love—that’s perfectly normal,” Ning Xuan began, then hurriedly clarified, “By ‘falling in love,’ I mean marriage. I’m just asking—if, say, two men… or two women… were to do the same—would that also be acceptable?”

Mo Qi was utterly exhausted. As a newly admitted servant, his days were filled with labor, and he dared not slack off lest someone seize upon his faults. Yet even at night, he had to indulge this perpetually restless companion in conversation.

Though his head nodded like a pecking chicken, he forced himself to remain barely conscious, replying in a half-dreaming murmur:

“Two women… I’ve not heard much of that. But two men? Of course that’s allowed. The custom of male companionship has long flourished among the nobility of our realm—it is an elegant tradition, with deep roots. From the Emperor down to the aristocracy, even wealthy merchants often keep male consorts. His Majesty himself has more than one male consort in the inner court.”

He paused briefly, then continued:

“Since male consorts cannot bear heirs, there has never been a male empress—but among the consorts, their status is often higher than that of the women. Even among equals, there is still a distinction.”

Ning Xuan froze on the spot, as if struck by lightning.

So… he was the only one shocked?

Male consorts, male favorites—these were considered refined? And even part of a long-standing tradition?

Could it be that, in matters of thought and openness, the ancients were far more unrestrained than those of the modern age?

In three quick strides, Ning Xuan seized Mo Qi by the collar and shook him awake.

“Are you delirious, or am I dreaming?! I’m talking about men—two men together! That kind of thing! And you’re saying that’s normal?! They’re both flat-chested! And they both—well—how does that even work?!”

Mo Qi, shaken nearly senseless, forced his eyes open with great effort.

“What nonsense are you stirring up in the middle of the night…? Sleep, just sleep! There’s plenty of work tomorrow…”

With that, he brushed Ning Xuan’s hand away, pulled the blanket over his head, turned over—and promptly fell back into deep slumber.

Left alone, Ning Xuan gazed up at the moon and sighed deeply.

Has this world’s system been worn down by too many transmigrators…?

At the hour of Mao, the court convened. Thus, by the hour of Yin, all servants within the residence had already risen to attend their duties.

Even Ning Xuan, Mo Qi, and Qing Zhu—mere minor attendants who might never set foot in the main hall—were required to rise before dawn, hungry and bleary-eyed, making their way through the dark to the library to perform their assigned tasks.

That morning, Mo Qi yawned incessantly—a rare sight. Meanwhile, Ning Xuan, usually brimming with energy and complaints, now stood dazed, his face drawn and spirit dim. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his expression resembled that of a man utterly bereft—like one who had lost family, wife, and child all in a single night.

Qing Zhu looked between the two of them in bewilderment, trying to discern the subtle yet undeniable shift that had occurred overnight.

Finally, he leaned toward Mo Qi and whispered what he believed to be a discreet conclusion:

“You couldn’t hold back anymore… and finally decided to make a move on him?”

At once, Ning Xuan—who had been standing as still as a wooden statue—snapped his head around, eyes blazing.

Qing Zhu shuddered, goosebumps rising instantly.

Only Mo Qi, still half-asleep, stepped in to smooth things over. He waved a hand, signaling that it was nothing, urging Ning Xuan to turn back to his work, while muttering to Qing Zhu:

“Say less. He’s in a foul mood. If you provoke him now… even a rabbit will bite when cornered—let alone a man.”

“But what happened?” Qing Zhu pressed on, his curiosity only growing the more he was told not to ask.

Unable to shake him off, Mo Qi finally dragged him aside toward a corner, pretending to dust shelves as he lowered his voice.

“He went out in the middle of the night and saw something he shouldn’t have.”

“What? A ghost?” Qing Zhu’s eyes lit up with excitement.

Mo Qi rolled his eyes, exasperated, but continued:

“He says he saw two guards by the lotus pond… together. Maybe they were a bit too… enthusiastic. Or maybe he just stood there and watched the whole thing. I don’t know—I was half-asleep. But when he came back, he didn’t let me rest at all.”

He shot a resentful glance at Ning Xuan’s back.

Qing Zhu, however, only grew more puzzled.

“That’s normal, isn’t it?”

This was a princely estate—true nobility. Such customs were not only accepted but regarded as refined among those of status. The higher one’s rank, the more commonplace it became. Even the Emperor himself sometimes attended audiences accompanied not by the Empress or female consorts, but by male ones.

Within this very residence, such matters were far from rare. Their own prince had several young masters housed in the western wing.

Before Qing Zhu could say more, Mo Qi lunged forward and clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Quiet! Keep your voice down!” he hissed. “I made the mistake of speaking too plainly last night, and it cost me my sleep. Don’t stir up trouble again—I’m the one who’ll suffer for it!”

“Mmff—!” Qing Zhu struggled, indignant. Once released, he complained bitterly:

“If you wanted me to be quiet, you could’ve just said so! Why stuff a rag in my mouth?!”

Mo Qi laughed awkwardly, attempting to change the subject—but the moment he lifted his head, his eyes widened in alarm.

Ning Xuan—

Who had been standing there just moments ago—

Had vanished without a trace.

And in his current state… who knew what chaos he might cause.

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