Futile Devices Scans

Upon receiving the order, Eunuch Tai’an was astonished.

In this courtyard, no one had ever been punished.

Those who offended the Third Prince simply ceased to exist. Who had ever lived to be flogged?

The rods used for punishment were selected from the armory—dense hardwood, weighty as sabers, coated in gleaming silver lacquer that glinted harshly in the light.

Mu Xueshi stared unblinkingly at the punishment bench outside—and at the servant kneeling calmly beside it.

He felt more nervous than the accused. Swallowing hard, his nerves stretched to breaking.

Yet the Third Prince was not as composed as he appeared.

A servant had just reported that Ning Yue had escaped.

In a residence guarded so heavily, such an escape was impossible for a man previously bound with rope—unless aided from the shadows.

A figure flashed through the prince’s mind—

And his expression darkened.

The man before them was clearly not Ning Yue. His appearance and attire differed greatly. If Mu Xueshi dared look closely, he would see the truth at once.

Earlier, the prince had deliberately stressed Ning Yue’s name—testing whether Mu Xueshi would expose the substitution.

Servants in the palace were never called by full names; they bore standardized titles with surnames removed. This was common knowledge.

Yet Mu Xueshi had not reacted. He merely frowned in anxious worry.

Now, this replacement was another test.

If Mu Xueshi retained clarity, he would relax. If his mind were muddled, he would protest that the man was not Ning Yue.

The servant’s mouth was stuffed with soft wood. When bitten down upon during the beating, teeth would sink into it, preventing screams from escaping.

He lay obediently upon the bench, surprisingly calm—almost hopeful.

Eunuch Tai’an had selected him as a stand-in to amuse the prince. If enduring one beating brought future favor, he would gladly accept. The other servants watched with envy.

Cruel. Oppressive. Perverse.

Those were the words swirling in Mu Xueshi’s mind.

He pitied the servants. He pitied the dynasty.

If the Third Prince one day became emperor, how would the common people survive? Images from history books—of suffering masses—sent cold sweat trickling down his spine.

“Your Highness… I have something to say. Though I’m unsure if I should…” Mu Xueshi clasped his fists, hands trembling.

“Yes?” The prince’s expression was tranquil.

But the moment Mu Xueshi met his gaze, an unnamable fear seized him. His heart raced. His tongue knotted. The courage he had mustered collapsed instantly.

“Actually… it’s nothing… heh…”

He forced an awkward laugh.

The Third Prince’s expression darkened.

With a flick of his hand toward the window, he signaled the punishment to begin.

Then he cast Mu Xueshi a cold look and commanded—

“Speak.”

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