Mu Xueshi’s heart was torn in two.
Before him, the servant’s face twisted in pain. Beside him stood the Third Prince, stern and unyielding. The executioners’ brutal movements tore at his nerves—each strike landing like a blow against his own conscience. He wished to close his eyes, yet could not; his heart hovered in dread, suspended between fear and guilt.
The executioner struck deliberately—waiting for the condemned man to fully absorb the agony before delivering the next blow.
Fewer than ten strokes had fallen, yet to Mu Xueshi it felt like an eternity.
At last, under the Third Prince’s unrelenting gaze, Mu Xueshi slowly sank to his knees. Despair filled his face.
“It was I,” he said hoarsely. “I overturned the bookshelf and caused this chaos in Your Highness’s chamber. Please stop the punishment. I am willing to bear it in his stead.”
The words had scarcely left him when he began to sob.
“I know my crime… I won’t dare again… I won’t…”
With a slight gesture of his hand, the Third Prince halted the punishment outside. His eyes remained filled with scrutiny.
“You are close to that servant?”
Sniffling, Mu Xueshi answered honestly, “I only met him today.”
“Then why assume his guilt?”
Mu Xueshi suddenly raised his head, his voice cracking through tears. “How is it that I’m assuming his guilt? He didn’t do anything! I let him take more than ten blows for nothing!”
His anger was directed not at the prince—but at himself. He despised his own cowardice. In his former world, this would have been slander—an offense punishable by law.
The Third Prince no longer concerned himself with the trivial matter of the shelf. His thoughts had shifted elsewhere.
Was this truly the same person?
Disguise was impossible. That left only one explanation—a wandering soul inhabiting this body. Yet if that were so, why reveal himself so blatantly? Why draw suspicion?
While the prince pondered, Mu Xueshi abruptly threw himself forward and clutched the Third Prince’s leg, wailing.
“Your Highness, forgive me! We’re so close—I like you best of all! I admitted my fault, didn’t I? That should count for something! I’m terrified of those rods—what if I lose my mind from fright? Then you can’t punish me at all! Insanity absolves legal responsibility!”
He continued babbling until, suddenly, his eyes lit up.
“I remember! You said during the Eight Homage Festival no punishments may be carried out! You can’t go back on your word—an imperial prince must set an example!”
He pulled faces in exaggerated triumph, watching the prince’s expression shift.
In the end, the Third Prince summoned a Spirit Diviner.
The Spirit Diviner was an indispensable official within the palace—responsible for rituals and incantations. On rare occasions of alleged supernatural disturbances, such officials acted at their master’s command. Yet such acts were perilous; if exposed, both diviner and instigator would face dismemberment.
“Your Highness may rest assured,” the Spirit Diviner declared after examination. “This young master is robust in body. There is no sign of possession, wandering soul, or displaced spirit.”
Mu Xueshi exhaled in relief. If the prince discovered anything amiss, a mere flogging would be the least of his worries.
“As for the sudden change in temperament Your Highness described—formerly cold, now mercurial—it resembles memory loss following grave illness. Has Your Highness forgotten? Consort Mu once suffered such an affliction. After several days of rest, her mind returned.”
At the mention of Consort Mu, a chill flashed through the Third Prince’s eyes.
He turned to glance at Mu Xueshi—who appeared utterly at ease—and fell into silence.
Futile Devices Scans 
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