Futile Devices Scans

“…Oh, right—I’m quite loyal…”

“…This book—I’ll come tonight and copy it for you, but—…”

“…Remember to leave the door open for me~…”

Those words echoed faintly in his ears.

It felt as though a piece had suddenly been hollowed out of Ning Xuan’s chest—empty and desolate. It was not quite anger, merely a trace of disappointment. And yet, even that disappointment seemed unwarranted.

After all, the man had only spoken casually, as if in jest. It had been neither a promise nor an agreement. Moreover, Ning Xuan himself had never given his assent. If their positions were reversed, he would not have come either.

If anything, it was the one who took it seriously who was in the wrong.

A gust of night wind swept past, causing Ning Xuan to shiver.

Raising a hand, he unconsciously pressed it against his hollow, empty stomach. He should have eaten more that evening. Now hunger gnawed at him, sharp and restless—but he did not even have the inclination to detour toward the rear kitchen to find something to eat.

Like a wandering ghost, he drifted back to his quarters, pulled the blanket over his head, and fell into bed.

Strangely, despite having had no trace of sleepiness before, Ning Xuan fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

Another day passed in the same endless cycle.

These days—empty, tedious, yet exhausting—gradually wore down even Ning Xuan’s faint hopes for the future. He cursed himself inwardly for adapting so easily to a life of servitude, yet he could neither articulate nor grasp how to break free from it.

Yawning endlessly, he rose from bed. Having slept late, his eyelids drooped heavily despite forcing himself upright.

Only recently had he begun to understand how to wear these ancient robes, and the intricate knots that came with them. Though he managed to dress himself properly, the bulging folds at the hem of his robe earned him a sharp glare from Mo Qi.

Mo Qi could not help but sigh—how had Ning Xuan even grown up, if he could not manage his own daily affairs? A servant was meant to attend to his master—if the steward saw him serving in such a sloppy state, Ning Xuan would surely be skinned alive.

After much effort, Ning Xuan finally stepped out the door.

He had never known his “influence” could be so great.

One foot had barely crossed the threshold—while the other still lingered inside—when the bustling chatter outside abruptly ceased. The passing attendants fell silent, their footsteps halting as one.

One by one, they turned to look at him.

Their expressions were filled with curiosity, as though they had discovered some new continent.

The sight sent goosebumps crawling over Ning Xuan’s skin.

Under the weight of countless gazes, Ning Xuan found himself unable to retreat. Even the act of stepping forward felt stiff and unnatural.

Yet Mo Qi, by contrast, appeared utterly unaffected—completely immune to the various looks cast their way: curiosity, admiration, disdain, probing interest.

Ning Xuan instinctively shrank his neck slightly. Walking stiffly under everyone’s attention, he tilted his head and leaned toward Mo Qi, whispering softly:

“What’s wrong with them?”

His mind raced back over everything since entering the manor, confirming that he had done nothing outrageous or unforgivable.

“Nothing,” Mo Qi replied indifferently. “You’ll get used to it.”

After a moment’s thought, he turned and added earnestly, “If you try a little harder, in a few days they might be lining up to curry favor with you”

Hearing this, Ning Xuan felt a chill run down his spine.

Curry favor… with this many people?

What kind of earth-shattering deed would I have to commit for that to happen?!

No sooner had Ning Xuan and Mo Qi walked away than the attendants behind them sprang back to life. They leaned close, whispering and discussing fervently.

Ning Xuan could only smile bitterly.

Do they think I’m deaf? I’ve barely passed the last one of them…

Was he truly so disliked—or did they simply assume he could not hear?

All the way to the Library Pavilion, the same scene repeated again and again: sudden silence, stiff stares—then instant revival into hushed whispers.

Ning Xuan did not know whether to laugh or cry.

Had he somehow become one of the “four pests”?

The most exaggerated reaction came from a few younger attendants who had entered the manor after him. They looked even younger than Ning Xuan, spending their days carrying basins and lifting objects.

At times, Ning Xuan even felt that they themselves were the ones being carried.

When the two saw Ning Xuan and Mo Qi approaching, they dropped the bronze basin in their hands with a crash. Hastily crouching to pick it up, they still could not resist sneaking glances at him.

Whenever their eyes accidentally met his, they would immediately lower their heads—yet the next moment, they would look again, repeating the cycle without fail.

Seeing this, Ning Xuan was utterly baffled.

What in the world is going on?

While he was still pondering, Qing Zhu came hurrying over from another corridor, wearing a triumphant grin.

Without warning, he slapped Ning Xuan hard on the shoulder—so hard that tears nearly sprang to Ning Xuan’s eyes.

“As expected of my Ning Xuan! You’ve really brought us honor! Truly brought us honor!”

Qing Zhu spoke excitedly, practically overflowing with satisfaction.

“Look at those people—always forming cliques, strutting about arrogantly just because they once caught a distant glimpse of a favored master, or managed to latch onto some minor connection! And us? We’ve been stuck in this sunless Library Pavilion, getting none of the benefits, yet blamed for every fault they can pin on us!”

“They’ve never given us a decent look, always mocking us—and now? Now look how the tides have turned!”

“Brother, you’ve really brought us honor!”

Ning Xuan was completely lost, like a man groping in the dark, unable to grasp the situation.

He shot Mo Qi a pleading look, but that fellow did not even glance at him.

Meanwhile, Qing Zhu continued, spittle flying as he spoke, clearly delighted.

“Do you remember Xiao Jiu and He Xiang?”

At the mention of those two, Ning Xuan felt uneasy.

Though all were sold into servitude, few were as sharp-tongued as they were—constantly gossiping, speaking of others’ affairs. Who stood closer to which master, who received more reward—they would envy it all.

As for those servants who failed to gain favor, they treated them with cold disdain, acting as though they were above all.

What Ning Xuan could not stand most was this: although he did not believe people were inherently divided into ranks, this world already functioned that way—something he could not change.

If one must accept it, then so be it—but even an unfavored master was still a master. Today they might fall from favor; tomorrow they might rise again.

The Prince’s disposition was not something servants could predict.

Why involve oneself in the struggles for favor among the various consorts and young masters? In the end, would it not always be the servants who suffered?

Yet people like Xiao Jiu and He Xiang still rushed eagerly to serve favored masters, vying to be the first to attend them.

Having sorted through his thoughts, Ning Xuan returned his attention to Qing Zhu’s excited narration.

“You have no idea what their faces looked like this morning!” Qing Zhu said, nearly rolling with laughter.

“Their expressions were miserable, their faces green! And just as I was about to leave, they still couldn’t hold back—they came to ask me whether that rumor was true!”

“Hahaha! You should’ve seen how terrified they were—like they wished they could live their lives over again!”

“Rumor?” Ning Xuan froze, utterly bewildered.

Turning back, he looked at Qing Zhu in confusion.

“What rumor?”

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