Futile Devices Scans

“Huh?”

At those words, Qing Zhu was left like a man groping in the dark, unable to grasp how the conversation had suddenly reached this point.

“What rumor?” Ning Xuan repeated.

Qing Zhu froze for a moment, assuming Ning Xuan was merely embarrassed. At once, a mischievous grin spread across his face, his expression turning as sly as some lecherous uncle. He waggled his brows repeatedly at Ning Xuan.

“Come on now, we’re such good brothers, and you’re still hiding it from me? That’s too distant, isn’t it? Besides, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about! So many people are eagerly waiting and wishing for this kind of opportunity, crowding forward every day—and none of them can match your speed!”

“Tut, tut—impressive! Truly something to hold your head high over!”

As he spoke, he threw an arm around Ning Xuan’s shoulders and began roughly ruffling the carefully arranged hair bun Ning Xuan had only just managed to tie.

Ning Xuan’s eyelids twitched.

His instincts told him this was nothing good. Watching the vastly differing yet uniformly conspicuous reactions around him, a chill crept steadily up the back of his neck.

Ning Xuan’s sudden change in expression caused even Qing Zhu—still basking in his own pride—to falter.

He lifted his head, only then noticing Mo Qi frantically signaling at him with exaggerated winks, as though his eyes were about to cramp.

A bad feeling struck Qing Zhu at once.

He recalled how, a few days ago, he had joked about something similar. Though Ning Xuan had not shown outright disgust or rejection, his expression at the time had clearly been one of utter shock—like being struck by heavenly lightning.

Now, seeing Mo Qi leaning against a pillar with a helpless sigh, Qing Zhu only wanted to throw Ning Xuan aside and flee for his life.

Ning Xuan straightened.

His dark eyes fixed steadily on Qing Zhu, his expression composed yet grave.

Under that gaze, Qing Zhu felt as though every bone in his body had stiffened, unable to move even if he wanted to turn and run.

“Hehe…” Qing Zhu forced a laugh, his smile not reaching his eyes. “It’s nothing, really. Just some jokes—people talking nonsense for fun.”

He tried to bolt—but Ning Xuan’s inscrutable tone froze him in place.

“Oh?” Ning Xuan smiled—smiled, at least in his own estimation.

“What ‘jokes’? What ‘nonsense’? Why don’t you let me hear it as well? Don’t keep laughing behind my back and leave me wandering in confusion.”

Ignoring Qing Zhu’s tearful, on-the-verge-of-crying expression, Mo Qi turned and left without a backward glance, heading straight toward the Library Pavilion to busy himself with work.

Realizing that his last “lifeline” had vanished, Qing Zhu could only brace himself. Putting on a look of reckless resolve, he said:

“Actually, it’s nothing serious. Everyone just knows that you’ve gained the favor of the master, so they’re all talking about it. But you don’t need to mind it. For people like us—servants and attendants who lack learning and know nothing of blades and spears—this is the best path we could hope for.”

“They’re just sour because they can’t have it—grapes they cannot eat are said to be sour. Some even say your good fortune won’t last…”

At this point, Qing Zhu’s expression twisted with resentment, teeth clenched. Then, with renewed fervor, he spoke earnestly, his tone both solemn and impassioned:

“But you—this is a rare chance. You must seize it well! No matter how unpleasant their words, at this stage they can only talk—they don’t dare act too harshly. Once you become a young master, won’t they all have to cling to you instead?”

“So why concern yourself with idle gossip, reputation, or status? That’s nothing but wasted effort! For people like us—servants and slaves—what reputation or status do we even have? Even if what they say is true… is true… ah!”

He waved his hand, unable to finish, then pressed on:

“In any case, as long as you push forward in one breath and become a young master of the west wing, all of them will have to shut their mouths. Those who used to give you trouble will come running back, bowing low and currying favor!”

“So, brother—this opportunity is rare. You must grasp it firmly, understand?”

As he spoke, he solemnly patted Ning Xuan’s shoulder, his expression clearly saying: I have high hopes for you.

Though Qing Zhu spoke at length while avoiding the crucial point, Ning Xuan still felt as though he were wandering in a fog.

Yet a few piercing words—words that should have had nothing to do with him—struck straight into his spine.

“Master? Which master are you talking about?”

Qing Zhu chuckled.

“In this Prince’s Manor, there’s only one true master. Who else could it be?”

“The others in the various wings count as well, but only half so. And you can’t address them that way casually—you call them Madam or Young Master, don’t you?”

Like a bolt of heavenly thunder crashing down—

So this… was the crux of the matter.

Heaven knew that since entering the manor, Ning Xuan had scarcely seen more than a handful of the various young masters and madams. Even when he did catch a glimpse, it was only from afar—so distant that he could not even distinguish their features.

Let alone the so-called Prince Rong, Feng Xuanyi.

Just the thought of it made his legs tremble.

A figure of that caliber—Ning Xuan knew full well he was not the type to fawn and flatter. If he were truly to encounter such a killing god, someone like him—loose-tongued and careless—might very well lose his life without even knowing how it happened.

Thus, ever since entering the manor, aside from joking and fooling around with Mo Qi and Qing Zhu in private, Ning Xuan had always kept his head down—low-profile in both conduct and speech.

“Could there be some mistake? I barely know anyone in this manor—why would I have anything to do with such a great figure? I’d sooner avoid him than approach him!” Ning Xuan said, pressing a hand to his forehead.

But Qing Zhu, assuming Ning Xuan was simply shy and unwilling to admit it, did not press further. Instead, he wore an ambiguous, knowing smile, muttering under his breath:

“Fine, fine—keep hiding it. Let’s see how long you can keep it up. Still, what a pity… I didn’t get the chance to witness that moment yesterday—when you stood side by side, gazing at each other so tenderly, embracing so intimately…”

“Ah… you’re really too distant with me~”

Before Ning Xuan could even react, Qing Zhu had already turned away, leaving behind a retreating figure that made one itch to rush up and give him a good beating. Yet he walked off with an air of leisurely composure, utterly unhurried.

Throughout the entire morning, an unspoken tension hung in the Library Pavilion among the three of them.

Mo Qi was as ever—wearing that indifferent, corpse-like expression, unmoved by anything.

Qing Zhu, however, was another matter entirely. His face brimmed with ambiguous amusement, and from time to time—whether intentional or not—he would let out a few low chuckles.

Whenever he met Ning Xuan’s sharp gaze, he would quickly avert his eyes, feigning a cough to cover it up—yet more than once, his “coughing” would devolve into barely suppressed laughter.

Ning Xuan ground his teeth in irritation.

Inwardly, he marked that so-called “master”—whom he had never even met—as a dangerous figure.

This Prince Rong, Feng Xuanyi, must surely be fated to clash with him. He had already been keeping his head down, avoiding trouble at every turn, yet somehow still ended up entangled in such a mess.

If by some cursed coincidence they were ever to meet face to face, who knew how he might die without even realizing it!

When the long-awaited noon meal arrived, Ning Xuan stepped into the dining hall full of anticipation.

Though not large, the room could at least accommodate thirty to forty attendants. Yet the moment he crossed the threshold—

Silence fell.

Utter silence.

Damn it! Do they think I’m some kind of plague?!

Feigning composure, Ning Xuan sat down with Mo Qi and Qing Zhu at a table in the corner.

The two attendants who had been seated there just moments ago vanished instantly, as though fleeing disaster.

The corner of Ning Xuan’s mouth twitched. Even the hand holding his chopsticks trembled slightly.

Even if he tried his best to ignore the outside world, with such blatant “whispering” all around him—

If he still could not hear it, he would not be deaf—he would be dead.

Damn it! Who’s going to explain to me—what do they mean by:

“Relying on a bit of looks, shamelessly crawling into the master’s bed?”

And what is this supposed to mean:

“Look at that seductive fox-like appearance—neither man nor woman, all strange and unnatural. Who knows what the master even sees in him?”

With forced “gentleness,” Ning Xuan tapped his chopsticks lightly against the table.

In an instant, the entire hall fell silent once more.

Damn it! Do they take me for some kind of courtesan?!

No—worse—a kept male companion!

And not just any—one who shamelessly throws himself at others… a man warming another man’s bed!

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