“You…”
Don’t you remember me?
Wei Fu’s lips moved slightly, as if he wished to speak but held back. The young man in black lifted the edge of his bamboo hat with his fingertips and looked at him with measured scrutiny.
“But I have never been to Xiling, nor have I ever paid a visit to the Duke Zhenguo. I do not know where Young Master Wei might have seen me.”
Wei Fu was clearly stunned for a moment, murmuring to himself, “That’s true… you couldn’t possibly have been here…”
The blunt denial fell like a blade, severing what little hope he had left. Perhaps recalling how Wei Fu had shielded him earlier, the young man in black awkwardly added:
“A person as remarkable as Young Master Wei—if I had ever met you, even once, I should not have forgotten so easily.”
The flattery did nothing but make things more awkward. Wei Fu forced a faint smile. “I dare not accept such praise. You flatter me.”
For a moment, neither knew what to say. They stood facing each other in uneasy silence. Outside the window, leaves rustled in the wind, while distant street vendors called out their wares. The stillness inside the room suddenly felt all the more pronounced.
“You today…”
“Today…”
They spoke at the same time, then both stopped. The young man in black recovered first and said:
“Thank you for helping me out today, Young Master Wei. I still have matters to attend to, so I won’t impose further. I take my leave.”
“Wait!”
How could Wei Fu let him slip away so easily? His questions came in rapid succession like a barrage:
“Why have you come to Xiling this time? What’s wrong with that pharmacy? Why did you go there—and what exactly happened with that murder case? Did you know the deceased?”
The young man in black tilted his head slightly, his pale lips curving downward as he let out a faint click of his tongue. “You ask too many questions.”
“Not as many as the suspicions surrounding you.”
“And if I refuse to answer?”
“Then I…”
Wei Fu suddenly stopped. He said nothing, only stared at him, his eyes faintly reddening. After a moment, he abruptly looked away, lowering his head with a self-mocking laugh.
“It seems I don’t have much of a way to deal with you.”
The young man in black folded his arms, feeling that the words sounded both helpless and faintly threatening at the same time.
He could not see through Wei Fu’s thoughts. If the person standing before him were an ordinary man with no influence over court affairs, he could simply leave without another word. But Wei Fu was a close and trusted minister of the emperor of Xiling. If he did not give him a satisfactory explanation today, and Wei Fu remembered this, what if he repaid it in kind later, with interest?
After a brief moment of contemplation, he made his decision swiftly and spoke:
“Since Young Master Wei recognizes me, then let us speak plainly—no need for concealment. Your country is about to dispatch a minister to Longsha to assist in governance. Though it is not as grand as a marriage alliance, it is nonetheless a major matter of diplomacy between our two nations. Before departure, our ruler repeatedly instructed the delegation to act with utmost caution and not to slight your esteemed nation. Thus, as the delegation approached Fengdu, I came ahead alone, entering the city in disguise to familiarize myself with the situation, so as to avoid mistakes upon arrival.”
Back when the army of Yanyuan pressed upon the city, Yu Gong Feng Ting, in seeking aid from other nations, had placed the marriages of his three children upon the bargaining table. When he came to Xilng, Emperor Jin Yuan deemed marital alliances unreliable and instead proposed a vassal alliance, promising support to Longsha. Should foreign enemies invade, Xiling, as the suzerain state, would send troops to protect Longsha.
Previously, Xiling had never dispatched a minister to assist in governance abroad. As such, where exactly such a minister should be placed, and what etiquette should be used to receive him, was a delicate matter. Wei Fu had already seen the roster of the Longsha delegation from Mu Heng: the chief envoy was a royal prince, and the deputy envoy was a Vice Minister of the Court of Diplomatic Reception. This arrangement was in fact on par with the protocol used for escorting a marriage-alliance princess—a clear sign of Longsha’s courtesy toward the assisting minister.
Suddenly, a thought struck him.
He realized that he had been too presumptuous, overlooking an obvious fact.
This man was a member of the Longsha delegation. He knew Wei Fu’s identity and had clearly recognized that Wei Fu knew him as well, yet he showed no urgency to deny it or flee. Instead, he carried himself with a curious composure, as though certain that—even if his actions today had crossed a line—Wei Fu would grant him face and smooth the matter over. That was why he had been fencing with him all along, mixing truth and falsehood in a game of evasions.
He was certainly no ordinary figure—his status must be significant, or else the term “in disguise” would not apply to him. And judging from his attitude, he clearly had contingencies in reserve; he was not afraid that Wei Fu might expose his identity outright.
Among the names on the list, only one fit all these conditions—
The youngest brother of the former ruler of Longsha, Yu Gong Feng Ting, and the imperial uncle of the new ruler, Yu Gong Lie:
Prince Xiaohui, Yu Gong Zhao Ye.
“You truly are… extraordinarily bold.”
Wei Fu’s thoughts were a tangled mess, like a knot of dog fur clogging his mind. After a long pause, this was all he managed to say. The young man in black clearly understood that what he meant was “recklessly audacious,” and a faint, nearly imperceptible smile flickered in his eyes. With impeccable courtesy, he replied:
“I dare not accept such praise. You flatter me.”
Wei Fu: “……”
That tone—nine times out of ten, it had to be Yu Gong Zhao Ye. No wonder he had not followed the Imperial City Guards in addressing him as “Lord Wei,” but had insisted on “Young Master Wei.” After all, a prince might scale walls and sneak about like a thief, but he would never lower his own status in speech.
This prince’s reputation was not particularly widespread; most rumors about him among the common folk concerned his origins. Wei Fu had only recently heard these stories while involving himself in the diplomatic mission.
It was said that his mother had once been a bandit queen, ruling over a mountain stronghold. Captured during a government suppression campaign and brought to court in chains, she had captivated the former king, Yu Gong Du, with her beauty. Disregarding the protests of his ministers, he took her into the harem as a Noble Consort. For years she enjoyed his favor and eventually bore him a son, whom he named Zhao Ye.
In the twenty-fourth year of Zheng An in Longsha, Yu Gong Du passed away, and the Crown Prince Yu Gong Feng Ting ascended the throne. Less than a year after the war between Longsha and Yanyuan, the Dowager Consort passed away as well. Only then did Yu Gong Feng Ting seem to remember this forgotten younger brother tucked away in some corner. He dusted him off, as it were, and at the age of fifteen, granted him the title of prince.
The always quiet and low-key young prince showed good sense, submitting a memorial to request that Xiaohui Mountain—his mother’s homeland—be granted to him as his fief. The ruler readily agreed, and thus he came to be known throughout court and country as the “Prince of Xiaohui.”
The native faith of Longsha revered the “Four Deities” of heaven, earth, mountains, and seas, as well as the “Nine Luminaries” embodied by the sun, moon, and stars. Even after becoming a prince, Yu Gong Zhao Ye remained cautious and unassuming, keeping his head down. Not only did he refrain from entering court to take office—thus sparing his imperial brother any trouble—but he took an entirely different path, becoming a “Divine Envoy” of the Nightlight Hall, which served the Moon Deity.
By convention, a Divine Envoy must devote himself wholly to the gods, abstaining from worldly affairs and severing emotional attachments. Strictly speaking, Yu Gong Zhao Ye was therefore akin to one who had renounced the world. When the list had first reached Xiling, Mu Heng had remarked with a sigh that Longsha must be going to great lengths to curry favor—its royal house so sparsely populated that they had even dragged a prince with one foot already outside the mortal realm to fill out the delegation.
Had he not seen it with his own eyes, Wei Fu would never have believed that this cold and cunning man—who could sneak onto rooftops and press a blade to someone’s throat at the slightest provocation—was the very same “modest and retiring, free of worldly strife” Prince Xiaohui of the rumors.
Whether their doctrine required it or not, in practice, Yu Gong Zhao Ye was clearly far removed from anything resembling “compassion.”
Wei Fu’s expression shifted several times, as though something were lodged in his throat—neither to be swallowed nor spat out. Sensing that he might have been startled, Yu Gong Zhao Ye thought for a moment and added an explanation:
“The pharmacy case has nothing to do with me. I did not kill anyone, nor do I know what truly happened. I merely passed by out of curiosity, took a look—and ended up being chased as a suspect for three whole streets.”
Wei Fu did not believe a single word. The Imperial City Guards had said they encountered a suspicious figure in the back courtyard of the pharmacy. What kind of “passing by” would take someone straight into another person’s courtyard?
“Your Highness,” Wei Fu said with a wry smile from the bottom of his heart, “even if you refuse to tell the truth, I will certainly have that pharmacy thoroughly investigated. And when that happens, if anyone else is harmed by mistake, there may not be such good fortune as today.”
Yu Gong Zhao Ye caught the probing intent in his words, but did not realize that the probe was directed at his identity. “Thank you for the reminder. As I said, this matter has nothing to do with me. If Young Master Wei wishes to investigate, by all means, proceed.”
So it really was him.
For a moment, countless complicated emotions surged within Wei Fu, leaving him unsettled and at a loss for how to continue. Seeing that he had nothing more to say, Yu Gong Zhao Ye turned to leave.
Wei Fu suddenly jolted, and in his urgency, his hand moved faster than his thoughts—he reached out and grabbed the man’s sleeve.
Yu Gong Zhao Ye nearly stumbled from the pull.
“What do you mean?” He raised his arm and held it up before Wei Fu. “Changed your mind? Planning to drag me before the authorities?”
As if scalded, Wei Fu snatched his hand back at once. “My apologies—I acted on impulse. I didn’t expect you wouldn’t dodge…”
Yu Gong Zhao Ye gave a soft “Oh.” “So it’s my fault?”
“No, no.” Wei Fu retreated two steps in quick succession. The gentle smile that usually lingered in his eyes and at the corners of his lips faded, even the sheen of his hair seeming to dull. “It was my offense. Your Highness, please forgive me. I…”
He faltered like a rooster that had suddenly forgotten how to crow, unable to produce another word. Yet Yu Gong Zhao Ye found his crestfallen, listless appearance rather amusing, raising one brow slightly.
“Weren’t you rather eloquent just now?”
“…Forget it.”
Wei Fu looked as though he had taken a blow to the head, his voice dull. “I will keep today’s matter strictly confidential, Your Highness need not worry… Your status is esteemed; please take extra care when moving about Fengdu.”
Those words amounted to a polite release—a carefully phrased concession, the most presentable courtesy he could muster.
Yu Gong Zhao Ye said nothing. Wei Fu lowered his head in faint dejection, when suddenly a hand extended into his field of vision.
Resting in that palm was a small dagger, only slightly longer than a hand. Its sheath was pure white, its texture like drifting clouds with faint iridescent hues—made of some unknown material. At the end of the hilt hung a purple crystal pendant, carved into… a—
“A puppy?”
“A leopard.”
Wei Fu: “…My apologies, Your Highness. I have poor eyesight.”
“In our land’s legends, when the Leopard God died, it became Xiaohui Mountain, and its eyes turned into the purple crystals within the mountain. Under the Leopard God’s protection, martial fortune prospers.” Yu Gong Zhao Ye took Wei Fu’s hand and pressed the dagger into his palm. “A token of thanks for your help today. Nothing valuable—keep it as a trinket.”
He could tell that Wei Fu’s attitude toward him was strangely complicated. Even accounting for caution toward his status, a trusted court official and scion of a noble house would not retreat so readily without probing further. Yu Gong Zhao Ye was no fool; he suspected there might be some prior connection between them—though he could not recall it at the moment, and this was hardly the time for reminiscing.
He carried little on him. Offering gold or silver would seem like a reward; leaving behind a written token felt too insubstantial. Fortunately, he had this dagger. Though an old possession, it suited the moment perfectly—a fitting keepsake.
Caught off guard as his hand was suddenly grasped, Wei Fu reacted strongly, his whole body shuddering as he looked up sharply. His lips parted as if to speak, but Yu Gong Zhao Ye had no patience to listen further. He waved a hand.
“If fate allows, we shall meet again. Stay where you are—no need to see me off.”
With that, he vaulted out the window, dropped into the courtyard, and in a flicker behind the ginkgo tree, his figure vanished without a trace.
“Young Master, Young Master?”
Wei Rong’s voice from outside snapped Wei Fu out of his daze. He had been standing there, staring blankly at the ginkgo tree. The dagger weighed heavily in his palm; the cord attached to it was slightly worn and faded, and the thumb-sized little leopard still held a trace of the other man’s warmth.
“I believe in fate now.”
He murmured softly to the empty air, carefully stowing the dagger before walking over to open the study door.
“What is it?”
Wei Rong said, “Just now the attendants mentioned that a few tiles in the back courtyard have loosened and fallen. I was wondering if Young Master would like to hire a craftsman tomorrow to repair the roof? This time we were lucky—but if it happens again and someone gets hurt, that would be troublesome.”
Wei Fu said nothing for a long moment before replying, “This house has been empty for nearly twenty years… who would it even hit?”
Wei Rong hesitated, wanting to persuade him further, but upon seeing his frost-like expression, he shrank back and lowered his head.
No matter how carefully the furniture was maintained and polished, its age could not be concealed. Golden-red sunlight streamed over the top of the ginkgo tree, bathing the entire room in a half-lit, half-shadowed glow of dusk, as if time itself had come to a standstill.
After such a long wait, to see that person again—so this was what it felt like.
Like an ant awakened from amber—only upon turning back did it suddenly realize that a thousand years had already passed.
“There are mechanisms on the roof. Be careful not to trigger them when repairing the tiles,” Wei Fu said with a faint snort. “I’m just here to look after the place—I’m not going to waste the effort. When they come back, let them pay for the repairs themselves.”
Next
Futile Devices Scans 
Leave a comment