Futile Devices Scans

After the official matters were concluded, there was also a sightseeing segment arranged by the Ministry of Rites and the Court of Diplomatic Reception, so the envoys of Longsha withdrew first. Several high ministers remained in the hall. After Mu Heng finished reading Longsha’s state letter, he discussed matters such as trade exchanges and the construction of commercial routes with his officials, assigned a large amount of work, and only then did everyone disperse.

Before leaving, Wei Fu cast him a few meaningful glances. Mu Heng knew what he wanted to say and dismissed him as well.

Three years ago, when Mu Heng had just ascended the throne, it was customary to send envoys to other states to announce the mourning. At that time, Wei Fu had volunteered to go to Longsha. However, with Mu Heng newly enthroned and burdened with numerous affairs, he needed trusted people by his side, so in the end he did not send Wei Fu. Wei Fu, understanding the bigger picture, did not continue to press the matter.

Even then, Mu Heng had a feeling: although Zhong Yi frequently traveled abroad, he was like a kite tethered by a string—he would always return. But Wei Fu’s destination lay with another person. He might compromise once or twice out of sentiment, but he would not remain still forever. The day he stopped yielding and resolved to leave would be the moment of true separation.

That moment, it now seemed, was fast approaching.

He rose and stretched his somewhat stiff body from sitting too long. As he watched palace attendants tidy the tables and cups, the attendant Jiang Ling hurried in, carrying a wooden message box, and said softly, “Your Majesty, a confidential memorial from the Egret Guards has arrived from Xianglian City.”

Confidential letters from the Egret Guards were usually distinguished by the color of the sealing wax to indicate urgency: the most urgent used vermilion red wax, followed by peacock green wax, while routine correspondence used white wax. This particular box, however, was sealed with blue wax mixed with lapis lazuli powder, shimmering with traces of gold under sunlight. That rare and costly color signified the highest priority—it was reserved for imperial use and was a special privilege Mu Heng had granted to the commander of the Egret Guards, Zhong Yi.

Mu Heng used a golden knife to break the seal and opened the box. Zhong Yi’s letter resembled the man himself—concise and to the point. After briefly reporting their progress in investigating the case in Xianglian City, he wrote that he had learned of the assassination attempt in Fengdu and asked whether he should return to investigate thoroughly. He also inquired after the well-being of Mu Heng and Wei Fu.

Jiang Ling stood to the side, watching as Mu Heng’s brows gradually relaxed. He thought to himself: as expected, Commander Zhong understood the emperor best. As long as the right person sent it, even a trivial message would be received with pleasure.

Mu Heng picked up his brush and wrote a brief reply, informing him that the envoys were safe and that the case already had leads, telling him not to hurry back and to focus on his current investigation. After finishing, he handed the letter to Jiang Ling, ordering it sealed and sent out.

The great hall fell quiet. Mu Heng sat at the imperial desk, staring absentmindedly at Zhong Yi’s slightly hurried and drifting handwriting.

When he had first received news of Wei Fu’s assassination attempt, for a moment he had been completely overwhelmed by panic. When he came back to his senses, he realized his hand had been trembling so much he could not even hold a brush. Even after Wei Fu immediately entered the palace and stood before him unharmed, that unease lingered. Even just now, while meeting Yu Gong Zhao Ye and the others, he had still been considering whether to summon Zhong Yi back.

Only when Zhong Yi’s letter arrived—before he had even read its contents—the tightness in his chest suddenly eased, and the inexplicable restlessness within him settled.

It had been a long time since he had felt such weakness. This sudden surge was not only because Wei Fu had grown up with him and was closer than a brother, but also because Zhong Yi was not by his side at this moment.

This sense of losing both his right and left hands was all too familiar—it had once been a lingering demon in his youth.

Mu Heng was the fourth prince. The eldest and third princes before him had both died in a palace epidemic. Emperor Jinyuan, anxious and desperate, believed the words of alchemists who claimed that “children raised within the palace are overwhelmed by dragon aura and thus do not grow well.” Aside from the Sixth Prince born of the Empress, the remaining healthy princes were sent to be raised in the households of trusted ministers.

The Second Prince Mu Tai and the Fifth Prince Mu Lin were sent to their maternal families. Seven-year-old Mu Heng, whose maternal family held low status and could not be entrusted with such responsibility, was assigned to the Duke Zhenguo. At that time, aside from female officials, maids, and eunuchs, the person closest to him was Zhong Yi, the son of his wet nurse.

On the day he first entered the duke’s residence, Duke Wei Zhen summoned his children to pay respects. Among the lively crowd of young masters and ladies, Mu Heng immediately noticed a particularly neat-looking child. His hair reached his waist, and he stood quietly with his hands lowered. His naturally almond-shaped peach blossom eyes were striking, carrying a gentle smile when he looked at others.

Wei Zhen pointed to them one by one as he introduced them: “These are my grandsons. The eldest is Wei Xiu, nine years old this year. This is the second, Wei Fu, the same age as Your Highness. The third is Wei Ling, and the fourth Wei Qi; they are the same age, both four.”

Following behind Wei Xiu, Wei Fu stepped forward properly to greet Mu Heng, giving him a brief, faint smile.

Mu Heng nodded reservedly and asked, “Have both young masters begun their studies? Perhaps you may study together in the future.”

Wei Xiu immediately replied, “Reporting to Your Highness, I have been studying for two years and now continue under a private tutor at home.”

Wei Fu, however, only stared at him wide-eyed. After waiting a long time without hearing him speak, Mu Heng wondered whether the boy was too nervous or simply disliked him, and frowned. “Why aren’t you speaking?”

Wei Zhen hurriedly explained, “Please forgive him, Your Highness. This child injured his throat when he was young, so speaking is difficult. He does not mean any disrespect.”

Oh—a mute.

When one’s shortcomings are exposed in public, it never feels good. Wei Fu subconsciously raised a hand to cover his throat, but Wei Xiu, catching sight of that unsightly gesture from the side, immediately slapped his hand away, producing a crisp sound that was neither loud nor soft.

All eyes were drawn to the sound. As they turned to look, Mu Heng finally noticed that there was a band of white silk bandage wrapped around Wei Fu’s neck. It had been hidden beneath his high winter collar, making it difficult to spot at first glance.

Wei Fu silently lowered his head, awkwardly hiding both his injured throat and the tip of his chin. Mu Heng cast a cold glance at the two brothers and, looking down on them inwardly, gave his judgment: such a fine appearance wasted.

In the generation of Wei Zhen, the Duke Zenguo’s residence had produced a Noble Consort, who bore Princess Zhenning and Princess Chunning, both of whom had been married off to foreign lands. In Wei Huaiyi’s generation there were no daughters, and by Wei Xiu’s generation, Mu Heng suspected that Emperor Jinyuan intended for him to marry a daughter of the Wei family. His own mother’s status and rank were not particularly high, so marrying into a powerful family would both strengthen his position and serve to draw the Wei clan closer.

However, Mu Heng was precocious by nature and highly perceptive of people. The young ladies of the Wei family were still childish, and he found it hard to develop any affection for them. Among the Wei sons of similar age, only Wei Xiu and Wei Fu fit the bill. Wei Fu, in any case, seemed destined to have no future in officialdom and rarely approached him, while Wei Xiu’s attentiveness was obvious—but Mu Heng disliked overly calculating people and found little enjoyment in his company.

After settling into the duke’s residence, the emperor assigned Academician Yang Sizheng as his tutor. The Wei family’s eligible youths also studied under Yang Sizheng. Yang Sizheng was stern and upright, showing no leniency even to royal or noble children, and Mu Heng held him in considerable awe.

One evening, Mu Heng found himself stuck on his homework. There was a passage of poetry annotation that Yang had explained in class which he could not recall. He searched through all his books and notes but could not find it, and being too proud to ask anyone, he ended up chewing on his brush in frustration while staring at the page.

Zhong Yi, who stood nearby, could not bear to watch. He made up an excuse and slipped out. After a short while, he returned silently, like a stealthy bandit, and spread a sheet of bamboo paper on Mu Heng’s desk. Written on it was precisely that missing passage of annotation.

Mu Heng was stunned, nearly throwing aside his homework. “Where did you find this?”

Zhong Yi answered honestly, “I got it from Second Young Master. Isn’t he known for having a photographic memory? He remembers his lessons best. I figured he would know, so I went to ask him. He originally wanted to bring over his own work, but was worried Your Highness would think copying was improper, so he wrote out just that passage from memory for you to refer to.”

…

Mu Heng’s expression shifted from red to pale to green as he listened—first shock, then suspicion, and finally he threw down his brush and slammed the desk in anger. “How dare you secretly get close to him behind my back?!”

Zhong Yi: “……”

“That boy only nods at me when he sees me, acting like he wants to stay eight zhang away—he’s clearly avoiding me on purpose! I don’t bother stooping to his level, and yet you run over to him eagerly—where does that leave your master’s dignity?” Mu Heng’s jealousy surged sky-high, as if someone were dancing on his tail. “And you even know he has a photographic memory? You’re with me day in and day out—when exactly did you get so familiar with him?”

Zhong Yi, wronged and crestfallen, stood there uneasily, unsure how to defend himself.

He had only meant to ease Mu Heng’s burden, but instead his good intentions backfired and angered him. Just then, Palace Matron Sun entered, having heard the commotion. “I thought I heard Your Highness getting upset just now. What happened? Did you quarrel?”

Before Zhong Yi could apologize, Mu Heng quickly reached out and pinched his cheeks shut, forcing him to keep quiet. Turning back to Lady Sun, he smiled lightly and said, “No quarrel. A’Yi and I were just playing around. We got a bit loud—no need to worry, Aunt.”

Seeing Zhong Yi with his small face stiff and lips pouted in grievance, Lady Sun could not help but laugh. “It’s getting late. Your Highness, don’t just fool around—finish your homework and get to bed early, or you won’t be able to get up tomorrow morning.”

Mu Heng responded obediently, “I know. I’ll sleep after I finish.”

Once Lady Sun withdrew, Mu Heng finally released his grip. Still not satisfied, he ruffled Zhong Yi’s hair roughly and lowered his voice in warning: “Explain yourself honestly—what exactly is going on?”

“It’s nothing special,” Zhong Yi confessed softly. “Every morning I go to the back courtyard training ground to practice boxing, and Second Young Master practices archery there too. We kept running into each other, and over time… we just became familiar…”

This left Mu Heng with no face to ask why Zhong Yi had not invited him along. After all, they were not truly inseparable at every moment—he could not get up in the mornings, while Zhong Yi managed to wake up half a shichen earlier every day to go out and train.

Putting on a fierce front to mask his unease, Mu Heng demanded, “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“We’re not… that familiar,” Zhong Yi replied. “Your Highness knows—he can’t speak, and others don’t have the patience to communicate with him slowly.”

Mu Heng frowned. Zhong Yi glanced at his expression and added softly, “Actually, he’s quite a good person. It’s not that he rejects Your Highness—he just doesn’t know how to, um, communicate with others…”

“Enough, I understand.” Mu Heng unfolded the paper and skimmed it, then picked up his brush again, poking Zhong Yi’s cheek as he shoved him aside. “From now on, no matter what Second Young Master or Third Miss you get to know, you must report it to me immediately. You are not allowed to keep anything from me. Do you hear me? What’s with the eye-rolling? Remember it clearly!”

The next day after class, Mu Heng blocked Wei Fu beneath the crape myrtle tree by the corridor, cutting off his escape before he could slip away. With a blank expression, he said, “I have a few words to say to you. You don’t need to answer—just nod or shake your head. Do you understand?”

Wei Fu nodded.

Mu Heng said, “Thank you for what happened last night. But Zhong Yi is my person—you can’t compete with me for him.”

Hearing this, Wei Fu suddenly raised his eyes as if to argue. He opened his mouth but made no sound. When his gaze met Mu Heng’s, his momentum faltered, and he nodded dejectedly.

“You—”

Before Mu Heng could finish, Wei Xiu passed by the corridor. Seeing Wei Fu standing there with his head lowered as if being reprimanded, he hurried over and asked, “What did he do to offend Your Highness? My second brother has a disability, and our family has always been lax in disciplining him. Please don’t take it to heart.” As he spoke, he shoved Wei Fu and scolded in a low voice, “Hurry and apologize to His Highness!”

The word “disability” struck even louder and sharper than that slap from before. Wei Fu’s face instantly turned deathly pale, and he nearly fled without regard for anything.

A surge of inexplicable anger rose in Mu Heng. He snapped back, “If you want to play judge, go to the Court of Judicial Review. Don’t act like a good person in front of me—what makes you think he offended me?”

“I didn’t—”

Mu Heng cast him a cold glance and scoffed, “Fine, you didn’t. Then step aside—why are you still standing here? I’m just saying a few words to him. No need to be so nervous, as if I’m bullying him with my status.”

Wei Fu looked at him with wide, pitiful eyes that seemed to say, “Aren’t you?” Mu Heng’s temple throbbed. He reached out and pulled him to his side, warning, “You’re not allowed to set your sights on my people. If you want to be friends with A’Yi, then you have to be one of my people too.”

Wei Fu was stunned: Me?

Wei Xiu was also stunned: Him?

Mu Heng slapped Wei Fu on the back. “Lift your head! You’ve got the look of someone sharp and clever, yet you let others bully you like this. If anyone dares say a word against you in the future, go up and smash their mouth in. Got it?!”

Wei Xiu: “……”

Zhong Yi appeared out of nowhere and stood behind Wei Fu, asking faintly, “Who are you going to hit first?”

Wei Fu: ?

Zhong Yi placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed like an old man. “I understand—it’s a difficult choice.”

Mu Heng: ?

“What do you understand?!” he shouted angrily. “You two, stop right there! If you’ve got the guts, don’t come back tonight!”

Under the warm sunlight, the crape myrtle blossoms bloomed brilliantly, and the sight of Zhong Yi dragging Wei Fu away in retreat seemed to perfectly capture Mu Heng’s youth spent in the Duke’s residence—utter chaos.

Years later, Mu Heng would refuse to admit he had ever said such things, claiming, “Who still remembers such trivial old nonsense?” As a result, Wei Fu delighted in bringing up the matter in every possible piece of writing—travel notes, essays, prefaces—anywhere except epitaphs, always slipping in a line: “His Majesty was decisive by nature, clear-sighted and far-seeing, and possessed the bearing of a true king even in his youth.”

Previous

Main

Next