Futile Devices Scans

Once the official business was finished, there was still an excursion arranged by the Ministry of Rites and the Court of State Ceremonial, so the Longsha envoys withdrew first. Several senior ministers remained in the hall. After Mu Heng finished reading Longsha’s state letter, he discussed trade, the construction of commercial routes, and other matters with his ministers, handed out a mountain of work, and only then allowed everyone to disperse.

Before leaving, Wei Fu gave him several meaningful looks. Mu Heng knew perfectly well what he wanted to say and sent him away too.

Three years earlier, when Mu Heng had only just ascended the throne, custom required him to send envoys to the neighboring states to announce the previous emperor’s death. Wei Fu had volunteered to go to Longsha even then. But Mu Heng had only just inherited the throne and was overwhelmed with affairs of state; he needed people he trusted close at hand. In the end, he had refused to send Wei Fu, and Wei Fu, understanding the larger situation, had not continued to press.

Even at the time, Mu Heng had felt something vaguely unsettling. Zhong Yi might spend half his life running here and there, but he was like a kite tied to a string—however far he flew, eventually he would return to Mu Heng’s side. Wei Fu’s destination, however, was another person. He might compromise once or twice for the sake of affection, but he would not remain still forever. The day he finally stopped yielding and made up his mind to leave would mark the beginning of a true separation.

That day now seemed very close.

Mu Heng rose and stretched his body, stiff from sitting too long. As palace attendants began clearing away the tables and cups, palace attendant Jiang Ling hurried inside carrying a wooden dispatch box. “Your Majesty, a confidential memorial from the Egret Guard has arrived from Xianglian City.”

Confidential messages from the Egret Guard were ordinarily distinguished by the color of their sealing wax according to urgency. The most urgent used vermilion-red wax, the next level peacock green, while routine correspondence was sealed in white. This particular box, however, had been sealed with blue wax mixed from powdered lapis lazuli. Flecks of gold shimmered through it beneath the sunlight. That rare and costly color marked the highest priority. It was normally reserved for imperial use, and Mu Heng had granted Zhong Yi, commander of the Egret Guard, the special privilege of using it.

Mu Heng broke the seal with a small golden knife and opened the box. Zhong Yi’s letters resembled the man himself: concise and utterly devoid of nonsense. After briefly reporting the progress of the Xianglian City investigation, he wrote that he had heard of the attack on court officials in Fengdu and asked whether Mu Heng wanted him to return and investigate the matter personally. He also asked after Mu Heng and Wei Fu.

Jiang Ling stood quietly to one side and watched the emperor’s brows gradually ease. He thought to himself that Commander Zhong truly understood His Majesty best; as long as something came from the right person, His Majesty would probably be happy even if it were nothing more than some silly little buzzing bug.

Mu Heng picked up his brush and wrote a few brief lines in reply, telling Zhong Yi that the envoys were safe and that the case already had promising leads. He ordered him not to hurry back, but to concentrate on the investigation already in his hands. When he finished, he passed the letter to Jiang Ling to be sealed and sent.

The great hall fell silent. Mu Heng sat behind the imperial desk, staring absently at Zhong Yi’s hurried, slightly untidy handwriting.

When he first received word that Wei Fu had been attacked, he had been completely drowned in panic for a brief instant. By the time he came back to himself, his hand was trembling so badly that he could not even hold a brush. Even after Wei Fu immediately entered the palace and stood before him perfectly alive, the unease had refused to disappear. Even during his meeting with Yugong Zhaoye and the others just now, part of him had still been debating whether to summon Zhong Yi home.

Then Zhong Yi’s letter arrived. Before Mu Heng had even read what it said, the breath that had been hanging painfully in his chest suddenly loosened, and the inexplicable agitation within him settled.

He had not felt this weak in a very long time. The sudden eruption of emotion was not only because Wei Fu had grown up beside him and was dearer than his own brothers, but also because Zhong Yi was not at his side.

The feeling of suddenly losing both his left and right arms was far too familiar. Once, in his youth, it had become a demon he could never quite escape.

Mu Heng was the fourth prince. The eldest and third princes had both died during the epidemic that swept through the palace. Emperor Jinyuan, desperate enough to try anything, listened to alchemists who claimed that children raised within the palace were suppressed by the dragon aura and therefore difficult to rear to adulthood. Aside from the Sixth Prince, the Empress’s legitimate son, the other healthy princes were sent to the households of trusted ministers to be raised.

The Second Prince, Mu Tai, and the Fifth Prince, Mu Lin, were sent to their maternal families. Seven-year-old Mu Heng’s maternal clan was of low standing and could not be entrusted with such responsibility, so he was assigned to the household of the Duke Who Stabilizes the Nation. At the time, aside from female officials, maids, and eunuchs, the person who remained closest to him was Zhong Yi, the son of his wet nurse.

On the day he first entered the Duke’s residence, Wei Zhen, Duke Who Stabilizes the Nation, summoned the younger members of the family to pay their respects. Amid the chattering crowd of richly dressed young masters and ladies, Mu Heng immediately noticed one particularly neat-looking child. His hair fell to his waist, and he stood quietly with his hands lowered. His naturally prominent peach-blossom eyes held a soft hint of a smile whenever he looked at someone.

Wei Zhen pointed to his grandsons one after another. “These are this subject’s 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. Those two were born in the same year and are both four.”

Wei Fu followed behind Wei Xiu, came forward properly to pay his respects, and gave Mu Heng a very quick, very faint smile.

Mu Heng nodded with princely reserve. “Have both young masters begun their studies? Perhaps we can study together in the future.”

Wei Xiu immediately answered, “Reporting to Your Highness, I have studied for two years and now learn under the family tutor.”

Wei Fu merely stared back at him with wide eyes. Mu Heng waited for quite some time and heard nothing. Is this boy too nervous, or does he simply dislike me? He frowned. “Why aren’t you speaking?”

Wei Zhen hurriedly explained, “Please forgive him, Your Highness. This child injured his throat when he was young and has difficulty producing sound. He means no disrespect.”

Oh. A mute.

Having one’s shortcomings exposed in public never felt pleasant. Wei Fu instinctively lifted a hand toward his throat, but Wei Xiu noticed the unbecoming gesture from the side and immediately slapped his hand down with a crisp smack.

Everyone’s attention turned toward the sound. Only then did Mu Heng notice the ring of white silk bandaging around Wei Fu’s neck. His thick winter collar had hidden it so well that it was difficult to see at first glance.

Wei Fu lowered his head in silence, awkwardly hiding both his injured throat and the tip of his chin. Mu Heng gave the brothers a cool glance and delivered his lofty verdict: What a waste of such a pretty face.

In Wei Zhen’s generation, the household of the Duke Who Stabilizes the Nation had produced a Noble Consort who bore Princess Zhenning and Princess Chunning, both later married abroad. Wei Huaiyi’s generation had no sisters. By Wei Xiu’s generation, Mu Heng suspected that Emperor Jinyuan might have been considering marrying him to one of the Wei daughters. Mu Heng’s own mother had neither a powerful family nor particularly high rank, so a marriage to an influential clan could both strengthen his position and bind the Wei family closer to him.

Mu Heng, however, had been precocious from childhood and unusually particular about people. The Wei girls were all still thoroughly childish, and he found it impossible to feel anything resembling romantic interest in them. As for the Wei boys around his age, there were only Wei Xiu and Wei Fu. Wei Fu seemed destined never to enter officialdom and rarely came near him. Wei Xiu’s attentiveness, on the other hand, was obvious to anyone with eyes, but Mu Heng disliked people who were too calculating and found his company rather dull.

After Mu Heng settled into the Duke’s residence, Emperor Jinyuan appointed Academician Yang Sizheng of Hongxian Academy as his tutor. The Wei children of suitable age studied under Academician Yang as well. Yang Sizheng was stern, upright, and entirely unmoved by royal or aristocratic status. Mu Heng held him in considerable awe.

One evening, Mu Heng became hopelessly stuck on his homework. There was a passage of poetic commentary Academician Yang had cited in class, but Mu Heng could no longer remember it. He searched through all his books and notes without finding the answer. Too proud to ask anyone, he spent ages chewing on the end of his brush and glaring at the paper.

Zhong Yi, standing nearby, finally could not bear to watch any longer. He made up some excuse and slipped out. A short while later, he returned as silently as a professional burglar and spread a sheet of bamboo paper across Mu Heng’s desk. Written on it was the exact passage Mu Heng had been trying to remember.

Mu Heng stared. He nearly threw his homework aside. “Where did you get this?”

Zhong Yi answered honestly, “From Second Young Master. Doesn’t he have a photographic memory? He remembers lessons better than anyone, so I thought he would know. He originally wanted to lend Your Highness his own work, but then he worried you might think copying from it was improper, so he wrote out only that passage from memory for you to use as reference.”

“…”

As Zhong Yi spoke, Mu Heng’s face went from red to white and then to green. First came shock, then suspicion, and finally he threw down his brush and slapped the desk. “How dare you secretly get friendly with him behind my back?!”

Zhong Yi: “…”

“That boy does nothing but nod whenever he sees me. He acts as though he wants to stay as far away from me as possible—he’s obviously avoiding me on purpose! I can’t even be bothered lowering myself to argue with him, and you go running over to him of your own accord? Where does that leave your prince’s dignity?” Mu Heng’s jealousy shot straight through the roof, as though someone were performing a Hu Xuan dance on his tail. “And you even know he has a photographic memory? You’re with me every day. When exactly did you two get so familiar?”

Elio’s Notes: Hu Xuan was a fast, whirling dance associated with Central Asian performers and especially popular in Tang China. The image makes Mu Heng’s jealousy feel as though someone is literally spinning on his tail.

Zhong Yi looked so wronged that his face practically wilted. He stood there uneasily, unable to think of any way to defend himself.

He had only meant to help Mu Heng. Instead, his good intentions had somehow made everything worse. Just then, Palace Matron Sun entered after hearing the commotion. “This servant thought she heard Your Highness getting angry outside. What happened? Did you two quarrel?”

Before Zhong Yi could apologize, Mu Heng reached out and pinched both his cheeks shut, forcing him to keep quiet. Then he turned to Palace Matron Sun with an easy smile. “We weren’t quarreling. A’Yi and I were only playing around. We got a little loud. Don’t worry, Aunt.”

Seeing Zhong Yi’s little face drawn tight and his lips puckered resentfully, Palace Matron Sun could not help laughing. “It’s late. Your Highness, don’t spend all your time fooling around. Finish your homework and go to bed early, or you’ll never get up tomorrow morning.”

Mu Heng obediently replied, “I know. I’ll sleep as soon as I’m finished.”

Once Palace Matron Sun left, Mu Heng finally released Zhong Yi. Still dissatisfied, he thoroughly mussed Zhong Yi’s hair and lowered his voice threateningly. “Tell me the truth. What exactly is going on?”

“It’s really nothing special,” Zhong Yi confessed in a small voice. “Every morning I go to the training ground in the rear courtyard to practice boxing. Second Young Master practices archery there too. We kept running into each other, and after a while… we got familiar.”

That left Mu Heng with no dignity whatsoever to ask why Zhong Yi had never invited him. After all, the two of them were not actually inseparable every moment of the day. Mu Heng simply could not wake up in the morning, while Zhong Yi managed to rise half a shichen before him every single day to train.

Putting on a fierce expression to conceal his embarrassment, Mu Heng demanded, “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“We’re not… especially close.” Zhong Yi hesitated. “Your Highness knows he can’t speak. Other people don’t have the patience to communicate with him slowly.”

Mu Heng frowned. Zhong Yi watched his expression and added quietly, “Actually, he’s a very nice person. It isn’t that he dislikes Your Highness. He just doesn’t really know how to, um… talk to people.”

“Enough. I understand.” Mu Heng unfolded the paper and skimmed it, then picked up his brush again. He poked Zhong Yi in the cheek and shoved him aside. “From now on, whether you become friends with Second Young Master, Third Miss, or anyone else, you report it to me immediately. You are not allowed to hide anything. Do you hear me? What are you rolling your eyes for? Remember it!”

The following day after lessons, Mu Heng intercepted Wei Fu beneath the crape myrtle tree beside the corridor, blocking his escape before he could slip away. With a perfectly blank expression, Mu Heng said, “I have a few things to tell you. You don’t need to answer. Just nod or shake your head. Understand?”

Wei Fu nodded.

Mu Heng said, “Thank you for what happened last night. But Zhong Yi is my person. You’re not allowed to steal him from me.”

Wei Fu’s eyes immediately lifted as though he wanted to protest. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged. The moment his gaze met Mu Heng’s, however, all his momentum faded. He lowered his head and nodded dejectedly.

“You—”

Before Mu Heng could continue, Wei Xiu happened to pass through the corridor. Seeing Wei Fu standing there with his head bowed as though he were being reprimanded, Wei Xiu hurried over. “What did he do to offend Your Highness? My second brother has a disability, and the family has always been lax in disciplining him. Please don’t take offense.” As he spoke, he shoved Wei Fu and scolded under his breath, “Hurry and apologize to His Highness!”

The word “disability” landed even harder than the slap before it. Wei Fu’s face instantly went deathly pale. For a moment, he nearly fled without caring about anything else.

An inexplicable surge of anger rose in Mu Heng. “If you want to dispense justice, go to the Court of Judicial Review,” he snapped. “Don’t come here pretending to be a good person. What makes you think he offended me?”

“I didn’t—”

Mu Heng gave him a cold glance. “Fine. You didn’t. Then move aside. Why are you still standing here? I’m only talking to him. There’s no need to hover as if I’m using my status to bully him.”

Wei Fu looked at him with wide, pitiful eyes that seemed to say, Aren’t you? Mu Heng’s temple throbbed. He reached out, pulled Wei Fu over to his side, and warned, “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 froze. Me?

Wei Xiu froze as well. Him?

Mu Heng slapped Wei Fu on the back. “Lift your head! You look perfectly clever, yet you stand there letting people bully you. If anyone dares say something like that to you again, go over and smash them in the mouth. Understand?!”

Wei Xiu: “…”

Zhong Yi appeared from nowhere behind Wei Fu and asked eerily, “Who are you going to hit first?”

Wei Fu: ?

Zhong Yi rested a hand on his shoulder and sighed with the gravity of an old man. “I understand. It’s a difficult choice.”

Mu Heng: ?

“What exactly do you understand?!” he shouted, jumping in fury. “You two, stop right there! If you’ve got the nerve, don’t come back tonight!”

Beneath the warm sunlight, the crape myrtle blossoms were in brilliant bloom. And the sight of Zhong Yi dragging Wei Fu away at a run seemed, in retrospect, the perfect summary of Mu Heng’s youth in the Duke’s residence—utter chaos.

Many years later, Mu Heng would refuse to admit he had ever said anything of the sort, dismissing it with, “Who remembers stupid nonsense from that long ago?” As a result, Wei Fu developed a passion for mentioning the incident in practically everything he wrote—travelogues, essays, prefaces, biographies, anything except epitaphs. Whenever he found the slightest opportunity, he would slip in a line: “His Majesty was decisive by nature, clear-sighted and far-seeing, and already possessed the bearing of a true sovereign in his youth.”