Futile Devices Scans

Yu Gong Zhao Ye wasn’t sure whether Wei Fu’s heart was easy to win—but his own heart was growing more unsettled by the day.

There is an old saying, “to suspect your neighbor of stealing your axe,” meaning that once you suspect someone of wrongdoing, everything they do seems suspicious. The reverse is also true—when you have a guilty conscience, no matter what others say or do, it feels like they’re hinting at you.

The last time Yu Gong Zhao Ye saw Wei Fu was the day they had an audience with the emperor. The emperor’s single sentence—“I leave him to you”—had kept him from secretly meeting Wei Fu again for several days.

Officials from the Ministry of Rites of Xiling arranged many activities for the Longsha delegation. Most of them were unimportant, so Yu Gong Zhao Ye had his substitute attend in his place. Only once, at an imperial banquet, did he go in person. There, he caught sight of Wei Fu—seeing him well and behaving as usual, smiling and composed, he quietly felt reassured and threw himself fully into investigating Wei Fu’s background and tracking the assassins.

He admitted that he was avoiding things a little—he hadn’t figured out how to face Wei Fu. Especially now that Wei Fu remembered him and had repaid him a great favor, while he himself had failed to recognize Wei Fu, had threatened him repeatedly, and even dragged him into danger. So under the pretext of “investigating and verifying,” he struggled in vain—only to be hammered flat by Kui Yue’s relentless findings.

But in truth, the moment the name “Guan-lang” surfaced, Yu Gong Zhao Ye already had a premonition that he was done for.

Before this reunion, their connection had lasted only a short month—forced together under extreme circumstances, sharing the same boat, and ending more abruptly than a bolt from the blue. It was difficult to define such a relationship in just a few words—calling them old friends felt insufficient, while calling it a debt of gratitude felt too heavy.

Yu Gong Zhao Ye was used to facing loss. This was the first time he had experienced someone “lost and found again,” and he had no idea how to handle it. Instead, he felt a kind of hesitation akin to growing timid as one nears home.

Should he be honest? Should he lay everything bare? Should he use their past bond to draw Wei Fu closer? Or should he keep his distance and not let past personal ties interfere with present positions?

Countless wavering thoughts played like a cacophony in his mind. While his heart was still unsettled, his feet had already carried him to the door. Just as he was about to push it open, three crisp knocks sounded outside, landing right at the tip of his nose. Yu Gong Zhao Ye jolted backward. “Who is it?”

Behind him, Kui Yue burst out laughing, quickly covering her mouth before he could turn around and kill her.

“Is that Your Highness?” the person outside paused upon hearing his voice. “Your subordinate Ying Yue.”

“Come in.”

A young man in narrow-sleeved martial attire slipped inside swiftly, quietly shifting the large food box in his hands behind his back. Lowering his gaze somewhat awkwardly, he nodded slightly in greeting. His features bore a resemblance to Kui Yue’s—though where she was sly and lively, he appeared more mature and resolute.

Kui Yue sprang up, eyes sparkling as she rushed over. “Stop hiding it—I already saw! Brother, what did you bring back? Did you buy me lamb flatbread?”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye thought to himself that it was obvious Ying Yue hadn’t been hiding from her—it was just that he had come at the wrong time, interrupting their sibling bonding. He nodded casually at Ying Yue. “You came back at the right time. We’ve just finished talking—I’ll take my leave.”

Ying Yue hurriedly said, “Your Highness, please wait. I have something important to report.”

He handed the food box to Kui Yue and stepped aside with Yu Gong Zhao Ye, lowering his voice. “Following Your Highness’s instructions, I’ve been investigating the assassins’ traces in the city these past few days. The paper used for the rebellious poem they distributed on the street was a kind of coarse, thin bamboo paper. I visited various paper shops and found the same batch at Lü’s Paper Workshop on Jingfeng Street in the southern part of the city.”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye immediately gathered his wandering thoughts and frowned. “Any clues about the buyer?”

“The shopkeeper said that earlier, a customer dressed like a martial artist came to buy paper, specifically asking for the cheapest kind. He didn’t look like a poor scholar—he even carried writing brushes and ink. The shopkeeper kindly told him that the cheap bamboo paper wasn’t suitable for writing, as it absorbed ink easily and would waste it. But the customer said he didn’t mind, and then asked if there were any poor scholars nearby willing to copy texts for money.”

“The shopkeeper happened to know a scholar named Li Jin, who often came to buy paper, so he recommended him. Since Li Jin had classes during the day, the shopkeeper asked if the customer wanted to return at night to meet him. But the customer found it troublesome, asked for Li Jin’s address, and went to find him himself.”

“Where is Li Jin now? Is he still alive?”

Ying Yue nodded. “Yesterday, I had people keep watch near his home. He’s still going about his usual routine—studying and attending school.”

“Have your men keep watching him. Don’t alert him yet,” Yu Gong Zhao Ye said. “I’ll go see him tomorrow.”

Kui Yue, chewing on lamb flatbread, mumbled, “It’s already been so many days. The Egret Guards have been diverted by us toward Du Run, and the Imperial City Guards are searching the entire city. Those assassins have probably already fled. Even if Li Jin reveals their hideout, it’ll likely just be an empty shell.”

“After the incident, Fengdu was put under strict lockdown, and the response was swift—they may not have escaped,” Yu Gong Zhao Ye replied. “Besides, judging by their methods, if they intended to flee after completing the job, Li Jin likely wouldn’t have been left alive.”

But now Li Jin had returned safely, living normally, with no restrictions on his movements. That meant—

“Yes… I wrote it.”

Li Jin was pinned to a chair in his own home by two fierce-looking men in black. He blinked nervously, not daring to meet the gaze of the man sitting opposite him. “They took me to a residence and made me copy poems. I could tell the verses were wrong and wanted to refuse, but they said if I didn’t comply, they’d kill my whole family… My mother is bedridden, and I still have two younger siblings who aren’t yet grown. I had no choice but to obey…”

The man had a long, vicious scar across his face. He looked intimidating, yet his attitude remained relatively calm and courteous. After glancing around the shabby, worn-down room, he suddenly asked, “How are your studies? Do you have a chance of passing the examinations?”

Li Jin froze for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I’m doing all right… I was supposed to take the exams at sixteen, but my father passed away suddenly, so it was delayed until now. My teacher says I can try next year.”

“How old are your younger siblings?”

“My younger brother is eight, and my sister is five.”

“Are there any other children besides the three of you?”

“There’s another younger brother. He’s not good at studying, so he was sent to Wan Hong Tower as an apprentice.”

“I see your house is still fairly spacious. You must have once been a well-off family. How did things fall to this state?”

“After my father passed, our income couldn’t keep up with expenses. Our old business couldn’t continue, and my mother fell seriously ill. All our savings were used up.”

“Your mother’s illness must cost quite a bit in medicine, right? You still need to study, and you have to support your siblings—how do you manage your livelihood?”

“When my mother is well, she can do some sewing work. I copy books for others and earn enough for my own writing supplies.”

After answering several questions in a row, Li Jin grew increasingly confused. Finally, unable to endure the slow, grinding interrogation any longer, he spoke hoarsely, “What exactly do you want? I’ve already said I don’t know those people—they came to me! I was forced!”

“Don’t move!”

The grip on his shoulder tightened like an iron clamp, sending a piercing pain through him. His face twisted. “Let go! Let go! Ask whatever you want—I’ll tell you everything!”

The scar-faced man raised a hand, signaling his subordinates to ease up slightly, and continued in a calm tone, “Then I want the truth. Why didn’t they kill you?”

Li Jin froze. “What do you mean?”

The scar-faced man said leisurely, “You went to their hideout, saw their faces, copied their rebellious poem, and knew they were planning something unlawful. Yet they let you go—and weren’t even afraid you’d report them. And you really didn’t report them. Why?”

“I…”

Li Jin opened his mouth to defend himself, but suddenly his throat tightened. His voice failed. The pressure on his shoulders loosened, yet he still couldn’t stand. His limbs went weak, as if his bones had been pulled out of his body, and he slid limply off the chair.

Two dull thuds sounded nearby. The two black-clad men collapsed to their knees, struggling to warn, “Something’s wrong—someone’s attacking!” “It’s poison gas! Retreat!”

With the last bit of strength in his body, the scar-faced man grabbed a wooden stool and hurled it at the window. With a loud crash, the window shattered open, and the cold late-autumn wind poured in. Yet none of the guards outside responded.

“Oh my, what strength.”

A voice suddenly rang out from a corner of the courtyard, cheerful and amused. “Our exclusive formula, Mirror Platform—just burn a single pellet, and it can knock out an entire room of people, even an elephant. Ordinary people who inhale it will have limp muscles, no strength, lose their speech, and fall into a daze. Even those trained in martial arts can barely speak after exposure. And yet you still had the strength to smash a window—impressive. May I ask which member of Bihua you are?”

The scar-faced man barked coldly, “Who are you? Sneaking around like a coward—why don’t you show yourself?”

“Speaking of sneaking around, who in the world does it better than you people of Bihua?” The man stepped out of the shadows with several others, wearing a hood and a half silver mask covering his upper face. “In the capital of Xiling, under the Son of Heaven’s rule, you dare to torture innocent civilians with private punishment. We simply couldn’t stand by and watch.”

Behind him stood six or seven people dressed as commoners of Xiling, in gray and blue robes. Yet their high cheekbones, hooked noses, dark eyes, and sturdy builds were markedly different from the softer features typical of Xiling people.

His Xiling dialect sounded slightly off, carrying a faint nasal tone. Combined with his reference to “our sect,” the scar-faced man’s suspicion became certain. “You’re from Yanyuan? The Ten Aspects Sect?”

“Correct. I am Gu Pingchuan, courtesy name Jueliu. We can be considered old acquaintances.” The gray-robed man stepped forward and smiled down at him. “The ‘gift’ we sent you last time—was your country satisfied with it?”

“So it really was your doing—assassinating envoys and stirring conflict between the two nations,” the scar-faced man said weakly, leaning against the table. Watching Gu Pingchuan’s men help Li Jin up and feed him a pill, he forced out, “You let Li Jin go to use him as bait, to draw attention and set up an ambush—to capture us all in one net… Otherwise, you would have killed him long ago. Am I right?”

“At this point, there’s no need to sow discord.” Gu Pingchuan took Li Jin’s hand warmly and patted it reassuringly. “You’ve done well, Young Master Li. Our sect is not like those unreasonable bandits. A person’s soul is precious—we do not kill lightly.”

The scar-faced man let out a mocking snort.

Li Jin gradually regained feeling in his limbs, though fear still lingered on his face. Gu Pingchuan glanced at him and explained smoothly, “Young Master Li is talented and well-read. He should have passed the examinations long ago, but was delayed by three years of mourning after his father’s death. Now his mother is gravely ill, on the brink of death. If anything else happens, he’ll lose another three years—and he still has two dependents to support. His life would be ruined.”

“When we first approached him, he was very alert and realized the poem was suspicious. He refused to copy it. We even threatened him with his life—but he still wouldn’t comply. Do you know why?”

The scar-faced man ignored him. Gu Pingchuan continued anyway.

“Because his life was already too painful and difficult. He even felt that death would be a release.”

“He has talent, yet was forced into such a situation. Whoever is at fault, it’s a pity.” Gu Pingchuan smiled faintly. “To let him die with resentment and unwillingness, condemning his soul to endless suffering—that goes against our doctrine. So I intend to save his soul, to remove the heavy shackles weighing him down, and let him understand that living is a good thing.”

The scar-faced man immediately recognized this as the Ten Aspects Sect’s usual brainwashing tactic and sneered, turning to Li Jin. “What did he promise you? Gold and silver? Or curing your mother’s illness? Young Master Li, you’ve read so many classics—surely you don’t believe in charms and supernatural nonsense?”

Li Jin lowered his head.

Gu Pingchuan, however, smiled with satisfaction.

“Our sect’s signature method, the Aspect of Non-Death—the soul is extinguished, yet the body continues to live as normal. Isn’t that perfectly suited to Young Master Li’s situation?” He looked into Li Jin’s eyes and spoke softly. “This way, you can fulfill your filial duty without delaying your future. And our sect will take in your younger siblings as well. From now on, you will never need to worry about them again.”

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