Futile Devices Scans

Elio’s Notes: The Rites of Zhou [周礼] is an ancient Confucian classic text from China, traditionally attributed to the Zhou Dynasty. It describes an idealized system of government, social hierarchy, etiquette, rituals, official positions, and proper conduct in society. In modern Chinese, referencing “the Rites of Zhou” often jokingly means: Is this proper? Is this behavior socially acceptable? Are we violating etiquette/morality?

Like a fox that had stolen a chicken, Wei Fu smiled slyly, just about to lick his paws and begin his interrogation, when Wei Rong suddenly knocked lightly outside the door and reported, “The hot-water bottle Young Master requested is ready, and the hot porridge and meal can also be served now.”

The process of causing trouble was interrupted. Wei Fu casually lowered the bed curtains at the bedside, rose to open the door, and ushered him in.

Wei Rong set the food box on the tea table and secretly cast a sliver of a glance toward the bed. When he had first entered earlier, the room had been pitch-dark and he had not seen clearly. Now, through the gauze curtains, he could only vaguely make out the outline of a person’s silhouette, still unable to tell whether it was a man or a woman.

While he hesitated, Wei Fu proactively took the hot-water bottle from him, slipped through a narrow opening in the curtains, and let the drapes fall shut again, completely concealing the bed so tightly that not the slightest glimpse was allowed through.

This residence had once belonged to Wei Fu’s parents and carried extraordinary meaning for him. Even members of the Duke Zhenguo household never came calling here. Today was the first time he had ever brought someone back. Wei Rong’s curiosity surged. Lowering his head to fiddle with the food box, he pricked up his not-so-sharp ears and listened carefully.

Wei Fu spoke softly, his tone gentle yet intimate. “It’s very hot. Put it by your feet and be careful not to kick it. Is it warmer this time?”

The person inside the curtains sounded like a young man. His voice was calm, somewhat distant. “It’s fine. Many thanks.”

Wei Fu’s voice gradually softened further. The attitude was gentle and indulgent enough that, in Wei Rong’s ears, he was practically coaxing someone. “…You traveled half the day. You definitely didn’t get to eat dinner in time, and you probably can’t stomach rich dishes right now. At least drink some porridge to fill your stomach a little…”

Yet the man inside the curtains seemed extremely resistant, rebuking him in a low voice, “…No need. Don’t you dare. Keep dreaming.”

The diligent and loyal old servant Wei nearly felt tidal waves crash through his heart eight zhang high. He thought: Our young master is a dignified son of a noble family, a refined civil official. Though he has always been known for being “gentle and approachable,” that gentleness has always been courteous and measured, his warmth always restrained and appropriate. Never once had he seen him treat anyone with such attentiveness—yet the other party still refused to appreciate it!

The smile in Wei Fu’s voice instead deepened further as he retreated without any bottom line whatsoever. “…Not allowed? Alright. If you say no, then no. I don’t mean anything bad by it. I just want you to feel a little more comfortable…”

Wei Rong: “……”

Well, he could not entirely blame the other person for refusing. Who would not be alarmed hearing words like that?

Because a third person was present, both of them deliberately lowered their voices to the extreme. They were currently locked in a tug-of-war over “Can you even hold the bowl yourself? Do you want me to feed you?” and “Stop embarrassing yourself and get away from me,” neither realizing that the third party had already been shocked into silent screaming—

Throwing yourself at someone is not good business, and shamelessly fawning over them is even worse!

A moment later, Wei Fu emerged from behind the curtains. The corners of his eyes curved lightly with relaxed amusement, brimming with smiles, as though he had not just been scolded but had instead gone to bask in a gentle spring breeze. Floating over to the table in an almost ethereal mood, he touched the porcelain bowl and tested the temperature of the porridge, satisfied. “Neither too hot nor too cold, just right. Uncle Wei, go rest. I’ll handle the rest myself.”

Wei Rong hesitated. “Young Master…”

Wei Fu focused intently on carrying the bowl of porridge, unwilling even to turn his head. He merely lifted his eyes slightly, the end of his brow arching upward. “Hm? What is it?”

Wei Rong had wanted to remonstrate with his young master, but lacking any appropriate precedent to cite, he could only lower his brows obediently and persuade him, “There is also a bowl of hot pigeon soup, a basket of Shuiming dumplings, and a plate of shaomai. The night is cold and long, Young Master should also eat something.”

Don’t spend all your time lowering yourself and fawning over someone!

But when he looked up again, Wei Fu was already several steps away. “Understood. You may go.”

Wei Rong silently turned and left. Even while closing the door, he could still hear faint exchanges from within the curtains—

“How about this one?”

“Take it away.”

He felt this problem of the young master’s would not improve anytime soon. Sighing heavily, he returned to his room.

The cuisine of Fengdu was famed for being delicate and light. The japonica rice porridge with walnuts and goji berries was neither too thick nor too thin, just the right temperature to sip comfortably. The Shuiming dumplings were filled with sweet bean paste; Yu Gong Zhao Ye found them too sweet, but the bamboo shoot and pork shaomai suited his taste, so the two of them shared a plate.

It was not good to lie down immediately after eating. Wei Fu cleared away the bowls and plates, poured tea for him to rinse his mouth, and deliberately brought up another topic to draw him into conversation. “That interruption earlier doesn’t count. Your Highness still hasn’t told me anything yet. Earlier you insisted that Bihua had already disbanded, but it turns out you merely switched careers—from assassin to prince?”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye fell silent for an instant. He had known he would not be able to fool his way past this.

By revealing his identity before Wei Fu, he had also completely confirmed that Bihua, the top assassin organization feared by every nation, was still secretly active and closely tied to the Longsha royal family.

And while “assassin” sounded impressive, in truth it was work bought with one’s life. Their days were spent with their heads hanging from their belts. Their reputations remained hidden, their achievements could never be publicly acknowledged, and some so-called “merits” were in fact dirty work that had never counted as an honorable path throughout history. As a royal prince of Longsha, even if he had not been favored, there was no reason he should have been cast into such a profession.

There were many royal secrets and hidden circumstances tangled behind this. To explain them in detail to an official of Xiling was, honestly speaking, rather dangerous.

But things had already come this far. If he still pretended ignorance or tried to fob him off with evasive nonsense, it would seem far too dismissive of the other party.

Leaning against the pillows at the head of the bed, Yu Gong Zhao Ye carefully chose his words and answered tactfully, “I didn’t switch careers. I’ve always been one. I volunteered.”

Wei Fu: “…That sounds exactly like someone who had no way out.”

“Was it,” he asked hesitantly, “because you loved it?”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye thought for a moment. “Because I couldn’t inherit the throne, so I had to find myself some kind of work.”

Wei Fu gave the sort of amazed reaction a country bumpkin might upon entering the city for the first time and applauded lightly. “Wow. Are the futures of Longsha’s princes always this extreme? If you can’t become ruler, you have to become an assassin?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Yu Gong Zhao Ye said, “Biological sons don’t have such concerns. I alone could never become ruler.”

For someone so skilled at hiding things, once he decided to reveal everything, the unvarnished truth sounded almost like reckless self-destruction.

“Oh… wait—uh, Your Highness?”

Wei Fu stared at him in astonishment like a goose, carefully tugging at his sleeve. “Did I ask something I shouldn’t have?”

“If tonight’s conversation between us is learned by a third person—” Yu Gong Zhao Ye made a throat-slitting gesture.

Wei Fu immediately understood and patted his chest in promise. “This secret will rot in my stomach and go into the coffin with me. I absolutely won’t tell anyone.”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye did not stop him from swearing such a heavy oath, which alone proved the gravity of what he was about to say. “I am not the late emperor’s biological son. The reason I possess my current status is because my mother once made an agreement with the late emperor.”

He stopped there without specifying the nature of the agreement. Yet merely the phrase “not a biological son” was equivalent to placing his entire future and livelihood into Wei Fu’s hands.

Throughout history, confusion regarding royal bloodlines was usually a matter of ignorance. For Emperor Zheng’an Yu Gong Du to insist on taking a bandit woman as a noble consort had already been wildly unconventional, yet he had also willingly acknowledged the unrelated child she brought with her as his own son. The later rulers not only refrained from exposing or punishing him, but even elevated him to Prince, further solidifying his position. And this prince’s second identity was that of a royal assassin.

This situation could not be summed up with something as simple as “absurd.” It could only be said that from top to bottom, Longsha’s entire style of conduct carried an eerie tendency toward dangerous, unconventional extremes.

Wei Fu was someone who had weathered great storms before. Pretending composure, he took a sip of tea to steady himself. Looking again at the calm and composed Yu Gong Zhao Ye, an indescribable ache welled up in his heart.

He could have had a bright and splendid life, yet instead he had always walked alone upon dark cliffs and precipices. Why choose such a painful and difficult road?

Was it a bargain between the Noble Consort and the late emperor? Or had he willingly accepted coercion from the imperial family in order to protect his mother?

“Why did Your Highness become an assassin?” he asked softly, fingers brushing the calluses on Yu Gong Zhao Ye’s hand with some heartache. “There were clearly many paths you could have chosen. Wouldn’t it have been better to live peacefully as an idle prince blessed with wealth and comfort?”

“Because I was originally supposed to inherit my mother’s profession and become a bandit.” Yu Gong Zhao Ye had no idea why Wei Fu’s voice had suddenly become so gentle, nor did he realize the many twists and turns of feeling inside his heart. With one sentence, he directly blew apart the mystery. “But my mother was recruited into service by the late emperor, so instead I inherited her profession and became an assassin.”

Wei Fu: “……”

“Wei Fu: What? Who? What happened? Did some important words just fly past me all at once?”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye said with low-key modesty, “Ashamed to say it—the final leader of Bihua was precisely my late mother.”

With utmost reverence, Wei Fu carefully tucked his hand back beneath the blanket, pious as though making an offering to the Supreme Lord Lao.

“So it turns out this is a family tradition. My respects, my respects.” He spoke sincerely. “For Helan Zhenjia back then, and Gu Pingchuan today, to fall at Your Highness’s hands—it truly was a blessing cultivated over eight lifetimes. They got off easy.”

“…” Yu Gong Zhao Ye said, “That praise is getting a bit excessive. Tone it down.”

Though he habitually ignored outside opinions, he was not ignorant of worldly affairs. At the very least, he knew that in the eyes of ordinary society, his entire family would be classified as “abnormal”: an emperor who raised another man’s child, a mother who fought and killed for a living, and himself, someone who abandoned a comfortable life only to deliberately seek hardship.

He had never expected Wei Fu to react differently, nor did he particularly care what judgment he received. Yet Wei Fu’s response truly did surprise him—and in a good way.

His attitude was too natural. He accepted everything smoothly and immediately found the impressive parts worth praising. Yu Gong Zhao Ye suspected that even if he claimed his ancestors had sold flatbread for a living, Wei Fu would still compliment them for having lofty ambitions, escaping the suffering of the kitchen hearth in order to march toward the great cause of saving the common people from suffering.

A little helplessly, he sighed. “What else do you want to ask?”

Wei Fu trembled dramatically. “If I ask, will Your Highness still let me walk out this door alive?”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye replied like he was speaking a tongue twister. “As long as you promise to leave immediately after asking, you may walk out this door.”

Wei Fu: “Then I won’t ask anymore.”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye was speechless for a long moment. Finally, he let out a faint snort. “Childish.”

Wei Fu could not help laughing. “Then… one last question. Since Bihua dissolved, where is Your Highness employed now?”

Previously, whenever he repeatedly brought up Bihua, Yu Gong Zhao Ye had firmly insisted that Bihua no longer existed, his attitude perfectly frank and open. Ask him, and he would simply answer: dissolved. There had not been the slightest embellishment or evasion. At first Wei Fu had assumed he was merely being stubborn, but only just now did he suddenly realize it had actually been a simple word game.

The smile on Yu Gong Zhao Ye’s lips faded slightly.

After about a breath of silence, he answered softly, “The palace hall dedicated to the Moon God within the imperial compound was called Bihua Pavilion. During the previous dynasty, Emperor Zhangwu, seeking to eliminate powerful maternal relatives and ministers, secretly summoned trusted allies there during the Mid-Autumn worship ceremony and plotted the assassination of Grand General Yin Ruowang. That was how Bihua was born.”

“After Helan Zhenjia was assassinated, every nation’s vigilance toward Bihua reached an unprecedented height. Combined with information leaks from traitors within, Bihua was effectively exposed to public scrutiny and rendered nearly paralyzed. Disbanding was inevitable.”

“The late king, pressured from all sides, ordered Bihua dissolved. The former members scattered in every direction. Some had their identities exposed and suffered retaliation; some changed allegiances. Only a very small number of trusted confidants remained in the palace to continue serving.”

“For several years we had no name and could not leave behind any trace pointing toward Longsha. We were effectively invisible. Later, as the situation gradually calmed, some new recruits joined one after another by chance. It finally began to resemble an actual organization again, so the late emperor followed the precedent set by Bihua and named it after its base of operations: Yeguang.”

Wei Fu froze briefly, then suddenly understood. “When we parted back then, you told me that if one day I wished to find you, I could go to Yeguang Hall, the Moon God temple in Bihan City, offer a branch of goji berries, and hang a wish slip on the osmanthus tree in the courtyard—and you would come see me. That Yeguang… it’s the same one, isn’t it?”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye hummed in acknowledgment. “Yeguang Hall was a royal temple built east of Bihan City by Emperor Xining. In the past, it was also one of Bihua’s communication bases.”

Wei Fu carefully savored the two characters “Yeguang.” Perhaps because affection extended to all associated things, he found it far more pleasing to the ear than “Bihua.” “It suits perfectly. As the master of Yeguang, there could not be a more fitting name for Your Highness.”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye laughed upon hearing this. “You aimed your flattery wrong, Young Master Wei. No matter how you calculate it, the master of Yeguang should be the current king. I’m merely someone who follows orders and collects a salary. Don’t let a few small acts of kindness cloud your judgment.”

This man always spoke of climbing mountains of blades and crossing seas of fire as casually as eating and drinking. Even life-saving grace became merely “small acts of kindness” in his mouth.

Wei Fu had never met Longsha’s new king. He did not know what he looked like or what sort of person he was. But even if the man were the Jade Emperor himself reincarnated, wise and mighty beyond compare, he still could not possibly be more suited than Yu Gong Zhao Ye to command a legion of blades.

“I’m not flattering you on purpose. I’m only speaking from the heart.” Wei Fu corrected him somewhat indignantly. “Your Highness always likens yourself to the glow of a firefly. But if we truly examine it, the thing that corresponds to you should be the moon itself—pure and luminous, exactly like your name.”

“The customs on our side differ somewhat from those in Xiling.” Yu Gong Zhao Ye replied lazily. “In Longsha legends, the Moon God represents unpredictability, concealment, deception—the patron deity of thieves, assassins, killers, and the like.”

“It’s the ninth tonight. At this hour the moon should already be setting.” Wei Fu helped him lie back beneath the covers and tucked in the blanket corners carefully. “So even great assassins need not keep running around endlessly. You should sleep now.”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye had already half-closed his eyes. Hearing this, he opened one again in surprise. “Has the moon risen out of a chimney? You’re suddenly not clingy anymore?”

Wei Fu laughed. “I’ll still be right here. Your Highness sleeps poorly, doesn’t he? I won’t disturb your peace any longer.”

In truth, if he acted pitiful and clung to him a little longer, then judging by how indulgent Yu Gong Zhao Ye had been toward him today, he would probably eventually relent and let him stay. But Wei Fu had witnessed firsthand how lightly Yu Gong Zhao Ye slept. Compared to temporary closeness, he wanted more for him to enjoy a truly restful night.

The clingy little creature had suddenly become overly sensible, and Yu Gong Zhao Ye felt oddly unaccustomed to it. “What about you? Are you really going to sleep in the woodshed?”

“Mhm. I’ll spread bedding on the floor in the woodshed next door.” Wei Fu lied with a completely straight face while gently patting him through the blanket. “If anything happens, just call once and I’ll hear you.”

Before Yu Gong Zhao Ye could agree or refuse, Wei Fu hurriedly spoke first, emphasizing, “Don’t be afraid of troubling me. Back then I caused you no end of trouble, and I’ll probably continue causing trouble in the future. So you can order me around however you like, alright?”

That tone was hardly one of seeking permission anymore. It was practically spoiled whining.

How could Yu Gong Zhao Ye possibly say “not alright”?

“Don’t worry about anything, A’Ying. Sleep peacefully.”

Outside the curtains, the lamps were extinguished. Footsteps retreated. With the soft sound of the door closing, the room finally fell quiet.

Only a faint trace of gentian fragrance lingered beside his pillow, circling stubbornly without fading away.

Fatigue and drowsiness dragged his consciousness deep into dreams colored blue-violet. Briefly abandoning his excessive vigilance, he resembled a beast in the dead of winter, retracting its claws to rest within the warm den of a companion.

The next morning, when Yu Gong Zhao Ye opened his eyes again, he could clearly see the woven patterns in the bed curtains.

This meant not only that his vision had fully recovered, but that the sky outside was already bright—he had risen much later than usual today.

Throwing off the blankets, he swung himself out of bed and stretched his limbs. The antidote’s side effects had completely faded. Thanks to it, he had slept deeply and rested thoroughly enough that he even felt somewhat hungry.

The courtyard was very quiet. He could hear noisy birdsong and faint street cries drifting from beyond the alley. Pulling on his outer robe, he was just about to step outside when unhurried footsteps stopped beyond his door. Wei Fu knocked lightly three times. “Your Highness, are you awake?”

Yu Gong Zhao Ye walked over and pulled the door open.

The flood of brilliant sunlight pouring down from outside—and the graceful young gentleman standing at the doorway in crimson robes, radiant beyond compare—made him squint instinctively. Shocked, Yu Gong Zhao Ye blurted out:

“Are you getting married today?”

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