Demon Consort Runs into the Beijing Crown Prince - Chapter 18

The next day, Chu Muyun and his assistant, Tian Xingzi, flew to Shanghai. The Crown Prince was also transported in an airline-approved carrier.

After landing, a car sent by the production crew picked them up.

The airport was bustling with activity. A large group of Luo Yi fans held up signs to welcome their idol, creating a scene as grand as a rally. But it had nothing to do with Chu Muyun.

He boarded the car with the Crown Prince and headed to the hotel. After checking in at the production crew’s registration desk, he proceeded to his room. The crew had booked all floors above the 20th, and Chu Muyun’s luxurious suite was on the 26th floor—the best accommodations he’d ever received.

“Teacher Chu, I’m in room 2103. Call me if you need anything,” Tian Xingzi said.

“Okay.”

Chu Muyun entered his room and set down his luggage. The hotel had already installed a large rabbit cage in the corner, as he’d requested. But the Big Rabbit was reluctant to go inside, preferring to circle around his feet.

He picked up the Crown Prince and kissed him. He couldn’t bear to leave his son at a pet shop for the two-month shoot, so he’d asked the production crew if he could bring him along.

“Once you and your father get closer, I’ll have him stay home and take care of the kids,” Chu Muyun said to Big Rabbit.

The Crown Prince wasn’t yet familiar with Lu Hanzhang, and Chu Muyun would feel uneasy leaving him in his care.

Thinking of Lu Hanzhang, Chu Muyun picked up his phone and initiated a video call.

Lu Hanzhang answered quickly.

The screen popped up, showing Lu Hanzhang’s face from a terrible upward angle, his chin jutting out awkwardly. Chu Muyun assumed he wouldn’t care about the unflattering view, but Lu Hanzhang swiftly adjusted the camera, his handsome face reappearing in the frame before Chu Muyun could even blink.

Chu Muyun gasped.

He’d never been particularly impressed with the Great Kings portrayed in dramas, especially Luo Yi’s version. No one seemed to realize how well-fed he was. His own Great King possessed the majestic bearing of a dragon, the grace of a phoenix, and a sculpted eight-pack. Not only was he a feast for the eyes, but he was also a beast in bed.

Hehe.

Holding the Crown Prince in his arms, creating a picture of familial harmony, Chu Muyun voiced his earlier thoughts. In the future, while he was away filming, Lu Hanzhang would stay home and care for their son.

“I often go on business trips, too,” Lu Hanzhang said.

“So you admit you’re my son’s father?” Chu Muyun teased.

“Godfather?” Lu Hanzhang’s eyes flickered.

“Not at all. I mean his real father, the one listed on his household registration.”

As Chu Muyun spoke, he noticed the familiar backdrop of Lu Hanzhang’s CEO office. At the edge of the screen, a crystal vase held a bouquet of orange roses he recognized.

He kept them.

They chatted about other things for a few more minutes before Chu Muyun yawned. He was exhausted from traveling all day.

“Get some rest,” Lu Hanzhang said. “Come to me if you need anything.”

“Okay.” Chu Muyun turned to the Crown Prince. “Say goodnight to your dad.”

The Crown Prince cooed obediently.

“Such a good boy.” Chu Muyun pretended to lean down for a kiss, then abruptly turned and planted a quick peck on the screen.

He could see Lu Hanzhang’s face redden on the screen. The man stammered a stiff “Goodnight” and hung up.

Heh, successful sneak attack.

Chu Muyun woke up in his hotel room at 5 o’clock and took the chauffeured van that had been shipped ahead to the film set for makeup.

Today was the day for the official character portraits.

At the set, he met Cheng Yu, the rising star playing the male lead. Cheng Yu had a handsome, rugged look and stood at an estimated 1.9 meters tall.

Cheng Yu was surprisingly friendly, nodding to Chu Muyun, who returned the gesture with a smile.

Luo Yi, the actor playing the second male lead, had yet to arrive.

Cheng Yu shot his portraits first, then it was Chu Muyun’s turn.

Since it was a modern drama, Chu Muyun had brought some of his own clothes. He had good taste, though he couldn’t afford luxury brands, his outfits were far from cheap. His shirts, costing a few hundred yuan each, had a subtle quality that transcended mere brand names.

Chu Muyun loved buying clothes and dressing well. He had spent most of his meager earnings as a struggling actor on fashion, preferring to eat instant noodles rather than compromise on his appearance.

After discussing with the stylist, he tried on several outfits provided by the production team, followed by a few of his own.

Each change of clothes required a slight adjustment to his hairstyle and the addition of appropriate accessories.

The crew’s accessories were arranged on a prop rack, basket after basket, a dazzling array reminiscent of a 5 yuan bargain shop. From sunglasses and chokers to sweater chains, rings, earrings, and cufflinks, everything imaginable was there.

In truth, the quality matched that of a 5 yuan bargain shop. The jewelry, needless to say, was entirely fake, made of resin or glass.

These accessories would only flash briefly on camera. During post-production, color grading and filters would further obscure their authenticity. Through the screen, viewers would struggle to distinguish the real from the fake.

Chu Muyun was originally scheduled for six sets of costume photos, but since Luo Yi hadn’t arrived yet, the director had him shoot several extra sets.

Not every outfit would ultimately make it into the drama, only those that best suited his character’s persona would be selected. If there weren’t enough options, the actors would have to rush to nearby malls for emergency purchases. Fortunately, Chu Muyun had brought plenty of his own clothes, so there was no need for that.

The directorial team sat in a row beneath the platform, their faces beaming with satisfaction at his appearance.

Chu Muyun had been forced upon them by the investors, an unknown quantity with no prior collaboration with the director. The director had only accepted him out of financial necessity, harboring lingering doubts about his acting abilities.

But now, seeing him in costume, it was clear, he was perfect for the role.

Gu Minglun, the third male lead, was the adopted son of the wealthy Gu Clan, taken in after their true heir went missing. Raised in luxury, he was bright, proud, and pampered. Having received excessive adoration since childhood, he possessed an arrogance that seemed to say, “You’d have to be blind not to adore me.” When dressed in simple clothes, the natural tear mole at the corner of his left eye added to his delicate, vulnerable charm.

Was it unreasonable for such a pampered young master from a wealthy family to have multiple costume changes in the drama? Not at all.

Assistant Tian Xingzi snapped photos from below with her phone.

Photography was normally prohibited to prevent leaks, but Chu Muyun’s backing from the investors allowed the staff to turn a blind eye.

By the tenth set of costume photos, the production manager had made several calls. Luo Yi finally arrived late, his face stormy, already made up by his own stylist instead of the crew’s makeup artist.

Chu Muyun finished his shoot and stepped down from the brightly lit platform, yielding his place to Luo Yi.

He glanced at his rival. To be fair, Luo Yi wasn’t ugly—at least not after a full makeover. Chu Muyun’s disdain stemmed from Luo Yi’s role as the Great King, a character Chu Muyun considered his personal sacred ground. Luo Yi simply couldn’t compare to the Great King, not in looks, temperament, bearing, or physique.

Luo Yi debuted through a talent show, his looks leaning towards handsome rather than the alluring beauty of Chu Muyun. His previous makeup emphasized sharp features and angular eyebrows, forcing a cool, edgy vibe. But for this role, to match the character of Bai Xiaoyang—a naive, resilient, and poor country boy—his eye makeup was kept minimal, his eye corners rounded, and his facial features softened. The overall effect was bland, like plain water, barely qualifying as attractive, and even then, in a conventional, uninspiring way. If compared to flowers, he was like a wildflower, the kind you could pluck by the handful from any field.

In short, he was unremarkable and unmemorable.

Compared to Chu Muyun’s portrayal of the fake young master Gu Minglun, who shone like a vibrant red rose, who would even glance at a wildflower when a rose was present?

Assistant Xiao Xing handed her phone to Chu Muyun as he approached, glancing around before whispering, “Teacher Chu, I feel like the casting for this drama is perfect.”

She genuinely believed it. The directing team seemed to share her sentiment, exchanging subtle glances with knowing expressions.

Only Luo Yi’s camp wore sour faces.

Chu Muyun chuckled softly.

“That’s great,” he whispered back.

Luo Yi was perfectly cast. With such a well-matched ensemble, the drama was bound to be even more of a hit.

Speaking of which, his team used to send out a lot of “beauty crush” press releases, dragging down his fellow contestants on talent shows, didn’t they? Hehe.

He didn’t dwell on it, settling down to scroll through his phone. He’d asked Xiao Xing to take photos of him earlier. Opening his album, he meticulously selected five out of dozens to send to Lu Hanzhang.

Moments later, a reply came: [Not bad.]

Chu Muyun pressed: [Which one’s the best?]

In the CEO’s office, Lu Hanzhang instinctively wanted to reply, “They’re all good.” Each photo had its own charm, its own allure—some with sweet smiles, others with sultry gazes, and still others where the fabric of his clothes hinted at tantalizing curves. But that felt too perfunctory. Summoning the same focus he used for project proposals, he zoomed in on each image, studying every detail—and of course, saving them all with a single click.

After a long pause, he replied: [The third one.]

Hehe, Chu Muyun took a sip of the mineral water Xiao Xing offered. The Great King only replied now, he must have been staring at them for ages.

In the office, Lu Hanzhang’s gaze remained fixed on the photograph, the third one he had carefully selected after a long deliberation.

The man in the photo wore a linen shirt, its gentle cream color accentuated by the soft lighting. Chu Muyun’s slender shoulders and delicate frame retained a youthful air, even years after university graduation. The slightly upward angle of the shot emphasized his sharp jawline, giving him the haughty grace of a white swan. A faint touch of orange-red eyeshadow contrasted with his pale skin, adding a fragile, almost tear-stained quality to his appearance.

Like a piece of precious yet vulnerable white porcelain, he stirred a primal urge to break him. His slightly parted red lips seemed to beckon, inviting someone to lean in and taste them, to grip the loose folds of his shirt and claim the tantalizing glimpse of his waist beneath, to brutally invade, bully, and crush him…

Lu Hanzhang’s breath quickened. His thumb pressed against the red lips on the screen, grinding across them as if crushing them beneath his fingers.

It had only been a day since they parted. Apart from Chu Muyun’s two forceful kisses, they had never been intimate.

Yet the thought of Chu Muyun being so far away in Shanghai, with two months of separation stretching ahead, filled him with unbearable restlessness and impatience.