Demon Consort Runs into the Beijing Crown Prince - Chapter 32

After finishing their grilled skewers, Chu Muyun suggested, “Why don’t you come back to my place to rest? I still have some spare clothes for you there.”

He really did. Several unopened boxes of underwear were still in the closet.

“No, I’ll go back to the company to sleep,” Lu Hanzhang declined.

“But tomorrow’s the weekend. Do you really have to go back to the company?”

“It is the weekend,” Lu Hanzhang smiled, “but I don’t take weekends off.”

“…You’re such a workaholic,” Chu Muyun said, a hint of concern in his voice. “You’re always so busy. You need to take care of yourself.”

“It’s fine. I get regular checkups and make time to exercise.”

Hmm, Chu Muyun couldn’t help but recall the gym he’d seen on the same floor as the CEO’s office. Does the Great King sweat it out in there when he has free time?

Lu Hanzhang’s muscular arms were clearly visible. He must have eight-pack abs too, just like in his past life.

I really want to see them, and touch them, and lick them.

After returning home and sleeping, Chu Muyun opened Weibo the next afternoon to find a fan had tagged him.

Since StarJoy sent out the lawyer’s letter, the haters had significantly toned down their attacks. His Weibo feed was now mostly filled with confessions from small fans, with only a few messages.

Overall, he was still a relatively unknown figure, so the number of messages was manageable.

The Weibo post tagging him featured a candid photo taken late at night in front of a barbecue restaurant. It captured Lu Hanzhang’s profile and most of Chu Muyun’s face. Lu Hanzhang’s hand was stretched out, palm flat on the table, with Chu Muyun’s hand pressing down on it.

Fans commented:

[Who’s the handsome guy across from you? What were you two doing? blushing emoji]

[Why are you holding hands?]

[Even just his profile is so handsome. Is he your boyfriend, @StarJoy-ChuMuyunV?]

Lu Hanzhang was a household name in the business world, but he never gave interviews or made public appearances, and no photos of him had ever been leaked. As a result, the public couldn’t recognize him, while Chu Muyun, the relatively unknown figure, was easily identified.

Chu Muyun replied to the first comment: [Just a friend. We were looking at palmistry.]

Notifications flooded in as a crowd of commenters lined up to reply: [Oh, just palmistry? We thought you were dating!]

I wish I were dating, Chu Muyun thought. But I haven’t managed to win him over yet.

Lu Hanzhang rarely used Weibo, only checking it briefly when StarJoy launched its official account and Chu Muyun updated his username.

He missed this particular post, but his assistant, Li Weide, who was idly scrolling through Weibo during a break, spotted it. The loyal Xiao Dezi silently took a screenshot and sent it to his boss.

Lu Hanzhang stared at the screenshot, his emotions tangled.

A friend? Palmistry?

He was the one who had rejected a formal relationship, yet human nature was contradictory. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease. The signature on his palm seemed to burn, tightening his chest.

Lu Hanzhang took a deep breath and looked up. In the corner of his office stood the giant rose bear, its vibrant red petals a bold declaration of affection, like the most intense love, yet it also soothed him, pacifying his restless heart.

After just a few days of lounging on the sofa playing on his phone, Chu Muyun was once again thrust into a film crew by his manager.

It was the same Pear Blossom Falls crew where he had run into Lu Hanzhang at the project launch banquet. Despite facing financial turmoil during pre-production due to investor Huashi’s instability, the project had finally begun filming.

Chu Muyun was only making a cameo appearance as a special guest star.

Jin Ming explained that the drama had nearly been scrapped. However, since initial funding was already secured, the company assessed that withdrawing would result in greater losses and decided to proceed.

The drama’s prospects were mediocre at best, likely to flop, so they didn’t want Chu Muyun wasting two or three months as a lead actor. Still, the cameo role they had secured for him was decent, with limited screen time. If he played it well, he could potentially win over a new fan base.

Satisfied with the role, Chu Muyun agreed to the filming schedule and rode to the set in his company-provided van.

The location was a large film studio complex in the suburbs of Beijing, not far from the city.

As a special guest star with limited scenes, Chu Muyun’s treatment by the crew was worlds apart from how they had treated him when he had tried to secure minor roles in the past.

The assistant director who had once lectured him with paternalistic condescension about “seizing opportunities and working hard” was now obsequiously polite, even to his assistant, Xiao Xing, not daring to utter a single rude word.

Chu Muyun didn’t bother to argue.

If he used his connections to get someone kicked off the set, he’d just become another tyrannical actor.

Historical dramas differed greatly from modern ones. While modern dramas were mostly filmed on location in rented houses, historical dramas, aside from some scenes shot in film cities like Hengdian, were often filmed in closed studios.

Studios were massive rectangular buildings with vast, empty interiors. Inside, the art director would construct elaborate ancient-style pavilions and towers—all flimsy paper-thin facades that a strong breeze could topple. The trees and flowers were plastic, but the pond water was real, though the lotus blossoms were fake.

Daylight was also simulated. The studio was lightproof, with a grid of powerful lamps on the ceiling mimicking sunlight. When most of the lamps were switched off, it was time for night scenes.

As for scenes of galloping horses across fields or boating through verdant landscapes, ambitious productions with large budgets would film on location. Otherwise, actors would perform against green screens, relying on post-production to composite in backgrounds.

Chu Muyun had filmed historical dramas before and was accustomed to these practices.

On set, the male and female leads were rehearsing their lines while Chu Muyun sat on the periphery, his stylist working on his hair and makeup.

Though he was only making a cameo appearance, the costumes and props were far superior to those in the low-budget web dramas he’d previously acted in. The crown, belt, and sword were crafted with surprising detail, and his robes fit him perfectly.

In the drama, he played a fox spirit.

His appearance was striking: a flowing robe of fiery red gauze that accentuated his snow-white skin, clear and captivating eyes, and a delicate, lively charm. Fox ears peeked through his dark hair, and a fluffy, partially transformed fox tail coiled around his slender waist.

The young fox spirit was innocent yet radiated an innate allure, a blend of purity and seduction.

Xiao Xing snapped photos of him.

Chu Muyun selected a few and sent them to Lu Hanzhang, who replied instantly: [Beautiful.]

The simple two-word response seemed almost indifferent.

In truth, someone had darkened eyes and deepened breaths, forcibly suppressing their reaction for a later meeting with an important business partner. They skillfully saved the photos to an album they’d been building for some time.

The album contained only Chu Muyun, in various costumes and expressions. The cover was a promotional shot of him in a linen shirt, which Lu Hanzhang had once praised as “the best one.”

In the photo, Chu Muyun tilted his head back and laughed haughtily, like a pristine white swan untouched by worldly concerns. He remained blissfully unaware that late at night, someone would gaze at his face, panting, their fingers repeatedly bringing themselves to the brink of losing control.

After completing his makeup, Chu Muyun began filming his scenes.

His role was small, and the production team had scheduled all his scenes to be shot in a single day.

The plot of Pear Blossom Falls revolved around the Female Lead, the Pear Blossom Fairy, who descended to the mortal realm to undergo tribulation. Framed by treacherous villains, she perished, her body transforming into a pear tree in a secluded valley.

Chu Muyun played a small fox demon, originally a wild fox from the mountains with fur as red as blazing fire. One day, the fox stumbled upon the pear tree, absorbed its spiritual energy, and gained sentience, transforming into human form.

Grateful for the Female Lead’s kindness, the little fox voluntarily stayed by the tree’s side, guarding it against cultivators seeking to chop it down and demonic beasts causing trouble.

The loyal little fox demon was eventually killed by the Male Lead, who had come searching for the Female Lead. The Male Lead took the pear tree, now formed from the Female Lead’s remains, intending to revive her through some dark magic.

Their ensuing melodramatic and twisted romance would wreak havoc across the three realms, but none of it had anything to do with Chu Muyun’s little fox. The Male Lead turned the beautiful red fox with its thick, lustrous fur into a fox-fur scarf as a gift for the Female Lead.

When Chu Muyun first read the script, he couldn’t help but scoff.

Who in their right mind would fall for such a ruthless, heartless, and inhuman Male Lead?

Oh, right. The Great King has killed plenty of people for my sake, too. Never mind then.

Upon further reflection, the Great King at least only killed those who insulted him, while the Male Lead slaughtered Spirit Beasts loyal to the Female Lead.

In short, the Male Lead was still trash, and this drama was unlikely to succeed.

Not that it mattered much to Chu Muyun anyway, he only appeared on screen for about ten minutes total.

Chu Muyun joined the production team on his first day and finished filming the next day before returning home.

His manager, Jin Ming, had no intention of letting him rest. Within a few days, he sent another script for Chu Muyun to review.

This was a campus drama titled Youthful Loop.

Jin Ming had initially hoped to secure ancient costume drama roles for Chu Muyun, capitalizing on his “Heaven-Chosen Ancient Physique.” Instead, he ended up with this modern drama.

Backed by StarJoy and Jin Ming’s extensive network, securing resources for Chu Muyun wasn’t difficult. Several ancient costume drama scripts were available, but Jin Ming found them all unsatisfactory—cookie-cutter productions with uninspired characters.

Good scripts and compelling roles weren’t like weeds that sprouted automatically, they required luck and patient waiting.

This modern campus drama, Jin Ming assured Chu Muyun via WeChat, was currently the best fit for him.

Jin Ming planned for Chu Muyun to take on the role of Jiang Lan, the impoverished campus heartthrob—a white-shirted god among students.

Jin Ming was still dangling carrots, promising that once the drama aired, they’d splurge on PR campaigns to market it as a “Red Rose, White Rose” story.

“You’re both the cinnabar mole (Gu Minglun) and the white moonlight (Jiang Lan),” he declared.

Chu Muyun found it acceptable.

He spent several days holed up at home, devouring the script. The drama contained pain and growth, but it wasn’t a typical angst-ridden youth drama. Instead, it had a heartwarming and humorous tone.

Another three-person story, he thought.

Misaligned had also featured three characters, but it was a classic love triangle with two suitors vying for one target, leaving Gu Minglun as the unfortunate third wheel.

In Youthful Loop, however, no one was left out. He loves him, he loves him, he loves him. The school bully secretly pines for the school heartthrob, who secretly pines for the academic prodigy, who secretly pines for the school bully, forming a perfect loop.

It all began when the wealthy bully’s parents hired the academic prodigy to tutor him, and the bully then roped in the heartthrob he secretly admired. The trio formed a study group, and their three-way romance (or lack thereof) unfolded.

Their youth was chaotic, filled with laughter and the usual teenage drama. Under the prodigy’s encouragement, the underachievers began to buckle down and study hard for the college entrance exams.

The drama captured the bittersweetness of first love: sharing a baked sweet potato on the back of a bicycle, handing water bottles by the basketball court, breathing on a glass window to write “I love you” without signing it, and the eternal question of “When I’m looking at you, who are you looking at?”

The drama also delves into the characters’ dysfunctional families.

The school bully’s parents shower him with money but withhold genuine care, his father even having an affair.

The school heartthrob lives in poverty, relying solely on his grandmother, and works part-time after school to support them.

The academic prodigy’s home environment is suffocating, his parents employing a relentlessly oppressive educational style. Any subject where he fails to secure the top grade, any attempt at leisure or extracurricular activities, is met with humiliating curses and even physical punishment.

These three boys find solace in each other, creating a haven of support during their most challenging times.

As Chu Muyun read the script, he couldn’t help but sigh. The fact that you three managed to get through it all is more impressive than anything else.

In the end, the academic prodigy gains admission to a top domestic university, while the school heartthrob also does well but chooses a school in another city. The school bully decides to study abroad.

Those who were once tightly bound together, like interlocking loops, gradually drift apart.

Yet youth itself remains the most precious memory. Who hasn’t loved a boy who lingers in their mind, a boy who once dazzled their world?

After finishing the script, Chu Muyun immediately decided to take the role. It wasn’t a weighty, realistic drama destined for awards, but he sensed that if executed well, it could attract a large fanbase.

He wasn’t the kind of actor obsessed with artistic merit or yearning for golden trophies, though he wouldn’t turn down an award if the opportunity arose. What he craved now was fame, to be adored by millions.

The pre-production work for Youthful Loop was nearly complete, and the cast and crew were about to begin filming.

Post-production and censorship review for his previous drama, Misaligned, were still ongoing, and it hadn’t even aired yet, but he was already heading to shoot a new series.

As Jin Ming put it, Chu Muyun was now in the “ascendant phase” of his career. While he was young, he needed to take on as many roles as possible, work hard, and not even think about settling down.

That made perfect sense. Chu Muyun had been a washed-up 18th-tier actor, scraping the bottom of the barrel. Any role he landed was a step up.

He had no objections, but when he mentioned it to Lu Hanzhang on WeChat, the other man seemed a little moody.

So soon you’re going out of town again?

Lu Hanzhang didn’t say it outright, but Chu Muyun could read between the lines.

Later, when they met for dinner, Chu Muyun noticed Lu Hanzhang’s subdued mood. The Little Demon Consort was far too skilled at reading his Great King’s micro-expressions.

Hmph, too proud to admit he’ll miss me. Serves him right to be left alone.

“By the time I finish filming, it’ll be almost the end of the year,” Chu Muyun said. “Jin Ming promised I can take a break then—no dramas, just variety shows. I’ll spend time with you when I get back.”

“Okay,” Lu Hanzhang’s expression softened. “Send me lots of photos from the set.”

“Mhm, I will~”

Chu Muyun still had no idea what his Great King did with his photos. Lu Hanzhang now seemed so proper and abstemious, so “pure.”

He’s still a virgin, isn’t he? His ears turn red when I tease him. So pure.