Demon Consort Runs into the Beijing Crown Prince - Chapter 34

Today, the cast of Youthful Loop had their character photos taken.

Chu Muyun woke up early and headed to the set for makeup. After Jiang Wenhao, who played the male lead as the school bully, finished his photos, it was Chu Muyun’s turn.

After trying on several outfits provided by the production team and some of his own clothes, they ultimately shot three sets of character photos.

Chu Muyun’s exceptional looks made the director eager to shoot more, but Jiang Lan, the school heartthrob he portrayed, was a poor boy from a humble background. The script only allowed for three sets of clothes that could be washed and rotated, which was already quite generous.

Chu Muyun possessed slightly upturned, peach-blossom eyes that exuded a hint of allure, making his smiles particularly captivating. Yet when he adopted a cool, unsmiling expression, the coquettishness vanished, revealing a pure innocence. He looked perfectly natural as a high school student, with skin so tender it seemed you could pinch water from it and a slender, graceful figure like a clean, weightless breeze.

Jiang Lan’s signature outfit was a thin white shirt that subtly outlined his waist when he turned sideways. Though completely buttoned up, even the wrinkles in the fabric seemed to tease.

After the photoshoot, Chu Muyun stepped down from the brightly lit platform and reviewed the photos Xiao Xing had taken. He selected a few to send to his phone, planning to forward them to Lu Hanzhang later.

He twisted open a bottle of mineral water, took a sip, and checked his phone. He noticed a WeChat message from fifteen minutes earlier.

The Great King is replying a bit late today. He usually responds instantly. Did the diligent President Lu finally allow himself a rare lazy morning?

Chu Muyun focused on the message, his eyes widening in shock. He choked violently, nearly spitting out the water, and his face flushed crimson.

[I’m sorry. I used your photo for m*sturb*tion.]

What?! Could Lu Hanzhang, the epitome of abstinence and restraint, actually say something like that?

How had he become so bold and direct?

“Mr. Chu, are you alright?” Xiao Xing hurriedly patted his back.

Chu Muyun waved her off, still coughing, “Cough, I’m fine.”

No, but why would Lu Hanzhang suddenly send him this message? Just a few days ago, Chu Muyun had thought this lifetime’s Great King was hopelessly pure, like someone who’d been celibate for twenty years.

Though stunned, Chu Muyun wasn’t offended in the slightest. Why are you apologizing, Great King? I don’t mind at all. I’m already your Beloved Consort.

Besides, I’ve comforted myself with your voice and imagined your face. I’ve done it too.

I’m actually quite pleased you’re admitting it yourself.

So my allure over you hasn’t faded after all~

In the bathroom, the hot water from the showerhead poured down at full force, cascading over his taut chest and gradually washing away the grime.

Steam filled the air. The bloody water clinging to his hair had drained away. Lowering his gaze, he slowly lifted his eyelids through the curtain of water. His eyelashes trembled slightly, as if he were just waking up.

His eyes snapped wide open.

What had he sent to Chu Muyun?!

Lu Hanzhang abruptly reached for the phone he had unconsciously brought into the bathroom. He opened WeChat, but it was too late—more than two minutes had passed, and he couldn’t retract the message. A reply was already there:

[It’s okay, I don’t mind at all~ If you feel embarrassed, just use my photo once and send me 10,000 yuan.]

The sound of the water roared like a torrential downpour enveloping his ears.

Lu Hanzhang stared at the screen, his eyes downcast, and fell into silence.

Meanwhile, on the film set, Chu Muyun was also looking at his phone.

After Chu Muyun sent the message, Lu Hanzhang remained silent for several minutes.

Seriously? Chu Muyun thought. 10,000 yuan is just pocket change for him. He’s usually so generous, why the hesitation over such a small amount?

Perhaps Lu Hanzhang was simply busy and hadn’t checked WeChat yet?

A while later, a transfer notification popped up on WeChat.

[The other party has transferred 760,000 yuan to you.]

Chu Muyun’s eyes widened. He rubbed them, experiencing his second major shock of the day.

Seventy-six times in one night?! Is he even human?

Wait, on second thought, Lu Hanzhang must have included all the previous times as well. That silence earlier—was he calculating the total?

Just how long has he been using my photos for… that?

“He’s so pure,” Chu Muyun scoffed inwardly.

He tapped “Accept.”

Hmm, I’ve just fleeced the Great King for 760,000 yuan. If there weren’t so many people watching on set, I’d definitely send him a bonus leg shot.

The water cascaded over Lu Hanzhang’s body, his chest rising and falling with the turbulent emotions churning within him.

His already cleansed body broke out in a fresh sweat, mingling with the water and quickly washing away.

A low moan escaped Lu Hanzhang’s throat as he abandoned himself to his desires, indulging in reckless abandon.

His free hand gripped his phone, the screen displaying Chu Muyun’s newly released official portrait as the pure school heartthrob.

In the photo, the boy’s eyes were as clear as water. In Lu Hanzhang’s imagination, those cheeks flushed crimson, his pale lips parted to release broken sobs, and his untouched, youthful body was devoured by Lu Hanzhang’s fierce hunger.

On set, Chu Muyun watched Li Yunbo, the actor playing the third male lead, the scholarly god, pose for his official portrait, his mind wandering.

A “ding” from WeChat drew his attention. Looking down, he saw Lu Hanzhang had transferred him 10,000 yuan.

Chu Muyun, “……”

His face flushed crimson again, his body burning.

The Great King is being too unrestrained today.

Isn’t he supposed to be working? Where is he at masturbating right now?!

The Little Demon Consort was unaware that his Great King had brushed against the Gate of the Underworld that morning. For a fleeting moment, Yan Jun’s overwhelming depression had nearly crushed Lu Hanzhang, who had desperately wanted to give up, needing only the slightest external push.

But then, realizing what he had sent to Chu Muyun, he slumped back onto his sickbed, startled awake.

After Li Yunbo, the third male lead, finished his photoshoot, it was time for the main cast to take paired photos and group shots. Fans of the drama would have plenty of material to ship their favorite couples.

The production team had truly mastered the art of permutations and combinations for promotional purposes.

By the time the entire photoshoot wrapped up, it was already 2 PM. With no further commitments for the day, the cast could return to their hotels early to rest.

As Chu Muyun was about to leave, Jiang Wenhao, the male lead, approached him with a friendly smile, “What a coincidence to be in the same drama again! Looking forward to working with you for the next two months.”

“You two know each other?” Li Yunbo chimed in, joining them.

“We’ve met before,” Chu Muyun replied with a smile. “Several years ago, we were colleagues on a web drama. He was the second male lead, and I was just a forgettable extra who got killed off after two episodes. I remember him well, but I didn’t expect him to remember me.”

That web drama flopped silently, without making a ripple. At most, a few frames of Chu Muyun’s face appeared in fan-made videos created by his handful of fans from that time.

“Back then, I felt that with your potential, you couldn’t stay a background actor forever. You had the looks and acting skills, often nailing your scenes in one take. And the company you signed with, Sheng, wasn’t some small-time operation. I figured you’d break through eventually, so you left quite an impression on me,” Jiang Wenhao said with a friendly smile.

Jiang Wenhao was now a 2nd-tier star, known for his cool, rebellious image that made him perfect for playing school bullies. His journey through the entertainment industry had been relatively smooth, starting with supporting roles in web dramas and gradually climbing to lead roles in major productions.

Chu Muyun’s path, however, had been far more arduous. He had languished at rock bottom until recently, when he finally turned things around after meeting the Great King.

“You had such faith in me back then? I’m touched. I went through a long dry spell without any work, and I almost quit the industry entirely. It wasn’t until I switched companies that I started getting roles again,” Chu Muyun said.

“Getting roles is a great start. It proves I wasn’t wrong about you,” Jiang Wenhao replied.

“So you’re both seasoned actors,” Li Yunbo said. “This is my first time filming a drama, so please bear with me and show me the ropes.”

Li Yunbo had debuted as a singer-songwriter, and he also performed the theme song for Youthful Loop. With his baby face and the black-rimmed glasses he wore for his role as the class genius, he looked like a classic, slightly awkward good student in his school uniform.

“Sure, we’ll help you out during rehearsals,” Jiang Wenhao replied.

“Just relax. If you’re not tense, you’re halfway there,” Chu Muyun added.

“Thanks in advance!” Li Yunbo said, and for some reason, he snapped his right hand up in a salute. Combined with his black-rimmed glasses and high school uniform from the costume fitting, it was a little comical.

All three of them laughed.

This drama set has a good atmosphere, Chu Muyun thought. It’s much better than the constant drama with Luo Yi on the set of Misaligned, which spilled over into real life.

If he could, he’d rather avoid all the drama and just focus on acting.

Back at the hotel, Chu Muyun leashed Crown Prince and took him for a walk in the courtyard before returning to shower.

He sat on the bed and snapped a photo of his legs.

Hehe.

The Great King rewarded him with 770,000 today. Sending him a little “bonus” shouldn’t be too much to ask, right?

He tapped “Send.”

In the photo, one leg was slightly bent and bare, while the other was partially concealed beneath a thin blanket, its outline faintly visible. His calves were gracefully curved, and his thighs were plump and fleshy, their skin as white as solidified cream, with a delicate pink blush at the knees and ankles.

The partial concealment only fueled the imagination, drawing the eye downward along the thin blanket.

After sending the photo, silence descended on the other end. No reply came.

Chu Muyun didn’t wait idly. He switched to WeChat and replayed the two-minute audio message Lu Hanzhang had sent him earlier.

“Beloved Consort, tonight the moonlight flows like water…”

His body flushed with heat, and he curled his legs up to his chest.

Half an hour later, Chu Muyun received a fresh 10,000 yuan transfer. Almost simultaneously, a damp patch spread beneath the thin blanket. He called room service to request fresh sheets and, with trembling legs, retreated to the bathroom.

In the private living quarters attached to the CEO’s office, Lu Hanzhang emerged from the steamy bathroom, wrapped in a thick bathrobe.

After that, whether Chu Muyun was filming on set or resting in his hotel room, he would intermittently receive one or two transfers of ten thousand yuan from Lu Hanzhang each day.

Lu Hanzhang seemed to have completely let go, abandoning all pretense. Chu Muyun never imagined he could be so uninhibited. The thought of what each transfer implied sent a thrill through his body, causing him to tremble slightly with excitement.

Yet Chu Muyun still couldn’t understand Lu Hanzhang’s sudden change in attitude. Before, he had avoided even a simple hug, and Chu Muyun had to force kisses from him.

In truth, it was a case of “might as well give up.”

In public, Lu Hanzhang continued to dress in sharp suits, maintaining the image of a young, elite CEO. But only he knew that in Chu Muyun’s presence, he was a beast in human skin, having abandoned all morality and upbringing, leaving only raw, unadulterated desire.

Chu Muyun played Jiang Lan, the school heartthrob, in Youthful Loop.

Jiang Lan had a secret crush on Ding Yiou, the academic prodigy. He admired Ding Yiou’s intelligence and competence, feeling as if no problem could stump him.

Ding Yiou often studied at the small café where Jiang Lan worked after school. When there were no other customers to attend to, Jiang Lan would approach him with questions about his homework. Ding Yiou would patiently explain the solutions, his hand confidently and steadily writing out the steps on scrap paper, as if he could never make a mistake. His handwriting was neat and beautiful.

Jiang Lan wasn’t a good student, but he genuinely wanted to learn. He simply lacked the conditions to focus on his studies, his energy drained by working to earn money and caring for his elderly grandmother.

As for Ding Yiou, he preferred studying at the small café outside of school to returning to his suffocating home. His bedroom had no lock, and his parents could barge in at any time to check if he was studying diligently, secretly listening to music with headphones, or sneaking peeks at borrowed novels. If it weren’t for English listening practice, his parents wouldn’t have even bought him headphones or his extremely basic MP3 player.

Today’s scenes focused on Jiang Lan and Ding Yiou’s early encounters at the small café, before their three-person study group was formed.

Jiang Lan noticed the boy who often sat alone in a corner of the café, working on his homework. He seemed so focused that the noisy students gathered nearby didn’t distract him at all.

Jiang Lan learned from others that he was a classmate from another class, the top student in their grade, known as the “God of Learning.”

After hesitating, Jiang Lan brought his homework to Ding Yiou and asked for help.

When Jiang Lan saw Ding Yiou enter the café, he proactively ordered a latte and brought it to him.

Ding Yiou looked up, surprised. Jiang Lan said, “This latte is to thank you for helping me with the math problem.” He couldn’t help but smile.

Due to his family circumstances, Jiang Lan’s default demeanor was cool and resilient, rarely showing emotion.

When someone like him smiled, it was like spring ice thawing—doubly captivating. His eyes seemed to shimmer with tender affection, making it impossible not to be drawn in.

Ding Yiou blushed.

“Cut!”

Off-camera, the director shouted, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Li Yunbo, why are you blushing? Your crush is the school bully! Right now, you should be acting like a block of wood, treating Jiang Lan as just another classmate. Understand?”

The set erupted in laughter. Perhaps embarrassed by the director’s comment, Li Yunbo’s blush deepened.

“Got it, got it,” he stammered.

…And then they had to retake the scene several more times.

After over a dozen takes, they finally got it right.

Li Yunbo apologized to Chu Muyun. His terrible performance had forced Chu Muyun to endure so many retakes.

“It’s fine,” Chu Muyun said. “NGs are normal in filming.”

That was true, especially since Li Yunbo wasn’t a trained actor.

As evening fell, the crew distributed boxed meals. Everyone ate at the restaurant next to the rented studio. Chu Muyun scrolled through his phone while eating, and Li Yunbo approached with his own box.

“I think I’m getting into character,” he said. “I’m starting to like you a little.”

Chu Muyun’s mind was still lingering on his WeChat conversation with Lu Hanzhang. He casually remarked, “Getting too immersed in a role just means you haven’t acted enough. More experience will cure it.”

Ding! A WeChat notification popped up: a transfer of 10,000 yuan.

Chu Muyun tapped to accept, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Li Yunbo, who witnessed this, was bewildered. A fetish for money? Blushing at the sight of cash?

On a whim, he blurted out, “I can give you money, too. 10,000, 20,000—whatever you want.”

His songs were quite popular, and he earned millions from commercial performances. He had plenty of money.

“Huh? You want to give me money? Are you a pervert?!” Chu Muyun blurted out, clutching his lunchbox and scooting a meter away to another table. His mind hadn’t caught up yet, his first thought was that Li Yunbo had also used his photos for m*sturb*tion and was now telling him in person. Is this workplace harassment?

“…” Li Yunbo felt wronged. I offer you money, and you call me a simp? Now you’re calling me a pervert? Why is offering you money perverted?

Only after speaking did Chu Muyun realize Li Yunbo probably didn’t understand what the 10,000 yuan transfer meant.

“Uh, you’re not serious, are you? I’m sorry, I have a boyfriend. I can’t accept your confession.”

Although Lu Hanzhang hadn’t officially acknowledged their relationship, Chu Muyun couldn’t resist teasing him, knowing Lu Hanzhang wouldn’t hear it anyway. Hehe.

“Is that the guy who transferred you 10,000 yuan?” Li Yunbo asked dejectedly.

“Yeah, it’s him. …Why are you still snooping through other people’s phones? The money he gave me is a private joke between us. Why are you meddling?” Chu Muyun said dismissively.

“I understand. I’m sorry.” The young singer, whose budding feelings had just been crushed, quietly finished his meal with his head bowed. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes reddened.

Unbeknownst to them, one of Li Yunbo’s fan club leaders had snapped a photo of the two sitting together during the meal, Chu Muyun’s face flushed. The picture was posted online that very night.

By the next day, the post had gone viral. Fans of the drama and both actors’ fanbases were shipping the real-life pairing. The production team seized the opportunity, buying promotional articles to fuel the hype and start shipping the off-screen couple. Li Yunbo’s agency happily joined in, purchasing more articles. As for StarJoy, they naturally refused to participate.

In President Lu’s office, Lu Hanzhang stared at the marketing headline “Li Yunbo and Chu Muyun Suspected of Developing Feelings on Set, Intimate Dinner Together,” his expression as cold as ice. Even though he knew it was just a publicity stunt, he couldn’t suppress the pang of jealousy.

After a single phone call, all the articles vanished from the internet. Even the production crew and Li Yunbo’s agency received warnings: no more shipping Chu Muyun with anyone.

On his computer, a new document appeared, its title faintly visible: “Agreement.”

Chu Muyun, who had been busy filming all day and was completely out of touch, hadn’t even seen the articles before the whole thing was over.

That evening, he received a rare video call request from his Ideal Type, Lu Hanzhang.

When he answered, Lu Hanzhang didn’t speak, simply scrutinizing him through the screen.

“What’s up? Want to see something specific~?” Chu Muyun stretched his arm out, holding the phone further away to show his whole body.

“I’m checking for signs you’re seeing someone else,” Lu Hanzhang finally said, his voice low and cold.

“Huh?” Chu Muyun replied. “Could I interpret that as you being jealous?”

“……”

“If you’re worried about me cheating, why don’t you have me strip naked for you and check for any signs of infidelity? My skin is so fair, any marks would be easy to spot,” Chu Muyun teased.

“…No need,” Lu Hanzhang replied, his ears flushing crimson again.

He’ll use my photos for his m*sturb*tion and send me money, yet he still blushes? Chu Muyun thought. The Great King is truly amusing. I love teasing him.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he declared, “I think this is unfair!”

“Hmm?”

“You have so many photos of me, but I don’t have any of you. I want to see your abs, too. Why don’t you take a picture for me?”

“…I’ll show you when you get back.”

Yes!

The Little Demon Consort’s smile bloomed like a flower.

Has the Great King finally relented? Am I about to devour him?

After the video call ended, Chu Muyun went to bed for his beauty sleep, unaware that Lu Hanzhang had abruptly abandoned his work to silently add an hour of extra training at the gym. The next day, he summoned his personal trainer to devise a rigorous workout plan and diet tailored to his body metrics. Lu Hanzhang’s abs were already well-defined, but he wanted to sculpt them to perfection.

After their conversation, Li Yunbo remained relatively well-behaved and stopped making strange remarks to Chu Muyun.

The only issue was the excessive number of “cuts” during filming.

As a singer transitioning into acting with no prior experience, this was understandable.

Midway through the shoot, Jiang Wenhao’s non-celebrity girlfriend, who played the “school bully,” visited the set. Chu Muyun vaguely remembered her—she seemed to be the same woman who had visited him years ago with the crew of a web drama.

At lunchtime, apart from Li Yunbo, who sat alone in the distance, the other young actors gathered to eat and chat.

“Bad boy school bully and aloof school heartthrob—your visuals are a perfect match! How do you two play?” Jiang Wenhao’s girlfriend grinned, her gaze darting between the two men. “You’re so shippable! I was already obsessed with your pairing in the original work.”

Jiang Wenhao playfully shoved her, “If you want to ship us, watch the drama. Why bother shipping us off-screen?”

Chu Muyun felt relieved. The fact that Jiang Wenhao’s girlfriend could joke so casually meant he was undoubtedly straight. He had no desire to get entangled in any more complications.

The melancholic sound of a harmonica drifted from the corner. Li Yunbo sat there, skipping lunch, blowing into the instrument and occasionally scribbling on a piece of paper, looking every bit the brooding musical poet.

“Is he writing a new song?” Jiang Wenhao’s girlfriend couldn’t help but remark. “He’s so absorbed. Even the crew members are writing.”

“I bet it’s because he just went through a breakup,” Jiang Wenhao replied, glancing at Li Yunbo before subtly darting a knowing look at Chu Muyun.

“A breakup? With whom?” Jiang Wenhao’s girlfriend’s eyes lit up with excitement.

Chu Muyun, “……”

Don’t look at me. I have no idea.

He wanted nothing to do with this.

Could it be that Li Yunbo’s rejection had sparked his songwriting inspiration?

He’d seen similar cases before. Some actors genuinely fell for each other during filming, while others lost interest the moment the cameras stopped rolling. It was hard to predict, but ultimately, it was Li Yunbo’s own affair. He’d made his stance clear and wouldn’t offer any openings.

Apart from the mournful harmonica melodies that often filled the lunch breaks, filming continued smoothly, without any unexpected incidents.

Two months later, filming for Youthful Loop wrapped up smoothly.

The night before flying back to the Capital, Chu Muyun video-called the Great King, then said goodnight.

They didn’t talk much.

They would see each other tomorrow, and he wanted to save everything for then.

Chu Muyun turned off the lights and rolled around in bed. Perhaps because he was so excited to see the Great King again so soon, he couldn’t fall asleep. He turned on a small nightlight, pulled out his phone, and opened the Weiyang Tent Warm forum, intending to read a little Xiao Huang to help him drift off.

Oh, wow! The author he followed had started a new story.

The title was “The Martial King’s Painful Ride During a Seizure,” but the first chapter was still focused on plot.

Historical records showed that the Martial King’s imperial family all suffered from hysteria, a hereditary mental illness. They were a notorious family of madmen, as anyone familiar with the Tyrant-Demon Consort pairing knew.

The Martial King’s illness had manifested in his youth. His birth mother, Consort Rou, had been framed by Consort Jing for having an affair. The Late Emperor had ordered the execution of Consort Rou and her infant daughter—the Martial King’s younger sister. At the time, the Fifth Prince (later the Martial King) had been able to prove his royal lineage through his illness, thus avoiding execution himself.

The Imperial Court Intrigue was bloody and ruthless, and the emperors were even more cold-blooded. The familial bonds between royal fathers and sons were nothing but fleeting illusions, like flowers in a mirror or bubbles in the water.

Beneath the post, readers clamored for updates, and the discussion veered off-topic.

One young fan asked: [Was the Martial King a tyrant because of mental illness?]

Chu Muyun chuckled and couldn’t resist typing a reply.

A Thousand-Year Dream replied to Don’t Eat the Bunny: [That’s not quite right. You misunderstand tyrants. Would someone who decides people’s fates with a single word be a kind-hearted soul? Most of his decisions were likely made in a clear-headed state.]

The current Great King is much more gentle in his methods, which is fine by me. Chu Muyun was content with the status quo, he had no desire to rebel.

Then he urged for updates again.

A Thousand-Year Dream: [When will Madam start cooking the meat? I’m waiting with my bowl.]

His account was recognized as a scholarly expert on the forum, and he maintained good relationships with the prolific content creators.

The author quickly replied: [Still writing! I’ll definitely update tomorrow! Remember to check before midnight, or it might get censored. Crying Leopard.jpg]

A Thousand-Year Dream: [Got it, thanks.]

This was the author known for her mouthwatering “meat dishes,” and Chu Muyun was eagerly anticipating it.

Xiao Huang didn’t see it, but that night, Chu Muyun still dreamed of the Great King.

…

The dream began with rough, panting breaths in his ear, like a caged beast struggling to break free, “Get out… get out!”

“No, I want you to hold me. Hold me, Great King,” Chu Muyun pleaded, clinging to the man before him. He wouldn’t let go. If he didn’t keep watch, the Great King would harm himself.

The Little Demon Consort initiated a kiss, licking the violently bobbing Adam’s apple. He wrapped his arms around the back of the nearly out-of-control emperor, using his body to soothe the restless heart.

He quickly received an overwhelmingly fierce response. His lips were bitten raw, his clothes torn to shreds, and his delicate flesh bloomed open, spilling blood.

“It hurts…” Chu Muyun cried, tears streaming down his face, yet pleasure surged from the depths of the pain.

The Great King alternated between moments of clarity and frenzied madness. In his lucid moments, he was tender, hoarsely calling him “Beloved Consort.” But when madness took hold, he became a brutal beast, his crimson eyes burning with insatiable hunger as he vented his fury upon Chu Muyun’s body.

Their intertwined hands were pinned to the bed, sinking deep into the finest silk brocade. Sweat-slicked black hair tangled into knots around them.

The morning after, he woke up nestled in the Great King’s arms, his body aching so much he didn’t want to get out of bed. The Great King held him close, lying stiffly still. After a long silence, he spoke in a low voice, “Beloved Consort… I murdered my father and brothers, and even stole my father’s concubine. Am I destined to be a terrible emperor, remembered with infamy for ten thousand years?”

He burrowed deeper into the Great King’s embrace, “No matter what others say, you’re still the Great King to me.”

He showered the Great King with kisses and nuzzles, holding him close and coaxing him for a long while.

The Little Demon Consort assumed the Great King was lying listlessly and only talking because he was exhausted. After all, the previous night, the Great King had been a vigorous dragon, ravishing him repeatedly and filling him with his dragon essence. He must be tired now. Besides, it was a “safe” time, nothing could possibly “happen.”

Later, he realized the Great King wasn’t tired at all. He was simply depressed, weary of the world, and lost in thought, which was why he didn’t want to move. Once he had soothed the Great King’s mood, the man’s energy returned. He flipped them over, pinning the Little Demon Consort beneath him, and began kissing his lips, ready for another round.

“Cough, cough.” The Great King, who had been dominating him fiercely, suddenly coughed a few times.

“Are you alright? D-do you want to continue?” The Little Demon Consort’s fingers traced the circular scar on the Great King’s chest. It was an old arrow wound, long healed but still leaving a jagged mark. The Great King had sustained it when he was still the Fifth Prince, leading troops to guard the border. In an exceptionally brutal battle, his 50,000 soldiers had annihilated 200,000 thousand of the Huns elite troops. A stray arrow had grazed his lung, causing days of high fever. Rumor had it that he nearly died on the battlefield.

“I’m fine,” the Great King said dismissively. “You should worry about yourself first.”

“Mmm… no… don’t…”

“Easy now…”

He felt like he was falling apart, convinced he wouldn’t be able to get out of bed for days.

…

Chu Muyun woke up.

The sunlight of over a thousand years later streamed into his eyes, illuminating the lavishly decorated hotel room.

A thousand-year dream.

Recalling his dream, Chu Muyun thought to himself, He couldn’t control what others said. The Great King had indeed been vilified by scholars for over a millennium. Even he himself had been one of the Great King’s greatest detractors.

But it seemed the Great King’s infamy wouldn’t last forever. His reputation had undergone a significant transformation. His exceptional abilities as an emperor and his remarkable achievements were now widely recognized.

In modern times, the Great King even had a considerable online fanbase. While some shipped his romance with Chu Muyun, others were simply drawn to historical accounts of his “magnificent physique and peerless martial prowess” or his “radiant beauty and delicate, pure complexion.”

Chu Muyun got out of bed, washed up in the bathroom, changed his clothes, and prepared to leave with his Rabbit Son.

Today they would return to the Capital. He couldn’t wait to see the Great King again!