Demon Consort Runs into the Beijing Crown Prince - Chapter 4

In the following days, Chu Muyun visited three more small entertainment companies, but none of them followed up.

Even when companies showed initial interest in his appearance, they would ask to see his social media accounts. Upon discovering the dense swarm of haters controlling the comments section of his Weibo, their expressions would subtly shift.

His relationship with the Great King remained stagnant.

If he had Lu Hanzhang’s WeChat, he would undoubtedly send good morning and good night messages every day. But he only had the assistant’s contact, and he hesitated to bother them without a legitimate reason.

One day, Chu Muyun received a phone call.

“Chu Chu, can you help me out? I’m really in a bind.”

The caller was Zhang Chen, a friend he had made at Tiansheng. Zhang Chen had helped him several times, and they were close. Coming from a poor family with a critically ill mother, Zhang Chen had left Tiansheng to make quick money by working as a male nightclub model, chatting with patrons and selling alcohol.

They had even shared an apartment for a while, but Zhang Chen eventually moved out because he frequently brought people home.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” Chu Muyun asked. Zhang Chen’s voice sounded weak.

“I drank too much last night and ended up in the hospital with acute gastroenteritis,” Zhang Chen said with a bitter laugh. “I’m fine, it’s not serious, but I can’t leave the hospital today. Tonight, an old client is planning to order a bottle—she promised to help me meet my sales quota. Could you cover for me…?”

Chu Muyun understood, Zhang Chen was asking him to cover his shift.

Since Zhang Chen worked on commission, Chu Muyun wouldn’t need to actively solicit customers. He’d simply open bottles and help Zhang Chen maintain his existing clientele.

“I’ve been vomiting and had diarrhea all day, and I still have a fever. I really can’t get out of bed,” Zhang Chen said. “If you’re willing to help, half of the commission from the bottle openings is yours.”

“Forget the commission. It’s a small favor. I’ll do it,” Chu Muyun replied.

Zhang Chen was in a much tougher spot than him. His family had genuinely gone bankrupt, and he had a seriously ill mother to care for. There was no need to take his money.

Chu Muyun had initially hesitated. He only wanted to focus on acting and had no desire to go to a messy place like a nightclub. But he owed Zhang Chen a favor, so he figured this was a way to repay it.

That night, Chu Muyun arrived at the nightclub where Zhang Chen worked.

After 11 o’clock, the club transitioned into its late-night mode. The lighting became dim and suggestive, and the air filled with the scent of alcohol and hormones. Hypnotic strobe lights flashed across the dance floor as the DJ blasted heavy electronic music. Drunk patrons waved their branch-like arms in the air, bouncing to the beat.

Chu Muyun answered the phone and headed to the best booth in the club. Inside, four or five men and women were playing cards. One of them looked vaguely familiar—Zhou Wei, whom he’d met at the project launch banquet for Pear Blossom Falls. The woman in his arms wasn’t the second-tier actress from that day, but a fresh-faced girl who looked like a college student.

“I’m sorry, Zhang Chen is sick and can’t make it tonight. I’m here to open your bottle for him,” Chu Muyun said, pretending not to recognize Zhou Wei. He opened an $8,888 Ace of Spades for Shen Shu, the Miss Shen Zhang Chen had mentioned, who was seated next to Zhou Wei, and put the charge on Zhang Chen’s tab.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked. Chu Muyun politely chatted for a few moments.

He didn’t need to push sales, so he turned to leave after finishing.

“Miss Shen, one bottle of Ace of Spades isn’t enough for this many people, is it? Why not order a few more?” Zhou Wei suddenly interjected, deliberately stirring the pot.

Isn’t this the Little Nobody who was chasing after my cousin? he thought. Now he’s putting on airs? Who does he think he’s fooling? He couldn’t stand people like that.

Understanding Zhou Wei’s implication, Shen Shu seemed tempted. She gazed at Chu Muyun with a faint smile.

“Zhang Chen is only worth one bottle of Ace of Spades,” she said. “You should definitely add a few more.”

Chu Muyun’s face and overall demeanor exuded an air of refined elegance, like an expensive luxury item that stirred in her a primal desire for possession.

“I’m just filling in for someone,” Chu Muyun said. “Please don’t make things difficult for me.”

Shen Shu’s interest only deepened. Money was no object to her, the more something was declared “not for sale,” the more determined she became to buy it.

“You don’t have to accompany drinks, chat, or let people touch your abs—none of the usual nightclub male model duties,” she said casually, swirling her champagne glass with a playful smile. “I want to see you perform a talent. What can you do? Sing? Dance?”

She studied Chu Muyun’s expression, then picked up an empty glass and filled it with champagne, “Here’s the deal, drink this, perform something, and I’ll open an Ace of Spades. Anything goes—even reciting poetry. As long as you keep going, I’ll open as many bottles as you want tonight.”

“Whoa, Miss Shen is really going all out!” Zhou Wei and his girlfriend clapped enthusiastically, playing up the atmosphere.

“So?” Shen Shu offered the pale golden liquid, her nails painted a striking vermilion.

“I don’t know how to dance like they do in nightclubs,” Chu Muyun said. The request sounded reasonable, and he found himself strangely tempted.

Having agreed to help Zhang Chen, Chu Muyun figured he might as well go all in. It was also a way to contribute to Zhang Chen’s sick mother’s medical expenses.

“No problem. Dance whatever you’re good at, and I’ll have the DJ switch the music to match,” Shen Shu said. As a regular and big spender at the nightclub, getting the DJ to change the song was a trivial request she could easily fulfill.

“Alright, I agree,” Chu Muyun said, taking the glass.

Everyone in the VIP booth watched him with keen interest, Zhou Wei’s eyes gleaming with an unsettling malice.

It’s just dancing, Chu Muyun thought. Think of it as performing. I don’t care about their stares.

He had danced in his previous life, and ever since deciding to become a star in this one, he had taken dance lessons to improve his physique. While not a professional dancer, he was quite skilled. As for the alcohol, nightclub drinks were generally weak, and he could probably handle five or six glasses.

Raising his glass, Chu Muyun tilted his head back and drained it in one smooth gulp, then showed the empty bottom.

On stage, the DJ switched the music.

The deafening club anthem abruptly transitioned into a slow, flowing blues tune. Chu Muyun began with an elegant bow, one hand pressed to his chest, and launched into a jazz dance.

Tonight, Chu Muyun wore a vintage-style, snow-white silk poet’s shirt. In the dim light, he resembled a dashing nobleman from the Middle Ages, his dance moves both vigorous and graceful, exuding a captivating allure.

Instead of performing on the stage, Chu Muyun danced in the open space in front of the VIP booth, allowing his Sugar Daddy to watch up close. Within seconds, he had drawn the attention of everyone nearby, many staring wide-eyed as they pulled out their phones to record.

“A professional performance for just one bottle of wine? Worth it,” Shen Shu said with a smile, clapping as she ordered the promised Ace of Spades.

The nightclub’s ceremonial wine delivery team arrived—a line of tall, handsome male models carrying illuminated signs, parading the Ace of Spades in a palanquin-like procession, putting on quite a show.

Once the entourage departed, Shen Shu poured another glass of champagne and handed it to Chu Muyun. “Continue.”

“Continue,” Chu Muyun replied, draining the glass in one gulp.

He remained dedicated to his performance. Instead of repeating his earlier dance, he followed with a fiery Latin routine and then a classical piece.

An $8,888 bottle of Ace of Spades certainly ensured his Sugar Daddy received emperor-like treatment.

Chu Muyun drew upon the courtly skills he had honed in his previous life. Amidst the delicate strains of traditional silk and bamboo music, he snatched up a half-filled wine cup and twirled it gracefully in his palm. Though his modern attire lacked the flowing sleeves of ancient robes, his movements remained incomparably elegant.

The entire room held its breath as they watched him. When the dance concluded, the wine in the cup rippled slightly, not a single drop spilled. Thunderous applause erupted, mingled with loud cheers and shouts of admiration.

The wine-bearing procession returned for a third time.

Shen Shu offered him another cup, but Chu Muyun covered the rim with his fingers and pushed it away.

“I can’t drink anymore. That’s enough,” he said, a faint blush spreading across his porcelain cheeks. Chu Muyun’s alcohol tolerance was modest. The first cup had brought a light sweat, the second a mild buzz, and the third had flushed his face, leaving him slightly tipsy.

That’s enough, Chu Muyun thought. I’ve repaid Zhang Chen’s favor. When he first joined Tiansheng, he had nearly fallen into a trap of exploitation, but Zhang Chen had pulled him out.

Truth be told, when he had been the Demon Consort, he had treated his own people well, showering them with lavish rewards. But those who defied, resisted, or insulted him faced his merciless wrath—a cruelty often surpassed only by the Great King’s own, who indulged and spoiled him completely.

“I haven’t had enough. One more,” Shen Shu insisted, refusing to let him leave.

“I really can’t drink anymore. I need to go home,” Chu Muyun replied, shaking his head.

“Three more drinks. This time, skip the Ace of Spades and go for the ‘Grand Slam’,” Shen Shu said, sensing his financial straits and tempting him with the offer.

The “Grand Slam” meant purchasing all three of the nightclub’s top-shelf liquors—Louis XIII, Hennessy Richard, and Martell L’Or—in one go, totaling 200,000 yuan.

Miss Shen felt a tingling itch deep inside, as if wildcats were clawing at her insides.

Chu Muyun wanted to leave after only getting tipsy, like a flower stopping halfway through its bloom. How could she allow that? She needed to see this flower reach its full, decadent bloom, until its petals withered and rotted, its nectar devoured by insects, and it lay unconscious at her feet, moaning—only then would she be satisfied.

“Deal,” Chu Muyun agreed. He felt he could handle a few more drinks, and since Shen Shu had sweetened the deal, he readily accepted.

A 200,000 yuan liquor bill meant a 40,000 yuan commission. Still struggling to find a new job, this was likely the easiest money he could make right now. He planned to split it evenly with Zhang Chen to cover next quarter’s rent.

He had considered asking Lu Hanzhang for a loan, but they weren’t close enough yet. He feared Lu might think he was a scammer and block him outright.

The liquor glistened on his moist lips as another drink slid down his throat.

The DJ changed the song, and he started dancing again.

When Chu Muyun started his first jazz dance, Zhou Wei filmed it and posted it on WeChat with the teasing caption, “Miss Shen’s latest conquest.” Shen Shu playfully replied, “Meeting the 134th male model I’d do anything to protect, at the age when I’m most powerless.”

After laughing with her, Zhou Wei casually forwarded the video to a WeChat group full of his friends, adding, “This new boy’s got talent. I bet he’ll last at least a month with Shen Shu.” The nightclub’s flashing lights distracted him, and he accidentally sent the message to Lu Hanzhang without realizing it.

Normally, he and Lu Hanzhang wouldn’t exchange a single message in a lifetime. But recently, Lu Hanzhang had contacted him on WeChat, asking him to cooperate with his assistant in providing information for an asset valuation of Huashi. Zhou Wei had naively assumed his aloof cousin was finally throwing him a lifeline, never suspecting Lu Hanzhang was preparing to acquire the company.

Lost in the entertainment and a few drinks, Zhou Wei didn’t hear his phone notifications over the nightclub’s loud music. It wasn’t until he glanced at his screen that he noticed two new WeChat messages.

Lu Hanzhang: [Where are you?]

Zhou Wei didn’t reply. Lu Hanzhang likely asked around for his usual nightclubs, because a few minutes later, he sent another message: [I’m on my way.]

Zhou Wei rubbed his temples. Those four simple words carried an inexplicable weight. Lu Hanzhang, the ultimate overachiever, had always been the “perfect child” growing up and was now a workaholic who never set foot in places like nightclubs. What had suddenly changed?

He typed back: [Young Master Lu, coming to play? Welcome, welcome!]

The alcohol surged through him, his consciousness adrift in its intoxicating depths. Chu Muyun took another sip.

His eyes were bloodshot at the corners, his gaze hazy, his throat thick with the stench of liquor, and his stomach burned like a furnace.

Just as he’d predicted, five glasses was his limit, a sixth would be pushing it. He knew all too well that the most dangerous thing in a nightclub was getting so drunk you lost control.

Chu Muyun was still relatively sober. He’d watched every drink being poured from the bottle, except for the last one, which Zhou Wei had handed him while he was dancing. The dim lighting and other dancers had obscured the pouring process.

He lowered his gaze to the crystal-clear stemware. Whether it was his imagination or not, the pale golden liquid seemed slightly cloudy under the lights.

This drink can’t be drunk.

The thought surfaced in his mind. Whether it was spiked or not, he couldn’t risk it.

“I really can’t drink anymore, Miss Shen,” Chu Muyun whispered, feigning weakness. He pressed his lips lightly against the rim of the glass, as if giving it a soft kiss, then tilted the cup and poured the contents over himself.

The glistening liquor cascaded down his sharp jawline, over his Adam’s apple, and onto his chest, soaking the ruffled bib of his poet’s shirt. The once-opaque fabric became translucent, clinging to his chest and accentuating the alcohol-induced swell of his pectoral muscles. The stream of liquid continued downward, tracing the taut contours of his abdomen, even highlighting the delicate shape of his navel.

“Oh? You want to drink like that? Fine,” Shen Shu said, momentarily distracted before nodding. “You pass.”

Seeing such a spectacle made the money well spent.

Her interest in the young male model had reached its peak, and she didn’t want to push him too hard. She could always throw more money his way later for a private “playtime” opportunity.

The music started.

Chu Muyun set down his empty glass and began swaying to the rhythm.

The alcohol loosened his control over his body yet imbued his movements with a unique allure. His slightly clumsy steps became seductive as he danced, drenched and with a hazy, alluring gaze.

Lu Hanzhang entered just as this scene unfolded.

Chu Muyun was performing a boy group dance, tossing his head to whip his dripping hair. His upper body was soaked, his eyes glistened with moisture, and the crimson beauty mark beneath his eye stood out vividly in the dim light. He looked like a blooming rose drenched in rain.

When the music stopped, the crowd rose to their feet, applauding and whistling.

An unprecedented ceremonial procession began. Male models hoisted dazzling neon signs as they carried the nightclub’s rare “Grand Slam” prize—Chu Muyun—through the crowd.

Feeling dizzy, Chu Muyun forced a smile, clinging to the last vestiges of his composure.

At least the rent’s covered, and I even donated to Zhang Chen’s family, he thought. But before he could fully process this, a hand clamped down on his wrist, yanking him violently forward.

He stumbled helplessly, crashing against someone’s chest. An icy voice rang out before him, “Chu Muyun, what do you think you’re doing?”