Demon Consort Runs into the Beijing Crown Prince - Chapter 40

Chu Muyun woke up crying. He had desperately tried to forget, yet he still dreamed of that day—his last encounter with the Great King.

At first, he couldn’t even see the Great King’s face. Thick white curtains hung from the four corners of the bed frame, obscuring his view of the bed. He stood far away, holding a food box, stopped by a little eunuch.

Then he heard the heart-wrenching coughs and heavy, labored breathing coming from behind the curtains, and he noticed the shocking splatters of blood on the plain white fabric.

Everyone whispered that the tyrannical king had only a few days left. He suffered from an incurable illness that even the imperial physicians shook their heads at.

The disease was contagious, and all the palace maids and eunuchs still serving in Weiyang Palace were doomed. A pall of gloom hung over the palace.

“Cough… Don’t let him approach,” the Great King’s voice rasped from behind the curtains between coughs. Though weak, it still carried authority as he commanded the eunuch blocking Chu Muyun.

“Great King,” Chu Muyun asked, “they say you’ll have me buried alive with you. Is that true?”

The Little Demon Consort knew the truth. Even if he were to be buried alive with the Great King, after the Great King’s death, the court ministers would petition the New Emperor to execute him, the Demon Consort. They hated him with a venom that made their teeth grind and their eyes bloodshot.

Long ago, during an intimate moment, he had curled his eyes and smiled at the Great King. The Great King had bitten his lip fiercely, biting until he cried out in pain. His fingers had tangled deep in the consort’s dark hair, twisting the delicate strands as he cradled the consort’s face.

“Beloved Consort,” the Great King had growled, “you must die before me. Otherwise, on my deathbed, I will personally order your execution. I will not allow you to smile like that for anyone else.”

“It hurts…” the consort had sobbed. “You’re hurting me. I won’t smile again.”

“You will!” The Great King’s voice was harsh, his emotions often punctuated by a fit of coughing. “You will smile, but only for me.”

He was a tyrannical and unreasonable Great King.

Everyone said the consort would be buried alive with the Great King. Even the Great King himself had said so in the past. Was his death imminent?

Behind the tent curtains, silence reigned.

Only the sound of violent coughing filled the air.

Then the weak voice spoke again, “They will make you a funerary sacrifice. I have… paved a path for your escape. Live in peace… cough cough.”

“Great King,” the Little Demon Consort asked, “can you rise?”

There was no answer. Instead, Chu Muyun heard a faint sound, like a breeze or a sigh.

But there was no air movement in the vast palace, no wind. The charcoal fires burned, making the air stifling and thick with the bitter stench of medicine. A corner of the white curtain suddenly lifted, and from several paces away, Chu Muyun saw the Great King’s once-handsome face, now gaunt and unrecognizable on the sickbed.

Their eyes met. The Great King was looking at him, too.

This was their final farewell from their past life.

In the past, the Great King would have said, “Beloved Consort, come here.”

Now, the weakened monarch coughed blood and said, “Go back. Don’t come again.”

“Oh, I made these pastries myself. I’ll leave them for you.” He handed the food box to the Little Eunuch and obediently left.

Turning his back on the deathly atmosphere of Weiyang Palace, Chu Muyun returned to his own Spring Blossom Palace.

In the days that followed, he spent his time in the garden, lost in thought, playing with the rabbits he kept. These were no longer the original Xiao Yun, but Xiao Yun’s descendants.

Occasionally, he would personally bake pastries and have his maids deliver them to the gates of Weiyang Palace, where eunuchs would carry them inside.

Will I become an Imperial Consort again? Chu Muyun wondered from time to time.

The last time, he hadn’t even held the title for a full hour before the Great King had snatched him away to Weiyang Palace.

How will I spend my days in the palace now? What will I do without the Great King’s company? Will it be unbearably dull?

The person who had always been by his side was about to be gone. Chu Muyun felt dazed, as if numb and adrift, rather than deeply grieved.

On the final day before the Great King’s departure, Chu Muyun knelt before every deity he knew, begging for a miracle.

No miracle came.

The Great King passed away, but Chu Muyun was spared from ritual suicide.

The New Emperor protected him, rejecting all court advisors’ pleas for his execution.

Chu Muyun woke up sobbing, his pillow soaked with tears. His phone screen was lit up.

He picked it up and glanced at it, Lu Hanzhang had sent him his medical report. He’d had a full check-up at a private hospital on standby 24/7, and the results were normal. It was just a minor cold.

Lu Hanzhang: [I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not keeping my promise. Don’t be angry. I checked, and everything’s fine.]

Hmph. Chu Muyun wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and typed: [If everything’s fine, then good.]

He didn’t want to wake Jiang Wenhao, who was staying in the next room. He quietly slipped out of bed, went to the bathroom to wash his face, and took his time before drying it.

Feeling thirsty, Chu Muyun went downstairs to get a glass of water. He told himself that as long as he didn’t face the camera directly and moved quickly, no one would easily notice he’d been crying.

It was 3 or 4 in the morning. The common areas were dimly lit, and all the doors along the corridor were closed. The villa was eerily silent.

“Whoa!” Chu Muyun startled when he bumped into someone at the kitchen entrance.

It was another contestant from their group. The other man, who had come down for a midnight snack, looked surprised, “Why are your eyes so swollen?”

“…” Chu Muyun mumbled awkwardly, “I had a nightmare and cried.”

And just like that, he’d exposed himself on camera.

“Ah, that must have been a terrifying nightmare,” his teammate said, chuckling. “I was about to make some instant noodles. Want some?”

“…Yes,” Chu Muyun replied, feeling hungry from crying.

He walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and glanced inside, “There’s quite a bit of food here. I’ll whip something up—it’ll be better than instant noodles.”

He couldn’t make anything too elaborate. He only cooked time-consuming dishes for the Great King when he was in a good mood, when he wasn’t, even the Great King went without.

Still, with his culinary skills, he could easily throw something together that tasted decent.

“You can actually cook!” his teammate exclaimed in surprise. “Thank you, thank you! I’ll wait here for my meal.”

Chu Muyun took out two red tomatoes, a handful of enoki mushrooms, and a package of thinly sliced beef. He made a pot of tomato beef noodles, ladled it into two bowls, sprinkled them with scallions, and fried two sunny-side-up eggs to top them off.

“So fragrant! Absolutely delicious!” His teammate took a sip of the tangy, savory broth and savored a tender slice of beef.

“This is amazing!” he declared, giving a thumbs-up.

Lu Hanzhang, who had missed his sleep schedule due to an all-night medical checkup and couldn’t fall back asleep, had returned to the Company to work. He couldn’t resist turning on the live stream and witnessed this scene.

…Did he cry? His eyes are swollen. Why was he crying so bitterly? Was it… because of me?

Damn it, I want to eat the noodles he made with his own hands.

After the production crew released this behind-the-scenes clip, the live chat exploded with comments:

[What’s wrong with Chu Chu? His eyes are all red like a little rabbit!]

[He looks so pitiful, aww!]

[What kind of nightmare did he have to cry so much?]

[Our Chu Chu is a red-eyed bunny baby!]

[I bet the nightmare was just an excuse. Could he have fought with his boyfriend?]

[What’s this about a boyfriend?]

[Roommate Bro! He appeared in the pre-departure footage—we heard his voice and saw his hand.]

[So domestic! He can even cook!]

[It looks so delicious! Come on, feed me!]

[His knife skills are too good to be fake. He definitely knows how to cook, unlike those fake cooking personas.]

[The other members look so relaxed eating the noodles. They must be really good.]

[To the commenter above, I suspect you’re shading someone specific here #doge]

[If I had a wife who was this beautiful, danced so well, and could cook, I’d be the happiest man alive!]

[Roommate Bro: stares]

Lu Hanzhang, the “Roommate Bro” in the eyes of netizens, had just registered a Douyin account. He changed his username from “VisitorWA45524367” to “Lu Hu” and set his profile picture to Chu Muyun’s tiger illustration from WeChat.

Rarely active on social media, he posted his first-ever comment: [He’s my wife. You all have no chance.]

The netizens erupted in laughter:

[Yeah, he’s my wife, too! ]

[No way, he’s mine!]

[Stop eyeing my wife!]

Times had truly changed. A thousand years ago, these silly netizens would have all lost their heads.

Tonight was the first live performance stage of Dance Storm.

Lu Hanzhang had set his alarm early and promptly opened the official livestream. He had no interest in variety shows, his gaze fixed solely on one person throughout the entire broadcast.

He waited until Chu Muyun’s group took the stage.

A five-member team, Chu Muyun was the center.

The group’s performance outfits were black and white, but Chu Muyun stood out in an open, wine-red sequined jacket. The gaudy color and flashy sequins, combined with his striking features, somehow added an unexpected touch of sophistication.

As the music began, the camera swept across the five dancers. The opening was like a tender ballad, with graceful, flowing movements. Then the rhythm quickened, transitioning into a dynamic interlude, and the choreography grew more intense. When Chu Muyun swung his arms and hips dramatically, his jacket flared with a dashing flair.

The production crew gave Chu Muyun a close-up. He was a living galaxy, his dance moves exploding with the force of a supernova. The sequins on his jacket shimmered like a rose-tinted nebula swirling through his every gesture.

So cool.

At the end, he winked at the camera, his lips moving as if he were saying something.

It was purely a dance performance, not a singing and dancing act. He wasn’t wearing a microphone, and in the deafening music and the audience’s screams, no one could hear what he said—perhaps not even he himself.

But Lu Hanzhang, watching online, felt a jolt of electricity course through his body, as if lightning had struck his heart.

Compelled by an irresistible force, he repeated the words silently, his lip-reading perfectly matching what Chu Muyun had said.

Great King, do you like it?

[So amazing!]

[He’s so bewitching!]

The live comments exploded, netizens’ exclamations flooding the screen. Yet before Lu Hanzhang’s eyes, a vision materialized.

A palace-like place, where Chu Muyun, draped in water-red gauze and with strings of blood-red agate beads adorning his black hair, danced in the hall.

His snow-white arms shimmered faintly through the sheer fabric. His movements were graceful, his sleeves swirling like a blooming hibiscus as he twirled.

When the silk and bamboo music faded, Chu Muyun winked at him. Back then, that gesture wasn’t just a wink, it was a flirtatious glance.

“Great King, do you like it?”

Lu Hanzhang couldn’t understand why this scene had suddenly surfaced in his mind. Perhaps the vision was too bizarre for him to believe.

He simply blurted out the words as if he were the regal figure seated high above the palace hall in the vision, “Good. You shall be rewarded.”

Scattered gifts trickled into the livestream. Lu Hanzhang figured out how to recharge his account and then threw down a hundred Carnivals.

A dazzling, eye-catching barrage of messages flashed across every viewer’s screen, forcefully overriding all other comments:

Lu Hu: [Good. You shall be rewarded.]

The screen instantly flooded with question marks:

[ ? ]

[ ??? ]

[ ?? ]

[Boss is generous!]

[How much is that? 300,000?!]

[Kneeling!]

Lu Hanzhang smiled.

Not much money spent, and he’d already become an emperor in the modern world.