Chapter 70: Do You Wish for Me to Share Your Bed?

Traditionally, all the major award ceremonies take place after the Lunar New Year, and this year’s Best Actress is Yao Xiao. At the height of her fame, her value has soared and she’s become the talk of the town. The fact that Qiu Xian managed to book her for this period shows just how difficult it was. But of course, a good script is key as well. Now that Yao Xiao has won an award, she’s focused on quality over quantity when choosing roles.

Chu Luoxi remembered that accepting this project had been Yao Xiao’s wisest decision. With “Rivers and Mountains,” she made a decisive leap from television, clinching the Best Actress award for a drama series and heading straight to the big screen—a step that took many actresses years, but she accomplished it with a single drama, even if her subsequent film career didn’t quite reach great heights.

Yao Xiao was cast as the Virtuous Consort, one of the leading female roles. According to the script, she was the ultimate victor, for by the end, she alone remained at the emperor’s side. The other consorts were either newcomers or powerless, unable to contend with her. As for the Gentle Consort, she could have been the true winner, as her son eventually inherited the throne, but she died young.

When Yao Xiao spoke, Huang Zixue suddenly came to his senses and fled in embarrassment, bumping into Qiu Xian and Qi Yue as they were coming out.

Qiu Xian glanced back in confusion, then heard a burst of laughter behind him and couldn’t help but ask, “What’s so funny about Huang Zixue?” As long as the director isn’t in filming mode, he’s always quite genial.

Qi Yue was equally curious, wondering how Huang Zixue had managed to amuse everyone to the point of fleeing the scene himself. That guy usually has a thick skin—since when does he ever run away?

When the director asked, everyone exchanged knowing glances, unable to suppress their laughter. Just recalling the scene was enough to set them off again. He’d tried to tease someone and ended up with a nosebleed himself. That man—was he acting for real or just living in a drama?

Yao Xiao barely managed to stifle her laughter. “Director Qiu, you wouldn’t believe it. The emperor took a fancy to the new consort and tried to flirt to ‘improve relations’—but the weather’s hot, his internal fire flared up, and before he knew it, he had a nosebleed! Director Qiu, maybe Qin Shi should be told to send him lighter meals these days!”

With that, Yao Xiao couldn’t help but laugh aloud. She’d worked with Huang Zixue several times before, but this was the first time she’d seen him like this. Clearly, this newcomer was more than just a pretty face with connections!

“Huh?” Qiu Xian took three seconds to process this before erupting in hearty laughter. The mood on set brightened considerably, and soon even those who hadn’t witnessed the scene came over to find out what had happened. Before long, Huang Zixue’s mishap was the talk of the set—a source of endless amusement.

Chu Luoxi scratched her nose, offering an apologetic smile and spreading her hands in helplessness, secretly feeling sorry for Huang Zixue. She was certain this would haunt him for a long time, especially until the end of filming—people would keep bringing it up, though it really had nothing to do with her. Comrade Huang Zixue, please accept your fate…

Poor Huang Zixue, meanwhile, was still preoccupied with stopping his nosebleed and recovering from the embarrassment, not yet realizing how far the consequences of this would reach.

But the matter was far from over. It was like opening a floodgate; once the waters rushed forth, closing it again would be no easy task.

The grand hall was magnificent. The Gentle Consort was being conferred her title, dressed in ornate court robes, her gown trailing gracefully behind her, jeweled ornaments trembling with every step. Palace maids and eunuchs followed in her wake, enhancing her noble, ethereal presence—there was an otherworldly dignity about her that drew every eye.

Seated on the throne, the emperor fixed his gaze on the woman approaching him. Her bearing was elegant and gentle, her splendid robes anything but gaudy; pleats fanned across the floor like moonlight, and her exquisite face radiated a dangerous allure—a poppy’s fatal beauty. Her eyes shimmered as though they contained all the light of heaven and earth; nothing could compare.

Most striking of all was the affection in those eyes, as if the whole world could hold no one but him. Huang Zixue, playing the emperor, felt his heart race out of control. In his mind, he could still hear Chu Luoxi’s soft, coquettish whisper before filming began: “Your Majesty, do you desire me to serve you tonight?”

“Do you desire me to serve you tonight?”

“To serve you—tonight?”

Suddenly—poor Huang Zixue, under everyone’s watchful gaze, had another nosebleed. There was no mistaking it: he hadn’t managed to cover his nose in time, and a thin arc of red landed right on the bright yellow dragon robe, a droplet hanging from a fold at the hem, trembling before a light breeze sent it to the floor, where it burst into a delicate crimson bloom.

Everyone stared in shock, dumbfounded—what on earth was happening?

Chu Luoxi, playing the Gentle Consort and already kneeling to offer thanks, felt utterly mortified. In her twenty-plus years of acting, she’d never experienced anything so awkward. Just what kind of lewd thoughts was Huang Zixue harboring? Did he have to make it so obvious?

Qiu Xian stared dumbly at the monitor for a long moment before regaining his senses, shaking his head in exasperated amusement with a hint of gossip: “Damn it, Huang Zixue, what’s wrong with you? If you’re that fired up, just drink plain water at lunch!” The monitor had captured every detail, especially the blooming bloodstain on the floor—a reflex from the cameraman, not intentional at all.

Huang Zixue hurriedly covered his mouth and nose, wishing he could disappear into the ground. He’d just been imagining things, not some inexperienced kid—how could this happen? Had he really drunk too much last night and gotten overheated?

The director’s words jolted him back to reality. Once again, Huang Zixue ran for the dressing room, and the whole crew erupted in laughter—especially the leading cast members, most of whom had missed the first incident but now witnessed this spectacle in full. They laughed until their stomachs hurt.

This drama was a palace intrigue series, so the set was filled with a dazzling array of beautiful women dressed in colorful costumes. Their laughter was a vibrant scene in itself. The extras could laugh as they liked, but the consorts, weighed down by heavy headdresses and ornate costumes, suffered more. They couldn’t move too much or they’d ruin their appearance, so they had to stifle their laughter in exquisite agony.

It was clear now—ancient women’s elegance was mostly constructed by all those layers. With so much weight upon them, no one dared move too much; how could they not appear ladylike?