Chapter 34: Has the Celestial Lord Shen Gotten Her Period?

Mo Qi read the message, her heart melting, “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s skip class this afternoon and have some fun.”

Perhaps in the whole world, only Mo Qi would encourage her own child to skip school.

Mo Xiaobao thought it over seriously. He really missed his mother, so maybe it wouldn’t matter to skip class just this once? At worst, he could make up for his homework in the evening.

“Baby will wait for Mommy at the school gate at noon.” After sending the message, Mo Xiaobao happily put his phone back in his pocket, eagerly looking forward to noon.

Mo Qi cheerfully put away her phone and began searching online for fun places to visit.

In the mirror, Shen Yijue watched Mo Qi’s every move. Who was she messaging that made her so happy?

“Brother Shen, does this look okay?” CC paused from applying makeup and asked softly.

Shen Yijue glanced over and said, “Add more shadow to both cheeks, to make the face look more angular.”

“Alright.”

Shen Yijue considered seriously whether to have Guan Min investigate Mo Qi. He didn’t want any questionable relationships around his pillow.

Right, he’d call Guan Min later.

After searching, Mo Qi decided to take Mo Xiaobao to the amusement park.

The crew staff knocked on the door. Xiao Zhang went to open it. “What’s up?”

“Is everything ready on Shen Tianwang’s side? The others have almost finished shooting.”

Mo Qi glanced at the time and realized Shen Yijue had been in makeup and styling for nearly three hours—it was already past eleven.

“It’s ready,” Xiao Zhang called back, “Let the crew bring the costumes over.”

“Okay, I’ll go right away.”

The staff were efficient. The costumes were brought over in no time.

Shen Yijue changed into the imperial robe, radiating the aura of a king who ruled the world. His presence was powerful, hardly needing any effort to project it.

Mo Qi was speechless. Once these publicity photos were released, countless women would be clutching their phones and computers, staring at the screen in a daze.

A man who looked better than a woman—what a troublemaker!

“Have you forgotten why you came with me?” Shen Yijue lowered his head and glanced askance at Mo Qi.

Finding a sense for the camera—how could she forget! Mo Qi rolled her eyes inwardly, but her expression was obedient, “I haven’t forgotten.”

“If you haven’t forgotten, why are you playing on your phone all this time instead of going out to learn?”

Mo Qi was speechless. Was it her imagination, or did Shen Tianwang seem a little upset?

Shen Yijue was usually quiet and rarely showed much expression, but he seldom lectured people with such a stern face.

The atmosphere in the dressing room grew tense; even Xiao Zhang didn’t dare speak up for Mo Qi.

Mo Qi was indignant, but didn’t argue, “I’ll go out right now.”

With that, Mo Qi opened the door and left the dressing room.

Had Shen Yijue taken something strange? Why was he suddenly so temperamental?

Staring at the closed door, Shen Yijue’s face remained impassive, but his brows furrowed.

Why had he been annoyed just now? Because Mo Qi was texting someone, smiling so sincerely? It seemed when Mo Qi faced him, even her smiles were always a mask, lacking any real warmth.

Mo Qi stepped outside. On the platform set up with the movie backdrop, only a young actress remained, posing for photos.

Director Zhang saw Mo Qi and gestured her over, “Mo Qi, come here.”

Mo Qi put on a smile and walked over, “Director Zhang.”

Director Zhang said, “You look troubled—had a quarrel with your mentor?”

“Of course not,” Mo Qi replied, “He told me to come out and observe and learn more.”

Before Director Zhang could continue, Shen Yijue, now dressed in imperial robes, strode over. Director Zhang quickly shut his mouth, shrugged, and gestured to Shen Yijue that he hadn’t said anything inappropriate.

“Brother Shen, Mengmeng’s the last one. Once she’s done, it’s your turn.”

Shen Yijue walked to Mo Qi’s side and nodded at Director Zhang in acknowledgment.

Mo Qi didn’t step away, but neither did she make any effort to talk to Shen Yijue as she usually would.

She used to think Shen Yijue was domineering, but she understood that his high status had bred such habits. Yet the inexplicable anger earlier had genuinely left her annoyed.

Xiao Zhang hesitated nearby. In fact, even he, who followed Shen Yijue closely, had never seen Shen Yijue display such overt emotion.

Lin Mengmeng, seeing Shen Yijue, grew stiff in her poses.

Director Zhang clapped his hands, signaling the photographer to pause.

He teased, “Mengmeng, don’t get nervous just because you see your idol. Relax.”

“Sorry, Director Zhang,” Lin Mengmeng bent anxiously, still sneaking glances at Shen Yijue.

Director Zhang, accustomed to working with Shen Yijue, had long gotten used to the actresses’ adoration and admiration for him. Sometimes, if Shen Yijue wished, he could make the female lead fall for him right in the middle of filming.

“Imagine the character traits of a female official. Let’s shoot two more sets. Don’t be nervous,” Director Zhang encouraged, signaling the photographer to resume.

Lin Mengmeng glanced at Shen Yijue, hesitating, “Tianwang Shen…”

“Good luck,” Shen Yijue replied coolly, his face unreadable.

Even so, Lin Mengmeng was greatly encouraged, nodding earnestly, “Yes, I’ll do my best.”

Director Zhang sighed. All his earlier words couldn’t compare to Shen Yijue’s two syllables. He was utterly despairing of this face-driven world.

With that encouragement, and her own desire to perform well before Shen Yijue, the shoot went much more smoothly.

Shen Yijue watched Lin Mengmeng pose on stage. “She’s good at finding the camera, knows how to present her best side. She must have been a professional model—you should observe how she finds the lens.”

“Tch, so you’re guessing. I thought you already knew Mengmeng.” Director Zhang said, “Mengmeng did start as a professional model—she’s very sensitive to the camera. So, today you brought your apprentice to learn how to find camera presence?”

“You talk too much.” Director Zhang suffered the brunt of Shen Tianwang’s bad mood, along with Lin Mengmeng on stage.

“Let her shoot a few more sets.”

“Hey, the current ones are already quite good.” Director Zhang tapped his watch, “Besides, it’s already past eleven. I haven’t even had breakfast.”

“I have great faith in your constitution—a couple missed meals won’t hurt you.”

“You’re exploiting the labor of the poor!” Director Zhang protested.

Shen Yijue raised his brows slightly, making his meaning clear. Have I exploited your labor? If so, what of it?

Director Zhang raised his hands in surrender, “Alright, you win—don’t use your aura to overwhelm me.”

He nodded to the photographer and called up to Lin Mengmeng on the platform, “Mengmeng, your state just now was excellent. Let’s shoot two more sets—these can be included in the promo clips later.”

Lin Mengmeng was delighted to have more chances to perform before Shen Yijue, and her poses grew even more enthusiastic.

Some people are born with a sense for the camera—they’re darlings of the spotlight, always able to show their best selves to the audience. Like Shen Yijue.

Mo Qi, on the other hand, was the opposite. Her performances were deeply immersive, impactful on-site, but the effect on screen, broadcast to the nation, was far less impressive.

That was the feeling Mo Qi had after watching the competition tapes.

She lacked camera presence—a fatal flaw for any actor.

Mo Qi forgot her irritation with Shen Yijue, focusing instead on observing Lin Mengmeng’s shoot and asking him questions.

“How does she anticipate what angle the photographer will take?”

Shen Yijue turned his head to look at her; Mo Qi met his gaze, puzzled—was there something odd about her question?