My Queen, My Rules - 50

Kiss Me

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Thirty seconds later, Ji Mingshu hurried out the door, hastily slipping on her heels, preserving the last vestige of elegance she could muster in her post-makeup-removal state.

She frantically pressed the call buttons for all four elevators and stood there waiting, silently thinking wistfully about the private, top-floor elevator at Bocui Tianhua.

Thirty seconds. Not here.

One minute. Still not here.

So slow! Trash building! (tvt)

One minute and eighteen seconds later, the elevator door finally opened.

Ji Mingshu swept inside like a whirlwind, incidentally shoving Gu Kaiyang out, who was still on the phone.

Gu Kaiyang, expelled from the elevator, stood there dumbfounded. Was that Ji Mingshu? Damn it, I don't have my key card! Is she rushing to her own funeral?

To be fair, Ji Mingshu's mood wasn't far off from attending a funeral.

Her heart pounded the whole way down, mixed with an inexplicable tinge of guilt. The key issue was: When had Cen Sen arrived? What had he and Cen Yang talked about downstairs? And the most crucial question of all—Cen Yang had hugged her when he dropped her off. Had Cen Sen seen that?

Her little canary heart thumped like a drum. But after a moment, she caught herself.

That dog man had the audacity to invest in a movie for Li Wenyin and still put on such a righteous front. What's the big deal if I have a meal with Cen Yang? What's wrong with old friends sharing a hug?

Cen Sen had run the full marathon of transgressions. Her little foot had barely tiptoed to the starting line. Why should I feel guilty!

Yes, that's right. Exactly.

With this thought, her back straightened almost imperceptibly.

She even reflected that this was probably a side effect of having overly strong morals, a too-upstanding character. Not good. Very not good. It was too detrimental to herself and far too beneficial to Cen Sen.

The Xinggang International Building had constant foot traffic. Even after getting on the elevator, it stopped almost every other floor on the way down, with people getting on and off. It took a full five minutes to descend from the thirty-third floor to the lobby.

It was snowing outside; the temperature was low, the wind cold.

Ji Mingshu tightened her trench coat and walked to the intersection to cross the street. It wasn't until she hurried over with the flow of pedestrians that she belatedly realized Cen Yang and his white Mercedes were gone. Only Cen Sen remained, hands in his overcoat pockets, leaning against the Maybach's door, his gaze cool, bearing the aura of a judge.

It was truly a case of: Hell is empty, all the devils are here, and Cen Sen is one of them.

Ji Mingshu instinctively asked, "Where's Cen Yang? He left?"

"He left."

Cen Sen's reply was brief, his voice crisp and cold, as if chilled by the snow.

Ji Mingshu's little canary heart trembled. She stiffened for a moment, then steeled herself and asked haltingly, "So… what did you two talk about?"

"What do you think?"

Cen Sen looked down at her.

Ji Mingshu opened her mouth, but no words came out.

After a long pause, she rephrased her question. "When did you get here?"

"Six-thirty."

…?

Six-thirty? She had just left the apartment then. So, from the moment she left until Cen Yang brought her back… he'd seen everything?

The urge to explain rose instinctively, but then she remembered her mental pep talk in the elevator… Explain what? What is there to explain? Why should I explain myself to this dog man, Cen Sen!

In the span of three or four seconds, Ji Mingshu's attitude underwent a complete one-eighty. She straightened her back, even poking a finger into Cen Sen's chest for emphasis, as she declared, "Please remember our current status is 'pending divorce'! You had the nerve to invest in Li Wenying's movie! What's the big deal with me having dinner and a hug with Cen Yang?! I haven't even passed judgment on you yet—don't you dare think you can stand here judging me!"

Cen Sen watched her quietly, saying nothing. He simply took hold of the finger poking his chest, then enveloped her whole hand, tucking it very naturally into his overcoat pocket.

???

Ji Mingshu's brain short-circuited.

"I was working on a merger case the past few days. Seventy-two hours straight, no sleep. Got back this morning, rested a few hours. Originally planned to pick you up for dinner tonight, maybe see a movie. You've already eaten. But I haven't had anything since this morning."

His gaze remained steady, his voice flat, as if delivering a business report. Yet Ji Mingshu somehow detected a tiny hint of grievance in this rundown of his schedule.

And the key point was… he had come to pick her up for dinner and a movie as early as six-thirty. The defiance she had mustered moments ago instantly evaporated, replaced by a sharp pang of regret and guilt.

After a long silence, she lowered her eyelashes and muttered, "Actually… I didn't eat much at that French place either."

After a brief pause, Cen Sen said, "Then let's go eat."

He casually brushed the accumulated snowflakes from her trench coat and led her to the passenger side.

He opened the door. Ji Mingshu got in, still feeling dazed. Just as she reached for the seatbelt, Cen Sen leaned over and clicked it into place for her.

In those few seconds, they were so close. Ji Mingshu could smell the faint, clean scent of fir on him, and could see a six-pointed snowflake quietly melting on the tips of his hair.

For some reason, her heart stirred. Ji Mingshu really wanted to kiss him.

He'd been standing outside for so long; his lips must be cool, like jelly taken straight from the fridge.

Just then, Cen Sen also turned to look at her.

Their eyes met. Ji Mingshu leaned back in her seat, her expression reserved, but every cell in her body was screaming: Waaah, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me now! Kiss me and I won't make you kneel and apologize!!!

Unfortunately, after three seconds of eye contact, Cen Sen unromantically straightened up, walked around, and got into the driver's side, as if the previous smooth move of tucking her hand into his pocket had been performed by a sympathetic ghost who couldn't stand to watch anymore.

"…"

Hmph. Seems he still prefers kneeling and apologizing after all :)

Just as a herd of grumpy fluffballs were stampeding through Ji Mingshu's mind, her phone rang. It was Gu Kaiyang.

She answered with a "Hello?" and said seriously, "I'm a bit hungry—going out to grab a bite before heading back. What's up? Do you need something? Did you not eat during your overtime? Want me to bring you something?"

"N-no, it's fine. Nothing, I just… dialed the wrong number. Yeah, wrong number."

Gu Kaiyang swiftly and decisively hung up. Standing by the roadside, she watched as the taillights of the Maybach disappeared into the distance, her mind reeling for a long moment.

The cold wind whistled. It was only when a little girl selling flowers called out, "Miss!" that she snapped out of her daze.

She quickly bought a bunch of flowers, then called Jiang Chun. "Where are you?"

Jiang Chun was eating, her voice muffled. "Having hot pot at Biqiao with Tang Zhizhou."

Gu Kaiyang: "Are you coming back to the apartment to sleep tonight?"

Jiang Chun blushed, swallowed her mouthful of fatty beef, took a sip of cola, and whispered into the phone, "What nonsense are you talking about? Tang Zhizhou and I are very pure! Of course I'm coming home to sleep! Besides, my dad does his midnight check-in call every night!"

Gu Kaiyang had no interest in anyone's sex life. "Then put me up for the night. You keep eating. I'll wait for you at the café downstairs from your place. That woman Ji Mingshu left with her husband and took my key card with her!"

Jiang Chun: "Can't you ask her to bring it back?"

Gu Kaiyang: "Has your brain been clogged with hot pot broth? This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to send the goddess away, and you want me to disturb them? I, Gu Kaiyang, would rather freeze to death under an overpass tonight than call Ji Mingshu one more time!"

Jiang Chun: "…"

Unbelievable.

---

On Christmas Eve, the city center was festive. Christmas songs played everywhere. Squares and sidewalks were filled with Christmas trees of all sizes. A thin layer of snow already blanketed the ground, and it showed no sign of stopping.

Despite the holiday, the only places still open near midnight were Japanese restaurants and hot pot places. The remaining noodle shops and BBQ joints had less-than-ideal dining environments. Add to that Cen Sen's dislike of Japanese food, and hot pot became their only real option.

This particular hot pot restaurant offered impeccable service. Even in the dead of night, the staff were energetic, wishing them "Merry Christmas" as they handed out hot towels and Santa hats.

Ji Mingshu had the appetite of a bird. Having had a big meal earlier, she couldn't eat much now. She perfunctorily ordered a few vegetables and passed the tablet to Cen Sen.

Cen Sen didn't order much either. After placing the order and handing the tablet back to the server, he glanced under the table at Ji Mingshu's bare calves. "Cold?"

Ji Mingshu: "It's fine."

If she couldn't handle a little cold, was she even a beautiful, dazzling socialite?

Actually, a sweater dress under a trench coat was her standard winter outfit. The main issue was that she'd been in a hurry to leave, didn't have time to change into boots, and just clacked out in her heels. Her feet were genuinely a bit cold now.

Hearing her response, Cen Sen started to take off his overcoat. But a server materialized silently at their table, holding a blanket, smiling. "Miss, you should keep warm in winter. This blanket is for you."

"Oh… Thank you."

It was Ji Mingshu's first time here, and she was slightly surprised by the thoughtful service, accepting it with a smile.

Cen Sen glanced up at the server.

The server, oblivious, asked flawlessly, "Sir, would you like one as well?"

"… No."

Cen Sen felt he might have gone too long without eating hot pot. He hadn't realized service at semi-self-service dining establishments had become so thorough.

Ji Mingshu was a notoriously high-maintenance woman when dining out. At hot pot, she wouldn't make her own dipping sauce, wouldn't pour her own water, and would never shell her own seafood.

But despite her being such a handful, Cen Sen found himself unable to do anything for her throughout the meal. The omnipresent server did everything for her the instant it was needed.

Leaving the restaurant, Ji Mingshu even complimented the service. "The service here is really quite good—not worse than those Japanese or French places that cost thousands per person."

Cen Sen said nothing, merely crumpling the receipt and tossing it ruthlessly into the trash.

The server stood at the door seeing them off, puzzled. What was this male customer dissatisfied with? The service had been so attentive the whole time, and he left looking like he'd never set foot here again. The food service industry is just too hard.

---

By the time they finished hot pot, it was very late. The mall's west entrance, which had been open earlier, was now closed. Only one elevator near the cinema was still operating.

Walking down the cinema corridor, Cen Sen suddenly asked, "Want to see a movie?"

"Ah? A movie? Well… I suppose."

Pink bubbles floated in Ji Mingshu's heart, but her face showed only reluctant acquiescence.

The only film still showing this late was a romance movie having its premiere, with screenings scheduled from midnight to 6 a.m.

The midnight showing had been packed, but their 2 a.m. screening was completely empty.

The theater was dimly lit, and the romance film was slow-paced. With no one else around, Ji Mingshu instinctively started muttering commentary on the plot.

When the male lead mistakenly thought the female lead had slept with the second male lead, she couldn't hold back her critique. "This is so cliché! Do investors love burning money these days, funding just any script? The female lead so obviously likes him—how could he misunderstand? He's a complete fool. Utterly brainless."

Cen Sen didn't speak, but he silently agreed. Yes, utterly brainless.

Cen Yang had said a lot to him tonight. He hadn't paid much attention, nor did he particularly care. But one sentence had been clear and stuck in his mind: "Xiao Shu likes you now, but that doesn't mean she'll like you forever."

Now. Likes you.

His gaze toward the screen softened inexplicably. The corners of his lips curved into a very faint smile.

Ji Mingshu, fuming over the plot, turned her head and saw Cen Sen smiling, her mind instantly filled with question marks.

Is this man a sadist? The female lead is suffering so much, and he's smiling? Has he no humanity?

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Author's Note:

Little Canary Baby: My little foot didn't even fully step out before it scurried back. So tragic, wahhh!

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