My Queen, My Rules - 22

Contract

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For over ten seconds, her outstretched hand hung in the air before it was finally granted its wish, sinking into a slightly cool embrace. Then, her body was lifted—she was being carried.

The R-18 Cen Sen from her dreams really did seem gentler.

Ji Mingshu curled deeper into his chest, mumbling a reminder, “I’m on my period.”

The subtext was clear: Even in a dream, don’t get any ideas.

Cen Sen had no idea what she was thinking. Hearing her sleep-talk about her period, his first thought was to avoid staining the sheets. He casually pulled a blanket from the closet and tucked it under her.

In this day and age, it was rare to find a hotel owner so considerate of the housekeeping staff.

After settling Ji Mingshu, Cen Sen tried to get up, but she was especially clingy when she wasn’t feeling well. She held onto his neck, refusing to let go. It took some effort to pry her claws away and stuff them back under the covers.

Twenty minutes later, Cen Sen finished his shower and got into bed to rest. Ji Mingshu, as if equipped with a built-in temperature sensor, immediately rolled right back into his arms. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, nuzzling against his chest, her pale lips pressed against his skin, their warmth faint.

Cen Sen had intended to push her away, but then, unconsciously, she planted a soft kiss on his chest—a whisper of a touch, feather-light and tingling.

Cen Sen paused. A shred of compassion, unseen for centuries, flickered back to life for a moment. He turned onto his side, facing her, and drew her closer into his embrace.

The night passed without dreams.

The next morning, Ji Mingshu woke up to find herself in a sea of her own blood. Seeing Cen Sen beside her, for a second she thought she was back at Mingshui Manor.

Once she recognized the hotel decor, she poked him with a finger.

No response. But he was alive.

What was he doing here?

Ji Mingshu didn’t know Cen Sen had had social engagements in the capital last night. She’d assumed he’d already left for Xingcheng when he sent that message.

So after arriving in Xingcheng yesterday, she’d deliberately avoided contacting him precisely because she didn’t want to stay with him.

Who knew he’d be so persistent, chasing after her himself?

Shaking off her drowsiness, Ji Mingshu threw off the thin quilt, clutched her stomach, and carefully inched her way off the bed.

It wasn’t that she cared about disturbing Cen Sen’s sleep; it was just that any sudden movement risked unleashing the raging river of blood below in a catastrophic second wave.

Only once she was in the bathroom, safely seated on the toilet, did she finally enter a temporary safe zone.

She propped her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands.

Bored after a moment, she picked up her phone and scrolled through it.

There were many unread messages. Aside from the daily greetings from her cheap plastic sisters, her usually reclusive aunt-in-law, Cen Yingshuang, had actually sent her a WeChat message.

Cen Yingshuang: [Xiao Shu, did you go to Xingcheng with A-Sen? Are you staying for a few months this time?]

Ji Mingshu didn’t overthink it. She sent back a “Little Maruko nodding” sticker and typed: [Yeah, probably for a month or two.]

After sending it, her finger paused. She suddenly remembered something.

Her aunt was always buried in her experiments. When did she have time to care whether they were at home or abroad, in the capital or Xingcheng? This message was probably on behalf of the family, right?

Were they worried… that Cen Sen staying in Xingcheng too long might lead to entanglements with the An family? But hadn’t the An family already moved abroad years ago?

Ji Mingshu only had a vague understanding of the Cen family’s past. When Cen Yang left all those years ago, she’d believed the adults’ comforting lie that he was simply studying abroad.

It was only when she grew older that she learned bits and pieces of the underlying cause. But the Cen family treated the matter as taboo, and outsiders could only grasp so much.

A moment later, Cen Yingshuang sent another message.

This one confirmed Ji Mingshu’s suspicion.

Cen Yingshuang: [Xiao Shu, you probably know a bit about the An family’s situation. They’ve recently returned to Xingcheng. The old man is a little concerned, so if A-Sen has any contact with them, please let me know.]

The An family was back in Xingcheng? No wonder the old man was worried.

Ji Mingshu thought for a long time, typing and deleting repeatedly. In the end, she sent a simple “Okay.”

Just telling the family… it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? And Cen Sen might not even contact the An family. Even if he did, he might not let her know.

Having mentally justified her role as a little spy, Ji Mingshu felt less guilty. She stood up, washed her hands, and prepared to go back to bed for a little more sleep.

But as she pushed the door open, she saw Cen Sen standing outside, his hand raised as if about to knock.

Her heart skipped a beat, and any lingering sleepiness vanished instantly.

“You… you’re awake.”

“What’s wrong?” Cen Sen looked at her calmly.

“Nothing,” Ji Mingshu stammered, then asked, “So… why are you here? I got a huge fright waking up and seeing you.”

Cen Sen gave a brief explanation, omitting any mention of Li Wenyin, of course.

From the sound of it, he already knew she was joining the show? Ji Mingshu seized the chance to change the subject: “Right, I have to go to the TV station to sign the contract this afternoon. Lend me your lawyer.”

“Mn, I’ll have Zhou Jiaheng arrange it.”

Ji Mingshu nodded and stepped aside to let Cen Sen pass.

After he entered the bathroom, she thoughtfully closed the door for him.

Once it was shut, she leaned against it and let out a long, slow breath.

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Xingcheng was always hotter than the capital. Nearing the end of summer, the afternoon temperature still hovered near forty degrees Celsius. The camphor trees along the road were bleached bright by the sun, their leaves drooping listlessly, forming an essential stroke in the city’s lazy afternoon scenery.

Ji Mingshu finished lunch, took a beauty nap, and then spent two hours getting ready before she finally met her own standards for appearing in public.

The driver and lawyer dozed fitfully in the car. At three in the afternoon, they finally picked up Ji Mingshu and set off for the Xingcheng Broadcasting Television building.

The person responsible for receiving Ji Mingshu was a production assistant from the Designer’s Abode program team. At first, Ji Mingshu was quite displeased; she couldn’t believe someone actually had the nerve to send an assistant to greet her. It was a first.

But then, somehow, she started empathizing. Assistant it is, then. The poor girl probably had it tough.

The assistant, for her part, had never met a ‘non-celebrity’ participant with such an imposing presence. Before they’d even exchanged a few words, she found herself mentally bowing several times.

Fortunately, the contract had been drafted by the production team long ago. All non-celebrity participants used the same template. Her job was just to watch the person sign.

But Ji Mingshu didn’t take the contract. Instead, she looked at the man seated on another sofa. “Lawyer Wang, could you please take a look?”

The assistant: “…”

She brought her own lawyer? Seriously?

The man addressed as Lawyer Wang took the contract, put on his glasses, and began scrutinizing it carefully.

“Clause 1.12 only imposes privacy constraints on my client, Miss Ji, but makes no corresponding demands on the program team regarding privacy. I find this unreasonable.”

“The copyright ownership defined in Clause 2.09 is overly vague. The copyright for any designs my client creates during her participation in the program should unconditionally belong to her.”

“Clause 3.01, regarding the program’s management of my client’s social media accounts for promotional content, is defined too broadly. Furthermore, it lacks appropriate constraints on duration. Highly unreasonable.”

…

Lawyer Wang swiftly pointed out over a dozen flaws, his tone carrying a slight reproach for the legal team’s lack of rigor.

The assistant was completely dumbfounded.

I mean, she’s not a celebrity. Why is a non-celebrity participant being so picky about the contract? Everyone else just signs it without looking!

Pulling herself together, she said calmly, “Ahem, Miss Ji, our contract here is a standard template. Everyone signs the same one. There won’t be any issues.”

Lawyer Wang: “You are not the person in charge of the program. Your assurance holds no legal weight whatsoever.”

The assistant: “…”

Ji Mingshu had just managed to talk herself into accepting being attended by an assistant. Now that Lawyer Wang was picking apart the contract, her already short fuse instantly ignited. “Call your person in charge.”

The producer was busy with Li Che. Who had time for her?

The assistant silently fumed, standing rooted to the spot.

But Ji Mingshu had little patience. Putting on her sunglasses, she said, “Since your production team has so little sincerity, perhaps it’s better not to sign this contract at all.”

“Wait, Miss Ji!” Even if she was just a non-celebrity participant, the assistant couldn’t let the contract fall through on her watch. She hurriedly apologized, “I’m truly very sorry. The contracts we issue, even for celebrities and artists, are based on this template with some modifications. If Miss Ji is unsatisfied, I can contact the producer right now to see if we can make some appropriate adjustments.”

That’s more like it.

The assistant asked her to wait and hurried off to another VIP reception room on the same floor.

Li Che came to record a segment today. After finishing, he was scheduled to sign his contract. The producer was personally handling it, explaining each clause to the lawyer Li Che had brought.

They were nearly done when the assistant knocked.

The producer asked, “What is it? Has that Miss Ji signed already?”

“Miss Ji… she brought a lawyer,” the assistant stammered. “The lawyer thinks some clauses are unreasonable and need modification.”

The producer frowned, thinking exactly what the assistant had earlier: She’s not a star. Who wants to take advantage of her? She gets to be on a Xingcheng TV show and still makes such a fuss. She really doesn’t know her place.

This producer had some connection with Meng Xiaowei. Originally, he’d wanted to invite the on-screen couple Meng Xiaowei and Li Che to stir up buzz.

But Meng Xiaowei and Li Che had privately agreed to dissolve their CP and weren’t suitable for recording together again.

A few days ago, Meng Xiaowei strongly recommended Ji Mingshu to the producer. On one hand, she felt Ji Mingshu was well-suited for the show, and it wouldn’t hurt to do her a favor. On the other hand, she thought Ji Mingshu had great looks and presence; it would be even better if she could pair up with Li Che to form a new CP.

The producer thought her idea was sound and settled on Ji Mingshu, even drafting an initial plan.

But yesterday, the sponsor expressed strong dissatisfaction with their proposal. They didn’t want Li Che and Ji Mingshu paired for CP hype and didn’t allow Ji Mingshu to become a focal point of filming.

Guessing the sponsor’s intent, they figured the investor didn’t want other designers stealing the spotlight from the two they intended to promote. And so, their enthusiasm for Ji Mingshu cooled considerably.

Now, hearing Ji Mingshu was unhappy with the contract, the producer immediately wanted the assistant to tell her to ‘sign it or leave it’.

But Li Che suddenly smiled. “Miss Ji? I know her.”

He pushed the contract on the table. “Why not use my contract template for Miss Ji as well.”

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