My Queen, My Rules - 45
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Ji Mingshu stuffed the remaining half of her ice cream into her mouth, cheeks puffed out like a little pufferfish. Shivering from the cold, she kept her eyes on her phone as she hurried back to her apartment.
From inside his car, Cen Sen watched her the entire time, his gaze following her every step. Only after she disappeared into the building did he finally look away and step out of the vehicle.
Leaning against the car, he tilted his head toward the faintly glowing window that had just lit up again. The image of Ji Mingshu sitting earnestly on the stone bench, carefully eating her cup of oden, suddenly resurfaced in his mind. His eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.
His little canary...it seemed she'd quietly opened the cage door and was beginning to peek outside.
Ji Mingshu had long forgotten that strange feeling she'd had across the street. Back in the apartment, she rubbed her hands, then her arms, shivering uncontrollably.
Her spirits, however, were surprisingly high. Throwing on a jacket, she returned to her computer, secretly borrowed Gu Kaiyang's black-rimmed glasses, and quickly settled back into work mode.
Chris Chou was born in a small southern city. His father was a painter, while his mother had been one of Shanghai's most celebrated socialites at the end of the last century. Their marriage had once been considered a case of the bride marrying beneath herself. But when his father found fame in middle age, his fortunes skyrocketed. His paintings became highly sought after both in China and overseas. Back in the 1990s, his masterpiece "Golden Splendor” had sold for nearly ten million at Sotheby's Autumn Auction.
By the time Chris Chou was around ten years old, his father had moved the entire family to Los Angeles in pursuit of greater opportunities.
Years later, they had indeed become one of the most influential Chinese families in North America.
Chris Chou himself had also become an exceptional talent, widely regarded as one of fashion's brightest rising stars in recent years.
He was the very definition of an academically trained designer. After graduating from Parsons, he interned with luxury houses under LVMH as well as America's most authoritative fashion magazine. Upon graduation, he joined LVMH full-time before eventually leaving to establish his own label, Chris Chou. Just one year later, he debuted at New York Fashion Week. Since then, his collections had appeared across all four major fashion weeks, earning both critical acclaim and steadily growing sales.
His signature color-block T-shirts had exploded across Facebook and Instagram few years earlier. Fashion influencers around the world seemed to own one. Every annual fashion magazine roundup ranked them among the year's most iconic street-style pieces, and Ji Mingshu herself had purchased the entire collection without hesitation back then.
This return to China was prompted by repeated invitations from the national fashion design association and several other organizations, all of whom were providing generous sponsorship. Chris Chou also believed this season's collection could only be fully realized on the soil where he'd spent his childhood.
Before reading the proposal in detail, Ji Mingshu had been both surprised and puzzled by the choice of Junyi Huazhang as the venue. On her way upstairs, she'd even briefly wondered whether Cen Sen had arranged it.
After all, there was no shortage of suitable venues in the capital. Why insist on one of the city's most expensive luxury hotels?
After finishing the materials, however, most of her doubts disappeared. The sponsoring organizations had more than enough money, and many of their senior executives maintained close ties with Jingjian. Keeping business within the family made perfect sense, so choosing Junyi Huazhang was only natural.
Besides, the Huazhang Hotel on Huating Road featured four separate buildings surrounding a central glass pavilion and open lawn. Between the available space and the showroom layout, it was almost tailor-made for a fashion show.
But if the venue belonged to Junyi...
Wouldn't showing up there make it seem like she was delivering herself right to Cen Sen's doorstep?
What if he misunderstood and thought she was trying to reconcile?
Sitting in front of the computer, Ji Mingshu rested her chin in one hand, pondering for a moment. And finally replied to Chris Chou.
No choice. The opportunity was too rare, too good to pass up.
Having worked with Ji Mingshu before, Chris Chou trusted her completely. The moment she replied with a yes, he skipped the usual trial proposal altogether and hired her on the spot. They chatted online for a while and arranged a time to meet in person.
Until the collection was officially unveiled, every design remained under strict confidentiality. Only the designer himself could discuss the concepts with her.
Even after showing her the sketches and creative direction, he would be taking every document back with him.
The meeting was scheduled directly at Junyi Huazhang.
Ji Mingshu had no grounds to object. Chris Chou was staying there during his visit, and after their discussion they would need to inspect the venue together. Logistically, it was the most sensible choice.
Before leaving home, Ji Mingshu changed outfits several times, unable to settle on one. Even after arriving at the hotel's executive lounge, she couldn't sit still. She kept imagining Cen Sen appearing around some corner, leading the two of them staring silently at one another until the awkwardness drilled straight through the earth.
Reality proved she'd worried for nothing.
Their meeting lasted from two in the afternoon until six in the evening. Chris Chou even insisted she stay for dinner afterward. Throughout the entire visit, Cen Sen never appeared once.
Then again, Junyi owned countless hotels, and his office was at headquarters. Why would he happen to be here?
On the way home, Ji Mingshu couldn't tell whether she felt relieved or disappointed. Half her lipstick had worn away, but she couldn't even summon the energy to touch it up.
For the entire week that followed, Ji Mingshu holed up in her apartment, burying herself in the runway design from morning until night.
And she was ruthlessly professional about it.
Zero Degrees magazine was paying close attention to Chris Chou's upcoming show, and despite Gu Kaiyang being the editor-in-chief, Ji Mingshu refused to reveal so much as a single detail. Every day she guarded her laptop like a state secret, proudly claiming she was simply upholding professional ethics.
Gu Kaiyang was so furious she grabbed Ji Mingshu by the neck and shook her violently, threatening to throw the heartless woman out onto the street.
Ji Mingshu wasn't the least bit intimidated.
Because after landing this project...
She.
Had.
Money!
China's fashion design industry still had a long road ahead, particularly in high-end fashion. For a Chinese designer to achieve international recognition wasn't easy, and someone of Chris Chou's caliber returning home to stage a runway show naturally received overwhelming institutional support.
The show's budget reached eight figures, and it didn't start with a small number like one or two.
Compared to the profits generated from ordinary retail sales after the season, this production was spending money with virtually no regard for cost.
A runway worth that kind of investment naturally came with an equally generous fee for its collaborating designer.
Of course, earning that money was anything but easy.
Ji Mingshu and Chris Chou spent an entire sleepless week refining the design proposal alone.
Once the concept was finalized and construction began, Ji Mingshu also had to supervise the installation in person.
"No, a little farther left. More left... That's it! Perfect!"
Early winter had settled over the capital, and the wind outdoors sliced across exposed skin like icy blades.
Ji Mingshu wasn't a celebrity, but she'd long adopted the same philosophy: fashion first, warmth second. Even in temperatures hovering near freezing, she wore nothing more than a loose black knit sweater beneath a lightweight camel trench coat. Her long, slender fingers were completely exposed, the knuckles reddened by the cold.
This was already her fourth consecutive day directing construction at the Huazhang Hotel on Huating Road.
Although Chris Chou was ethnically Chinese, his aesthetic had always leaned heavily Western. This season, however, he had unexpectedly incorporated qipao silhouettes and Suzhou embroidery into the collection. Partly, it was a commercial decision to better connect with China's enormous luxury market. More importantly, it was meant as a birthday surprise for his mother.
His mother had spent many years living in Shanghai and had adored qipaos in her youth.
This early spring collection was, in many ways, a tribute to her.
After learning how deeply devoted Chris Chou's parents still were to one another after so many years, Ji Mingshu had even studied his father's published art collections for inspiration before finalizing the show's theme.
In the end, she chose the theme Golden Splendor, echoing the title of his father's most famous painting.
The main runway was designed as an old Shanghai ocean liner stranded in time. The hotel's existing glass pavilion and cascading staircase were preserved, then subtly transformed into an interwoven elevated runway leading directly onto the ship for the models' walk.
To immerse the audience completely, Ji Mingshu and Chris Chou also collaborated on an interactive visual art installation bearing the same name as the show's theme, constructing an entirely enclosed visual environment in Junyi's outdoor courtyard.
Lighting became another major focus. To achieve the lavish atmosphere envisioned in the concept art and fully realize the show's theme, every major lighting fixture had been custom commissioned from an overseas lighting designer and air-freighter to China. The lighting installation alone had cost several million.
The section Ji Mingshu was supervising now was precisely that lighting setup. Every fixture was extraordinarily expensive, there was no room for mistakes. And she certainly wasn't about to let something so costly end up not being positioned perfectly.
"Move A1 over to A4. C1 is completely off. It's not aligned at all. Please reinstall it."
Standing in the freezing wind, she continued directing the workers. After watching them struggle for quite a while, she finally stepped in herself.
"Here. Yes... exactly. Just a tiny bit farther left."
When the positioning finally looked right, she stepped back to inspect the overall effect.
Before she could nod in satisfaction, one of the workers suddenly turned pale in alarm. "Watch out!"
His warning had barely left his mouth when a massive crystal chandelier crashed onto the spot where Ji Mingshu had been standing.
Crash!
Shards exploded across the floor in a deafening shower of splintering glass.
Startled cries erupted throughout the site.
Ji Mingshu's mind went blank. Before she could understand what had happened, someone yanked her violently backward.
She was wearing narrow ten-centimeter stilettos. The sudden pull sent a blinding pain shot through her ankle almost instantly.
Another tremendous crash echoed, much closer this time. But before the sound fully registered, someone covered her ears. A hand cradled the back of her head, pressing her securely against a broad chest.
Louder than the crashing crystal was the heartbeat thudding against her ear.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Steady, strong, achingly familiar.
Amid the bitter wind of early winter, she caught the clean scent of cedar.
Her nose was red from the cold. Her eyes, however, remained fixed and unblinking. She looked almost dazed.
Or perhaps...greedily clinging to the moment.
Cen Sen's bodyguards rushed forward immediately. The executives accompanying him during the inspection urgently summoned hotel staff to secure the area while surrounding him in concern.
"President Cen, are you alright?"
"President Cen, your hand is bleeding!"
"Quick! Call an ambulance!"
Someone elbowed the speaker and hissed, "Nothing hit him! Why are you calling an ambulance?"
After a long moment, Cen Sen replied calmly, "I'm fine."
He still held Ji Mingshu tightly, never even looked up.
Standing below, Zhou Jiaheng quietly steadied his racing heartbeat while maintaining perfect composure as he ushered every executive away from the scene.
Only after everyone had left did Ji Mingshu slowly come back to herself.
She gave him a gentle push.
Cen Sen immediately relaxed his hold.
Today he was wearing a black wool overcoat that made his complexion appear almost translucent.
His injured hand hung loosely at his side. Blood mixed with tiny splinters of crystal dripped steadily onto the weathered wooden deck of the ship-shaped runway.
The sight was horrifying.
Ji Mingshu stood there helplessly for a moment before suddenly remembering the decorative silk scarf tied to her handbag. She untied it and held it out toward him.
He didn't take it. Instead, he simply extended his injured hand toward her, his expression unreadable.
After hesitating briefly, she carefully wrapped the scarf around the wound and tied it into a knot with equally hesitant fingers.
At long last, the painfully awkward earth's-crust-piercing stare-down Ji Mingshu had anticipated finally arrived.
Steeling herself to hold his gaze, Ji Mingshu blurted out after what felt like forever, "My scarf was really expensive."
"And... that chandelier was really expensive too. What happens now that it's broken?"
The moment the words left her, Ji Mingshu closed her eyes in resignation. If only she could go back ten seconds and sew her lips shut.
Just then, a quiet male voice sounded in front of her.
"I'll pay for it."
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Author's Note:
I'll pay you with my life, too. (doge)
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