My Queen, My Rules - 45

Compensation

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Ji Mingshu munched her way through the rest of the ice cream bar, her cheeks puffed out like a little puffer fish. Shivering from the cold, she glanced at her phone and scurried back towards her apartment building.

Cen Sen sat in his car, his gaze following her slow movement until she disappeared inside the lobby. Only then did he finally withdraw his eyes and step out of the vehicle.

Leaning against the car, he looked up at a specific small window on the upper floors as it once again glowed with a faint, warm light. He suddenly remembered the sight of Ji Mingshu just moments ago, sitting primly on the stone bench, focused on her bowl of oden. His eyes darkened imperceptibly.

His golden canary seemed to have nudged her cage door open and was now cautiously peeking out.

Ji Mingshu had long forgotten that strange moment of intuition. Back in the apartment, she rubbed her hands and arms, an uncontrollable shiver running through her.

But she was in good spirits now. Throwing a coat over her shoulders, she settled back at her computer, secretly slipping on Gu Kaiyang's black-framed glasses, and soon slipped into work mode.

Chris Chou was born in a small southern town. His father was a painter, his mother a very famous Shanghai socialite from the late last century. Their union was considered the woman marrying beneath her station. But the man found fame in middle age, his wealth skyrocketing, his paintings bestsellers at home and abroad. As far back as the Sotheby's autumn auction in the 1990s, his painting "Decadent Splendor" had fetched a staggering price of nearly ten million.

So when Chris Chou was just over ten years old, his father moved the whole family to LA to seek long-term development.

Today, the family has indeed become a prominent name within the North American Chinese community.

Chris Chou himself was just as outstanding, arguably the fashion world's brightest new star in recent years.

A quintessential academically-trained designer graduating from Parsons. During his studies, he interned at a luxury brand under the LVMH group and at one of the most authoritative fashion magazines in the US. After graduation, he worked for LVMH before resigning to found his eponymous brand, Chris Chou. The very next year, he debuted at New York Fashion Week. Subsequent shows across all four major fashion weeks received strong responses, and sales climbed steadily.

The color-block tees he designed had exploded on Facebook and Instagram a couple of years back. Trendsetters and fashion bloggers, domestic and international, practically all owned one. In annual fashion magazine reviews, his color-block tee was consistently rated the most popular street-style item. Ji Mingshu had snapped up the entire collection back then.

His decision to hold a show back in China this time was due to strong invitations and multi-faceted sponsorship support from institutions like the Fashion Designers Association. Moreover, he believed this season's collection needed to be presented on the soil of his childhood to achieve the most fitting effect.

Before looking closely at the materials, Ji Mingshu had been both very surprised and puzzled by the choice of Junyi Huazhang as the venue. On her way upstairs, she'd even wondered, "Did Cen Sen arrange this?"

After all, the capital wasn't short on suitable venues for a fashion show. Why choose Junyi Huazhang, a hotel with such exorbitant rental fees?

After reading the materials, her doubts largely dissipated. The relevant sponsors were flush with cash, and their senior executives were all intricately connected to Jingjian. Following the principle of keeping the benefits within the family, choosing Junyi Huazhang was perfectly logical.

Furthermore, the Huazhang Hotel on Huating Road had four main buildings. The glass pavilion and grassy courtyard in the middle were perfect for an exhibition, proving ideal in terms of space, showroom arrangements, and other aspects.

But at Junyi…

Didn't that make it seem like she was delivering herself to his doorstep? Wouldn't Cen Sen misunderstand that as her taking the initiative to reconcile?

Ji Mingshu sat at her computer, chin propped in her hand, pondering for a moment. In the end, she still replied to Chris Chou.

No choice. The opportunity was too rare, too good to pass up.

Having collaborated with Ji Mingshu before, Chris Chou had great confidence in her. Once she gave the OK, he didn't ask for a trial draft and confirmed her directly. They chatted online for a bit and set a time to meet and discuss in detail.

Before the show's official announcement, a designer's work was highly confidential. Only the designer himself could personally discuss it with her.

And after showing her the relevant sketches and design concepts, he would have to take everything back with him.

This meeting was set directly at Junyi Huazhang. Ji Mingshu had no grounds to object, as Chris Chou was staying at Huazhang during his visit. After their talk, they needed to inspect the actual venue. By all accounts, the location was appropriate.

Before leaving, Ji Mingshu nervously changed outfits several times. Sitting in the hotel's executive lounge, she was restless, half-expecting Cen Sen to materialize from some corner, leading to an agonizingly awkward stare-down that would pierce the very crust of this planet.

But the facts proved she was overthinking.

The meeting lasted from two in the afternoon until six. Chris Chou even warmly invited her to stay for dinner at the hotel. Cen Sen was nowhere to be seen.

Of course. Junyi had so many hotels under its umbrella. He usually worked at the headquarters building. What were the odds he'd show up here?

On the way back, Ji Mingshu couldn't quite pinpoint if she felt more disappointed or relieved. Her lipstick had mostly worn off, but she couldn't muster the energy to reapply it.

For the entire week that followed, Ji Mingshu holed up in her apartment, wrestling with her runway show plan. And she was ruthlessly professional about it.

Gu Kaiyang's magazine was very interested in Chris Chou's upcoming show, but Ji Mingshu stubbornly refused to leak even a sliver of information to her deputy editor-in-chief friend. She guarded her laptop like a fortress, grandly declaring her secrecy as 'upholding professional ethics.'

Gu Kaiyang, furious, grabbed her by the neck and shook her wildly, threatening to pack up and toss this ungrateful woman out.

Ji Mingshu wasn't scared. Because after taking on this design job, she had… MONEY!

The state of domestic fashion design was still on a long, winding road of exploration, especially in the high-end sector. It wasn't easy for Chinese designers to gain international fame. For someone of Chris Chou's caliber to return and hold a show, the relevant units and institutions naturally offered full support.

The budget Chris Chou allocated for the show venue was in the eight-figure range, and it didn't start with a small number like one or two.

Compared to the regular post-show retail sales, spending this kind of money on the show itself could be considered wildly extravagant.

To create an eight-figure show, the fee for the collaborating designer, Ji Mingshu, was naturally substantial.

However, this generous payment wasn't easily earned.

Just finalizing the design concept alone took Ji Mingshu and Chris Chou an entire week of near-sleepless grinding.

Once the plan was set and moved into the physical setup phase, Ji Mingshu had to be on-site to supervise personally.

"Not there, a bit to the left… more left… okay, stop! That's perfect!"

Early winter had settled over the capital. The outdoor wind was bitingly cold, slicing like icy blades.

While not a celebrity, Ji Mingshu had long cultivated a celebrity's mentality of prioritizing style over warmth. In near-freezing temperatures, she wore only a thin, black off-shoulder sweater with a light camel-colored trench coat over it. Her slender, fair fingers were exposed to the air, the knuckles flushed bright red from the cold.

This was her fourth consecutive day directing the runway setup at the Huazhang Hotel on Huating Road.

Although Chris Chou was Chinese, his style had always been very Western. This time, he had unusually incorporated cheongsam and Suzhou embroidery elements into his collection. Partly for commercial reasons, to cater to the vast Chinese market beyond pure design, and partly to give his mother a birthday surprise.

His mother had lived in Shanghai for many years and adored all styles of cheongsam in her youth. This season's early spring collection could be seen as a tribute to her.

Learning that his parents had shared a long and loving marriage, Ji Mingshu had specifically sought out collections of his father's paintings for inspiration before finalizing the show's theme.

The final theme, "Decadent Splendor," also paid homage to his father's most famous oil painting of the same name. 

For the main venue, Ji Mingshu designed a stranded ship from old Shanghai. The hotel's existing glass pavilion and piano staircase were preserved, slightly modified and layered interactively, extending all the way above the ship to form the main T-stage for the models.

Additionally, to create an immersive sensory experience for the audience, Ji Mingshu collaborated with Chris Chou to design an immersive video art installation named after the show's theme, essentially creating a fully enclosed visual space within Junyi's outdoor area.

Ji Mingshu also put immense effort into the lighting. To achieve the opulent effect in the sketches and highlight the theme, a series of light fixtures were specially ordered from a lighting designer abroad and air-freighted back. The lighting setup alone cost several million.

Right now, she was directing the precise placement of these very lights. These pieces were incredibly delicate and valuable, leaving zero room for error. She wouldn't tolerate these expensive, hard-to-get items not being positioned perfectly.

"Move A1 to A4. Point C1 is wrong, it's not aligned at all. Please reinstall it," she directed in the cold wind. Seeing the worker struggling to get it right, she had to step forward herself. "Here, yes, yes. A tiny bit more to the left."

Seeing it was in finally place, she took two steps back to assess.

Before she could nod in satisfaction, the worker's face suddenly twisted in alarm. "Look out—!"

Before his shout finished, the spot where Ji Mingshu stood erupted with the sound of a crystal chandelier crashing to the ground. A loud "BANG!" was followed by a dense shower of shattering cracks.

A series of shocked exclamations erupted on-site. 

Ji Mingshu's mind went blank for a second, not yet processing what happened, when she was yanked hard by someone.

She was wearing ten-centimeter stiletto heels. That sudden pull sent a blinding pain shot through her ankle almost simultaneously.

Another shattering crash echoed, much closer this time! But the next second, her ears were covered, her head tucked into someone's chest and protectively held there.

Clearer than the sound of the crash was the heartbeat thudding against her ear.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Powerful and familiar.

In the biting early winter wind, she caught the soothing scent of fir.

Her nose was bright red from the cold, but her eyes were wide open, unblinking, as if in a daze, or perhaps… greedily clinging to the moment.

Cen Sen's bodyguards rushed forward immediately. The executives accompanying him on his inspection urgently summoned staff to handle the scene and hurried over with concerned inquiries.

"President Cen, are you alright?"

"Oh my, President Cen, your hand is bleeding!"

"Quick, quick, call an ambulance!"

Someone hissed in a low voice, "He wasn't hit! Why call an ambulance?"

After a long moment, Cen Sen replied flatly, "I'm fine."

He still held Ji Mingshu tightly, not even looking up.

Zhou Jiaheng, standing to the side, worked to steady his own heartbeat while presenting a calm, collected front, politely asking the various executives to leave the area.

Only after everyone had dispersed did Ji Mingshu begin to regain her senses.

She gave a slight push. Cen Sen loosened his grip accordingly.

He was wearing a black wool overcoat today, which made his skin seem almost translucently pale. His hand hung down, blood mixed with tiny shards of glass dripping steadily onto the artificially aged deck of the ship set, a gruesome sight.

Ji Mingshu was at a loss. After a moment of standing there dumbly, she remembered the decorative silk scarf tied to her bag. She untied it and held it out to him.

He didn't take it. Instead, he extended his injured hand toward her, his gaze steady.

She paused slightly, then hesitantly draped the silk over the wound, tying a clumsy knot.

They had finally arrived at the long-anticipated, mutually awkward, planet's-crust-piercing stare-down Ji Mingshu had dreaded.

Steeling herself, she met Cen Sen's gaze. After what felt like an eternity, she suddenly blurted out, "My scarf is really expensive."

"And that… that light was really expensive, too. What do we do now that it's broken?”

The moment the words left her, Ji Mingshu resignedly closed her eyes, wishing she could travel back ten seconds and sew her own mouth shut.

But just as her eyelids fluttered closed, a composed male voice sounded before her. 

"I'll compensate you."

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Author's Note:

He'll compensate you with his life. (doge)

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