My Queen, My Rules - 46
Pity Card
The immersive enclosed visual installation had yet to be completed, the venue was still partially exposed to the elements. Bitter winter wind howled through the open structure, carrying away the words, "I'll pay for it," until they were barely audible.
Ji Mingshu didn't know what to say. Instinctively, she tried to take half a step back and put some distance between herself and Cen Sen. But the moment she lifted her foot, a sharp stab of pain shot up from her ankle. She sucked in a breath with a quiet hiss.
“Sprained?”
Cen Sen lowered his gaze, examining her injury.
Ji Mingshu didn't answer. Her scrunched nose and tightly knitted brows said enough.
Cen Sen considered for a brief moment. Then he suddenly took off his overcoat, stepped closer, and draped the still-warm coat over her shoulders, pulling the lapels snugly together until she was practically swallowed inside it.
Ji Mingshu flinched on instinct. She lifted a hand to brush aside the loose strands of hair on her face, but before she could move, the hand wrapped in the silk scarf reached around her shoulders without warning. Leaning down slightly, he slipped his other arm beneath her legs and, with effortless ease, swept her up into his arms.
If moments ago she hadn't known what to say, now she had countless questions demanding answers, yet not a single one would leave her lips.
They were impossibly close. She stared at Cen Sen without blinking, her warm breath feathering across the edge of his jaw, soft and damp.
Every so often, Cen Sen glanced down to meet her eyes. His gaze remained deep and composed.
The silk scarf wrapped around his hand shimmered with a cold crimson hue. Every now and then, its trailing ends fluttered in the wind, accompanied by tiny flecks of blood, creating a strangely mesmerizing beauty that was as vivid as it was unsettling.
By the time they reached the executive suite on the hotel's top floor, Cen Sen gently set Ji Mingshu down on the sofa before taking a seat opposite her. He extended his injured hand without a word, allowing the doctor who had followed them upstairs to begin treating the wound.
Sitting face-to-face like this, Ji Mingshu realised his left hand was still steadily bleeding. The wound looked even more horrifying than before.
As the doctor disinfected the injury and carefully picked shards of glass from the wound, Ji Mingshu instinctively turned her face away. Her heart clenched tight. She couldn't tell whether it was Cen Sen's injury that frightened her or the agony of having her own ankle treated.
Cen Sen himself looked completely indifferent. He watched the doctor work with lowered eyes, as though he couldn't feel pain at all. From beginning to end, he never so much as frowned.
Once both injuries had been treated, the two doctors offered a few final instructions in turn, then packed their kits and stood to leave.
Standing nearby, Zhou Jiaheng politely showed them out, occasionally saying in a quiet voice, "This way, please."
The three of them soon left. The door clicked softly shut behind them, leaving only Ji Mingshu and Cen Sen behind. Silence settled over the room, carrying with it an awkwardness neither of them could quite define.
Thinking about it carefully, they hadn't seen each other in nearly two months. In the capital, autumn had quietly given way to winter, and the weather forecast was already predicting the season's first snowfall later that week.
Whenever silence had fallen between them in the past, Ji Mingshu had usually been the one to break it. This time too, she found herself wondering what sort of conversation could possibly suit their current situation without making things even more awkward.
Before she could think of anything, Cen Sen looked at her reddened hands and suddenly said, "It's cold outside. Dress more warmly when you go out."
"...?"
"Oh... okay."
Ji Mingshu blinked in confusion. Since when did Cen Sen, with his notoriously sharp tongue, suddenly manage to say something that sounded... caring?
After speaking, Cen Sen stood and walked over to the coffee machine in the suite. Using the beans provided by the hotel, he brewed two cups of Americano. After taking a sip, though, he didn't seem particularly impressed with the taste.
Ji Mingshu tried a sip as well and found it unbearably bitter. She frowned almost imperceptibly, set the cup down, then searched for something, anything, to say.
"What brings you here today?"
"I heard you were designing the venue here. I happened to have some free time today, so I came to take a look." He dropped a sugar cube into her coffee, his voice calm and low. "Actually, I meant to come earlier this week, but I was tied up with business trips overseas.”
Suppressing the urge to cough, Ji Mingshu forced herself to swallow the bitter coffee. Even so, her cheeks quickly flushed red.
Though deep down, she'd secretly entertained the embarrassingly narcissistic thought that he might have come because of her.
She had simply never imagined that it was true. Nor that he would admit it so openly.
Continuing from the topic of the runway show, Cen Sen said, "I looked over your designs downstairs just now. They're exquisite. Very elegant."
"...?"
That’s not what you used to say.
A heartbeat later, however, he returned to familiar ways. "But your work still has the same issue I mentioned before."
"What issue?"
Ji Mingshu genuinely couldn't remember.
"It's not people-oriented enough."
Setting down his coffee, Cen Sen looked at her and continued, "I don't know much about a designer's artistic style, but if the designer you're working with approves of it, then your main venue clearly isn't the problem. Even from layman's perspective, I can tell your work has a strong artistic vision. The issue, in my opinion, is that the audience seating doesn't seem to have been planned very well."
Ji Mingshu had barely opened her mouth when he asked instead, "You're planning to seat the audience in the triangular section beside the piano staircase and along the corridor, correct?"
"..."
He was exactly correct.
"As far as I know, fashion shows are meant to be experienced at close range. The triangular area by the staircase and the corridor are both too confined. Your lighting design is focused entirely on the runway, with almost no consideration for the audience's comfort. At that brightness, combined with the way the light diffuses, it's very easy for viewers to experience visual fatigue. I think that's something worth improving."
Without realizing it, Ji Mingshu rested her chin on one hand and followed his line of reasoning.
To her surprise, this layman’s actually made a great deal of sense.
In truth, this wasn’t a problem unique to her. Runway venues both at home and abroad often suffered from the same flaw. Guests squeezed shoulder to shoulder onto tiny stools, and the viewing experience was mediocre at best. There had even been shows where benches collapsed under the audience before the event had officially begun.
The industry's general neglect of audience seating stemmed from many factors: organizers naturally prioritized the show itself over spectator comfort, compounded by budget constraints, post-show dismantling, and the need to quickly convert venues between events.
But Chris Chou's first runway show in China wasn't limited by any of those practical concerns. Improving the audience experience wouldn't be difficult.
As for the audience's perception of the lighting, that really was a major oversight on her part.
She had just been about to ask whether Cen Sen had any further suggestions when his phone screen suddenly lit up. Glancing at the caller ID, he stood and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows to take the call.
Ji Mingshu paused for a moment, looked over at him, and unconsciously strained to listen.
The caller sounded American. They were discussing a collaboration project in Hawaii. Cen Sen spoke flawless English throughout the conversation. His pronunciation was pleasant to listen to, his naturally husky voice held a quiet, restrained sensuality, distinct from the exaggerated inflections common among Western speakers.
As she listened, Ji Mingshu gradually drifted off.
She'd been pulling all-nighters for days to finish the designs. Coffee had long since stopped having any effect on her. Sinking into the soft sofa, exhaustion swept over her before she even realized it, and within moments, she had fallen fast asleep.
When Cen Sen returned after finishing the call, he found Ji Mingshu's head slowly tilting to one side, her thick lashes resting against her cheeks as she breathed in an even rhythm.
He stood beside the sofa watching her for a while. Then, he gently lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. After laying her on the bed, he drew the blackout curtains closed.
Though it was still daytime, the heavy curtains plunged the bedroom into dim, muted darkness.
Sitting beside the bed, Cen Sen brushed the loose strands of hair away from Ji Mingshu's face and tucked the blanket securely around her.
Just as he had done the night before she walked out on him.
Only now, after all this time apart, he seemed to have finally sorted through many of the thoughts that had lingered in the back of his mind. The uncertain feelings that had repeatedly surfaced and faded eventually converged on a single truth. It was something he had never wanted to examine too closely, yet somewhere deep inside, he had already accepted it.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, an overwhelming urge to kiss her rose within him.
He had always acted on what he wanted. He had never claimed to be a gentleman, nor did it occur to him that this might be taking advantage of her while she slept.
His Adam's apple bobbed once. Bracing one hand beside her head, he slowly leaned down, closing the distance between them. He gently coaxed her lips apart, stealing one lingering kiss after another, lightly nibbling and tasting her mouth before trailing downward to her pale, graceful neck and the elegant curve of her collarbone, unable to satisfy the quiet longing that had taken hold of him.
Ji Mingshu slept too deeply to notice. She merely turned onto her side in her slumber, casually grabbing his bandaged hand and tucking it under her head like a pillow.
The doctor had specifically warned Cen Sen not to put any more strain on his left hand. Yet now, captured as her pillow, he made no attempt to pull away. Slowly, fresh blood seeped through the bandages, staining them crimson. He simply remained seated by the bed, bending down from time to time to press gentle kisses against his little canary, his quiet devotion revealing itself in unconscious moments of helpless affection.
When Ji Mingshu woke, evening had already fallen. A faint metallic scent of blood lingered in the air. Still groggy, she reached over to switch on the bedside lamp, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.
As soon as she came fully awake, her gaze landed on the bloodstained bandages lying on the nearby table.
Only then did she look around the room, suddenly struck by a question.
How had she fallen asleep? And how had she ended up in bed?
Her mind remained blank for three seconds. Her eyes drifted back to the stained bandages. Slowly, all the missing pieces connected themselves in her head.
A pair of flat shoes had been placed neatly beside the bed, clearly prepared for her. She slipped them on and limped toward the living room to take a look.
Cen Sen was gone.
The memory of being locked up for two days still lingered like a shadow in her heart. Almost instinctively, she walked over and tried the doorknob.
The next second, the door opened.
Zhou Jiaheng was standing right outside.
Seeing that she was awake, he offered her a warm smile and bowed slightly. "Good evening, Madam. The Lausanne Academy delegation arrived in the capital tonight for an exchange visit. President Cen had to attend the reception, so he specifically instructed me to remain here and wait for you."
Ji Mingshu said, “Oh,” then remembered the bandage, she asked. “His hand…”
"President Cen's wound reopened a little earlier, but it's already been redressed. There's nothing to worry about."
Ji Mingshu nodded. Leaning lightly against the doorframe, she fell silent for quite some time before finally saying, "Then... please take me home."
"Of course." Without the slightest surprise, Zhou Jiaheng agreed immediately.
Ji Mingshu turned back to collect her handbag and high heels. Only after getting into the car did she add, "Take me to Xinggang International."
"...?"
The smile of the corners of Zhou Jiaheng's mouth stiffened for a moment, and he completely forgot how to respond.
The lights of the capital shimmered through the winter night, streams of traffic flowing endlessly beneath them.
As though deliberately stalling for time, the Porsche took a full hour to crawl its way to Xinggang International.
Before she even got out of the car, Ji Mingshu received a WeChat message from Cen Sen.
Cen Sen: [Haven't gone home yet?]
Ji Mingshu ignored him and glanced at Zhou Jiaheng through the rearview mirror.
By now, Zhou Jiaheng had long perfected the art of playing dumb. Eyes lowered, expression composed, he skillfully avoided making eye contact.
Another message arrived.
Cen Sen: [The broken light fixture has already been reordered. It should arrive within the next couple of days.]
Ji Mingshu coolly replied with a single word: [Mm.]
Cen Sen: [I'll have the scarf delivered to you tomorrow.]
She gave another equally indifferent reply: [Mm.]
After a long pause, Cen Sen finally sent a voice message, asking the most crucial question. "My hand isn't very convenient for typing. Mingshu, when are you coming home?"
Ji Mingshu: [I don't know.]
Ji Mingshu: [I have every reason to suspect you're playing the pity card.]
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