My Queen, My Rules - 48

Tailing

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At the question, Ji Mingshu instinctively looked up.

The man was very tall, around 185 cm, similar to Cen Sen, and appeared to be around the same age. He wore an impeccably tailored suit from Chris Chou's Fall/Winter collection released earlier that June. He had a gentle, clean-cut demeanor, with handsome, well-defined features.

But she didn't recognize him. She had never seen him before.

She subtly glanced at Jiang Chun beside her, only to find Jiang Chun staring back blankly, her face a perfect picture of clueless innocence.

Ji Mingshu: "…"

Little Earth Goose doesn't know him either.

She had initially thought he might be a new face in their circle, trying to get acquainted. Apparently, that wasn't the case.

Not one for guessing games, she got straight to the point. "Hello. Do we know each other?"

The man looked at her deeply, his smile widening. His voice was clear and pleasant, like the chime of fine jade. "Xiao Shu. You're exactly the same as you were when you were little."

The words “when you were little” acted like a key, unlocking a chest of faded, yellowing childhood memories. She stared at him, her initial confusion slowly receding as his adult features shifted and shrank in her mind's eye, seamlessly overlapping with the blurred outlines of a boy from her past.

Yet her voice still held uncertainty. "Cen… Brother Cen Yang?"

The man laughed again, gave a straightforward, confirming nod, and added playfully, "I'm flattered. The esteemed Miss Ji, with so many important matters to attend to, hasn't forgotten my name entirely."

Whether from sheer shock or a delayed reaction, Ji Mingshu was speechless for a long moment.

Jiang Chun, standing to the side, was no fool. Hearing the surname “Cen,” she immediately sensed a story. Cen? From the Cen family? Given his age, was he a brother to Cen Sen?

But if he were, how could Ji Mingshu not have seen him for so many years that she had almost failed to recognize him?

Within seconds, Jiang Chun's mind had conjured a full-blown drama of sibling strife and a battle for the family inheritance. She nudged Ji Mingshu, whispering in her ear, "Who is he? He's quite handsome. Cen Sen's cousin? Some kind of half-brother? An illegitimate son?"

The nudge finally jolted Ji Mingshu back to the present.

But even then, beyond the initial shock, she felt little else. She instinctively glanced back toward where Cen Sen had been sitting.

As luck would have it, after the show ended, the piano staircase had automatically retracted. The rotating set piece of the old ship was slowly turning. In those brief seconds, its rotation completely blocked the line of sight between the showroom area and the seating section.

Ji Mingshu wasn't sure what she was thinking. Cen Yang chose that moment to glance at his watch. "I'm sorry, Xiao Shu, I have another engagement today, so I can't chat any longer. How about I treat you to afternoon tea in a few days? We can have a proper catch-up then."

He took out his phone, pulled up his QR code, and held it out to her. "This is my WeChat. Add me."

"Oh, okay."

Before Ji Mingshu could even process it, she found herself passively taking out her phone and adding him.

Cen Yang changed her contact name to “Xiao Shu” right in front of her, then waved his phone with a smile. "I just registered for WeChat after returning to the country recently. You're my third friend."

Not waiting for her response, he pocketed his phone. "Alright, I should get going. I'll be in touch."

Long after Cen Yang had disappeared from view, Ji Mingshu still felt as if she were in a dream, unable to fully grasp the reality.

A living, breathing person who had vanished without a trace in her childhood, now reappearing just as suddenly decades later… It was surreal.

Jiang Chun, standing beside her, watched Cen Yang's retreating back for a moment, then fixed a stern gaze on Ji Mingshu. "Out with it. Is there something going on between you and this 'Brother Cen Yang'? The moment you saw him, you froze up like your soul had been snatched by demons… Hey, is the reason for your fight with Cen Sen because of this childhood sweetheart stirring trouble? But wait, how come I've never heard you mention this person before???"

Before Ji Mingshu could get a word in, Jiang Chun released her arm and muttered under her breath, "Ji-shi Shushu, you've changed. You're keeping secrets from me now!"

Ji Mingshu stared at her with a look that asked: Had you been hit on the head by a falling constellation? It was a look of pure, speechless exasperation.

---

Meanwhile, Cen Sen remained in his seat. Before he could get a clear look at the man Ji Mingshu had bumped into, the rotating stage obstructed his view.

Unhurried, he finished giving Zhou Jiaheng his instructions, then stood and walked toward where Ji Mingshu had been.

But the post-show area was chaotic. By the time he reached the spot, she was long gone, nowhere to be seen in the surrounding crowd.

About fifteen minutes later, Zhou Jiaheng sent a frontline report from the showroom. "Madam and Miss Jiang Chun are trying on clothes. In addition to the sets you mentioned, Madam also seems particularly fond of the white dress worn by the opening model."

"Buy it."

Zhou Jiaheng acknowledged the order and didn't mention any man being present.

Cen Sen, therefore, didn't ask further.

---

Chris Chou's early spring show had commenced with great fanfare and concluded to rapturous applause.

For days afterward, entertainment gossip columns and fashion media were abuzz with discussion.

The former focused mostly on the celebrities in attendance—their outfits, hairstyles, makeup, the order of group photos, seating arrangements, the unsolved mysteries of female celebrity friendships, and comparative heights were all ripe material for extensive analysis.

The latter took a more professional, in-depth approach, discussing the significance of Chris Chou holding a show in China, the merits and flaws of the three series in this collection, the similarities and differences from his past style, which aspects represented continuity and which were bold departures… And, of course, frequently mentioned was the design of the venue itself.

For instance, Gu Kaiyang's magazine wrote in a feature: "As December ushered in the first chill of winter, Chris Chou presented next year’s early spring ready-to-wear collection at the Junyi Huazhang Hotel in the capital…"

"Chris Chou once again collaborated with interior designer Ji Mingshu to create the ‘Decadent Splendor’ show venue, commissioning an immersive video art installation of the same name to deliver the ultimate sensory experience. On-site, the piano staircase and galleries reflected in mirrored surfaces, while the immersive installation transported guests back to the era of old Shanghai, and the rotating ship serving as the main stage was particularly ingenious."

"This season's early spring show, from venue to fashion, has stepped beyond Chris Chou's established style. In the fusion of modern minimalist art and vintage Chinese flair, both Chris Chou and his interior design partner have delivered a near-perfect answer."

Chris Chou's two-minute thank-you speech had effectively thrust Ji Mingshu into the spotlight, elevating her status and prestige in the world of interior design.

Like Zero Degree, many fashion magazines and media outlets, when writing their reviews, instinctively delved deeper into this interior designer. Their investigations revealed she had virtually no other body of work.

Of course, that didn't matter much. They could simply hype her educational background and her status as Chris Chou's chosen collaborator. While those bold enough to write about her background as a top-tier socialite outright bestowed upon her the title of “Socialite Designer.”

For a time, a torrent of flattering praise came her way.

Previously, when Ji Mingshu did nothing at all, people would praise her daily for her beauty, kindness, and good taste. Now that she had actually accomplished something, the compliments could expand in every conceivable dimension.

Ji Mingshu couldn't even keep up with reading them all. After Chris Chou left, she lay sprawled on her bed like a salted fish for two full days, her mind racing at double speed with a stream of internal commentary—

Does Cen-shi Sensen have any conscience left? When is he going to beg this precious baby to come home? Will the money from this job last until then? Will I have to wait until I die?! Wahhh, working is so exhausting! This little canary baby is bearing too much! (tvt)

Just as Ji Mingshu was refusing to even roll over in her salted fish state, Cen Yang, whom she'd encountered at the show, sent her a message. He said a friend of his had bought a courtyard house in Xijing Sanhao and was looking for someone to handle the design.

Ji Mingshu instinctively replied, "No, no."

After sending it, she felt awkward simply saying she was too tired to work lately. She offered a more tactful explanation: "I'm not very skilled at traditional Chinese design, and honestly, after just finishing the show, I feel a bit creatively drained. But I can recommend an excellent traditional Chinese designer I know."

Cen Yang said that was fine. She dug out the business card of a designer from another team she'd met during the Designer's Abode program and forwarded it to him.

Shortly after, Cen Yang asked if she had time for afternoon tea or dinner, saying he'd like to catch up after all these years.

Having just turned down a design job, she couldn't very well refuse again now. Besides, she couldn't find a good reason to say no. While her memories of many childhood events had faded, she clearly remembered that Cen Yang had been very good to her when they were young.

Without much hesitation, she replied, "Okay."

Ji Mingshu's days of salted-fish lethargy blurred together. It was only when the meeting time approached that she realized the day Cen Yang had chosen for dinner was Christmas Eve.

Inside the French restaurant on Christmas Eve, ethereal, soothing music floated through the air. Under the warm, orange-toned lighting, delicate cutlery gleamed. Every detail of the glassware, chairs, and tables exuded Gallic elegance.

Led by the server to the table Cen Yang had reserved, Ji Mingshu noticed that most of the other patrons were young couples out enjoying a festive meal.

Cen Yang raised a hand in greeting from afar, then stood and pulled out the upholstered chair for her.

Ji Mingshu sat down, feeling slightly awkward.

Cen Yang returned to his seat opposite, poured her a small amount of red wine, and asked with a smile, "Does it feel a bit strange to you? I have to admit, it does to me as well."

After pouring the wine, he pushed the glass toward her, continued, "My apologies, Xiao Shu. I didn't think it through. It seems everyone out for a big dinner tonight are couples."

At his frankness, Ji Mingshu felt it would be petty to act uncomfortable. She took a small sip of wine and shrugged lightly. "It's fine. I haven't had French food in a while anyway."

Cen Yang nodded, and they ordered together.

Reconnecting with someone once familiar was almost too easy. Their conversation flowed naturally from the menu to their first childhood experience with French cuisine.

Back then, they were both small and rather clueless. Ji Mingshu, playing the grown-up, had stretched out her little arms to cut her steak. Somehow, with a “splat,” she sent a piece of steak flying straight onto Cen Yang's face. Cen Yang, being the responsible older brother, didn't hold it against the little girl. He simply cut up his own steak and swapped plates with her.

These events were so long past that Ji Mingshu rarely recalled them. But as Cen Yang brought them up, the memories trickled back. The more she remembered, the more she found her childish self both hilarious and utterly embarrassing. Not to be outdone, she recalled some of Cen Yang's own childhood mishaps to tease him about in return.

A full French dinner could easily last two hours. Having such a meal with someone like Cen Sen, for whom ‘saying one extra word counts as a loss,’ always felt boring and tedious to Ji Mingshu. But with someone like Cen Yang, who could effortlessly keep the conversation flowing, it was unexpectedly enjoyable from start to finish.

Moreover, the adult Cen Yang, like the boy he'd been, possessed impeccable tact. The topics he chose were light and everyday, never prying or launching straight into a heavy, interrogative trip down memory lane.

It wasn't until they were having coffee at the end that the smile on Cen Yang's face faded slightly, and he broached a more sensitive subject. "I heard you married him. Is he good to you?"

Although Cen Yang had masterfully maintained a harmonious atmosphere throughout the evening, Ji Mingshu had vaguely sensed before coming… that he would inevitably ask about Cen Sen. Sure enough, the inevitable had arrived.

She also picked up her coffee cup, took a small sip, thought for a moment, and gave her reply.

Hearing her answer, Cen Yang was momentarily taken aback. After a long pause, he simply said, "Mhm," then smoothly changed the subject. "Let me take you home."

Ji Mingshu nodded, picked up her clutch, and stood.

The music in the French restaurant continued its ethereal, soothing flow. The lighting remained just as atmospheric.

One hour, forty-three minutes, and thirty seconds.

Cen Sen, sitting not far away, lowered his wrist and took a sip of his coffee, his expression unreadable.

This time of year, the Christmas spirit was ubiquitous. The French restaurant had a Christmas tree, and snowflake decals adorned the windows. Only Cen Sen, sitting alone in the corner, seemed utterly detached from the festive cheer.

Watching Cen Yang and Ji Mingshu leave the restaurant, he slowly stood up.

He had driven himself today without notifying anyone in advance, intending to go directly to Xinggang International to pick up Ji Mingshu for dinner and a movie. He hadn't expected to see her hailing a taxi downstairs just as he arrived.

He had followed the taxi she took from a distance on his way here. Now, leaving, he trailed the white Mercedes ahead of him from a distance.

The long-awaited first snow began to fall.

He drove with the window down, as if impervious to the winter's biting cold.

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Author's Note:

—He's good to me sometimes, and not so good other times. But I like him.

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