My Queen, My Rules - 54

Thank You

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Since the Zero Degree event was on the casual side, the stylist gave Ji Mingshu a natural-looking, “effortless” wavy hairstyle and applied light makeup.

For her outfit, Ji Mingshu chose a smoky-pink, sleeveless, halter-top jumpsuit. The fluid fabric draped beautifully, showcasing the elegant lines of her shoulders and back and flattering her proportions.

When it came time to choose a lip color, Ji Mingshu pulled out a recently purchased, large cosmetics case and conferred with the stylist.

Their opinions diverged slightly. Ji Mingshu held the case out to Cen Sen. “Which color do you think would look better on me?”

Cen Sen was about to say “any of them,” but meeting her expectant gaze, he schooled his expression, glanced down, and studied the contents with apparent seriousness.

Finally, he selected a tube of rose-colored gloss and delivered a CEO-level strategic analysis, covering tonal harmony, texture, and suitability for the occasion.

Ji Mingshu and the stylist listened, dumbfounded.

When he finished, Ji Mingshu hesitantly took the gloss from his hand, twisted it open, glanced at it, and fell suddenly silent.

“…”

“Um. That was a very thorough analysis. Except, this is a liquid blush.”

The atmosphere grew intensely awkward. Fortunately, the stylist was quick with a save, joking that all straight men were hopeless with makeup. Even if it was blush, picking such a pretty color was still an accomplishment.

So, Ji Mingshu didn’t let Cen Sen’s earnest, detailed analysis go to waste. She chose a matte lipstick of the same shade.

The effect on her lips was indeed excellent; it brightened her complexion and suited her overall look for the day.

But with all this dithering back and forth, by the time they arrived at the venue, they had successfully missed the already-expired motivational speech from Zero Degree’s Editor-in-Chief, May.

Ji Mingshu, arm in arm with Cen Sen, walked in and asked, as if it were an afterthought, “What do you think of the venue?”

“Very creative.”

Cen Sen nodded, seeming genuinely approving.

She couldn’t help boasting in a low voice, “I was the interior design consultant for this event. I did the color scheme and layout.”

“Is that so.” Cen Sen glanced at her and offered another affirmation. “Your recent projects have all shown a real spark.”

The corner of Ji Mingshu’s mouth lifted again.

Cen Sen, this Dog Man, was truly an enigma. Sometimes he was so straight-laced he seemed to have steel rods for bones; other times, he was incredibly perceptive.

Take that compliment just now. Telling a designer they had “spark” was undoubtedly the highest praise.

In high spirits, she toured the venue, unconsciously drifting closer to him as they walked.

Cen Sen subtly shifted from her holding his arm to holding her hand and began telling her about similar events he’d attended during his university days abroad.

He’d majored in management, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate art.

In fact, from the moment they’d stepped inside, he’d recognized Ji Mingshu’s design style.

His praise wasn’t empty flattery. Compared to her half-hearted effort for the charity gala, her recent work was more cohesive and mature, and she had incorporated some distinctive, personal touches.

Moreover, her design style was a perfect match for her personality. Whether it was residential interiors, runway shows, or creative exhibition-style designs like this salon, she maintained her signature extreme exquisiteness that was instantly recognizable.

To an outside observer, the two holding hands, chatting, and smiling appeared extremely intimate.

Someone noticed her not far away, and soon a small cluster was whispering. “Hey, Ji Mingshu’s here.”

“Where?” A girl followed the speaker’s gaze, slightly surprised. “It really is her… How long has it been since she showed her face? I didn’t even know which corner she was sitting in at Chris Chou’s show last time, and she didn’t go to the after-party either. I thought she wouldn’t make an appearance until after the New Year.”

Another girl picked up the thread. “Who’s the guy with her? He’s pretty handsome. They look close. New fling?”

Jiang Chun happened to be passing by with a small cake. Hearing their whispers, she finally had the chance to hold her head high and smile, answering in a tone dripping with “you poor, ignorant things” condescension. “Weren’t you all just gossiping about whether Ji Mingshu and her husband would really divorce, and how Ji Mingshu was nothing without him? How come you don’t even recognize her husband?”

…?

This was Ji Mingshu’s husband?

The future heir of the Cen family, known for being cold and ruthless?

So young?

So good-looking?

Ji Mingshu was the type to post on her social media about every rib her husband made for her and every movie he watched with her. Why had she never posted about this face?! It was unreal!!!

The group fell into a prolonged, stunned, and skeptical silence.

To be fair, it wasn’t entirely their fault for their lack of worldliness. They were peripheral figures in the capital’s power circles, still far from the core.

Moreover, Cen Sen was part of the elite, practical-minded generation at the very top of the food chain, fundamentally different from the good-for-nothing playboys who spent their days carousing. He made very few public appearances, hardly giving anyone a chance to know him.

Normally, for a workaholic scion of the old guard like him, the party crowd wouldn’t even remember his name, knowing at most that the Jingjian Cens had such an unattainably lofty figure.

But as luck would have it, he had a wife like Ji Mingshu, a socialite who commanded attention wherever she went. This created an awkward situation where everyone followed Jingjian’s business moves closely, and Cen Sen’s name was on every gossip-lover’s lips, yet no one could match the name to the man.

Of course, many people did know him, and there were rumors about his looks and personality. But without photos as proof, who knew if Ji Mingshu was just making it all up.

While they were struck dumb with shock, Jiang Chun had gracefully left with her cake to find a good spot for photos.

—Ji Mingshu had finally made an appearance with her husband. Jiang Chun wasn’t about to be so tactless as to go play third wheel.

Jiang Chun had tact, but Ji Mingshu’s former plastic friends were another story.

Those who could become Ji Mingshu’s plastic sisters were naturally a cut above the peripheral crowd. Among them, those who recognized Cen Sen outnumbered those who didn’t.

Seeing the two of them together at a lower-key, casual event like a magazine salon dispelled all the doubts born from Ji Mingshu’s prolonged absence from the social scene. They flocked to Ji Mingshu, chatting and fawning.

Cen Sen had been playing with a fortune stick set with Ji Mingshu, but a wave of perfume suddenly enveloped them, followed by a chorus of excessively elegant, softly phrased compliments from various young women.

He stood by Ji Mingshu’s side, a vein throbbing at his temple. Facing the occasional question directed his way, he merely gave slight nods, maintaining a polite, safe distance from these young ladies Ji Mingshu was “so close with.”

Ji Mingshu, meanwhile, was in her element, navigating the social waters with practiced ease. Standing beside her, Cen Sen was rendered a silent mascot by comparison.

A good five minutes passed before Ji Mingshu realized just how out of place Cen Sen was in this setting. She sent him off to fetch her some cake, thinking she’d wrap up the conversation in another two minutes.

But the moment Cen Sen left, someone hidden within the perfumed circle timidly ventured, “Xiao Shu, I think… I think Li Wenyin is here today, too.”

The lively atmosphere instantly chilled.

Li Wenyin?

Like a bad penny.

Someone quickly recovered, speaking up on Ji Mingshu’s behalf. “So what if she’s here? Heard she recently latched onto that sickly heir from the Yuan family, even sweet-talked him into investing in a film for her. Who does she think she’s trying to annoy with that nonsense?”

“She’s just jealous of Mingshu. Anyone can see that. It was the same back in our school days. Now she goes on about film art, but that petty, small-minded jealousy in her bones never changes.” One girl had been Ji Mingshu’s classmate and knew a bit about Li Wenyin’s past rivalry.

The others murmured in agreement.

But Ji Mingshu suddenly lost all interest in continuing the conversation.

A sense of déjà vu from the previous fragrance house soirée washed over her. A similarly casual theme. People similarly taking her side against Li Wenyin. And yet, in the end, she had lost miserably, humiliatingly, in front of Li Wenyin.

She stared in the direction Cen Sen had gone, dazed for a moment, then wordlessly strode after him.

The group she left behind exchanged looks, then tacitly followed at a distance.

Their motives varied. Some wanted to see Li Wenyin embarrassed. Some wanted to see Ji Mingshu embarrassed. The rest were just there for the drama.

As luck would have it, just as Ji Mingshu caught up, Cen Sen and Li Wenyin came face to face.

Li Wenyin had just taken a glass of red wine from a server’s tray. Turning and seeing Cen Sen heading for the dessert section, she was taken aback.

The next second, her peripheral vision caught Ji Mingshu not far away, along with the gaggle of bored heiresses trailing several meters behind her. Her hand tightened imperceptibly around the stem of her wine glass.

It was hard to describe what she was feeling at this moment. She knew Cen Sen was here with Ji Mingshu. She knew he had made himself perfectly clear last time. But she just couldn’t accept it.

So many years had passed. Cen Sen had countless reasons not to rekindle their past. She could understand that. But how could he tie himself for life to a woman like Ji Mingshu—a woman of such low taste, who mistook thoughtlessness for candidness? He couldn’t possibly like Ji Mingshu. Because Ji Mingshu simply wasn’t worthy.

The feeling was so overpowering it drove her to want to do something, anything, even resorting to cheap tactics, if only to make Ji Mingshu understand that she and Cen Sen should never have been forced together.

She signaled a server, took another glass of wine from the tray, and then glided toward Cen Sen. She extended the glass slightly, her voice as gentle and poised as ever. “It’s been a while. I didn’t expect to see you at an event like this.”

Ji Mingshu stood five meters away, clutching her small diamond-encrusted purse. Her nails turned white against the stones, but she felt nothing.

Her mind was a blank.

Only one thought sustained her: Please don’t take it. Even if it’s just out of politeness, can you, just this once, not be so damned polite?

Because for the rest of her life, she never ever wanted to see someone she liked standing together with the person she hated most.

Logically, she was Madam Cen. She faced everyone else with confidence. But facing Li Wenyin… she just couldn’t. Cen Sen had never taken a stance in front of Li Wenyin. It felt like she would never be able to stand tall and say to Li Wenyin, “Please stay away from my husband.”

In reality, only about five seconds passed before Cen Sen reacted. But to Ji Mingshu, those five seconds stretched like a feature film.

—She saw Cen Sen glance down at the proffered glass of wine, then slowly lift his eyes to meet Li Wenyin’s.

His gaze must have held little warmth, because the next moment, he acted as if she weren’t there, picked up a piece of cake from the dessert table, and turned to leave.

Then their eyes met across the space.

The sequence of his actions happened too quickly to process in detail. When Ji Mingshu’s gaze met his, she could still see the indifference lingering in his eyes.

Somehow, that gave her the courage to step forward. She took the cake plate from his hand and said, very softly, “Thank you.”

Before Cen Sen could ask what she was thanking him for, she moved past him, took the glass of red wine from Li Wenyin’s hand, and without a moment’s hesitation, poured it out.

The wine provided at such events was of decidedly mediocre quality. Anyone who knew wine could tell from its color and bouquet. As it splashed onto the floor, it made a distinctly loud, splattering sound.

Ji Mingshu ignored the tiny droplets staining her jumpsuit. Finally, she stood tall and said the words that had echoed in her mind countless times:

“Miss Li. In the future, please stay away from my husband.”

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