My Queen, My Rules - 65

In Cen Yuanchao's eyes, his daughter-in-law's stint on a reality show and the subsequent trending topics were child’s play. So-called public opinion could be resolved with a snap of his fingers.

It never crossed his mind that, over such a trivial matter, Cen Sen would return to the country without seeing the cooperation deal through to absolute certainty. In his view, Cen Sen was not the type to lose his head or misjudge priorities.

Thus, he was deeply perplexed by Cen Sen's actions this time.

The problem was, the older Cen Sen grew, the less inclined he became to offer explanations.

Truthfully, Ji Mingshu also didn't think Cen Sen was that kind of person. Yet this time, his overnight rush back did seem to be precisely because of her “trivial matter.”

Even though the online tide had already turned in her favor by the time he returned, hadn't he still… personally consoled her wounded spirit and gifted her an island with aurora views?

In the brief moment that Ji Mingshu was lost in thought, the conversation in the study had moved on to topics unrelated to Cen Sen. Holding her breath, she tiptoed away.

Returning to her room, she felt distracted. She sat at the desk in a daze for a while, then pushed open the lattice window to watch the snow.

The heavy winter snow fell thick and fast, like goose feathers. A crisp, cold wind blew through the narrow veranda. Propping her chin in her hands, her mind seemed to drift far, far away.

---

“…Borui's asset restructuring won't be complete until after the New Year at the earliest. It's hard to say if they can relist on the A-share market in the first half of the year. Even after the restructuring and share reform, their relationship with Haichuan Capital might not be any closer than it is now. Weren't there a few other synergistic companies interested in investing?” one person said.

“That may be true, but if Haichuan isn't close with them, would they be close with us? Since they could intercept this investment deal from under us, the possibility of cooperation with our side is basically zero. Even if they were open to it, the chances of them making exorbitant demands are very high,” another rebutted.

The headquarters of the Nanwan Development Company were located on the 11th floor of Huadian Tower.

The project investment from the French-born Chinese investor Vincent had been intercepted by Haichuan Capital, where Cen Yang worked. This investment was intended for Borui's new energy business development post-restructuring, leaving a significant funding gap for the Nanwan Phase II ring-island interchange construction. For several days in a row, the relevant project managers had gathered here for meetings.

It wasn't that there were no alternative plans for the interchange, but compared to Plan A—which would have proceeded smoothly had they secured the investment—the remaining options were suboptimal.

Moreover, reallocating funds inevitably affected the interests of everyone present. The negotiations these past few days primarily revolved around the distribution of benefits and losses under these alternative plans.

In truth, Nanwan's development prospects and return potential far exceeded Borui's new energy project. But in terms of investment cycle and short-term return rate, the latter had a clear advantage.

Someone suggested negotiating cooperation with Haichuan Capital, but the Cen and Ji family representatives present were unanimously opposed to the idea.

—They were all too familiar with the head of Haichuan Capital's Greater China region. Today's situation was precisely Cen Yang's doing. Discussing “cooperation” was pointless.

After the meeting, Cen Sen checked the time, planning to return to Junyi to sign some documents that needed to be issued before the New Year.

But Zhou Jiaheng suddenly called out from half a step behind him, “Boss, there's a call.”

Cen Sen paused, glancing back slightly.

Zhou Jiaheng stepped forward to hand him the phone, then seamlessly retreated to his position, clearing his throat softly. “It's from Haichuan… Mr. Cen Yang.”

Cen Sen looked down at the caller ID, his expression placid as he answered.

On the other end, Cen Yang skipped the pleasantries, getting straight to the point. “The New Year is approaching. I've prepared some gifts for Grandpa, Grandma, Dad, Mom, and Xiao Shu. I'll send them to Nanqiao Hutong in a couple of days. I hope President Cen won't mind.”

Cen Sen didn't respond.

“Though President Cen probably isn't in the mood to mind. My apologies about the Vincent situation.”

Cen Yang's voice was clear and mellifluous. Spoken in his resonant tones, some words were ambiguous, making it hard to discern whether they were sincere or sarcastic.

“Nanqiao Hutong is unnecessary. Send them directly to the cemetery. To Mother,” Cen Sen said casually, as if discussing the weather, then added with a touch of mockery, “Thanks… Mr. An Yang.”

Zhou Jiaheng's survival instincts had been at an all-time high lately. Sitting in the passenger seat now, he mentally noted this new point: Don't call him Cen Yang. Call him An Yang. Yes—Boss Cen called him An Yang.

After Cen Sen finished speaking, silence lingered on the other end of the line. Perhaps the mention of “the cemetery” stirred memories, or maybe the name “An Yang” had struck a nerve.

Cen Sen didn't seem to care, adding, “I originally thought you were above using a woman as a weapon. I overestimated you.”

His voice grew colder toward the end, the final note laced with utter contempt and indifference. Without waiting for a response, he decisively ended the call.

Those who battled in the business world didn't believe in accidents or coincidences. The moment the situation with Vincent changed, Cen Sen had already uncovered Cen Yang's hand in it.

The malicious editing incident involving Ji Mingshu, on the surface, looked like Yan Yuexing and the production team choosing the perfect day to commit professional suicide.

Back when Ji Mingshu had a meal with Cen Yang, she had inadvertently mentioned some things that happened during the show's recording, including the occasional slights from the production team and her unpleasant interactions with Yan Yuexing.

Cen Yang was a calculating man. He had probed deeper into her casual remarks. Before the show aired, he applied some leverage to stir the pot. In the end, the production team and Yan Yuexing bore the brunt of the blame, while he remained spotless, his hands clean.

His original intent was simply to make Ji Mingshu and Cen Sen have another big fight. Like Cen Yuanchao, he hadn't imagined Cen Sen would return early because of it.

But when Cen Sen personally handed him an opening, he saw no reason not to take it.

—He had never wanted to return to the Cen family, nor did he want anything from them. But a cold-blooded family like the Cens didn't deserve a moment's peace. They never would.

Not since the year Cen Sen issued his “it's him or me” ultimatum; not since the year Cen Yuanchao sent him away without a word of explanation; not since the moment Cen Yuanchao refused to lift a finger to help him upon discovering the blood flowing in his veins wasn't Cen blood.

However much he had once loved this family, he later hated them tenfold.

Whether Cen Yang's gifts ultimately went to the cemetery or Nanqiao Hutong was of no concern to Cen Sen. As long as Ji Mingshu didn't receive them, he didn't care.

---

Before New Year's Eve, Cen Sen and Ji Mingshu returned to Mingshui Manor from the suburban estate.

Cen Sen, however, remained swamped with work. Ji Mingshu tried several times to ask him about the intercepted investment, but either he'd suddenly get a phone call and be interrupted, or she'd inexplicably lose her nerve and change the subject.

Because no matter how she framed the question, it seemed to boil down to one thing: Why did you do that?

He could have handled everything there first before returning… If he had acted impulsively for her sake, she'd feel somewhat guilty. But if he had other arrangements and his return wasn't an impulse for her, that answer wouldn't please her either. Trapped in this loop, she never managed to ask.

Around the New Year, many socialites and young masters developing abroad would make time to return to the capital. The city was livelier than usual, with a constant stream of parties.

On the 29th, it was Vivian's birthday. Ji Mingshu and Jiang Chun brought gifts to attend.

Vivian was an avid star-chaser. A decade ago, she'd famously lied to her driver to get to the airport to welcome her Korean oppa. Over the years, her fandom knew no borders or genres—she chased painters, pianists, and athletes alike. If not for practical limitations, she'd probably chase across eras, ancient and modern.

This resulted in an exceptionally eclectic birthday party. One moment a rock singer came on to hype up the crowd; the next, a pianist performed a world-famous piece. There were also boy band dance numbers and athletes performing fancy football tricks. The scene was both lively and disjointed.

Noticing Ji Mingshu's distraction, Jiang Chun asked between bites of cake, “What's up with you?”

Ji Mingshu rested her chin in her hand, sighed, and said listlessly, “Nothing.”

Jiang Chun guessed offhandedly, “You're not pregnant, are you?”

“Don't talk nonsense…” Ji Mingshu shot her a look reserved for the intellectually challenged.

Jiang Chun thought her guess was perfectly logical, citing examples of her recently pregnant sister-in-law's loss of appetite and lethargy.

Ji Mingshu cut her off, changing the subject. “Wait—never mind that. Let me ask you something. Do you ever get Tang Zhizhou gifts? Like, if you've done something… not great, or if he's been working really hard and seems tired, would you give him something or comfort him…”

“What could I possibly do to Tang Zhizhou that's ‘not great’? Wait—did you do something to Cen Sen? Did you cheat? With that childhood friend of yours?”

Jiang Chun exclaimed loudly, eyes wide, oblivious to the cake smeared at the corner of her mouth.

Ji Mingshu closed her eyes, grabbed a napkin, and pressed it over Jiang Chun's mouth, waving her other hand to signal the clueless goose to enter silent mode immediately, so she could have a moment of peace.

Jiang Chun fell silent, but the eclectic performances on stage did not. Seeing many people recording videos, Ji Mingshu, on a whim, pulled out her phone, recorded a few short clips, and sent them to Cen Sen.

After sending them, she carefully composed a message.

Ji Mingshu: [I'm at a friend's birthday party. You must be working hard at the office. Want to watch some performances to relax?]

A moment later, Cen Sen replied: [The review standards of these wardrobes could use some tightening.]

She rewatched her videos. Oh—she'd accidentally captured the moment the male idol lifted his shirt.

Ji Mingshu: [I can leave after they cut the cake here. Are you at the office? Should I bring you a piece? Or is there something else you'd like? I saw a soup place nearby still open when I drove past.]

The chat interface header showed “typing…” several times, but no message came through. Ji Mingshu was puzzled.

Cen Sen was even more puzzled. For a grown man, perhaps the most dreaded thing was his wife's sudden, unexplained concern.

He thought for a long moment and finally replied: [Did you try to buy something that exceeded your spending limit?]

---

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