My Queen, My Rules - 7

Ring

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The awkwardness this eye contact brought was no less than when Cen Sen walked in on her bathtub concert hours earlier.

Cen Sen, apparently sharing her thoughts, suddenly asked, "Why are you looking at me, 'fairy who brings men to their knees'."

He said those words with a flat tone, yet there were brief, deliberate pauses between them, like he was reciting something in classical Chinese class. Except his awkward, stilted repetition carried with it a faint, almost imperceptible mockery. 

Ji Mingshu's reaction was a beat slow. For a moment, she couldn't think of a retort. 

Cen Sen, for some inexplicable reason, wasn't done. "Did I get the title wrong? Or do you prefer 'Fairy who topples cities and nations’?"

Ji Mingshu: "…"

She was far too kind. Here she was, actually feeling bad for him, imagining that this cold-mouthed wolf in sheep's clothing might be momentarily down by the complicated family dynamics.

She sat up straight, her expression blank. "If you know how to talk, then by all means, talk more.”

Cen Sen did not oblige. His gaze shifted coldly back to the front, instructing the driver to return to Mingshui Manor. He didn't say another word for the rest of the journey.

Mingshui Manor was pided into Waterside Villa area and Lakeheart Villa area. Building 13, where Cen Sen and Ji Mingshu lived, was in the Lakeheart section. A wide, private bridge led to their parking area, with a guard post at the entrance staffed around the clock. Security and privacy were paramount.

The moment the car stopped, Ji Mingshu opened her door and got out first. Without a backward glance, she click-clacked her way into the house and disappeared.

Her retreating figure was elegant and poised, radiating presence. The invisible Zhou Jiaheng silently awarded her in his mind: Formidable.

Ji Mingshu went upstairs, locked the bedroom door, and waited. She was half-expecting Cen Sen to come knocking, maybe even say something conciliatory.

But by the time she'd finished taking off her makeup, there was still no sound from downstairs.

She walked out onto the balcony just in time to see Cen Sen's car slowly pulling out of the Lakeheart Villa driveway. A moment later, a low-key Passat followed.

The Passat belonged to Cen Sen's personal bodyguard.

His bodyguards worked in three shifts, twenty-four hours a day, never leaving his side.

Which meant... he was gone?

Realizing this, Ji Mingshu immediately called to demand, "Where are you going?"

Cen Sen's voice was calm, light. "I have another engagement. You go ahead and rest. Don't wait up."

...?

"Don't wait up"? Who said anything about waiting?

For a second, Ji Mingshu thought she'd misheard. Did this dog man actually expect her to be some lovesick fool waiting by the window like a statue? The sheer audacity. Unbelievable.

She hung up without mercy.

But the moment she did, she regretted it. Why did she hang up so fast? He wouldn't think I did it out of guilt, would he?

The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous and infuriating it felt. "Shameless bastard! Not even that good-looking, and here he is, thinking he's all that."

She threw her phone aside and went to the bathroom to put on a face mask.

Halfway through applying it, she paused.

Wait. He couldn't really be shoved into the 'not that good-looking' category.

For one, objectively, he wasn't. For another, if she insisted on putting him in there, wasn't she just insulting her own taste?

Somehow, that made her even angrier.

---

On the other side, after delivering the young madam back to Mingshui Manor, Cen Sen instructed the driver to take him to Heyong Hui.

Heyong Hui was a private club located on the former consulate site on Ruiying Road. Unlike other high-end clubs, it didn't accept membership applications. Instead, it extended invitations selectively to certain members of Beijing and Shanghai's elite.

Cen Sen had an evening gathering here, a meeting to discuss the development of an ancillary hotel for the Western Hills scenic area.

As night fell, the city's lights began to bloom. The entire capital shimmered in the deepening dusk. Gazing toward Chang'an Avenue, it was as if a thousand trees blossomed with light in the eastern wind. The city always seemed to possess a beauty that was both bustling and lonely.

Cen Sen didn't look out the window. After days of nonstop social obligations since his return, even a man of iron felt the fatigue. His arms were loosely folded across his chest, his head resting against the seatback, eyes closed.

Perhaps because his brain had been running at full throttle for so long, achieving even brief relaxation was difficult. Unbidden images flickered through his mind:

The little cousin, flustered, saying "I'm sorry," staring at the rib on her plate, young and terrified. 

Old Madam Cen, beaming at Ji Mingshu, then turning to him with that unconscious distance, that extra layer of politeness.

The silence in the pavilion when his aunt, Cen Yingshuang, had mentioned Cen Yang.

In that instant, he remembered when he arrived in the capital from Xingcheng as a child, walking into Nanqiao Hutong for the first time.

It had been the same. So many people. So quiet.

Some things were so distant they felt like they'd happened in another century. Everyone maintained a tacit silence, not because it was over, but because it would never truly be over.

Zhou Jiaheng sat in the passenger seat. Noticing Cen Sen's faint furrowed brow in the rearview mirror, his rest seeming uneasy, he took the initiative to put on a soft, soothing melody.

Outside, the traffic light turned from red to green. The dim yellow streetlight slanted through the half-open window, falling like a nostalgic halo, dreamy and flickering.

For the first time in a while, Cen Sen felt drowsiness creeping in.

But then, for reasons unknown, the image of Ji Mingshu singing in the bathtub popped into his head. Along with it, the lyrics of her self-indulgent performance activated like a matching set, playing on a 3D surround-sound loop.

That speck of drowsiness vanished instantly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a soft, silent laugh.

---

The night breeze was cool. Standing at the entrance of Heyong Hui, Zhang Baoshu looked up at the silver-lit signage and unconsciously wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly.

She'd been drafted at the last minute to fill in for a well-known actress under her agent who'd had a sudden emergency.

Her agent had stressed repeatedly to make the most of this opportunity. But then, just as she was leaving, she'd also contradicted herself, saying, "If you don't know what to say, talk less."

How was she supposed to "make the most of it" if she couldn't say anything? Zhang Baoshu was baffled.

Heyong Hui wasn't easy to get into. Only after Young Master Zhang had given his approval did a hostess in a cheongsam smile and lead her upstairs.

She clutched her bag strap, stealing curious glances while trying to appear composed.

Perhaps because Heyong Hui had originally been a consulate, the interior decor was a fusion of East and West. There were trickling miniature bridges and streams, but also gramophones and oil paintings. Strangely, none of it felt discordant.

Her destination was a private room on the third floor. Bearing the elegant name: "Dream of Nanke." Wealthy people loved these obscure, poetic names to showcase their refined taste. Zhang Baoshu wasn't surprised.

The door opened onto a spacious room, too large to take in at a glance.

First, she saw a large marble round table with an automated lazy Susan, set with exquisite tableware and lush, dewy fresh flowers. A folding screen partially obscured the view. Beyond it, the lighting grew dim and hazy, and occasional murmured conversations drifted out.

As Zhang Baoshu approached, she caught a low voice, tinged with a smile. "Young Master Zhang, you're too generous."

Young Master Zhang chuckled. "I'm no match for you at cards."

An unfinished hand was discarded face-down on the table, then shuffled back into the deck.

Seeing Zhang Baoshu arrive, Young Master Zhang raised an eyebrow slightly, not paying her much mind. While shuffling, he casually ordered, "Light a cigarette for President Cen."

President Cen? Zhang Baoshu instinctively glanced around the room.

Six men were present. Three were seated, three standing. The standing ones didn't look like the main event. Of the seated ones, besides Young Master Zhang, whom she knew, there was a middle-aged man who looked like some kind of official, but he already had a female companion, a familiar face from the news.

The remaining man...

Zhang Baoshu took in his features and froze.

Wasn't this the man who drove up the price for Su Cheng's pearl necklace at the Zero Degree gala?

She remembered. Cen Sen.

Seeing her hesitate, Young Master Zhang frowned impatiently. "What are you standing there for? You need to take a ritual bath and burn incense before lighting a damn cigarette?"

Zhang Baoshu snapped back to reality. She hurriedly bent to pick up the cigarette box from the table. It was a style she'd never seen before. She couldn't figure out how to open it.

Cen Sen turned his head and gave her an indifferent glance, then raised a hand in a slight gesture of refusal. "No need."

Zhang Baoshu didn't know what to do.

Young Master Zhang, exasperated, pointed a finger. "Pour the wine, then."

Zhang Baoshu, a beat slow, passively reached for the bottle of imported liquor instead.

She was usually quick on her feet; otherwise her agent wouldn't have given her the chance to move up so quickly. But tonight, for some reason, she was all thumbs, flustered and nervous.

The other two female companions looked at her with thinly veiled mockery. Young Master Zhang's companion, in particular, chose this moment to display her own thoughtfulness. She curled her fingers and began massaging his temples in slow circles, her wine-red nails with silver glitter catching the light, shimmering conspicuously.

Young Master Zhang, enjoying the service, cut the cards and dealt with practiced ease. He drawled lazily, "President Cen, this isn't on me. I wanted to call Xin Zhihui to keep you company, but her agent said her flight was delayed, couldn't make it back. They foisted this girl on me instead. Said she's a film school student, just did some campus movie. Said she's innocent and clever. Seriously, what clever?" He turned to Zhang Baoshu. "What's your name again?"

"Zhang... Baoshu."

"Heh. Same family name as me."

"Your real name?"

Cen Sen, who had been mostly silent, suddenly looked at her.

Zhang Baoshu shook her head. "Stage name."

"What's your real name?"

Zhang Baoshu felt embarrassed. She hesitated, not answering.

Cen Sen didn't seem to care. His gaze shifted away, back to his cards, as he slowly, deliberately adjusted his hand.

His fingers were slender and elegant. Even the way he held his cards was like handling a work of art.

After a long hesitation, Zhang Baoshu answered softly, "My real name is... Zhang Yanhong."

As she said it, her ears reddened. She knew the name was hopelessly tacky.

The female companions snickered. Young Master Zhang didn't hold back. "Sounds like a servant girl from the last century."

Cen Sen, however, had no such reaction. He only said mildly, "Your real name is better. 'Baoshu' doesn't suit you."

His tone was unremarkedly neutral, yet those few words seemed to carry an extra layer of warm tenderness to her ears. Zhang Baoshu was momentarily dazed, forgetting even to wonder why the name didn't suit her.

For the rest of the evening, the men discussed business. Zhang Baoshu didn't understand and didn't really listen. It was as if she'd been bewitched. Her heart fluttered. Her courage inexplicably swell.

After pouring Cen Sen's drink, she took the initiative to sit beside him, handing him things from time to time to assist.

Young Master Zhang, who had dismissed her earlier, now shot her a look that said, "Not bad. Learning fast."

The leverage for the Western Hills ancillary hotel development rested with Junyi.

Since returning and taking over the group, Cen Sen had reviewed all ongoing and pending projects. The Western Hills hotel project, for Junyi, was a dispensable ‘chicken rib’, tasteless to eat, a pity to discard.

But for Young Master Zhang and his partners, having a prestigious, high-end hotel brand was essential for elevating the service level and overall positioning of their scenic area project.

Hence tonight's gathering. One side tried to maintain the status quo and continue the partnership. The other side waited quietly for concessions, smiling but saying nothing.

Late into the night, after much drink, Young Master Zhang had talked himself hoarse without getting a single inch from Cen Sen. But the partnership couldn't be terminated. He was forced to make concession after concession, until in the end, he was left with barely anything, yet still had to express profuse gratitude, as if he were begging the other party to make money.

After Cen Sen and Director Yang, who had been facilitating the discussion, left first, Young Master Zhang loosened his tie, visibly irritated.

Seeing Zhang Baoshu still lingering awkwardly, fiddling with her bag, unsure if she should follow Cen Sen, his irritation flared hotter. He jerked his chin toward the door. "Go on, catch up! Are you an idiot? Playing the virtuous one here?"

Zhang Baoshu was both angry and scared, not daring to talk back. They might share a surname, but this ‘Zhang’ in front of her wasn't someone she could afford to offend.

She hurried out just in time to see a valet bending to open Cen Sen's car door.

"President Cen!"

Mustering her courage, she called out.

Cen Sen glanced up slightly.

Zhang Baoshu took a deep breath, quickening her pace in her high heels.

Stopping in front of him, she clutched her bag strap and said, with visible shyness, "President Cen, I was wondering if it would be convenient for you to give me a ride? I didn't drive... I mean, I don't have a car."

She quickly added, "But if it's not convenient, that's fine too. Um… could I add you on WeChat?"

Cen Sen laughed softly.

Zhang Baoshu glanced up cautiously and found his gaze fixed on her bag.

This bag was loaned to her by her agent. A Chanel from a couple of seasons ago. Beautiful color, beautiful style. And, of course, priced far beyond what a newcomer like her could normally afford.

Cen Sen remembered the color and style vividly.

The night before their wedding, Ji Mingshu had been carrying this exact bag.

The morning after, when she'd woken up to find him in bed beside her, she'd been so furious she'd emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor and shoved the empty bag over his head, yanking on it and screaming at him to explode on the spot, the pervert who'd stolen her virtue.

"President Cen?"

Zhang Baoshu asked again, nervously, waving her phone slightly.

Cen Sen snapped back to the present. His gaze landed on the WeChat interface on her phone.

Zhang Baoshu. Not that Shu.

He twisted the ring on his finger, a pointed reminder. "Sorry. I'm married."

Zhang Baoshu was momentarily taken aback.

She'd been watching him all night. Of course she hadn't missed the wedding band. But men in their circles, married or not, what did it matter?

She instinctively interpreted his words as a kind of oblique hint. Though disappointed, it was within her expectations.

After a brief silence, she lifted her chin with what she believed was courage, met his eyes, and said, bluntly, "I don't mind."

"I do." Cen Sen didn't hesitate. "Doesn't your school have admissions standards? With comprehension skills like that, I'm surprised you can even understand a script."

Zhang Baoshu stared at him, bewildered.

Cen Sen got into the car and said slowly, “Whether it's looks, presence, education, or background, you don't measures up to my wife in any way. Go splash some water on your face and wake up."

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