My Queen, My Rules - 78

Inside the luxurious, spacious walk-in closet, Ji Mingshu held up her phone, filming herself as she asked, “What do you think of this one? Is it too formal?”

She was trying on a wine-red satin cocktail dress without an underskirt. It had a strapless design and a thin, sparkly waist tie adorned with crushed diamonds.

The dress demanded a perfect figure, but with her petite frame and fair skin, it fit her like a glove—not a centimeter too tight or loose—making her bright eyes and white teeth sparkle even more, the very picture of delicate beauty.

Jiang Chun, on the other end of the video call, seemed momentarily captivated by the sight, not blinking for several seconds. Ji Mingshu had to call her name twice before she snapped out of it. “Oh, it is a bit formal. But it would be fine for a Western restaurant, or for going to see a play or a concert. So, where are you going tonight?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know where we’re going,” Ji Mingshu said, a slight frown appearing midway through her sentence, making her seem genuinely a little frustrated. But as she continued, the corners of her mouth turned up uncontrollably. “He just asked if I was free for a date, and said he’d pick me up after work.”

And every single one of her affected, coy little expressions seemed to be screaming: That’s right, I’m currently a little golden canary baby utterly immersed in love!

Jiang Chun truly didn’t know what she had done to deserve being force-fed dog food mid-afternoon, before she was even fully awake.

She swallowed this handful of dog food with difficulty, but it all felt somewhat unreal. She simply couldn’t picture what someone like Cen Sen—the cold-faced big shot who seemed to think ‘wasting a second talking to you costs me a hundred million’—would look like when issuing a date invitation.

But she didn’t need to imagine, because Ji Mingshu loved to show off too much. After picking her outfit, she couldn’t hold back and insisted on showing Jiang Chun a screenshot of the chat.

Cen Sen: [Baby, do you have time for a date with me tonight?]

Jiang Chun lightly slapped her own face.

Yep, that stung a bit. Definitely not a dream.

Jiang Chun: [Is this your husband?]

Ji Mingshu: [Who else would it be?]

Jiang Chun: [Did you try calling your husband? This looks like his account got hacked.]

Ji Mingshu: […?]

Ji Mingshu: [Can you even speak?]

Jiang Chun: [No, it’s just… this message is too surreal. Think about it yourself. Is it reasonable for Cen Sen to call you ‘baby’? Even Tang Zhizhou isn’t this cheesy…]

Ji Mingshu: [You’ve successfully offended three people with one sentence. /Smile]

Jiang Chun: […]

Jiang Chun: [Humble.jpg]

Jiang Chun’s cold water clearly couldn’t douse Ji Mingshu’s enthusiastic anticipation for the date. It had been nearly four years since she and Cen Sen got married, and aside from that one time on Christmas Eve watching a movie and eating hot pot, they had never been on a proper date.

She applied a meticulous date-night makeup look, designed a lazily casual yet detail-rich hairstyle, and changed into a relatively less formal smoke-pink slip dress that perfectly showcased her delicate, sexy collarbones.

But after changing, she felt something was still missing. Remembering a certain bracelet left at Bocui Tianhua that would perfectly complement today’s outfit, she thought for a moment, notified Cen Sen, and had the driver take her to Bocui Tianhua.

At 4:57 PM, the high-level meeting at Junyi was still deadlocked. The heads of two key projects were arguing fiercely over resource allocation, their faces flushed red.

On regular days, everyone was a leader and could at least pretend to be civilized and amiable. But when real interests were on the line, leaders were no different from aunties haggling with street vendors over three dimes—except perhaps even more ferocious. Given their postures, if the conference table hadn’t been so wide, they probably would have rolled up their sleeves and fought to the death right then and there.

The other attendees adopted a detached, not-my-problem attitude, at most offering a few perfunctory words of comfort. Most were waiting for the big boss, Cen Sen, seated imposingly at the head, to weigh in.

But Cen Sen was unreadable. His fingers tapped lightly on the table, his gaze calm, revealing nothing of his true thoughts.

Some silently assumed this was the calm before the storm, given his consistent style: either say nothing, or when he did speak, drop a bombshell.

After patiently waiting three minutes, Cen Sen finally showed signs of preparing his bombshell. “Manager Huang. Manager Song.”

The argument ceased abruptly.

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to the head of the table.

Cen Sen looked up and said plainly, “It’s five o’clock. Let’s stop here for today. Meeting adjourned.”

…?

Adjourned?

Everyone, including Managers Huang and Song, was momentarily stunned.

While meetings usually had a rough time estimate, when the big boss was presiding, was there even such a thing as “ending on time”? Back in school days, if the principal talked through the entire morning self-study period, could the homeroom teacher tell him to shut up?

While everyone was frozen in sudden shock, Cen Sen had already stood up and straightened his coat. Zhou Jiaheng stepped forward seamlessly to gather his meeting materials.

They all watched as Cen Sen walked out of the conference room at an unhurried pace. Then their brains kicked into high gear, frantically speculating about the hidden meaning behind his abrupt departure.

The two managers had also snapped back to reality. Remembering their undignified squabble in front of Cen Sen, cold sweat broke out. They felt this was a precursor to being summarily executed. Desperately clinging to Zhou Jiaheng as their lifeline, they refused to let him leave, demanding a clear explanation.

Zhou Jiaheng was speechless. It literally just meant the meeting was over. Was there any need to be this scared? Weren’t you all so capable during the meeting? The man has to go pamper his wife; he has no mind to listen to you two battle it out.

At 5:30 PM, Cen Sen’s car pulled up right on time downstairs at Bocui Tianhua. He called Ji Mingshu.

Ji Mingshu answered with a nonchalant “Wait a minute,” then picked up a small telescope and peered down from the window.

Although she had been ready and waiting for Cen Sen for ages, the necessary dating ritual of playing hard to get still had to be observed.

It was just that this act left her own heart itching with impatience. After a mere five minutes, she couldn’t take it anymore and hurried downstairs.

Seeing her in her little pink dress, pretending to be aloof while flipping her hair, Cen Sen got out of the car and opened the passenger door for her.

Ji Mingshu glanced at the driver’s seat. “You’re driving yourself?”

Cen Sen gave an “Mhm,” picked up the bouquet of pink and white roses from the passenger seat, and handed it to her. His eyes swept over her, and he added a compliment, “Today you seem… especially beautiful.”

A true CEO. The word “especially” was clearly the result of diligent study, preemptively blocking the classic female retort of, “So I’m not beautiful on other days?”

Ji Mingshu shot him a ‘you’d better recognize’ look, carefully cradled the flowers, and got into the car.

The bouquet had only eleven stems—not large, but fresh and exquisitely arranged. Ji Mingshu adored it. She spent the entire ride taking dozens of selfies with it. At a red light, she even gestured for Cen Sen to lean in for a photo together.

But his angle kept looking awkward in the frame, so she simply took a picture of his profile as he drove.

Ji Mingshu: [Off on a date with Mr. Cen~ /Cute]

Attached were two photos.

The moment she posted it to her Moments feed, likes and comments skyrocketed.

Zhao Yang: [Such an old married couple, yet you two reek of sour (love) stench.]

Shu Yang: [I feel like I need to go see a vet.]

Zhao Yang replied to Shu Yang: [No need. You’re just stuffed with dog food.]

Gu Kaiyang: [Today’s dose of Shu-bao’s beauty has been absorbed!]

Jiang Chun: [Baby, schedule me in next?]

Cen Yingshuang: [Schedule a second baby next?]

Ji Mingshu replied to each one, but before she could finish, Cen Sen parked the car and announced, “We’re here.”

“So fast?” She was slightly surprised.

It actually wasn’t that fast, considering she had spent about forty minutes taking photos and editing them.

Cen Sen didn’t explain, just hummed in agreement and leaned over to help unbuckle her seatbelt.

They arrived at a French restaurant.

The moment Ji Mingshu realized she was about to have a meal with Cen Sen outside—and a very lengthy French one at that—she felt a conditioned headache coming on.

But it was a date. Food had to be eaten. So, steeling herself, she went in.

To her immense surprise, the meal wasn’t the usual agonizing experience of having a proctor sitting across from her, urging her to hand in the paper. Instead, it was quite pleasant and enjoyable.

Cen Sen ate slowly and was very attentive to her, pouring her water and red wine, and even initiating conversation.

Moreover, he skillfully modulated the topics, mixing serious discussion with lighthearted, trivial chatter.

Ji Mingshu found it quite miraculous. How had he suddenly adopted this “talkative” persona over dinner?

Usually, he only had this much to say when lecturing her or during pillow talk.

Of course, she had to admit, she loved him looking at her and talking about this and that. It gave her a feeling… that he was genuinely making an effort to connect with her.

After dinner, they held hands and wandered aimlessly outside, continuing the conversation about their school days they’d started at the restaurant, engaging in a rare heart-to-heart talk.

Everything was perfect and matched Ji Mingshu’s definition of a couple’s date—if they hadn’t gone to see that 4D movie.

After strolling for about half an hour, Ji Mingshu’s feet were tired. Cen Sen suggested going to a movie.

At the cinema, seeing a 4D screening available, Cen Sen asked if she wanted to try it. Being the love-struck fool she was, of course she’d watch whatever her husband suggested. She nodded obediently. And thus began a two-hour nightmare of involuntary raving.

The movie opened with a car chase. Before Ji Mingshu’s seat was even warm, it started shaking wildly in sync with the on-screen action, without warning. The ice cream cone in her hand ended up smeared all over her face.

After wiping her face, she tried to take a sip of cola to calm her nerves. But then the seatback, following a gunshot in the movie, suddenly punched her right in the shoulder blade. Half the cup of cola splashed onto the floor.

The most terrifying part was the blasts of cold air and water spray, averaging less than thirty seconds apart—a real-life version of cold raindrops slapping randomly on your face. Even wrapped in Cen Sen’s jacket, she was shivering from the cold. The only silver lining was probably that her makeup was light and waterproof today, so she wouldn’t be sprayed into looking like a bedraggled swamp witch.

By the time the movie ended, she felt beaten half to death by her seat. Her dress was wrinkled, every carefully designed curl in her hair was a mess, and she looked utterly disheveled—as if Cen Sen had ravished her eighteen times right there in the cinema—every inch of her screaming “weak, pitiful, and helpless.”

Cen Sen had also just paid good money to suffer for two hours, but he maintained his stoic, cold CEO persona, his face betraying no emotion.

He stood up, straightened his clothes, and reached a hand out to Ji Mingshu.

Ji Mingshu took his hand, trembling as she got up, stumbling half a step into his arms as she rose.

He held her steady.

Exhausted, angry, and drained, her eyes bright and slightly damp, Ji Mingshu leaned against his chest and complained in a small, wronged voice, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you! I’m so mad! I want a divorce!”

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