My Queen, My Rules - 92

When Ji Mingshu was in her late second trimester, Jiang Chun married Tang Zhizhou.

The couple held two ceremonies. One by the Aegean Sea, inviting only close family and friends on a chartered flight. The other at Junyi Huazhang in the capital, an extravagant, grand affair with a full house of distinguished guests.

The Tang family had spent a full year preparing for these two celebrations. For the main wedding dress alone, they had four custom-made gowns for Jiang Chun. Their fondness and high regard for this daughter-in-law could not have been more obvious.

Over a month after the receptions, whispers of envy still occasionally circulated in their social circle. Nothing new, just variations on Jiang Chun’s good fortune—a nouveau riche girl even Yan Yu didn’t want had actually managed to marry into the Tang family.

“Did you two sign that?” Ji Mingshu asked.

Jiang Chun tilted her head. “Sign what?”

“The prenup.” Gu Kaiyang chimed in, legs crossed as she flipped through one of Ji Mingshu’s maternity magazines.

Jiang Chun shook her head. “No. There’s nothing for us to agree on anyway.”

She finished a pudding and picked up another slice of light cheesecake from the table.

Ji Mingshu thought about it and figured that made sense. Watching Jiang Chun demolish another cake in under a minute, she wordlessly rolled up the magazine in her hand and tapped Jiang Chun’s head with it. “Do you ever stop eating?”

“I starved myself for three whole months to fit into those dresses! What’s wrong with having some cake?”

Jiang Chun shot her a puzzled sidelong glance, her face clearly stating: My husband doesn’t even care—why are you so bothered?

Ji Mingshu argued righteously, “Is this ‘some’ cake? Is that how you use the word ‘some’? You’ve eaten four cakes in less than half an hour. Do you want to start a mukbang channel?”

Jiang Chun was rendered speechless.

Gu Kaiyang looked up and snorted lightly, saying to Jiang Chun, “Ignore her. She’s just miserable right now and wants to make sure we’re miserable with her.”

Ji Mingshu’s deadly gaze swiveled to Gu Kaiyang. “You weren’t this sharp-tongued at the singles mixer.”

Ever since Jiang Chun joined the ranks of the married, the two had become particularly enthusiastic about finding matches for Gu Kaiyang. They had egged her on to attend several singles mixers. Unfortunately, Gu Kaiyang seemed to have lost interest in dating after that reality dating show, focusing wholeheartedly on her career. She hardly spoke a word at these mixers.

That dating show had netted her a huge following of young female fans. Her Weibo followers had now surpassed Ji Mingshu’s, galloping towards five million. Plus, being in the editorial industry, she had a natural knack for social media, expertly crafting her image as an independent, financially free, modern woman. Her income had skyrocketed since she had branched into influencer work.

Now, she just shrugged, not bothering to argue with a pregnant woman, and shared a knowing look with Jiang Chun.

Actually, Gu Kaiyang was spot on. Ji Mingshu had been very miserable lately.

After Jiang Chun’s wedding, Cen Sen had unilaterally put a stop to all of Ji Mingshu’s work and entertainment activities.

If she wanted to go out, the bodyguards wouldn’t allow it, and the driver wouldn’t take her. She had to wait for Cen Sen to have time to personally accompany her. Most of the time, she could only idle away her days in their unremarkable, if exceedingly luxurious, mansion.

Jiang Chun seemed to have it out for her. To congratulate her on the pregnancy, she had gleefully gifted her a little robot designed by Tang Zhizhou.

The little robot was cute-looking, but it was a walking, talking chatterbox. It followed her around all day, buzzing reminders to drink water, to get up and walk a few steps, to go outside and look at the flowers and get some fresh air…

The most terrifying part was its high-definition surveillance function. Under the pretext of staying in touch with her at all times, Cen Sen legitimately used this gift from her best friend to monitor her.

If she played on her phone or watched TV for too long and Cen Sen happened to see it, the robot would suddenly transmit Cen Sen’s calm reminder, “Mingshu, get up and move around.”

At first, she would adopt an uncooperative “hear no evil, see no evil” attitude. Cen Sen didn’t say much about it. He simply cut off the signal the next day, leaving her as the beautiful but lonely pregnant woman in the heart of the lake island.

Later, she’d even contemplated throwing the thing into Mingshui Lake to destroy the evidence. But considering she could also use it to chant scriptures back at Cen Sen when bored out of her mind, she decided against it.

“Cen-shi Sensen, are you there? What time are you coming back today?”

Bored after finishing a variety show, Ji Mingshu glanced at the little robot.

A voice soon came from the little robot. “I will be late today. There’s one more video conference.”

Ji Mingshu: “You’re the worst! You won’t keep me company and you won’t let me go out!”

Cen Sen: “I’ll come home and keep you company after I’m done with this busy period. Be good.”

Ji Mingshu settled for the next best thing and wheedled, “Then I want to eat the spare ribs you make for dinner tonight.”

Cen Sen paused briefly. “Okay. I’ll make them for you when I get back. Have something to eat first.”

“Mm. Kiss.”

Ignoring Zhou Jiaheng knocking on his office door, Cen Sen’s voice lowered slightly. “Mm. Kiss.”

Cen Sen kept his word. A month before Ji Mingshu’s due date, he moved his office to their home, freeing up more time to accompany her. All business trips were delegated to other senior executives. Aside from necessary meetings and social obligations, he rarely made public appearances for work.

Under Cen Sen’s close watch, Ji Mingshu gave birth safely three days before her due date.

Perhaps to prevent a repeat of the mistake from over twenty years ago, the hospital had arranged a clearance well in advance. On the day of the delivery, over a dozen people from the Cen and Ji families gathered, anxiously awaiting the little treasure’s arrival.

Fortunately, the labor went relatively smoothly.

A baby boy. Six pounds, six ounces.

They hadn’t checked the gender in advance, and the Cen family hadn’t shown any particular expectation or demand regarding gender. But the unspoken preference for an heir in a major family didn’t need to be stated outright. Learning it was a boy, both families secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

Actually, Ji Mingshu and Cen Sen had discussed the gender issue before this. Ji Mingshu initially thought Cen Sen would say, “I’ll love any child you give me.” But Cen Sen pondered for a moment and said, “I’d prefer a boy. If the first child is a boy, he can protect his younger sister later.”

“……?”

Although what he said seemed reasonable—she herself had quite enjoyed being protected by her older male cousins growing up—but—

“Who said anything about a second child? The first one isn’t even here yet! Aren’t you thinking too far ahead?”

Cen Sen had answered quite calmly then, “Life is like chess. You must look ten steps ahead for every move you take.”

He’d even pulled out the little notebook he’d used for his dating plans to show Ji Mingshu. “This is a rough plan I wrote during my downtime. It’s not perfect. I’ll make a proper plan when I have more time.”

Ji Mingshu skeptically took it and skimmed through it. The plan continued President Cen’s signature meticulous style, categorized into points one, two, three, and four. It was so detailed that typing it up would create a perfect spreadsheet.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure whether to be happy for the baby or to mourn for it. Their father, in his downtime, had casually sketched out a twenty-page plan covering their lives from age three to eighteen, complete with branching paths based on different interests, and a strict rule that dating was only permitted after eighteen.

Naturally, as a meticulous father-to-be, Cen Sen took the weighty responsibility of naming the child upon himself.

In the Cen family genealogy, boys of this generation were to have single-character names with the radical for “stone,” and girls with the radical for “jade.” He had long since chosen the names: “Zhuo (carved jade)” for a girl, “Yan (inkstone)” for a boy. Like a virtuous gentleman—smooth as jade, steadfast as an inkstone.

As Cen Sen had wished, their firstborn was a baby boy: Cen Yan.

After the baby was born, everyone naturally started calling him “Yan Bao.” Only Ji Mingshu, seeing him all wrinkled, slightly yellowish, and not looking very clean, insisted on calling him “Little Grub.”

Cen Sen corrected her a few times, but Ji Mingshu refused to change. She asked daily:

“Is Little Grub asleep?”

“Has Little Grub been for his swim?”

“Has Little Grub had his milk?”

“Is Little Grub crying?”

Perhaps in protest against his mother’s chosen nickname, Little Grub Yan Bao grew cleaner, fairer, and more tender by the day. His features held a trace of Cen Sen’s coolness, but his smile was adorable, seemingly carved from the same mold as Ji Mingshu. His eyes were as clear and bright as two crystal grapes.

Plus, with the nannies changing his clothes countless times a day, keeping him neat and tidy at all times, he became less and less associated with the word “grubby.”

But his mother had gotten used to the nickname and couldn’t kick the habit. When Ji Mingshu’s eldest and second uncles heard it, they scolded her a couple of times, but it didn’t help.

Actually, during the first year of Little Grub Yan Bao’s life, things didn’t change all that drastically for Ji Mingshu and Cen Sen. The two of them didn’t even feel much like parents yet. The child was mostly cared for by a team of nannies.

After her postpartum confinement, Ji Mingshu gradually began setting up her own design studio. While she made sure to set aside a few hours each day to spend with Yan Bao, most of the time it was just having the nanny bring him over to play.

She also delighted in taking all sorts of silly photos: putting her feet near Yan Bao’s nose, holding a chicken drumstick to Yan Bao’s mouth, placing Yan Bao on a display shelf in her walk-in closet. She’d then add captions like “Mommy’s feet are so fragrant,” “Want some? Too bad, no teeth,” “Clearance sale, one each,” and post them in the girls’ group chat, brazenly brainwashing the child-free Gu Kaiyang and Jiang Chun with the mantra: If a baby isn’t born to be played with, then life has no meaning.

In comparison, although Cen Sen didn’t have much time to spend with Yan Bao, when he did, he was slightly more dutiful and responsible.

He would feed Yan Bao milk, feed him mush, carry him outside for walks, and play with small toys with him.

Every time Ji Mingshu saw Cen Sen doing these things, she found it somewhat jarring and out of character, even a little funny.

Because when Cen Sen did these things, he was the very image of a strict father with a CEO’s mindset, as if training an employee on what to do and when.

When Yan Bao was three months old and hadn’t learned to roll over yet, Cen Sen cleared a day of work to stay home and practice with him.

But no matter how patiently he coached, Yan Bao remained completely still and uncooperative.

Seeing Cen Sen’s patient coaching soon give way to an aura of heavy, low pressure, Ji Mingshu couldn’t stop laughing. She always felt Cen Sen was about to coldly say to Yan Bao, “With your performance, you’d be at the bottom of the group’s KPIs, long overdue for HR to arrange your termination. If you can’t even roll over, you’re not fit to be my son.”

Perhaps sensing his CEO father’s earnest expectations, although Yan Bao lost the initiative in the “roll at three months, sit at six, crawl at nine” milestone, he caught up remarkably. He managed to overtake his peers in sitting and crawling, and started calling “Dada” at ten months.

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