My Queen, My Rules - Chapter 46

Chapter 46

The enclosed, immersive video installation was not yet complete, leaving the show venue semi-open to the elements. The biting cold wind whistled into the space, making that "I'll pay for it" declaration sound somewhat indistinct.

Ji Mingshu didn't know what to say. She wanted to take a half-step back to create some distance between herself and Cen Sen. But the moment she lifted her ankle, a sharp, piercing pain surged from the bottom up, and she couldn't help but let out a soft hiss.

"Did you sprain it?"

Cen Sen lowered his eyes to inspect it.

Ji Mingshu didn't answer, but her nose wrinkled and her brows furrowed in pain.

Cen Sen pondered for a moment, then suddenly took off his coat. He stepped forward and draped the still-warm garment over her, tightening the collar until she was practically cocooned inside it.

Ji Mingshu recoiled by instinct. She wanted to tuck away her stray hairs, but before she could make a move, Cen Sen’s hand—the one wrapped in a silk scarf—moved unexpectedly around her shoulder blades. He leaned down slightly, hooked his other arm under her legs, and with a light lift, gathered her into his arms.

If Ji Mingshu didn't know what to say a moment ago, she was now in a state where, despite wanting to interrogate him, she couldn't utter a word.

They were incredibly close. She stared at him without blinking, her warm breath spraying against his jawline, soft and damp.

Cen Sen occasionally lowered his gaze to meet hers, his eyes deep and calm.

The silk scarf wrapped around his hand was a stark, frigid red. Now and then, a tail end of the scarf would flutter in the wind, carrying a strangely vivid and haunting beauty.

They traveled all the way to the executive suite on the top floor of the hotel. Cen Sen set Ji Mingshu down on the sofa and sat down slowly on the other side, extending his hand slightly to let the doctor who had followed them in tend to his wound.

Sitting face-to-face like this, Ji Mingshu finally saw that his left hand was still seeping blood, the wound looking even more shocking than before.

As the doctor helped disinfect the area and pick out shards of glass, Ji Mingshu subconsciously looked away. Her heart tightened abruptly—she didn't know if it was from being frightened by Cen Sen's injury or the pain of the doctor treating her own foot.

Cen Sen, meanwhile, kept a calm expression. He looked down at the wound as if he couldn't feel any pain; from beginning to end, he hadn't furrowed his brows even once.

Once the wounds were dressed, the two doctors gave a few instructions, stood up together, and packed their medical kits.

Zhou Jiaheng stood by to respectfully guide them out, occasionally murmuring, "This way, please."

The trio left quickly. As the door clicked shut, the room was left with only the two injured parties: Ji Mingshu and Cen Sen. The air fell silent, settling into an awkwardness that was difficult to define.

If one were to count, they hadn't seen each other for a month or two. The Imperial Capital had already transitioned from autumn to winter, and the weather forecast predicted the first snow of the season this week.

In the past, whenever they sat in silence, Ji Mingshu would be the one to break it. This time, she subconsciously searched for a topic that would fit their current situation—awkward yet polite.

Just then, Cen Sen looked at her hands, which were reddened by the cold, and suddenly said, "It’s cold out. Wear more when you go out."

"……?"

"Oh… okay……"

Ji Mingshu was slightly bewildered, unable to understand how those biting lips of his could utter words of concern.

Cen Sen stood up immediately after speaking and brewed two cups of Americano using the coffee beans and machine in the room. However, after tasting it, he didn't seem very satisfied with the flavor.

Ji Mingshu took a sip as well and agreed that the beans were too bitter. She frowned almost imperceptibly, set the cup down, and made small talk: "Why are you here today?"

"I heard you were designing the show venue here. I had some free time today, so I thought I'd come and take a look." Cen Sen dropped a sugar cube into her cup, his voice calm and low. "Actually, I planned to come a few days ago, but I was on a business trip abroad and couldn't get away."

Ji Mingshu swallowed the coffee, suppressing the urge to cough, though her cheeks were flushed a rosy red.

Deep down, she had a narcissistic suspicion, but she had never imagined that Cen Sen would actually come to see her, and admit it so frankly.

Cen Sen used the topic of the show venue to move on to another subject: "I saw your design downstairs earlier. It's very exquisite and magnificent."

"……?"

That’s not what you said before.

However, the next second, Cen Sen changed his tone, reverting to his old way of speaking: "But your work still has the problem I mentioned to you before."

"What problem?"

Ji Mingshu couldn't recall it for a moment.

"It’s not human-centric enough."

Cen Sen set down his coffee and looked at her. "I don’t know about the designer's personal style, but since he highly approves of it, that proves there’s nothing wrong with your main show venue. From an outsider's perspective, I can also see that your design is very artistic. The point I find lacking in human-centricity is that your planning for the audience seating doesn't seem very reasonable."

Just as Ji Mingshu wanted to interject, he countered with a question: "You plan to arrange for the audience to sit in the triangular zones of the piano staircase and the gallery, right?"

"……"

Indeed, she did.

Cen Sen continued: "As far as I know, watching a show is a very intimate experience. The space in the triangular zones and the gallery is too small. Your existing lighting is entirely focused on the runway, without considering the comfort of the audience area. This level of brightness and the way the light sources are dispersed will easily cause visual fatigue for the audience. I think you could make some improvements in this regard."

Ji Mingshu followed his train of thought, resting her chin on her hand as she pondered.

She was surprised to find that what this "outsider" was saying actually made a lot of sense.

In fact, this wasn't just her own problem; many domestic and international show venues shared this common flaw. The audience was often squeezed onto small stools with a very mediocre experience. Some venues had even suffered the embarrassment of benches collapsing before the show had even begun.

This general neglect of the audience area was mostly due to the organizers positioning themselves above the viewers, as well as constraints in budget, the need for quick dismantling, and back-to-back scheduling.

But this time, Chris Chou’s domestic debut wasn't limited by these objective conditions; it wouldn't be difficult to improve in this aspect.

As for the audience's perception of the lighting, this was indeed a major issue she had overlooked.

Just as she was about to ask Cen Sen if he had any better suggestions, his phone screen lit up. He glanced at the caller ID, stood up, and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window to take the call.

Ji Mingshu paused, looking back at him, and listened in carefully.

The person on the other end was likely American, as they were discussing a collaborative project in Hawaii. Cen Sen spoke in English the entire time. His pronunciation was beautiful—hoarse, deep, and tinged with a subtle sexiness, carrying a sense of restraint and modesty that stood out from the typical, exaggerated tones often found in Western speech.

Listening, Ji Mingshu drifted into a daze, and before she knew it, she felt sleepy.

She hadn't had a proper sleep in days while rushing to finish her designs; it was as if she had developed an immunity to coffee. Sinking into the soft sofa, drowsiness washed over her, and she soon closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

When Cen Sen finished his call and returned to the living room, he saw Ji Mingshu's head lolling to one side, her thick eyelashes resting against her cheeks, her breathing steady and rhythmic.

After standing by the sofa watching her for a while, he gently picked her up, moved her to the bed in the bedroom, and pulled the blackout curtains shut.

Even though it was daytime, the bedroom was plunged into dimness due to the curtains.

Cen Sen sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a few stray hairs away from Ji Mingshu’s face and tucking in the quilt. It was just as he had done on the night before she ran away from home.

However, after so many days, it seemed he had figured many things out. The vague, flickering thoughts that had been churning in his mind had finally settled on a truth he didn't want to overthink, but which his subconscious had already acknowledged.

For some reason, he suddenly felt a desire to kiss her.

He had always done what he wanted; he couldn't call himself a gentleman, nor did he have any qualms about taking advantage of someone’s slumber.

His Adam's apple bobbed. Supporting himself with one hand by her ear, he leaned down, bit by bit, and closed the distance. He parted her lips, tasted her, and bit lightly, unsatisfied until he moved down from her lips to her pale, delicate neck and beautiful collarbone.

Ji Mingshu slept too soundly to notice anything. As she turned over, she instinctively grabbed his bandage-wrapped hand and tucked it behind her head as a pillow.

The doctor had just advised Cen Sen not to put any more strain on his left hand, but even as she used it as a pillow, Cen Sen didn't pull it away. The bandages slowly began to soak with blood, yet he only sat by the bed, leaning down to kiss his little golden canary from time to time, filled with an unconscious obsession.

When Ji Mingshu woke up, it was already late, and there was a faint scent of blood in the air. Dazed, she reached out to turn on the light, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.

Once she came to her senses, she immediately spotted the blood-stained bandages on the nearby table.

She looked around in delayed realization, a question suddenly popping into her mind: How did she fall asleep? And how did she end up in bed?

After three seconds of blankness, her gaze fell back onto the bloody bandages, and the chain of events connected in her mind.

There was a pair of flat shoes by the bed, clearly prepared for her. She slowly slid into them and limped her way out—

Cen Sen was gone.

The shadow of having been locked away for two days still lingered in her heart; Ji Mingshu instinctively walked to the door and twisted the handle.

The next second, the door opened.

Zhou Jiaheng was still standing outside.

Seeing her awake, Zhou Jiaheng smiled warmly, bowed slightly, and said respectfully, "Good evening, Madam. A visiting delegation from the Lausanne Institute is arriving in Beijing for an exchange tonight, and Mr. Cen must attend. He specifically instructed me to wait here for you."

Ji Mingshu let out an "oh," recalled the bandages, and asked, "His hand..."

"Mr. Cen's wound seemed to have reopened, but it has been redressed, and it is nothing serious."

Ji Mingshu nodded, supporting herself against the doorframe. Not knowing what to think, she eventually said, "Then take me back."

Zhou Jiaheng replied with an unsurprised "Very well."

Ji Mingshu turned back to grab her bag and high heels. It wasn't until she was in the car that she added, "Take me back to Star Harbor International."

"……?"

The corners of Zhou Jiaheng’s mouth stiffened, and he forgot to respond.

The lights of the Imperial Capital flickered in the night, the traffic flowing like a stream.

As if dragging out the time, it took the Porsche an hour to slowly arrive at Star Harbor International.

Before she could even step out of the car, Ji Mingshu received a WeChat message from Cen Sen.

Cen Sen: [Not going home yet?]

Ji Mingshu ignored it and glanced at Zhou Jiaheng in the rearview mirror.

Zhou Jiaheng had long ago mastered the skill of being thick-skinned; he kept his eyes fixed ahead, skillfully avoiding her gaze.

Another message arrived.

Cen Sen: [The shattered lamp has been reordered and will arrive in a couple of days.]

Ji Mingshu coldly replied with a single "Hmm."

Cen Sen: [I'll have the silk scarf delivered to you tomorrow.]

Another cold "Hmm."

After a while, Cen Sen finally sent a voice message, asking the most crucial question: "It’s not very convenient for me to type with my hand, Mingshu. When do you plan to come home?"

Ji Mingshu: [Don't know.]

Ji Mingshu: [Reasonably suspect you are playing the victim.]