My Queen, My Rules - Chapter 47

Chapter 47

After Ji Mingshu finished questioning him, she watched the space above Cen Sen’s text bubble. It flickered between "other party is typing" and "other party is speaking" for a long time, but after all that back-and-forth, Cen Sen eventually just replied with a long string of ellipses.

Ji Mingshu had no choice but to interpret this as him having nothing to say, a silent admission of guilt.

She put her phone away and stepped directly out of the car. Zhou Jiaheng, that little informant, was quite perceptive and immediately followed her out. He was even more attentive and obsequious than he was in front of Cen Sen, scrambling to carry her bags and shoes while leading the way upstairs.

Before she went inside, Zhou Jiaheng added, "Whenever you feel like coming home, Madam, just give me a call. I am on standby twenty-four hours a day."

Ji Mingshu offered a forced, insincere smile, waved a hand, and shut the door without a hint of mercy.

Zhou Jiaheng blinked and sheepishly rubbed his nose.

At this hour, Gu Kaiyang was still working overtime at their exploitative magazine agency.

Ji Mingshu changed into her slippers at the entrance and hummed a tune as she limped into the bathroom, feeling inexplicably cheerful.

The moment she imagined Cen Sen being exposed for his "pity-baiting" and having nothing to say in response, her mood improved even further.

However, as she squeezed makeup remover onto a cotton pad, she suddenly thought of something. She lifted her gaze and stared intently into the mirror.

Strange.

Had Gu Kaiyang’s lipstick expired?

Why was it fading so quickly today?

The thought lasted only a fleeting moment; she didn't dwell on it and continued humming while removing her makeup.

Over the next few days, although Ji Mingshu’s foot injury hadn't fully healed and her mobility was somewhat limited, she maintained a state of high spirits, and her work efficiency soared.

She stayed at home, using Cen Sen’s perspective to revise the design scheme for the show’s audience area, and went to the hotel every day to closely monitor the progress of the venue’s construction.

These days, she was all smiles for everyone, unfailingly kind. Even when Jiang Chun was caught lying about her latest weight on screen, she gently expressed her understanding.

Ji Mingshu: [Tang Zhizhou doesn't mind, so it doesn't matter if you indulge yourself occasionally. It’s not aesthetic for a girl to be thin as a skeleton anyway.]

Jiang Chun: [……?]

Ji Mingshu’s previous pearls of wisdom—"When I like you, you’re a treasure; when I dislike you, you’re just a stinky little fatty"—still rang in her ears. Jiang Chun simply didn't believe that Ji Mingshu could say something as heartfelt as an "occasional indulgence theory."

Her gentle words turned several corners in Jiang Chun’s mind, instantly transforming into a newly invented reverse-motivation strategy.

Jiang Chun trembled in her heart and hurriedly assumed a posture of sincere, 180-degree-prostrate repentance.

Jiang Chun: [I was wrong, I unconditionally admit my mistake to the organization TVT! Please, your Highness, forgive me, woo woo!]

Jiang Chun: [When the Chris Chou show happens in a while, I will definitely stuff Hermès bags full of cash and smuggle them out to support our noble Princess! Your Highness has suffered so much!!!]

Ji Mingshu: [No need.]

After sending this, she rested her chin on her hand, smiling as she looked at the row of orange boxes Zhou Jiaheng had delivered, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her cheek.

Half a month later, the Chris Chou Early Spring Show was held as scheduled at the Junyi Huazhang Hotel on Huating Road in the Imperial Capital.

On the day of the show, celebrities moved through the hotel entrance, luxury cars gathered, and reporters crouched outside, with flashes and shutter sounds erupting one after another.

During yesterday’s rehearsal, Ji Mingshu had been there the entire time, making final adjustments to every detail of the venue based on the models' movements and Chris Chou’s input. Exhausted late at night, she had even gone out for a late-night snack with the staff to exchange experiences.

In fact, Chris Chou’s Milan debut two years ago had also been designed by Ji Mingshu, but back then, his show hadn't been of such a high caliber, and he wasn't famous enough to have Ji Mingshu participate in the entire process.

In her memory, she had only visited the site once, provided a design drawing, and hadn't worried about it much further.

To be honest, the feeling of creating a design draft from thin air two years ago was completely different from participating in the entire process and watching the venue come to life.

She had been high and mighty in the past; she only needed to think, without having to consider how others would translate her imagination into reality.

Over the past two years, many had praised the clothing and venue design of Chris Chou’s Milan debut. She would naturally accept these compliments, feeling that all the splendor shown on screen was the result of both her and Chris Chou’s efforts.

But only after participating personally did she realize how much meticulous design and silent effort went into the success of a show.

Before the show started, there was about forty minutes of social time. Socialites, celebrities, editors, buyers, and fashion influencers arrived one after another to sign in at the media zone, pose for photos, and give interviews.

Five minutes before the start, a bilingual broadcast in Chinese and English reminded the guests to take their seats.

Ji Mingshu high-fived Chris Chou before grabbing her clutch and hurrying from the backstage area to her seat.

She had always sat in the front row, but this time, having personally designed the show, she had proactively chosen a corner seat three rows back when the PR department was arranging seating, saying she wanted to see the viewing effect from the rear.

Jiang Chun was in the same row, though there were several seats between them. Just as Ji Mingshu was about to greet her, a tall figure blocked her line of sight.

She paused slightly and looked up—

It was actually Cen Sen.

Cen Sen straightened his lapels and sat down with a gentleman’s noble grace. He managed to make the corner seat in the back row look like he was inheriting a throne.

Ji Mingshu asked subconsciously, "Why are you here?"

"It’s my hotel. I’m here to see if there are any issues."

"..."

Naturally, there were no issues.

Besides, could an old antique like him, who didn't even use the internet for office work, understand a fashion show? Why was he joining in the fun?

The funniest part was that he had actually put on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses with a serious expression; he probably came straight here without even finishing the documents in his office.

Ji Mingshu scrutinized him from head to toe, her gaze naturally falling on his hands.

Wait, it had been half a month; he was still wearing bandages...?

So he wasn't done pity-baiting yet? Even a broken bone should have healed by now, right?

Ji Mingshu was just about to say something, but the show had already entered the final ten-second countdown. "Ten, nine, eight..."

When the countdown reached "one," the music swelled at the perfect moment. The immersive video installation transformed, revealing a gilded brilliance. Golden figures danced above everyone’s heads, eventually forming a small golden airplane that crossed the LED screen. In the center, it traced out Chris Chou’s English logo in the form of a contrail, while a succinct American female voice echoed in surround sound: "Welcome, Chris Chou."

A fashion show was different from socialite banquets or television programs; there was no host and no opening speech.

After the logo appeared, it faded into the center of the screen as scattered gold dust, followed immediately by rhythmic drumbeats and a faster, brighter musical tempo.

Amidst the shifting music, a spotlight fell on a famous national model. The model stepped onto the piano staircase and walked forward, expressionless.

—I didn't expect the viewing experience to be this good from the back row.

Ji Mingshu gave a silent "yay" in her heart. After days of anxiety, she finally let out a sigh of relief.

Cen Sen commented at the right moment, "Not bad."

Ji Mingshu glanced at him.

"Not bad" my foot; could he even understand it?

Cen Sen actually did understand. He said leisurely, "The stage you designed and this designer’s work remind me of an oil painting from the nineties that sold for nearly ten million. The work is called 'Paper Drunk, Gold Bewildered.' It belongs to abstract expressionism; the image is very simple, mainly using lines and colors..."

"..."

"Did you look this up?"

Ji Mingshu couldn't help but interrupt in a low voice.

Cen Sen glanced at her very faintly; with the reflection of his lenses, she couldn't see his expression, but his voice sounded light and breezy. "Within my scope of knowledge, this is considered common sense."

Common sense.

Ji Mingshu choked, speechless for a long moment.

However, she soon remembered that they were still in the middle of a cold war and it wouldn't be appropriate to be too friendly. She made up her mind not to speak to him anymore and just watched the show quietly.

Cen Sen, however, would occasionally offer a light comment from the side: "This piece is good," or "This one is also not bad."

Although it took months of preparation, the showtime itself only lasted an hour.

After all the pieces were displayed, Chris Chou took the stage wearing a t-shirt from this season's collection and delivered a speech in somewhat unskilled and disjointed Chinese.

The gist of it was reflecting on the thoughts behind founding his brand over the past few years, the special significance of adding Chinese elements to this season’s works, and thanking everyone for their continued support.

The show was considered a complete success at this point, and Ji Mingshu couldn't help but clap along with everyone else.

But no one expected that Chris Chou’s bow and pause didn't signal the end of his speech. He gripped the microphone, changed the subject, and suddenly looked toward Ji Mingshu’s direction. He addressed her directly as "Shu," gave her the title of "Interior Designer," and thanked her for a full two minutes, talking about the effort she had put into the venue for today.

The socialites in the front rows wondered if something was wrong with their ears. They had heard that Ji Mingshu had designed a Milan debut for Chris Chou, but back then, Chris Chou had nowhere near the fame he had today, and very few people had seen the show in person; many had suspected there was something fishy about that claim.

But for Chris Chou to personally thank her at this final moment... that meant this exquisite, complex show venue, which balanced modern chic with the intoxicating, decadent charm of old Shanghai, was indeed designed by Ji Mingshu?

The social circle friends who had been busy gossiping about the Cen-Ji divorce were all a bit stunned, unable to believe that this young lady, who only knew how to shop, had actually produced such impressive work.

There was an afterparty after the show, and the showroom was open to guests; anyone interested in the runway designs could go over and place an order.

Ji Mingshu walked toward the showroom with Jiang Chun.

Cen Sen was still sitting in his original seat, flipping through a new product catalog and giving instructions to Zhou Jiaheng. He lifted his eyes for a glance, just in time to see Ji Mingshu accidentally bump into a young man.

Ji Mingshu, distracted, nodded and apologized, "I'm sorry."

"It’s alright." The man smiled gently. The moment he brushed past Ji Mingshu, he seemed to recall something and suddenly asked with hesitation, "Are you... Mingshu?”