My Queen, My Rules - Chapter 67

Chapter 67

One has to admit, there are times when Ji Mingshu is a woman who knows how to read the room.

In the office, the blinds slowly descended, and the lighting shifted from harsh white light to a soft, warm yellow, casting the room in a hazy, dim glow.

From the direction of the desk came the rustling sounds of clothing and documents falling to the floor, mingled with suppressed, melodic moans.

Ji Mingshu sat on the desk, her hands clinging weakly to Cen Sen’s shoulders; they slipped away several times, only to be hooked back again.

Thinking of the people outside, she didn't dare make a sound. Tears welled in her eyes, and all she could do was aggrievedly bite down on Cen Sen’s neck.

The black hair on Cen Sen’s forehead was slightly damp. When passion reached its peak, he would occasionally whisper something into Ji Mingshu’s ear—his voice low, husky, and heavy with uncontrollable desire, his eyes tinged with red.

In truth, Ji Mingshu’s worries were somewhat superfluous. With the New Year approaching, most employees were already on holiday. The Junyi headquarters building was quite empty, and the floor occupied by the President’s office was even more so. On top of that, Cen Sen had hung up a "Do Not Disturb" sign; who among those with eyes would dare to come any closer or peek and listen for even a second?

But the thing was, Ji Mingshu would go in there and not come out for hours at a time, leaving the assistants in the general manager's office opposite feeling a bit lost as to how they should conduct themselves. They would look at each other, and one could read the extreme awkwardness of "Is it really appropriate for us to be here while they do cardio in broad daylight?" in each other's eyes.

When others called to say there were documents urgently needing the President’s signature and approval, the assistants would reply with straight faces, "President Cen is busy," all while unable to stop themselves from imagining scenes of him being "excessively busy," which only made it more awkward.

After seven o'clock in the evening, Cen Sen dialed the internal extension and notified them in a steady voice that they could head home. They were desperate to disappear, hurriedly packing their things before sweeping out like a gust of wind.

Ji Mingshu checked repeatedly to make sure no one was outside before she dared to put on her sunglasses and pull up her collar, walking with small, tentative steps behind Cen Sen.

Her gait was somewhat unnatural, as if she might collapse at any moment, and her knees were slightly flushed red.

Perhaps the office play had been satisfying enough; upon returning home that night, Cen Sen didn't torment her further. Ji Mingshu curled up in his arms and slept soundly and securely.

The next day was New Year's Eve, and after days of heavy snow, the heavens finally revealed a smiling face.

Ji Mingshu and Cen Sen rose early to head to the Ji family estate.

They stayed at the Ji residence for lunch for the reunion dinner. During the meal, their Second Uncle, Ji Rubai, brought up the old topic again. Centering on one core theme and two basic points, he launched a full-scale offensive to pressure them into having children after three years of marriage.

"Second Uncle, I'm only twenty-five. Why are you in such a rush? Many girls my age aren't even married yet; they're still in graduate school or looking for jobs." Ji Mingshu put down her chopsticks and acted spoiled.

But Ji Rubai wasn't buying it, and his critical thinking skills were particularly sharp. "Twenty-five, twenty-five—once this year is over, you'll be twenty-six. Besides, it's not like you're in graduate school or looking for a job, so where is the comparison? Furthermore, does reading for a degree or finding work somehow affect getting married and having children? Sihuai, tell her, aren't there quite a few young girls at your school who get married and have kids while studying for their master's?"

Ji Sihuai was Ji Mingshu’s eldest male cousin, who worked at a well-known university in the Imperial Capital and had been promoted to associate professor in his early thirties.

He smiled and replied, "There really are quite a few. Forget master's students; there are plenty of undergraduates, too. Last year, a junior girl wanted me to be her advisor. I thought the girl had a sharp mind and good overall quality, so I figured if she could get guaranteed admission to grad school, she could join my lab. As it turned out, before the girl even finished her junior year, she just went off and had a baby."

Ji Rubai listened with satisfaction, then looked at Ji Mingshu with an expression that said, See, what I said is political correctness.

Immediately after, Ji Rusong, along with her eldest and second aunts and all her cousins, cast their gazes at her in unison, all wearing expressions that said, "Your Second Uncle is right."

Ji Mingshu had a mouthful of soup, and she couldn't bring herself to swallow it.

Fortunately, Cen Sen spoke up in a gentle voice to relieve her: "Mingshu is still young. We can start preparing by conditioning our bodies; there's no rush to have a child for another year or two."

Having said this, he gently raised his wine glass to toast her uncles and cousins.

Since Cen Sen had said so, no one could easily press them further. After all, they couldn't exactly force the couple to reproduce by nagging them at their house every day.

After finally dealing with the Ji side, they went to Nanqiao Hutong for dinner that evening. The elders of the Cen family seemed as if they had checked in with the Ji elders; they hadn't spoken more than a few sentences before citing various examples to make pointed remarks. When the couple didn't take the bait, they asked directly when they planned to have children.

However, things were better on the Cen side than the Ji side, because Cen Yingshuang had returned home just in time for the New Year. As an unmarried young woman of "advanced age," she was on the front line of the elders' inquiries, blocking quite a few bullets for Ji Mingshu.

By the time dinner ended, night had fallen. The television was on, airing festive commercials, and the Cen family’s pavilion and main house were filled with laughter. Once the younger generation finished eating, they scurried out of the Hutong, rushing to the trunks of their cars to haul out fireworks. On their way back into the courtyard, they competed over whose fireworks were trendier and higher-grade.

Ji Mingshu and Cen Sen spent some time talking to the elders in the main room. When Ji Mingshu mentioned she was a bit too full from dinner, Cen Sen suggested taking her out for a walk.

The adults teased the young couple about their marital affection. Ji Mingshu put on an act of coyness, but seventy percent of her heart felt genuinely sweet. After exchanging a few spoiled words with the elders, she stood up and walked out, arm-in-arm with Cen Sen.

The temperature in the Imperial Capital on a winter night was very low, and every breath they took formed a puff of white air. The two walked along the narrow Hutong alleys.

In fact, the Ji family had once lived in this very Hutong, but they had moved the entire family away when she was in high school. It had been more than a decade or two, but the alley seemed exactly as it was when she was a child—the same people, the same path.

Ji Mingshu saw the utility pole at the end of the alley and suddenly pointed at it, saying, "Do you remember?"

Cen Sen looked at her.

"When I was a kid, my classmates and I often jumped rope here. You know how the rubber bands can be untied? We’d always fix one end to this utility pole."

"Then, one time after we finished picking teams, we were missing a person to stand there and hold the rope. You happened to be walking home from school, so I asked you for a favor."

"Do you remember? You were so cold back then! You gave me a look with those icy-cold eyes and, without even a hum, just walked straight home. I was so angry at the time! I spent a good while bad-mouthing you to my classmates!"

"Is that so?" Cen Sen thought for a moment. "I don't remember."

Ji Mingshu rolled her eyes at him, silently grumbling to herself: There are plenty of things you don't remember.

She took this opportunity to settle old scores, counting off his various "crimes": how she had once been sincere and genuinely wanted to be his good friend, but he had kept her at a distance with a cold face and kept doing jerky things.

Cen Sen listened attentively but remained silent throughout, because he truly didn't remember those things Ji Mingshu mentioned.

During the first two years he arrived at Nanqiao Hutong, he had been too immersed in the world of his father and mother An and his little sister to let go. Even when he went to school and heard his classmates call his name, he would feel incredibly resistant, silently correcting them in his heart: My name isn't Cen Sen; my name is An Sen.

When his English teacher gently asked if he had an English name, saying she could help him pick one if not, he hadn't hesitated to write "Anson" on the back of his registration form. That English name had even stuck with him to this day.

Although he didn't remember the things Ji Mingshu was talking about, he imagined that back then, he hadn't trusted or cared for the entire world. He likely hadn't been able to accept the good intentions Ji Mingshu clearly had that were "ulteriorly motivated."

However, listening to Ji Mingshu count off his hundred childhood sins, Cen Sen suddenly recalled something Jiang Che had once said—

"Do you remember when you first arrived at Nanqiao Hutong as a kid? Ji Mingshu liked you so much; she used to bring snacks and come find you to play every single day."

...

"How could you not? Back then, Shu Yang used to make fun of her every day for 'offering a hot face to your cold butt.' He even said she’d forgotten all about Cen Yang before you knew it; she was heartless."

Cen Sen turned his head. "Jiang Che said that when I first arrived at Nanqiao Hutong as a child, you liked me very much."

Ji Mingshu, who had still been rambling on, suddenly cut herself off. "Yeah, I mean... it was that kind of liking that comes from appreciating good looks, you get it?" Ji Mingshu didn't deny it, but she offered a cautious explanation.

"Have I grown up to be ugly?"

"…?"

"Not at all, right? If you count this as growing up ugly, how are other people supposed to live?"

Ji Mingshu had never been stingy with praise for Cen Sen’s appearance; after all, it was a validation of her own aesthetic judgment. Even when she used to unilaterally pick fights shortly after they were married, she would end things with a harsh remark: "For the sake of this face, I’m too lazy to argue with you!"

Cen Sen seemed to smile slightly. Then he asked, "Do you still like me now, out of appreciation for my looks?"

"..."

Asking such leading questions is a one-way ticket to being drowned in a pig cage!

The two had reached the utility pole at the end of the alley. Ji Mingshu’s lips were pursed tightly, and her little heart was thumping uncooperatively, but she refused to take the bait.

The cold wind of the alley blew against their faces. Streetlights flickered along the long street, reflecting off the snowflakes that had suddenly begun to fall in the dead of night, and the innocent, childlike faces of the kids across the way, who were chasing each other while waving sparklers.

As Ji Mingshu was wondering how to answer, Cen Sen suddenly hugged her from behind, wrapping her entire body inside his overcoat. He reached his hand from behind to encircle her waist. His lips pressed against the side of her ear—cool, moist, and ticklish.

Ji Mingshu’s face heated up; she recoiled slightly.

Come to think of it… this is going a bit beyond the scope of affection between a couple in a marriage of convenience, isn't it? Actually, the last few times seemed a bit like this too…

She had always tried to restrain herself from overthinking. First, she was afraid that because she liked him, she was viewing Cen Sen’s actions through a biased filter; second, she was afraid of asking out loud only to receive a disappointing answer.

But now, she could feel it quite clearly: it didn't seem like she was overthinking it.

"Then… then you answer me first."

"Hmm?"

"Do you… are you, are you fond of me?" She didn't pause after asking, hurrying to explain herself, "It’s not that I’m being narcissistic; it’s just that you’ve been… well, you’ve been treating me a bit too well lately. If you don't like me, then it’s your fault because you gave me that kind of misconception, you know? Like how you rushed back from Paris early for me, and bought me this and that, and even…"

"Did it really take you this long to notice?”