My Queen, My Rules - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The awkwardness this single glance brought to Ji Mingshu was in no way inferior to the bathroom karaoke session that Cen Sen had broken into hours earlier.

Cen Sen seemed to be thinking along the same lines, suddenly asking, "Why are you looking at me, you fairy who makes men kneel beneath your skirt?"

When he said the nine characters for "fairy who makes men kneel beneath your skirt," his tone was very flat, yet there were very brief pauses between the words. It was a bit like reciting classical Chinese in high school, only his awkward recitation carried a subtle, almost imperceptible sense of humiliation.

Ji Mingshu was slightly slow to react, unable to think of how to respond for a moment.

Cen Sen didn’t know where he found the spare energy, adding, "Did I get the title wrong? Perhaps you prefer 'fairy who turns the world upside down'?"

Ji Mingshu: "..."

She was simply too kind; why else would she fantasize that a cold-blooded, sharp-tongued, hypocritical beast like Cen Sen might feel even a moment of melancholy due to complex family relationships?

She sat up straight, expressionless, and said, "If you have the ability to speak, you should speak a bit more."

Cen Sen didn’t indulge her. His gaze turned indifferently back to the front, and he directly instructed the driver to return to Ming-shui Mansion, not opening his mouth again for the rest of the journey.

Ming-shui Mansion was divided into the Water-Ring villa area and the Lake-Heart villa area. The thirteenth villa where Cen Sen and Ji Mingshu lived was exactly in the Lake-Heart area, with a wide, purpose-built bridge leading to a private parking lot. There was a sentry booth by the bridge, with personnel on 24-hour rotation, providing excellent security and privacy.

As soon as the car stopped, Ji Mingshu opened the door and got out first, and then, without looking back, she clicked away into the distance.

Her back was graceful and elegant, and she carried a strong aura. Zhou Jiaheng, the invisible man, silently evaluated her in his heart with one word: Stylish.

Ji Mingshu returned home, walked quickly to the second floor, locked the bedroom door, and was still wondering if Cen Sen would say a few soft words when he came to knock later.

But by the time she finished removing her makeup, she hadn't heard a single sound from downstairs.

She walked to the balcony and happened to see Cen Sen’s car slowly driving out of the Lake-Heart villa area. Following closely behind, a low-key Passat also drove out.

The person driving the Passat was Cen Sen’s personal bodyguard.

His bodyguards were always on a three-shift rotation, never leaving his side twenty-four hours a day.

In other words, he had left?

Coming to a realization, Ji Mingshu immediately called to question him: "Where are you going?"

Cen Sen’s voice was clear and faint, "I have another social engagement. Go to rest first, no need to wait for me."

"...? Who’s waiting for you?"

For a moment, Ji Mingshu thought she had misheard. Did this dog of a man actually expect her to be a pure-hearted, waiting wife? He really dared to think it; she was speechless.

She hung up the phone without mercy.

But after hanging up, she began to regret it. Why hang up so fast? Wouldn't he mistake her reaction for a guilty conscience?

The more Ji Mingshu thought about it, the more ridiculous and infuriating it felt. "Shameless. He doesn't look like much, but his imagination is quite something!"

She tossed her phone aside and went back to the bathroom to apply a face mask.

As she applied it, she suddenly paused: No, it seems he can't really be categorized as "doesn't look like much."

First, he truly didn't fall into that category, and secondly, if she insisted on putting him there, wouldn't that be an insult to her own aesthetic sense?

Thinking about it this way, she was even more annoyed.

On the other side, after sending Miss Ji back to Ming-shui Mansion, Cen Sen instructed the driver to head to the Heyong Club.

The Heyong Club was a private club located at the former site of the consulate on Ruiying Road. Compared to other high-end clubs, it was unique in that it did not accept open membership applications; it only extended olive branches to a select few celebrities in the Beijing and Shanghai areas.

Cen Sen had an appointment there that night to talk to someone about the development of the supporting hotel for the West Suburb Scenic Area.

It was the time when the lights were first turned on, and the entire capital was filled with shimmering lights in the dim night. Looking toward the distance at Chang’an, the night breeze seemed to bloom with thousands of flowers; the city always seemed to carry a mix of bustle and solitude.

Cen Sen didn't look out. After returning to the country, he had been attending social functions for days on end; even a man of iron would feel exhausted. He crossed his arms low in front of his chest and leaned back in his seat to close his eyes and rest.

Perhaps because his brain had been running at high speed, it was difficult to relax even now. Many images flashed uncontrollably through his mind:

One moment, it was his little cousin, panicking and saying sorry, looking at the ribs in her bowl, bewildered, anxious, and naive;

Another moment, it was Old Mrs. Cen smiling brightly at Ji Mingshu, but when turning to look at him, she subconsciously had a bit more courtesy and distance;

And then there was the silence in the pavilion when his little aunt, Cen Yingshuang, mentioned Cen Yang.

In that instant, he suddenly remembered the scene from his childhood when he moved from Xingcheng to the capital and walked into Nanqiao Alley for the first time.

It was the same: many people, very quiet.

Some things had been so long ago that it was as if they had happened in the last century. Everyone tacitly avoided speaking of them—not because it was over, but because it could never be over.

Zhou Jiaheng, sitting in the passenger seat, saw in the rearview mirror that Cen Sen’s brows were slightly furrowed, and he was not resting peacefully. He took the liberty of putting on a piece of soft, soothing music.

Outside the window, the traffic light turned from red to green, mixing with the dim yellow streetlights as they hit the half-open window, creating a nostalgic halo that flickered and danced.

Cen Sen finally felt a hint of sleepiness.

But for some reason, the image of Ji Mingshu singing in the bathtub suddenly popped into his mind. As soon as that image appeared, the lyrics of her self-indulgent singing also turned on a 3D surround sound loop, as if part of a complementary system.

The trace of sleepiness instantly vanished. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a light, inexplicable snort.

The night breeze was cool. Standing at the entrance of the Heyong Club, Zhang Baoshu looked up at the shimmering silver entrance and couldn't help but draw her arms in, shivering slightly.

She had been drafted as a last-minute replacement today, standing in for a well-known actress under her manager who had run into an emergency.

Her manager had nagged her repeatedly to seize the opportunity, but before she left, the manager had rambled on about how she should speak as little as possible if she didn't know what to say.

If she didn't speak, how was she supposed to seize the opportunity? Zhang Baoshu was a bit confused and somewhat puzzled.

The Heyong Club was not easily entered. Only after the nodding of the Young Master Zhang did the female attendant in a cheongsam smile and lead her upstairs.

She clutched her handbag strap tightly, observing everything with silent curiosity.

Perhaps because the predecessor of the Heyong Club was a consulate, the decor inside blended Chinese and Western styles; there were murmuring streams and small bridges, as well as gramophones and oil paintings. The miraculous thing was that, while being in the middle of it, there was not a single sense of disharmony.

The private room she was going to was on the third floor, with an elegant name: "Nanke One Dream." Wealthy people loved to use such vague, mysterious names to show their refined taste, which didn't surprise Zhang Baoshu.

The door to the private room pushed open. The room was spacious; the whole layout couldn't be seen at a glance.

What met her eyes was a marble round table with an automatic turntable, topped with delicate tableware and succulent flowers. Half of a screen blocked the view, and the lighting became hazy and dim inside, with the occasional sound of conversation.

As Zhang Baoshu walked closer, she happened to hear a low voice, slightly amused: "Young Master Zhang, I concede."

Young Master Zhang also laughed, "My memory for cards is not as good as yours."

A hand of unfinished cards was flipped onto the table and shuffled together with the rest.

Seeing that Zhang Baoshu had arrived, Young Master Zhang raised an eyebrow slightly, not taking her too seriously. While shuffling, he casually ordered, "Light a cigarette for President Cen."

President Cen? Zhang Baoshu subconsciously looked around.

Among the six men present, three were sitting and three were standing. Those standing didn't look like the main figures; among those sitting, besides the Young Master Zhang she knew, there was another man in the mold of a middle-aged official, but he already had a female companion by his side—a familiar face, a news anchor.

As for the remaining one...

Zhang Baoshu saw his face clearly and froze abruptly.

Isn't this the man who drove up the price of that pearl necklace for Su Cheng on the night of the Zero Banquet?

She remembered him; his name was Cen Sen.

Seeing that she hadn't reacted after a long time, Young Master Zhang frowned impatiently, "What are you standing there for? Do you need to bathe and burn incense before you can light a cigarette?"

Zhang Baoshu came to her senses and hurried to bend down to pick up the cigarette case on the table. This cigarette case was something she hadn't seen before; it wouldn't open no matter how she pushed or pulled.

Cen Sen turned his head, swept a shallow glance at her, and blocked her with his hand slightly, "No need."

Zhang Baoshu didn't know what to do for a moment.

Young Master Zhang couldn't bear to watch, pointing his finger, "Pour the wine."

"..."

Zhang Baoshu was a beat slow and went to grab the wine bottle passively.

She was usually quite clever, or else her manager wouldn't have given her such a quick opportunity to get ahead, but today she didn't know what was wrong, inexplicably acting flustered and frantic.

The other two female companions looked at her with mockery. Young Master Zhang’s companion chose this moment to show off her attentiveness, curling her fingers to massage Young Master Zhang’s temples, circling round and round. Her wine-red, silver-sequined nails shimmered in the light, which was extremely eye-catching.

Young Master Zhang, while enjoying the beauty’s service, skillfully cut and dealt the cards, lazily saying: "President Cen, this isn't my fault. I wanted to call Xin Zhihui to come and accompany you, but her manager said the flight was delayed and she couldn't come back, so they shoved this little girl at me instead. They said she’s a student at the Film Academy, just acted in some campus movie, and that she was pure and clever—wait, what kind of 'clever' is this?"

He turned to ask Zhang Baoshu, "What was your name again?"

"Zhang... Baoshu."

"Ha, we’re from the same clan then."

"Is that your real name?"

Cen Sen, who hadn't spoken much, suddenly looked at her.

Zhang Baoshu shook her head, "Stage name."

"What is your real name?"

Zhang Baoshu felt a bit embarrassed, stuttering and remaining silent.

Cen Sen didn't care; his gaze drifted away, landing back on the cards, slowly adjusting the position of his hand.

His hands were thin and long, and his posture while holding the cards was like he was playing with a piece of art.

After hesitating for a long while, Zhang Baoshu whispered, "My real name is Zhang Yanhong."

After saying it, her earlobes reddened; even she felt that the name was earthy to the point of being dirt-cheap.

Sure enough, the female companions couldn't help but laugh when they heard it, and Young Master Zhang directly mocked the name as sounding like a maid from the last century.

Cen Sen, however, didn't react that way, only saying in a faint voice, "Real names are good. The characters 'Bao' and 'Shu' don't suit you."

It was a tone of extreme indifference, but the two words, falling into her ears, added a touch of tender affection. Zhang Baoshu was stunned for a moment, forgetting to even consider why the name didn't suit her.

In the second half, the men talked about business. Zhang Baoshu couldn't understand it, and it didn't sink in. It was as if she were possessed, her heart itching, and her courage inexplicably growing.

After pouring wine for Cen Sen, she obediently sat by Cen Sen’s side, handing him things from time to time, as if helping out.

Young Master Zhang, who had previously looked down on her, gave her a look that suggested he thought she was "quite sensible" this time.

The initiative for the development of the hotel supporting the West Suburb scenic area lay with Junyi.

After Cen Sen returned to the country to take over the group, he adjusted the various projects the group was currently conducting or planning to conduct. A project like the hotel in the West Suburb was like a chicken rib to the group—tasteless to eat but a pity to discard.

But for a project like Young Master Zhang’s, the entry of a well-known, high-end hotel brand was indispensable for improving the scenic area’s service level and overall positioning.

That was why there was this meeting today: one side was trying to maintain the status quo and continue the cooperation, while the other sat quietly, waiting for concessions with a slight smile.

The wine was finished and the night was deep, but Young Master Zhang had talked until his throat was dry and couldn't get a single benefit from Cen Sen. However, the cooperation couldn't be terminated, and he had no choice but to retreat again and again. In the end, he had to be deeply grateful to the other party while losing his shirt—as if he were begging the man to come and make money.

Cen Sen and Bureau Chief Yang, who had been helping coordinate from the sidelines, had already left. Young Master Zhang pulled at his tie, somewhat agitated.

Seeing Zhang Baoshu still twisting her bag, not knowing whether she should follow Cen Sen, his anger burned even hotter. He gestured toward the door, "Follow him! What kind of idiot are you? What kind of high-minded act are you putting on here?"

Zhang Baoshu was angry and afraid, but she didn't dare talk back. They all shared the surname Zhang, but this particular "Zhang" was not someone she could afford to offend.

She jogged out, just in time to see the valet bow and open the car door for Cen Sen.

"President Cen!"

She gathered her courage and called out.

Cen Sen raised his eyes slightly.

Zhang Baoshu took a deep breath, stepping forward in her high heels.

Stopping in front of Cen Sen, she clutched her handbag strap, asking slightly shyly, "President Cen, I wonder if it would be convenient for you to give me a ride? I didn't drive... no, I don't have a car."

After saying that, she immediately added, "It’s okay if it’s not convenient, then... can I add you on WeChat?"

Cen Sen chuckled.

Zhang Baoshu secretly raised her eyes, only to find that his gaze was resting on her bag.

This bag was borrowed from her manager, a model from a few years ago from Chanel; the color and style were both very good, and, of course, the price was not something a small entertainer who had just entered the circle could afford on a daily basis.

Cen Sen also had a vivid memory of the color and style of this bag.

On the night before their marriage, this was the bag Ji Mingshu had been carrying.

When she woke up that night and saw him lying beside her, she had been so angry that she dumped everything out of the bag and put the bag over his head, pulling his head and telling him to explode on the spot for being a pervert who had stolen her virginity.

"President Cen?"

Zhang Baoshu asked again, feeling uneasy, and shook her phone slightly.

Cen Sen came back to his senses, his gaze lingering on the WeChat interface of her phone for a moment.

Zhang Baoshu, so it’s not that 'Shu'.

He twisted the ring on his ring finger and reminded her quite directly, "Sorry, I’m already married."

Zhang Baoshu was slightly stunned.

She had been staring at him all night; naturally, she wouldn't have missed the wedding ring on his hand. But for men in their circle, whether they were married or not, what did it matter?

She subconsciously interpreted Cen Sen’s reminder as a kind of alternative hint. Although she felt a bit disappointed, it was within her expectations.

After a moment of silence, she raised her chin, thinking she was very brave, and looked Cen Sen in the eye, saying bluntly: "I don't mind."

"I mind." Cen Sen didn't even think about it, "Did your school not require academic scores for admission? With this level of comprehension, I wonder if you can understand scripts."

Zhang Baoshu looked at him blankly.

Cen Sen got into the car, saying in a slow voice, "In terms of looks, temperament, education, and background, you don't compare to my wife in any way. You’d better go wash your face and sober up.”