The next morning, the sun shone brightly. Its rays pierced through the lush greenery of the villa complex, carrying the clarity of a sky freshly washed by rain.
Ji Mingshu opened her eyes, lifted her head less than two centimeters, and fell right back down.
A powerful arm was wrapped around her waist, pinning her in place. Not that she wanted to move right now anyway. Her whole body ached, and a dull, numb throbbing lingered below her navel.
It was strange. Cen Sen wasn't a man of heavy desires. In the past, they would do it once or twice a month, a bland fulfillment of needs where he couldn't even be bothered to change positions. But last night, it was as if he had two years of pent-up energy to expend, taking her again and again until they finally, barely, finished at three in the morning.
In real life, he would probably be considered amazing in bed, right? Ji Mingshu wasn't entirely sure, since she had no other reference material for comparison.
After letting her thoughts wander for a moment, she reached out again, fumbling on the nightstand. Finding the remote, she pressed the button for the curtains.
But the curtains had barely opened halfway when Cen Sen squinted, his brow furrowing. He snatched the remote from her hand, closed them again, and immediately draped his arm back over her waist.
"Take your hand..."
Before she could get the word "off" out, Cen Sen withdrew his hand first. He tugged at the covers and grumbled in a low, impatient voice, "Don't be noisy. Sleep."
The crease in his brow revealed his genuine annoyance at her racket.
Fucking her and forgetting her. That was him, all right.
Fortunately, Ji Mingshu wasn't in a hurry to get up either. She gave him a light kick, rolled over to the other side, and picked up her phone.
Last night's gala was still a hot topic this morning, though the discussion centered around the celebrities.
As the undisputed center of attention in the group photos, Su Cheng was mentioned frequently. A fashion blogger even named her the best-dressed of the night, and the comments were filled with effusive praise, mostly revolving around the theme of "When the Film Empress makes a move, the wannabes step aside."
Ji Mingshu scrolled through the pictures. In every photo that included Su Cheng, either half of the frame was missing or the background was blurred out. Even the official video released by Zero Degree was the same.
This wasn't surprising. After all, Cen Sen had always remained invisible to the public eye.
However, after last night's events, anyone who mattered in their circle was now well aware of the return of Jingjian's crown prince.
Jingjian was the Cen family's enterprise, but its internal factions were incredibly complex, plagued by years of incessant infighting.
In this generation, Cen Yuanchao's branch had become dominant, controlling the key construction projects from government-issued documents as well as the core revenue-generating Junyi Hotel Group. They held absolute authority within Jingjian.
But Cen Yuanchao's health had been less than optimistic in recent years; he had been rushed to the emergency room, both openly and secretly, several times.
His illness allowed the west wind to rise. While it wasn't strong enough to overwhelm the east wind, its restless clamor had certainly stirred up considerable waves within Jingjian.
As Cen Yuanchao's only son, Cen Sen shouldered a heavy responsibility. His capabilities, however, were a match for it. Though he appeared cultured, handsome, humble, and gentle, his methods were famously sharp and clean. Among the younger generation, few dared to challenge him head-on.
Moreover, Cen Sen was always ruthless with others and even more so with himself. To unite with the Ji family and suppress the southern branch of the Cen clan, he had married a notoriously spoiled heiress of the Beijing-Shanghai circle like Ji Mingshu without batting an eye.
When the news of the Cen-Ji marriage alliance first broke, everyone found it unbelievable. Many even thought the announcement was merely a stopgap measure and that the wedding would never actually happen.
But as the engagement party was held on schedule and Cen Sen was transferred from Junyi's subsidiary, Huazhang Holdings, back to the group's headquarters as the director of the development department, the crown prince's intention to use the marriage to secure his place in the "eastern palace" became increasingly clear.
From the wedding announcement to the post-nuptial visit to her family, the talk surrounding Cen Sen and Ji Mingshu never ceased.
It wasn't until six months into their marriage that the gossip about the two gradually faded from daily conversation.
But just then, Cen Sen suddenly proposed a transfer to Junyi's overseas department, stating he wanted to be stationed in Australia to develop the overseas market.
This, naturally, caused another uproar.
When Cen Sen had just returned to Junyi headquarters, he had pushed through the launch of the sub-brand "Shuiyunjian," which focused on the "hot spring resort" concept, against all opposition.
At the time, few were optimistic about the project. His forceful promotion of it, combined with the inability to see immediate results, inevitably led to him being constrained by the group's senior management in other areas.
Yet he never backed down, only using an iron fist to purge the lesser members of the branch families. With his thunderous methods, he had, for a time, "blotted out the sky with one hand."
He had shouldered the pressure all the way until the hotel's completion. Having reached the pinnacle, he should have used this momentum to advance further. Instead, Cen Sen suddenly made the move to transfer overseas, which was truly baffling.
Two years went by in a flash. Now, whenever hot spring hotels were mentioned, people—whether they could afford to stay in one or not—would subconsciously think of Junyi's Shuiyunjian.
Such a deeply ingrained brand impression was a silent yet most direct form of affirmation.
And now, Cen Sen had quietly returned without a word. People's long-dormant curiosity was inevitably piqued, and private discussions had been rampant from last night through this morning.
Ji Mingshu had also received a massive bombardment. Her WeChat was dense with red unread message notifications. A glance at the previews was enough to tell that they were all asking about Cen Sen in various roundabout ways.
Gu Kaiyang, however, had no intention of prying about Cen Sen. He sent a teasing voice message early in the morning:
"Not up yet?"
"CEO Cen's skills in bed must be extraordinary."
Ji Mingshu only tapped on the first message, but before she could lift the phone to her ear, the next one automatically played out loud.
She instinctively tried to pause it, but her fingers weren't as fast as the playback speed. By the time she pressed the screen, the message had just finished, and her tap turned into a replay: "CEO Cen's skills in bed must be extraordinary."
In the dead silence, the teasing words, tinged with a faint electronic static, repeated twice, sounding almost like a listener's lingering confirmation and affirmation.
Ji Mingshu's ears perked up nervously—
The steady breathing behind her seemed to have stopped.
She stiffened, slowly slid her phone under the pillow, her body taut and her toes curling involuntarily.
Cen Sen was awake.
Lying on the left side of the bed, he glanced at Ji Mingshu's ramrod-straight, thin back and let out a silent, derisive snort.
A moment later, he threw back the covers and got out of bed.
Ji Mingshu heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the bed and immediately squeezed her eyes shut, though her eyelashes still trembled uncontrollably.
Soon, the footsteps drew near. She held her breath for no reason, her mind simulating several cutting retorts in a split second.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Thirty seconds.
The footsteps had gone from far to near, and then from near to far. It wasn't until the sound of running water came from the bathroom that Ji Mingshu realized—Cen Sen couldn't even be bothered to expose her act.
For some reason, a wave of frustration rose in her. She opened her eyes, glared in the direction of the bathroom for a few seconds, then suddenly threw off the covers and leaned back against the headboard with a huff.
Her peripheral vision caught a stack of documents on Cen Sen's nightstand. She leaned over, straining to reach forward, and barely managed to grab it after a long stretch.
Junyi Group Designer Hotel Development Proposal.
Ji Mingshu had originally just grabbed it to vent her frustration, but when she saw the title on the cover, her expression unconsciously changed.
When Cen Sen came out of the bathroom, he saw Ji Mingshu leaning against the headboard, engrossed in the documents.
Her nightgown, rumpled from the night's activities, was bunched up irregularly. Her legs were stretched out and crossed, looking long, straight, and dazzlingly white.
Ji Mingshu noticed his movement, but her eyes were reluctant to leave the documents. She asked while still reading, "Junyi is building a designer hotel?"
Cen Sen grunted in affirmation, tilting his chin up slightly to fasten the top button of his shirt collar.
Ji Mingshu said no more and continued flipping through the pages.
She was the only girl of her generation in the Ji family. Although her parents had died early, her aunts and uncles famously doted on her. After graduating from university, she married into the Cen family of Jingjian, which further solidified her position as the top socialite in the capital's elite circle.
Her daily life consisted of attending various parties and jet-setting around the world on vacation—an easy mode of life that everyone envied.
Perhaps no one remembered that she was actually a top student from SCAD's interior design program, not some brainless, decorative vase who only knew how to shop.
"I remember you studied interior design at SCAD. Are you interested?" Cen Sen asked suddenly.
Ji Mingshu looked up and stared at him for a few seconds, utterly surprised that this husband of convenience even remembered that.
After a long moment, Ji Mingshu came back to her senses. She quietly concealed her delight at the opportune topic and began formulating a coy, hard-to-get response in her mind, as if a princess deigning to grant him an honor.
But before Her Highness could part her golden lips, Cen Sen spoke again. "When the hotel is completed in a while, I'll have someone take you for a tour in advance."
...?
"A tour?"
"Don't tell me you're planning to participate in the design?" He didn't even have to think about it. "No. The hotel is not a place for you to practice."
Ji Mingshu couldn't help but retort, "I designed the venue for last night's gala."
Cen Sen paused and looked back at her. "So you were the one who designed it."
It was a tone of sudden realization, yet it was also deeply meaningful.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean it's all the more reason not to let you participate."
He leisurely fastened his watch, his eyes half-lowered as he delivered the final, knowing verdict.
Ji Mingshu was already feeling a little guilty. Hearing this, the tips of her ears turned red, and she instantly sat up straight.
"Actually, last night wasn't representative of my true abilities!"
Her voice shot up an octave, a perfect demonstration of how one's volume increases when one's reasoning is weak.
A ghost of a smile played on Cen Sen's lips. He raised an eyebrow slightly, patiently waiting for her explanation.
It was a long story. The theme for yesterday's gala had been set early on as "Roundtable," a nod to the inaugural issue of Zero Degree ten years ago.
But just as Ji Mingshu had finished the drawings, the group headquarters and the sponsors had a sudden falling out, and the budget became tight.
Fashion's most essential ingredient is money. Zero Degree refused to scale down the event, while the group headquarters was unwilling to allocate more funds. After a week of wrangling, the two sides barely reached an agreement to combine the tenth-anniversary fashion gala with the charity gala originally scheduled for the next quarter and hold it ahead of schedule.
Once it was branded as a charity event, it was clearly inappropriate to play with fashion concepts and party themes, which meant the previous venue design had to be completely scrapped.
Ji Mingshu despised unexpected changes and had a grand temperament. The last time she had taken on a project was two years ago, designing the early spring runway show for Chris Chou's debut at Milan Fashion Week. If it weren't as a favor to Gu Kaiyang, she wouldn't have even bothered with Zero Degree's demanding case. And now they dared to propose scrapping the entire design draft at the last minute. The moment she heard the news, she had hung up on the editor-in-chief without a shred of politeness.
Ji Mingshu's original intention was to wash her hands of the whole thing and let someone else do it. But she couldn't resist Gu Kaiyang's persistent coaxing and ended up redoing the plan.
However, time was tight, and she had to start from scratch, so the new plan was somewhat perfunctory. The final result was a venue that was conventional and certainly luxurious, but utterly lacking in character.
Ji Mingshu herself wasn't satisfied with last night's venue, but as the words of defense reached her lips, she felt she didn't have a leg to stand on. Her lips parted and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Dejected, she knelt on the bed.
Cen Sen was already dressed and ready to leave. Seeing that she couldn't produce a convincing argument, he wasn't surprised. His gaze merely cooled. "What's the use of kneeling to me? You might as well go kowtow all the way to the Potala Palace. Maybe you'll move heaven and earth."
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