The enclosed immersive video installation was not yet fully set up, and the runway show was in a semi-open-air state. The biting cold wind howled in, making the words "I'll compensate you" somewhat indistinct as they were carried away by the gusts.
Ji Mingshu didn’t know what to say. She wanted to take half a step back to put some distance between herself and Cen Sen. But as soon as she lifted her ankle, a sharp pain shot up from below, and she couldn’t help but let out a soft hiss.
"Sprained?"
Cen Sen lowered his gaze to examine her.
Ji Mingshu didn’t respond, but her nose and brows were scrunched up.
Cen Sen thought for a moment, then suddenly took off his overcoat. Stepping forward, he draped the still-warm coat over her shoulders, tightening the collar so that she was almost completely wrapped inside.
Ji Mingshu instinctively shrank back, wanting to tuck away a stray strand of hair. But before she could move, Cen Sen’s hand, still wrapped in the silk scarf, unexpectedly slid around her shoulder. He leaned down slightly, his other arm scooping under her legs, and with a gentle lift, he effortlessly picked her up in a horizontal carry.
If earlier Ji Mingshu hadn’t known what to say, now she clearly wanted to question him but found herself unable to utter a word.
The two were very close. She stared intently at Cen Sen, her warm breath brushing softly against the edge of his jaw, damp and gentle.
Cen Sen occasionally glanced down to meet her gaze, his eyes deep and calm.
The silk scarf wrapped around his hand shimmered with a deep, cold red. Occasionally, a strand or two, along with the scarf’s trailing ends, fluttered and fell in the wind, creating a strangely beautiful and vivid sight.
They made their way to the executive suite on the top floor of the hotel. Cen Sen placed Ji Mingshu on the sofa and slowly sat down on the other side, extending his hand slightly forward to let the doctor who had followed them in tend to his wound.
Sitting face to face like this, Ji Mingshu finally noticed that his left hand was still oozing blood, and the wound looked even more alarming than before.
As the doctor cleaned and removed the glass shards, Ji Mingshu instinctively looked away. Her heart tightened suddenly—whether from the shock of seeing Cen Sen’s wound or the pain of having her own ankle treated, she wasn’t sure.
Cen Sen himself remained expressionless, calmly watching the wound as if he felt no pain. From start to finish, he didn’t even furrow his brows.
After the wounds were treated, the two doctors gave a few instructions, then stood up together to pack their medical kits.
Zhou Jiaheng respectfully guided them out, occasionally murmuring, "This way, please."
The three of them soon left. With a soft click as the door closed, the room was left with only Ji Mingshu and Cen Sen, both injured. Silence settled in, tinged with an indescribable, faint awkwardness.
Counting carefully, it had been about a month or two since they last saw each other. The capital had already transitioned from autumn to winter, and the weather forecast said the first snow of the season would fall this week.
In the past, whenever silence fell between them, Ji Mingshu was usually the one to break it. This time, she instinctively wondered what topic would suit their current awkward yet polite situation.
But just then, Cen Sen looked at her reddened, cold hands and suddenly said, "It’s cold outside. Wear more when you go out."
"...?"
"Oh... I know..."
Ji Mingshu was slightly bewildered, unable to comprehend how Cen Sen’s usually sharp tongue could utter words of concern.
After speaking, Cen Sen stood up and brewed two cups of Americano using the coffee beans and machine in the room. However, after tasting it, he seemed dissatisfied with the flavor.Ji Mingshu took a sip as well and also found the beans too bitter. She frowned slightly, not too noticeably, set down her cup, and made conversation by asking, "What brings you here today?"
"I heard you were designing a runway here. I had some free time today, so I thought I'd come take a look." Cen Sen placed a sugar cube in 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 suppressed the urge to cough and swallowed the coffee, though her face still flushed with a faint red hue.
Deep down, she had a somewhat narcissistic suspicion, but she never imagined that Cen Sen had actually come to see her and would admit it so frankly.
Continuing on the topic of the runway, Cen Sen brought up another point. "I just saw your designs downstairs. They're very intricate and luxurious."
"...?"
You never used to say things like that.
But in the next moment, Cen Sen shifted the conversation back to his old ways. "However, your work still has the issue I mentioned to you before."
"What issue?"
Ji Mingshu couldn't recall for a moment.
"Not user-friendly enough."
Cen Sen set down his coffee and looked at her. "I don't know much about the designer's style, but since he approves, it proves your main runway is fine. From an outsider's perspective, I can see your designs are very artistic. The part I find lacking in user-friendliness is that your seating arrangement for the audience doesn't seem very reasonable."
Just as Ji Mingshu was about to speak, he countered, "You plan to have the audience sit in the triangular area of the piano staircase and the corridor, right?"
"..."
Exactly.
Cen Sen continued, "From what I know, attending a fashion show is a very close-up experience. The triangular area of the piano staircase and the corridor are too cramped. Your current lighting is entirely focused on the runway, without considering the comfort of the audience area. This level of brightness and the way the light is dispersed can easily cause visual fatigue for the audience. I think you could make some improvements in this area."
Unconsciously, Ji Mingshu rested her chin on her hand, following his train of thought as she reflected.
She was surprised to find that Cen Sen, an outsider, actually made a lot of sense.
In fact, this wasn't just her problem. Many runways, both domestic and international, suffered from the same issue—audiences crammed together on small stools, with a generally mediocre experience. There had even been jokes about audiences collapsing benches before the show even started.
This widespread neglect of the audience area was often due to the show organizers prioritizing their own presentation over the audience's experience, as well as factors like budget constraints, post-show dismantling, and tight schedules for changing setups.
But for Chris Chou's debut show in China, there were no such objective limitations, so improving this aspect wouldn't be difficult.
As for the lighting's impact on the audience, that was indeed a major oversight on her part.
She was just about to ask Cen Sen if he had any better suggestions when his phone screen suddenly 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 for a moment, turning to look at him and even listening carefully.
The caller seemed to be American, and the two were discussing a collaboration project in Hawaii. Cen Sen spoke entirely in English throughout the call, his pronunciation pleasant—husky and deep with a touch of sensuality, yet restrained and reserved compared to the exaggerated tones often heard in Western conversations.Ji Mingshu listened, gradually drifting into a daze, and before she knew it, drowsiness crept over her.
To meet her design deadlines, she hadn’t slept properly for many days, and even coffee seemed to have lost its effect. Sinking into the soft sofa, sleepiness ambushed her, sweeping over her in waves. Soon, she closed her eyes and fell into a deep slumber.
When Cen Sen returned to the living room after finishing his phone call, he found Ji Mingshu’s head tilting to one side, her thick lashes resting peacefully, her breathing steady.
Standing by the sofa for a moment, he gently carried her to the bedroom bed and drew the blackout curtains.
Though it was still daytime, the room grew dim as the curtains blocked the light.
Cen Sen sat by the bed, brushing away stray strands of hair from Ji Mingshu’s face and tucking the blanket around her, just as he had done the night before she ran away.
But after all these days, it seemed he had sorted through many things. Those flickering thoughts churned repeatedly in his mind, ultimately pointing to a truth he didn’t want to dwell on but had subconsciously acknowledged.
Somehow, a sudden desire to kiss her arose.
He had always acted on his impulses—no gentlemanly pretenses, no awareness of taking advantage.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he leaned over, one hand braced beside her ear, slowly closing the distance. He parted her lips, tasting and nipping lightly, then moved hungrily downward, from her lips to her fair, slender neck and delicate collarbone.
Ji Mingshu slept too soundly to notice, only turning in her sleep and instinctively grabbing a bandaged hand to pillow beneath her head.
The doctor had just warned Cen Sen not to put more strain on his left hand, but now that it was being used as a pillow, he didn’t pull away. The bandage slowly stained red as he sat by the bed, occasionally leaning down to kiss his little golden canary with an unconscious infatuation.
When Ji Mingshu woke, it was already late, and a faint scent of blood lingered in the air. Groggily, she reached out to turn on the lamp, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.
As her mind cleared, she spotted the blood-stained bandages on the nearby table.
Belatedly, she glanced around, a question suddenly surfacing in her mind: How had she fallen asleep? And how had she ended up in bed?
Her mind went blank for a few seconds before her gaze returned to the bloodied bandages, piecing together the sequence of events.
A pair of flat shoes, clearly meant for her, sat by the bed. She slowly slipped them on and limped out to check—
Cen Sen was gone.
The shadow of being locked up for two days still lingered in her heart. Instinctively, Ji Mingshu walked to the door and tried the handle.
To her surprise, it opened.
Zhou Jiaheng was still standing outside.
Seeing her awake, he smiled gently and bowed slightly, respectfully saying, “Good evening, Madam. The Lausanne Institute delegation arrives in Beijing tonight for an exchange, and Mr. Cen must attend. He specifically instructed me to wait here for you.”
Ji Mingshu murmured an “Oh,” then remembered the bandages and asked, “His hand…”
“Mr. Cen’s wound seemed to have reopened earlier, but it’s been redressed and is fine now.”
Ji Mingshu nodded, leaning against the doorframe, lost in thought. After a long pause, she said, “Then take me back.”
Zhou Jiaheng unsurprisingly replied, “Of course.”
Ji Mingshu turned back to grab her bag and high heels, only adding once she was in the car, “Take me back to Xinggang International.”
“…?”Zhou Jiaheng's lips stiffened slightly, forgetting to respond.
The night in the capital city flickered with lights, streams of illumination rustling past.
The Porsche, as if deliberately stalling for time, took an hour to slowly make its way to Xinggang International.
Before even getting out of the car, Ji Mingshu received a WeChat message from Cen Sen.
Cen Sen: 【Aren’t you coming home yet?】
Ji Mingshu ignored it, glancing at Zhou Jiaheng in the rearview mirror.
Zhou Jiaheng had long honed the skill of being thick-skinned. At this moment, he kept his eyes downcast, expertly avoiding her gaze.
Another message came in.
Cen Sen: 【The broken lamp has been reordered and will arrive in a couple of days.】
Ji Mingshu replied with a very aloof "Hmm."
Cen Sen: 【The scarf will be delivered to you tomorrow.】
Still an aloof "Hmm."
After a while, Cen Sen finally sent a voice message, asking the most crucial question: "My hand isn’t very convenient for typing, Mingshu. When do you plan to come home?"
Ji Mingshu: 【Don’t know.】
Ji Mingshu: 【I reasonably suspect you’re trying to play the sympathy card.】
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