After Ji Mingshu voiced her doubts, she noticed the status above Cen Sen’s chat box switching between "typing..." and "speaking..." for quite some time. Yet, after all that back and forth, Cen Sen only responded 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 and surrender.
She put away her phone and stepped out of the car. Zhou Jiaheng, ever the attentive informant, immediately followed suit, even more deferential and eager than he was in front of Cen Sen. He rushed to carry her bags and shoes, leading the way to escort her upstairs.
Before she entered the apartment, Zhou Jiaheng added, "Madam, whenever you wish to return home, just give me a call. I’m available 24/7."
Ji Mingshu offered a thin, insincere smile, waved goodbye, and unceremoniously shut the door in his face.
Zhou Jiaheng closed his eyes for a moment, then rubbed his nose in frustration.
At this hour, Gu Kaiyang was still working overtime at their exploitative magazine office.
After changing into slippers at the entrance, Ji Mingshu hummed a tune and limped her way into the bathroom, feeling inexplicably cheerful.
Her mood brightened even further as she imagined Cen Sen being exposed for his pitiful act and left speechless.
However, as she squeezed cleansing oil onto a cotton pad, something suddenly occurred to her. She paused, 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 was fleeting, and she didn’t dwell on it, soon resuming her humming as she continued removing her makeup.
Over the next few days, Ji Mingshu’s foot injury hadn’t fully healed, making movement somewhat inconvenient, but her mood remained exceptionally cheerful, and her work efficiency stayed high.
At home, she revised the design for the audience area of the fashion show based on Cen Sen’s suggestions and made daily trips to the hotel to closely monitor the progress of the runway setup.
During this time, she greeted everyone with a beaming smile, radiating warmth and approachability. Even when Jiang Chun was caught lying about her latest weight over text, Ji Mingshu responded with gentle understanding.
Ji Mingshu: If Tang Zhizhou doesn’t mind, then it’s fine for you to indulge occasionally. After all, it’s not attractive for girls to be as thin as skeletons.
Jiang Chun: …?
Jiang Chun vividly remembered Ji Mingshu’s earlier blunt wisdom: "When someone likes you, you’re a treasure; when they don’t, you’re just a smelly little fatty." She simply couldn’t believe Ji Mingshu’s "occasional indulgence theory" was genuine.
In Jiang Chun’s mind, this gentle and soft-spoken response twisted through several layers of suspicion, transforming into what she assumed was a newly invented reverse-motivation strategy.
Trembling with apprehension, Jiang Chun immediately adopted a posture of utmost sincerity, prostrating herself metaphorically at a 180-degree angle.
Jiang Chun: I was wrong! I unconditionally admit my mistake to the organization TVT! Please forgive me, Your Highness! Wuwuwu!
Jiang Chun: When Chris Chou’s fashion show comes up in a while, I’ll stuff my Hermès bag full of cash and sneak it out to support our noble princess! Our princess has suffered!!
Ji Mingshu: No need.
After sending this reply, she rested her chin in her hand, smiling as she glanced at the row of orange boxes Zhou Jiaheng had delivered. Her fingers unconsciously tapped lightly against her cheek.
Half a month later, Chris Chou’s early spring fashion show took place as scheduled at the Junyi Splendor Hotel on Huating Road in the capital.
On the day of the show, the hotel entrance was abuzz with celebrities and luxury cars. Reporters camped outside, their camera flashes and shutter clicks rising and falling in a constant rhythm.During yesterday's rehearsal, Ji Mingshu was present throughout, making final adjustments to the details of the entire show based on the models' positioning and Chris Chou's feedback. Exhausted late into the night, she even joined the staff for a late-night meal, exchanging experiences with them.
In fact, Chris Chou's Milan debut two years ago was also Ji Mingshu's work. However, back then, Chris Chou's shows weren't as high-profile, and he wasn't prominent enough to invite Ji Mingshu to oversee the entire stage setup.
From what she recalled, Ji Mingshu had only visited the venue once to deliver a design draft and hadn't been involved beyond that.
To be honest, the feeling of freely sketching designs two years ago was completely different from the experience of being fully involved in the design process and witnessing the show come to life.
She used to hold herself aloft, only needing to imagine without considering how others would bring her visions to reality.
Over the past two years, many had praised the clothing designs and stage setup of Chris Chou's Milan debut. She would naturally accept the compliments, believing that all the splendor displayed on screen was the result of Chris Chou's and her own efforts.
But only after personally participating did she realize how much meticulous planning and silent hard work from countless people went into the success of a show.
About forty minutes before the show began, socializing commenced. Socialites, celebrities, editors, buyers, and fashion influencers arrived one after another, signing autographs, taking photos, and giving interviews in the media area.
Five minutes before the show started, a bilingual announcement in Chinese and English reminded guests to take their seats.
Ji Mingshu exchanged a high-five with Chris Chou before grabbing her clutch and hurrying from backstage to her seat.
She had always sat in the front row for shows, but this time, having personally designed the stage, she proactively chose a corner seat several rows back during the PR seating arrangements, wanting to observe the viewing experience from the rear.
Jiang Chun was also in this row, though several seats separated 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 Cen Sen.
Cen Sen adjusted his lapel as he took his seat, exuding an air of gentlemanly elegance. Even in the back corner, he managed to sit with the dignified presence of someone inheriting a throne.
Ji Mingshu instinctively asked, "What are you doing here?"
"My hotel. I came to see if there were any issues."
"..."
Naturally, there were none.
But could this relic from the last century, who didn’t even use the internet for work, even understand a fashion show? What was he doing here, just causing a stir?
What was even funnier was that he had seriously put on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He probably came straight here without finishing the paperwork in his office.
Ji Mingshu looked him up and down, her gaze naturally settling on his hand.
Wait, it’s been half a month, and he’s still wearing a bandage...?
Was he still milking this injury? Even a fracture should have healed by now.
Just as Ji Mingshu was about to say something, the show began its final ten-second countdown: "Ten, nine, eight..."As the countdown reached "one," the music began at just the right moment. The immersive visual installation transformed into a flowing golden brilliance, with tiny golden figures leaping bit by bit above the crowd's heads. Finally, they morphed into a small golden airplane that soared across the LED screen, tracing Chris Chou's English logo in the center with a contrail-like effect. A crisp, three-dimensional American female voice announced, "Welcome to Chris Chou."
Fashion shows were different from celebrity galas or television programs—there were no hosts or opening speeches.
After the logo appeared, it gradually dissolved into specks of gold at the center of the screen, followed by energetic drumbeats and an increasingly upbeat musical rhythm.
Amidst the shifting melodies, a spotlight fell on the renowned national model opening the show. The model walked forward expressionlessly, stepping along the piano staircase.
—Who would have thought that sitting in the back row would still offer such a great view of the show?
Ji Mingshu secretly gave a mental thumbs-up, finally breathing a sigh of relief after days of anxiety.
Cen Sen also took the opportunity to comment, "Not bad."
Ji Mingshu shot him a glance.
What did he mean, "not bad"? Did he even understand what he was looking at?
As it turned out, Cen Sen did understand. He spoke leisurely, "The stage you designed and this designer's work remind me of an oil painting from the 1990s that sold for nearly ten million. That painting was called Paper Drunk, Gold Obsessed, belonging to the abstract expressionist style. The composition was 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 faintly. The reflection on his glasses obscured his expression, but his tone was nonchalant. "Within the scope of my knowledge, this is common sense."
Common sense.
Ji Mingshu choked on her words, momentarily speechless.
But she quickly remembered that they were still in the midst of a cold war and shouldn’t get too friendly. She resolved not to speak to him again and quietly focused on the show.
Cen Sen, however, occasionally offered light commentary from the side, such as, "This one is nice," or "This one is nice too."
In truth, after months of preparation, the actual showtime lasted only an hour.
Once all the designs had been presented, Chris Chou took the stage wearing a T-shirt from his latest collection. He delivered a speech in somewhat clumsy and disjointed Chinese.
He briefly reflected on his feelings about founding the brand over the years, the special significance of incorporating Chinese elements into this season’s collection, and expressed gratitude for everyone’s ongoing support.
With that, the show came to a successful conclusion. Ji Mingshu couldn’t help but join the audience in applauding.
But no one expected that Chris Chou’s bow and pause didn’t mark the end of his speech. Holding the microphone, he suddenly shifted his focus and looked in Ji Mingshu’s direction, directly addressing her as "Shu" and giving her the title of interior designer. For a full two minutes, he thanked her for her efforts in designing today’s show venue.
The socialites in the front rows wondered if their ears were playing tricks on them. They had heard that Ji Mingshu had designed Chris Chou’s Milan debut show, but at that time, Chris Chou was far from the household name he was today. Very few people had actually seen that show, and many suspected there might be more to the story than met the eye.But at this final moment, Chris Chou personally expressed gratitude... which meant that today's exquisitely complex runway show, blending modern sophistication with the decadent glamour of old Shanghai, was designed by Ji Mingshu?
The circle of friends who had been privately feasting on the gossip about Cen Sen and Ji Mingshu's divorce were all a bit stunned, unable to believe that this young lady, known only for her shopping sprees, could actually produce something truly noteworthy.
After the show, there was an after-party, and the showroom was open to all guests. Anyone interested in the designs showcased on the runway could place orders there.
Ji Mingshu and Jiang Chun walked toward the showroom together.
Cen Sen remained seated in his original spot, flipping through the new collection catalog as he gave instructions to Zhou Jiaheng. Lifting his gaze for a moment, he happened to see Ji Mingshu accidentally bump into a young man.
Ji Mingshu, also caught off guard, nodded and apologized, "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," the man replied with a gentle smile. As he passed by Ji Mingshu, he seemed to recall something and suddenly hesitated before asking, "Are you... Mingshu?"
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