The awkwardness brought by this exchange of glances was no less than when Cen Sen had caught her singing in the bathtub hours earlier.
It seemed Cen Sen had the same thought, as he suddenly asked, "Why are you looking at me, the fairy who makes men bow beneath her skirt?"
When he uttered the nine words "the fairy who makes men bow beneath her skirt," his tone was flat, yet there were brief pauses between the words, somewhat reminiscent of reciting ancient texts in high school. However, his awkward repetition carried a subtle sense of humiliation.
Ji Mingshu reacted a bit slowly and couldn’t think of a response right away.
Cen Sen, for some reason, seemed to be in a leisurely mood and added, "Did I get the title wrong? Perhaps you prefer 'the fairy who captivates the masses'?"
Ji Mingshu: "What the..."
She was simply too kind-hearted to have imagined that someone like Cen Sen—a cold, sharp-tongued wolf in sheep's clothing—would ever feel even a moment of melancholy due to complicated family dynamics.
Sitting up straight, she said expressionlessly, "If you know how to talk, keep talking."
Cen Sen didn’t indulge her. His gaze indifferently returned to the front, and he instructed the driver to head straight back to Mingshui Mansion, not uttering another word for the rest of the journey.
Mingshui Mansion was divided into the Waterside Villa Area and the Lake Center Villa Area. The thirteenth building where Cen Sen and Ji Mingshu lived was in the Lake Center Villa Area, accessible via a specially built wide bridge leading to a private parking lot. A sentry post was stationed beside the bridge, with guards on duty around the clock, ensuring excellent security and privacy.
As soon as the car stopped, Ji Mingshu pulled open the door and stepped out first, then strode away without looking back.
Her figure was graceful and full of presence. Zhou Jiaheng, the invisible man, silently gave her a one-word evaluation in his heart: cool.
Upon returning home, Ji Mingshu hurried up to the second floor, locked the bedroom door, and wondered whether Cen Sen would say a few soft words when he knocked later.
But even after she finished removing her makeup, there was no movement from downstairs.
Walking out to the balcony, she happened to see Cen Sen’s car slowly driving out of the Lake Center Villa, followed closely by an inconspicuous Passat.
The Passat was driven by Cen Sen’s personal bodyguard.
His bodyguards typically worked in three shifts, staying by his side twenty-four hours a day.
In other words, he had left?
Realizing this belatedly, Ji Mingshu immediately called to demand, "Where are you going?"
Cen Sen’s voice was calm and detached. "I have another engagement. You rest first; no need to wait for me."
"...? Who said I was waiting for you?"
For a moment, Ji Mingshu thought she had misheard. Did this scoundrel really expect her to play the role of a devoted wife waiting faithfully for her husband? How dare he even think that? Unbelievable.
She hung up without hesitation.
But after hanging up, she began to regret it. Why had she ended the call so quickly? Would he misinterpret it as her feeling guilty?
The more Ji Mingshu thought about it, the more ridiculous and infuriating it became. "Shameless! Not much to look at, but he sure knows how to dream!"
She tossed her phone aside and returned to the bathroom to apply a face mask.
As she was applying it, she suddenly paused: Wait, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t exactly be categorized as "not much to look at."
First of all, he truly didn’t belong in that category. Secondly, if she insisted on placing him there, wouldn’t that be an insult to her own taste?
Thinking about it this way only made her angrier.
On the other side, after dropping off Miss Ji at Mingshui Mansion, Cen Sen instructed the driver to head to Heyong Club.
Heyong Club was a private establishment located in the former consulate building on Ruiying Road. What set it apart from other high-end clubs was that it did not accept membership applications. Instead, it proactively extended invitations to select elites in Beijing and Shanghai.Cen Sen had an evening engagement here, having arranged to meet someone to discuss the development of a supporting hotel for the western suburban scenic area.
As the city lights began to glow, the entire capital shimmered with a rippling radiance in the dim night. Gazing toward Chang’an, the east wind bloomed with a thousand trees of blossoms at night—this city always seemed to carry a beauty that was both lively and lonely.
Cen Sen didn’t look outside. After returning to the country, he had been attending social engagements for several consecutive days; even someone as resilient as iron would feel weary. He rested his hands low in front of him, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes to rest.
Perhaps because his mind had been operating at high speed, it was difficult to relax even briefly now. Uncontrollably, many scenes flashed through his thoughts:
At one moment, it was his younger cousin sister panicking and saying sorry, staring at the pork ribs in the bowl, bewildered and immature;
At another, it was Cen Old Madam smiling brightly at Ji Mingshu, but turning to look at him with an instinctive touch of polite distance;
And when his aunt Cen Yingshuang mentioned Cen Yang, the entire pavilion fell into silence.
In that instant, he suddenly recalled the scene from his childhood when he moved from Star City to the capital and first entered Nanqiao Hutong.
It was like this too—many people, very quiet.
Some things had become so distant they felt like they happened in the last century. Everyone tacitly avoided mentioning them, not because they were over, but because they would never truly be over.
Zhou Jiaheng sat in the passenger seat and noticed Cen Sen’s slightly furrowed brow in the rearview mirror, resting uneasily. Taking the initiative, he played a soft, soothing melody.
Outside the window, the traffic light turned from red to green, casting a slanting, yellowish glow onto the half-open, half-closed car window like a nostalgic halo, hazy and flickering.
Cen Sen felt a rare hint of drowsiness.
But for some reason, the image of Ji Mingshu singing in the bathtub suddenly popped into his mind. As soon as that scene came to him, those few lines of self-amused lyrics began looping in a 3D surround-sound mode, as if part of a matching set.
The faint drowsiness vanished abruptly. He rubbed his brow bone and let out a faint, inexplicable chuckle.
The night wind was cool. Standing at the entrance of Heyong Club, Zhang Baoshu looked up at the flowing silver light of the signboard and unconsciously hugged her arms, shivering slightly.
Today, she had been hastily recruited as a substitute, filling in for a well-known actress under her agent who had encountered an unexpected situation and couldn’t attend the social engagement.
Her agent had repeatedly urged her to make the most of the opportunity, but before she left, he also rambled on, telling her to speak less if she didn’t know what to say.
But how could she make the most of it without speaking? Zhang Baoshu felt both puzzled and confused.
Heyong Club was not easy to enter casually. Only with the nod from the eldest son of the Zhang family did the waitress in a cheongsam smile and lead her upstairs.
She tightened the strap of her bag, discreetly curious as she looked around.
Perhaps because Heyong Club’s predecessor was a consulate, the interior blended Chinese and Western styles seamlessly. There were small bridges with flowing water, as well as gramophones and oil paintings. Strangely enough, being inside didn’t feel the least bit incongruous.
The private room she was headed to was on the third floor, with an elegant name: "Nanke Yimeng." Wealthy people often chose such obscure, poetic names to showcase their refined taste, and Zhang Baoshu wasn’t surprised.
The door to the private room opened, revealing a spacious interior that couldn’t be taken in at a single glance.
In view was a large marble round table with an automatic rotating tray, adorned with exquisite tableware and lush, dewy flowers. A half-screen partition surrounded the area, and the lighting grew dim and hazy further inside, where occasional conversations could be heard.As Zhang Baoshu approached, she happened to hear a low, slightly amused voice, "Young Master Zhang, my thanks for conceding."
Young Master Zhang chuckled, "I'm no match for you when it comes to memorizing cards."
An unfinished hand of cards was covered on the table and shuffled together with the rest.
Seeing Zhang Baoshu arrive, Young Master Zhang raised an eyebrow slightly, not paying her much mind. While shuffling, he casually ordered, "Light a cigarette for President Cen."
President Cen? Zhang Baoshu instinctively glanced around.
There were six men present—three seated and three standing. Those standing didn’t seem to be the main figures. Among those seated, aside from Young Master Zhang whom she recognized, there was also a middle-aged man who looked like a senior executive, though he already had a female companion by his side—a familiar face from the news anchor circle.
The remaining one…
When Zhang Baoshu got a clear look at his face, she froze in surprise.
Wasn’t this the man who had driven up the price for Su Cheng’s pearl necklace at the Zero Degree banquet that night?
She remembered—his name was Cen Sen.
When she didn’t react for a while, Young Master Zhang frowned impatiently, "What are you standing there for? Do you need to bathe and burn incense before lighting a cigarette?"
Zhang Baoshu snapped back to attention and hurriedly bent to pick up the cigarette box on the table—a type she had never seen before, neither opening by lifting nor sliding.
Cen Sen turned his head, giving her a brief, indifferent glance, and raised a hand slightly to stop her. "No need."
Zhang Baoshu was momentarily at a loss.
Young Master Zhang couldn’t stand it and tapped his finger on the table. "Pour some wine, then."
"..."
Zhang Baoshu reacted a beat too slowly, then reluctantly reached for the bottle of imported liquor.
She was usually quite sharp—otherwise, her agent wouldn’t have given her such a quick opportunity to climb the ranks. But today, for some reason, she felt inexplicably flustered and clumsy.
The other two female companions looked at her with mocking eyes, while Young Master Zhang’s companion chose that moment to showcase her thoughtfulness, gently massaging his temples with her fingers in slow, circular motions. Her wine-red nails, adorned with silver glitter, shimmered under the light, particularly eye-catching.
As Young Master Zhang enjoyed the beauty’s attentions, he deftly cut and dealt the cards, lazily remarking, "President Cen, this isn’t my fault. I originally wanted to call Xin Zhihui to keep you company, but her agent said her flight was delayed and she couldn’t make it back. They forced this little girl on me instead. Said she’s a film school student, just acted in some campus movie, and claimed she’s pure and clever. But where’s the cleverness?"
He turned to Zhang Baoshu. "What’s your name again?"
"Zhang… Baoshu."
"Heh, we share the same surname."
"Is that your real name?"
Cen Sen, who had remained mostly silent until then, suddenly looked at her.
Zhang Baoshu shook her head. "Stage name."
"What’s your real name?"
Zhang Baoshu felt a bit embarrassed, hesitating and mumbling without answering.
Cen Sen didn’t press further, shifting his gaze away and back to the cards, leisurely adjusting the order of his hand.
His hands were slender and elegant, holding the cards as if they were works of art.
After a moment of hesitation, Zhang Baoshu softly replied, "My real name is Zhang Yanhong."
As soon as she said it, her ears flushed slightly—she herself felt the name was hopelessly rustic.
Sure enough, the female companions couldn’t help but laugh upon hearing it, and Young Master Zhang outright mocked it as a name fit for a maid from the last century.
Cen Sen, however, didn’t react that way. He simply said in a calm tone, "Your real name is good. The characters ‘Bao Shu’ don’t suit you."
Though his tone was exceedingly mild, those words carried a gentle, lingering warmth. Zhang Baoshu was momentarily stunned, even forgetting to wonder why the name didn’t suit her.In the latter half of the evening, the men discussed business matters. Zhang Baoshu couldn’t understand what they were talking about, nor did she pay much attention. It was as if she had been bewitched—her heart itching restlessly, and her courage inexplicably swelling.
After pouring wine for Cen Sen, she obediently sat down beside him, occasionally passing things over as if to lend a hand.
Young Master Zhang, who had previously looked down on her, now gave her a glance that seemed to say, "Not bad, you know your place."
The initiative for developing the supporting hotel in the western suburban scenic area lay with Junyi.
After Cen Sen returned to China and took over the group, he made adjustments to the projects currently underway and those pending. Projects like the hotel in the western suburban scenic area were, for the group, like chicken ribs—tasteless to eat but a pity to discard.
However, for Young Master Zhang and his project, the presence of a well-known high-end hotel brand was indispensable for elevating the service level and overall positioning of the scenic area.
That was why this gathering had been arranged—one side hoping to maintain the status quo and continue the cooperation, the other calmly waiting for concessions while smiling without a word.
As the night deepened and the wine flowed, Young Master Zhang talked until he was blue in the face but failed to gain even the slightest advantage from Cen Sen. Yet, the cooperation couldn’t be terminated. Reluctantly, he retreated step by step until, in the end, he was left with nothing but his underpants, still having to thank the other profusely—as if begging them to make money.
Cen Sen and Director Yang, who had been assisting with coordination, had already left ahead of him. Young Master Zhang tugged at his tie, feeling somewhat irritable.
Seeing Zhang Baoshu still hesitating, clutching her bag and unsure whether to follow Cen Sen, his temper flared even hotter. He jerked his chin toward the door and snapped, "Go on, what are you waiting for? Who do you think you are, putting on airs here?"
Zhang Baoshu was both angry and afraid, but she didn’t dare talk back. They both shared the surname Zhang, but this "Zhang" in front of her was not someone she could afford to offend.
She hurried out just in time to see the valet bending over, opening the car door for Cen Sen.
"Mr. Cen!"
She mustered her courage and called out.
Cen Sen glanced up slightly.
Zhang Baoshu took a deep breath and strode forward quickly in her high heels.
Stopping in front of Cen Sen, she tightened her grip on her bag strap and asked shyly, "Mr. Cen, I was wondering if it would be convenient for you to give me a ride? I didn’t drive… I mean, I don’t have a car."
Then she immediately added, "If it’s not convenient, that’s fine too. Then… could I add you on WeChat?"
Cen Sen chuckled softly.
Zhang Baoshu secretly looked up, only to find his gaze fixed on her bag.
This bag had been lent to her by her agent—a Chanel design from two years ago, with a beautiful color and style. Of course, the price was also beyond what a newcomer like her in the industry could afford for daily use.
Cen Sen also remembered the color and style of this bag vividly.
The night before their wedding, Ji Mingshu had carried this very bag.
When she woke up that morning and saw him lying beside her, she was so furious that she emptied the contents of the bag and threw it over his head, then grabbed his head and demanded that he, the pervert who had taken her virginity, explode on the spot.
"Mr. Cen?"
Zhang Baoshu asked nervously again, giving her phone a slight shake.
Cen Sen snapped back to reality, his gaze lingering on the WeChat interface on her phone for a moment.
Zhang Baoshu—so it wasn’t that Shu after all.
He twisted the ring on his ring finger, reminding her quite directly, "I’m sorry, but I’m already married."
Zhang Baoshu was momentarily stunned.
Having watched him all night, she naturally hadn’t missed the wedding ring on his finger. But for men in their circles, whether they were married or not—what did it really matter?She instinctively interpreted Cen Sen's reminder as an unusual hint. Though somewhat disappointed, it was within her expectations.
After a moment of silence, she mustered what she thought was great courage, raised her chin to meet Cen Sen's gaze, and said bluntly, "I don't mind."
"I mind," Cen Sen replied without hesitation. "Doesn't your school require academic scores for admission? With that level of comprehension, can you even understand the script?"
Zhang Baoshu stared at him blankly.
Cen Sen got into the car and said calmly, "You don't compare to my wife in looks, temperament, education, or background. You might as well wash your face and sober up."
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