At seven in the evening, after concluding the business meeting and stepping out of the hotel, Cen Sen stood under the portico, watching his business partner drive away.
In Star City, caught between the tail end of winter and the early whispers of spring, the branches along the roadside stood bare, showing no signs of budding. The evening wind carried a damp chill. Cen Sen tilted his head back slightly and asked, "Still no answer?"
Zhou Jiaheng lowered his gaze and replied, "No one picked up, but the line is connected. The driver said that after Madam arrived there, she told him to head back first."
The private car slowly pulled up to the portico. Cen Sen didn’t ask further, simply allowing Zhou Jiaheng to open the car door for him.
Once inside, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, feigning rest. In the dim evening light, the expression on his face remained unclear.
By the time they reached the neighborhood where Ji Mingshu was conducting her follow-up visit, the nearby elementary school had long since fallen silent, but the square dancing groups were just hitting their daily—and occasionally twice-daily—peak moments.
Right outside the neighborhood, four different dance teams were performing, each with distinct styles and music. Combined with the elderly gentlemen nearby playing the erhu and singing opera, the evening’s cultural showcase successfully spanned eras and cultures, both ancient and modern.
The dancing itself wasn’t the issue—the real problem was that they had blocked the neighborhood’s main entrance. The security guard from the gatehouse was nowhere to be found, likely off enjoying himself somewhere. The Maybach could neither move forward nor back up.
Cen Sen signaled the driver to stop, then got out and walked toward the entrance.
But even on foot, progress wasn’t smooth. In just two hundred meters, he was stopped three times by aunties inquiring about his marital status.
By the time he finally shook them off and entered the neighborhood, it was nearly eight o’clock.
In this old neighborhood, the streetlights were sparse, as if reluctant to shine even half a lamp brighter. Only the windows of the homes offered some illumination.
Some were watching TV, the sounds shifting between heart-wrenching drama and cheerful laughter.
Others were just starting to cook dinner at this hour, the sizzle of stir-frying mingling with the scent of oil wafting through the air.
Some were helping their children with homework, and even from a distance of thirty meters, one could sense the parents’ frustration and anger at their child’s perceived shortcomings.
Somehow, this environment gave Cen Sen a long-lost sense of familiarity.
—"My uncle and aunt keep complaining at home that the show is full of scammers and con artists, saying it’s made the place unlivable. Aside from the free appliances they gave, everything else is just for show."
—"Miss Ji, I’m really sorry about this. I know you designers have your own ideas, and you’ve been trying your best to meet all the requirements we mentioned before. But we never expected it to turn out like this."
—"Living is about practicality. Look, there isn’t even a closet for storing thick winter quilts—how are we supposed to live here? The lights you installed are nice to look at, sure, but they take up a whole square meter of space. Our apartment isn’t that big to begin with, and the lights aren’t even that bright. They’re just in the way."
...
Ji Mingshu sat on a stone bench by the flower bed, hugging her knees, lost in a daze.
That afternoon, after peering through the security door and seeing the completely unrecognizable remodeled apartment, she happened to run into the homeowners, Mr. and Mrs. Wang, returning from work.
They seemed a bit embarrassed to see her, but after giving her a tour of the apartment, their embarrassment turned into outright complaints.
She left the fruit basket, forced herself to maintain her politeness as she left, and felt completely drained. She didn’t want to do anything or say anything—she just sat downstairs, lost in thought.
Her taste had been praised since she was a child. In college, like many socialites, she took design as an elective. While others chose jewelry design or fashion design, she picked spatial design to stand out from the crowd.
Fortunately, she was good at it. Her teachers often praised her for her creativity and vision.After marrying Cen Sen, she didn't work, but that was only because she didn't want to—she never once doubted her own capabilities.
When she ran away from home before, she wanted to prove to Cen Sen that she wasn't incapable without him. As she wished, she designed a fashion show for Chris Chou, gaining both fame and fortune in a glorious way.
So even now, she firmly believes that if she, Ji Mingshu, wants to do something well, she can definitely do it well.
—Of course, her confidence only lasted until six o'clock this afternoon.
"Are you cold?"
Cen Sen was clearly not a top performer in the subject of comfort. His opening line was neither warm nor tender.
Ji Mingshu looked up and said slowly, "If I weren't cold, you wouldn't plan to give me your jacket, right?"
"Even if you were cold, I wouldn't plan to."
...?
Ji Mingshu thought she had misheard. What nonsense was this dog man saying?
"If you were going to catch a cold, you would have already. It's not about this moment."
Ji Mingshu: "..."
It was strange. She clearly wanted to curse him out, but deep down, she inexplicably agreed with Cen Sen's heartless capitalist pragmatism.
So when Cen Sen reached out his hand to her, she was as if bewitched, foolishly took it, and obediently stood up from the stone bench.
Cen Sen hadn't expected her to be so docile. Seeing her downcast and unhappy expression, the comforting thoughts he had prepared on the way over suddenly vanished without a trace.
"Did the follow-up results not match your expectations?"
He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Ji Mingshu, then ruffled her hair.
Ji Mingshu had already followed his cold and heartless logic and wasn't as aggrieved anymore, but when he inexplicably became gentle, the grievances she had been holding back for most of the night surged out twofold, and her desire to vent instantly peaked.
"It's not just not matching—it's completely different!"
Ji Mingshu rambled on and on, growing more upset as she spoke. "...We were supposed to prepare a gift for the homeowners in the end. Their profile said they could play the piano and had a music room at home before, so we prepared a new piano as the gift."
"Pianos are expensive. At the time, we didn't have enough funds left, so we had to follow the script set by the production team and work as salespeople in a mall. I even ruined a pair of high heels then, but they actually sold the piano!"
"The most important thing is that they said my design was just for show and not practical at all. You didn't see how disdainful their expressions were. Tell me... tell me, is my design really that bad?"
Ji Mingshu was so heartbroken that her voice began to tremble.
She looked at Cen Sen with teary eyes for a moment, then suddenly grabbed the buttons on his shirt, picking at his faults.
"You're so mean. You promised to pick me up at seven when it ended, but you didn't come until eight."
"Even Jiang Chun's Tang Zhizhou knows how to kiss, hug, and lift her up. You wouldn't even give me your jacket, deliberately trying to make me catch a cold and get sick."
"You don't like me at all. You're just a liar!"
When she said "liar," Ji Mingshu's voice was clearly choked with sobs. She hugged Cen Sen and rubbed her snot and tears all over his shirt.A sudden warmth soaked through his chest, and Cen Sen couldn't utter a single word of defense. He could only gently pat her shoulder and then softly stroke her head.
In that moment, Cen Sen suddenly realized he had fallen into a misconception.
When employees faced setbacks, he could indeed ruthlessly toss files at them, telling them to go back and reflect on how they couldn't even handle such trivial matters.
Because he was the boss, he needed to project an aura of authority that commanded respect.
But Ji Mingshu was not his employee—she was his wife.
His wife lacked a sense of security and relied heavily on him. Every time he showed even a little care, she would find immense comfort in it.
"Don't cry anymore. I'll make you pork ribs when we get back, okay?" His voice was low and slightly hoarse.
"Are you even human? You're... still thinking about pork ribs at a time like this!" Ji Mingshu sobbed intermittently, her words broken.
Cen Sen paused briefly, then explained after a moment of thought, "That's not what I meant. I can make whatever you want to eat."
Ji Mingshu leaned quietly against his chest and didn't respond.
Cen Sen didn't say anything more either. When Ji Mingshu's sobs gradually subsided, he gently lifted her face. With his slightly rough fingertips, he wiped away her tears as tenderly as possible, one by one. He even kissed her slightly reddened eyes.
"Mingshu, I like you. I'm not lying to you."
In the dimly lit night, Ji Mingshu saw her own reflection in his clear eyes and heard the sound of her heart beating.
After returning to the hotel, Cen Sen cooked.
In addition to the staple dish of braised pork ribs, he also made boiled fish slices. The tender black fish slices were marinated before being cooked, piled high in a bowl, white and delicate. Finally, he poured hot oil from a small pot over them, and the aroma of scallions, ginger, garlic, Sichuan peppercorns, and other spices mixed with the fragrance of the fish instantly filled the air.
Ji Mingshu's eyes were still red like a little rabbit's, but as she sat at the dining table, she couldn't help but swallow a few times.
Actually, she rarely ate much at night, but feeling sad and reading books also drained a lot of energy. The world wasn't worth it, and Cen Sen, that dog of a man, wasn't worth it either, but the pork ribs and boiled fish were definitely worth it.
After eating, Ji Mingshu seemed to regain her energy. She hugged Cen Sen's arm, leaned against his shoulder, and began reflecting and summarizing on her own, chattering away.
"Actually, it really was my fault for not thinking things through carefully. You told me before, but at the time, the plan was already hard to change. I only made a few adjustments, thinking it would be enough. It's mainly my problem."
"But I think there's a difference between designs for personal residences and hotels. Your Junyi hotels are positioned as high-end, focusing mainly on comfort and innovative design. I can't let this design setback make me create designs for you that are all about storage, right? That wouldn't be useful for designer hotels anyway. I should really go with you to check out some designer hotels—that's the proper thing to do."
...
That night, Ji Mingshu talked a lot.
Cen Sen also gave her some advice.
In the end, Ji Mingshu grew tired and actually fell asleep leaning against his shoulder.
Cen Sen picked her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and tucked her in.
After turning off the lights, he gently kissed her forehead. Remembering how she had tearfully complained that even Tang Zhizhou knew how to give kisses, hugs, and lifts, his heart suddenly softened. He whispered very, very softly into her ear, "Goodnight, baby."After speaking, he wanted to get up, but Ji Mingshu suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck. With a hint of triumphant delight at catching his little slip and a touch of drowsy charm, she said, "I heard it, I heard it! Say it again, hurry up, call me baby!"
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