Her hands had been outstretched for more than ten seconds when she was finally embraced by a somewhat cool pair of arms. Then her body lifted into the air as she was completely picked up.
The X-rated version of Cen Sen in her dream did seem gentler.
Ji Mingshu nestled closer into his embrace and mumbled a reminder, “I have my period.”
The subtext being: don’t even think about doing anything, even in this dream.
Cen Sen had no idea what she was thinking. When he heard her mention her period in her sleep, his first thought was to avoid staining the sheets, so he found a blanket from the wardrobe and placed it under her.
These days, bosses are as considerate of hotel cleaning staff as he were probably rare.
After settling Ji Mingshu, Cen Sen wanted to get up, but she was particularly clingy when she felt unwell and still had her arms around his neck, refusing to let go. He had to use some force to pry her hands away and finally managed to tuck them under the covers.
Twenty minutes later, after Cen Sen had showered and gotten into bed to rest, Ji Mingshu rolled into his arms as if equipped with a temperature sensor. She held him tightly with both hands, constantly nuzzling against his chest. Her lips, lacking much color, also pressed against his chest, their temperature faint.
Cen Sen had initially planned to push her away, but she unconsciously kissed his chest lightly, creating a soft, tingling sensation.
Cen Sen paused briefly, his compassion that hadn’t surfaced in ages suddenly having a momentary revival. He turned to face her direction and pulled her closer into his arms.
The night passed without dreams.
Early the next morning, Ji Mingshu awoke from her river of blood to find Cen Sen beside her. For a moment, she thought she was back at Mingshui Mansion.
After recognizing the hotel decor, she poked Cen Sen with a finger.
—No response, but he was alive.
How did he end up here?
Ji Mingshu didn’t know that Cen Sen had business engagements in the capital last night. She thought he had departed for Xingcheng right after sending her that message.
That’s why, after arriving in Xingcheng yesterday, she deliberately hadn’t contacted him, not wanting to stay together.
Who knew he would be so persistent and come to find her anyway?
Becoming more alert, Ji Mingshu lifted the thin blanket and carefully moved off the bed while holding her stomach.
It wasn’t that she wanted to preserve Cen Sen’s sleep quality; she simply couldn’t make any large movements. With the slightest carelessness, the river of blood below would surge dramatically like a second dam breach.
Only after entering the bathroom and settling on the toilet did she finally reach a temporary safety zone.
She rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her face in her hands.
After a while, feeling bored, she picked up her phone and scrolled through it.
There were many unread messages on her phone. Besides the usual greetings from her spendthrift genuine and fake sisters, her often-absent sister-in-law Cen Yingshuang had also sent her a WeChat message.
Cen Yingshuang: [Xiao Shu, did you go to Xingcheng with Asen? Will you be staying there for several months?]
Ji Mingshu replied without much thought, sending a “nodding Little Maruko” emoji and typing: “Yes, about one or two months.”
After replying, her fingers paused as she suddenly recalled something.
Her sister-in-law was usually immersed in her experiments and wouldn’t care whether they were abroad, in the capital, or Xingcheng. This message was probably asked on behalf of the family.
Were they concerned that… Cen Sen might have some entanglement with the An family if he stayed too long in Xingcheng. But hadn’t the An family emigrated years ago?
Ji Mingshu only knew bits and pieces about the Cen family’s past. When Cen Yang left when she was young, she believed the adults’ white lies that Cen Yang had simply gone abroad to study.
It was only after growing up that she learned some of the cause and effect, but the Cen family was tight-lipped about it, so outsiders knew very little.
Soon, Cen Yingshuang sent another message.
This message confirmed Ji Mingshu’s guess.
Cen Yingshuang: [Xiao Shu, you probably know something about the An family. They’ve recently returned to Xingcheng. Grandfather is worried, so if Asen has any contact with them, please let me know.]
The An family has returned to Xingcheng? Then it made sense that the old man would be worried.
Ji Mingshu thought for a long time, repeatedly typing and deleting, before finally sending out a simple “Okay.”
Just telling the family should be fine, right? Besides, Cen Sen might not even contact the An family, and even if he did, he might not let her know.
After mentally preparing herself for playing spy, Ji Mingshu finally felt less guilty. She got up, washed her hands, and prepared to go back to bed for some more sleep.
But as soon as she pushed the door open, she saw Cen Sen standing outside, as if he was about to knock.
Her heart skipped a beat, and her drowsiness instantly vanished.
“You’re, you’re awake,” she stammered.
“What is it?” Cen Sen looked at her calmly.
“Nothing,” Ji Mingshu faltered, then asked, “Um… why are you here? I got quite a shock seeing you when I woke up.”
Cen Sen briefly explained, of course, omitting any mention of Li Wenyin.
From what he said, it seemed he already knew she was going to participate in the show. Ji Mingshu smoothly changed the subject: “By the way, I’m going to the TV station this afternoon to sign a contract. Can I borrow your lawyer?”
“Mm, I’ll have Zhou Jiaheng arrange it for you.”
Ji Mingshu nodded and stepped aside to let Cen Sen pass.
Cen Sen entered the bathroom, and she thoughtfully helped close the door.
After the door closed, she held onto the doorknob and let out a long sigh of relief.
Xingcheng was always hotter than the capital. Approaching the end of summer, the afternoon still had temperatures close to 40 degrees. The camphor trees along the road were baked translucent, their leaves drooping downward, becoming an indispensable part of the lazy afternoon cityscape.
Ji Mingshu finished lunch, took a beauty nap, then spent two hours getting ready, barely meeting her standard for going out in public.
The driver and lawyer dozed off and on in the car. At three in the afternoon, they finally picked up Ji Mingshu and set off for the Xingcheng Broadcasting and Television Building.
The person responsible for receiving Ji Mingshu was a production assistant from the “Designer” program. At first, Ji Mingshu was quite unhappy—it was an eye-opener that someone would dare send an assistant to receive her.
But somehow, she put herself in the other’s shoes and thought, well, an assistant is fine, the young lady must have it tough too.
This young assistant had never seen an ordinary participant with such a commanding presence. Before exchanging many words, she already felt several degrees inferior in terms of aura.
Fortunately, the contract had been drafted in advance by the production team. All ordinary participants used the same template; she just needed to oversee the signing.
But Ji Mingshu didn’t take the contract. Instead, she looked at the man sitting on another sofa, “Lawyer Wang, please review this for me.”
The assistant: “…”
Even bringing her lawyer, this was too much.
The man addressed as Lawyer Wang took the contract, put on his glasses, and carefully reviewed it.
“Clause 1.12 imposes privacy constraints only on my client, Ms. Ji, but makes no requirements for the production team regarding privacy constraints. I find this unreasonable.”
“Clause 2.09 has an overly vague definition of copyright ownership. The copyright for works designed by my client during the program should unconditionally belong to my client.”
“Clause 3.01’s definition of promotional content for managing my client’s social media accounts is too broad, and there are no appropriate time constraints, which is very unreasonable.”
…
Lawyer Wang rattled off more than a dozen loopholes in one breath, with a tone that seemed to carry a hint of reproach for the program’s legal department’s lack of rigor.
The young assistant was completely dumbfounded.
She’s not even a celebrity—how could an ordinary participant have so many demands about the contract? Everyone else just signs without even looking.
She collected herself and said calmly, “Um, Ms. Ji, our contracts here are all standardized templates. Everyone signs the same one. There won’t be any problems.”
Lawyer Wang: “You are not the program director. Your assurance has no legal significance whatsoever.”
The assistant: “…”
Ji Mingshu had just hypnotized herself into accepting being received by an assistant, but now Lawyer Wang had pointed out so many loopholes in the contract. Her already not-so-great temper instantly revealed its true nature: “Call your supervisor over.”
The producer is busy receiving Li Che, how would they have time for you?
The assistant silently fumed but stood there motionless.
Ji Mingshu didn’t have that much patience. As she put on her sunglasses, she said, “Since your production team shows so little sincerity, perhaps it’s better not to sign this contract at all.”
“Wait, Ms. Ji!” Although she was just an ordinary participant, the assistant couldn’t let the contract fall apart in her hands. She hurriedly apologized, “I’m truly sorry. Our contracts, including those for celebrities and artists, are all based on this template with some modifications. If Ms. Ji is dissatisfied, I’ll contact the producer right away to see if we can make some adjustments.”
Now that sounded more reasonable.
The assistant asked her to wait a moment, then hurriedly went to another VIP reception room on the same floor.
Li Che had come to record for the program today. After recording, he was supposed to sign a contract with them. The producer was personally receiving him, explaining the contract terms one by one to the legal counsel he had brought along.
Just as they were about to finalize things, the assistant came to knock on the door.
The producer asked, “What is it? Has Ms. Ji signed already?”
“Ms….Ms. Ji brought a lawyer,” the assistant stammered, “The lawyer thinks some clauses in the contract are unreasonable and need to be revised.”
The producer frowned, thinking exactly what the assistant had thought earlier: she’s not a celebrity, who would want to take advantage of her? Making such a fuss about being on Xingcheng TV’s program—she doesn’t know her place.
This producer had some acquaintance with Meng Xiaowei and had originally wanted to invite Meng Xiaowei and Li Che, the on-screen CP, to stir up some buzz.
But Meng Xiaowei and Li Che had already agreed privately to untie their partnership, making it less suitable for them to record programs together.
A few days ago, Meng Xiaowei had strongly recommended Ji Mingshu to the producer. On one hand, she thought Ji Mingshu was very suitable for this program, and doing a favor by recommending her wasn’t a bad thing. On the other hand, she thought that Ji Mingshu had a good image and temperament, and if they could pair her with Li Che to create a CP, that would be even better.
The producer also thought her idea was good and confirmed Ji Mingshu, even creating an initial plan.
But yesterday, the sponsor was very dissatisfied with their planning, not allowing Li Che and Ji Mingshu to be paired as a CP, nor permitting Ji Mingshu to be a focus of filming.
After trying to understand the main sponsor’s intentions, they felt the sponsor didn’t want other designers to steal the spotlight from the two they wanted to promote. Their enthusiasm for Ji Mingshu had cooled considerably.
Now hearing that Ji Mingshu was dissatisfied with the contract, the producer immediately wanted to have the assistant convey the message “sign it or don’t, if you don’t, then leave.”
But Li Che suddenly smiled, “Ms. Ji? I know her.”
He pushed the contract on the table forward, “Why not use the same template as mine for Ms. Ji?”