Early the next morning, the sun shone brightly. Light penetrated through the lush greenery of the villa district, bringing a clarity that followed the recent rain.
Ji Mingshu opened her eyes, tilted her head up less than two centimeters, then fell back down again.
Her waist was restrained by a powerful arm, preventing her from moving. But at this moment, she didn’t particularly want to move anyway. Her entire body ached, and below her abdomen, there was a slight swelling and numbness.
Strangely, Cen Sen wasn’t a man of strong desires. Previously, they would have sex about once or twice a month, plainly satisfying basic needs, not even bothering to change positions. But last night, as if he had saved up two years of reserves wanting to indulge completely, he took her again and again, exhausting her until three in the morning before finally stopping.
For someone like him, would this be considered exceptional in bed? Ji Mingshu wasn’t entirely sure, as she had no other experiences for comparison.
She thought randomly for a while, then reached out to feel around the bedside table. Finding the remote, she pressed the curtain switch.
But as the curtains had barely opened halfway, Cen Sen half-squinted his eyes with furrowed brows, snatched the remote from her hand to close them again, then promptly returned his arm to her waist.
“Take your hand…”
Before she could finish saying “off,” Cen Sen had already withdrawn his hand and pulled up the blanket, muttering irritably in a low, hoarse voice: “Don’t make noise, sleep.”
—His furrowed brow revealed that he was genuinely annoyed by her chatter.
Emotionally detached after sex; it was typical of him.
Fortunately, Ji Mingshu wasn’t in a hurry to get up either. She gave him a moderate kick and then turned to lie on her other side, picking up her phone.
Last night’s banquet was still being discussed this morning, though the topics centered around celebrities.
As the absolute center of all group photos, Su Cheng was frequently mentioned. Fashion bloggers had named her as the best-dressed of the evening, and comments were predominantly praise, generally along the theme of “when the queen shows up, the commoners step aside.”
Ji Mingshu browsed through the content. All photos capturing Su Cheng were either missing half the frame or processed with distant, blurry effects. Even the official video released by “Zero Degrees” was the same.
This wasn’t particularly surprising, as Cen Sen had always maintained a low profile in the public eye.
However, after last night’s events, those who needed to know in their social circle were now well aware of the crown prince of Jing Jian’s return.
Jing Jian was the Cen family’s business enterprise, but its internal factions were extremely complicated, with years of continuous internal strife.
By this generation, Cen Yuanchao’s faction had become dominant, controlling key construction projects mentioned in official documents as well as the core revenue-generating Jun Yi Hotel Group, wielding absolute authority within Jing Jian.
But Cen Yuanchao’s health had not been promising in recent years, with several explicit and implicit trips to the emergency room.
His illness had caused the western wind to rise, and although it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the eastern wind, its jumping and thrashing had indeed stirred up considerable waves within Jing Jian.
As Cen Yuanchao’s only son, Cen Sen carried a heavy responsibility, but his abilities matched his responsibilities. Despite appearing refined, handsome, modest, and gentle, his actions were famously sharp and clean. Among the younger generation, few dared to directly challenge him.
Moreover, Cen Sen was known to be harsh on others but even harsher on himself. To ally with the Ji family and suppress the southern Cen branch, he didn’t even blink when deciding to marry Ji Mingshu, a notoriously spoiled young lady from Beijing and Shanghai’s high society.
When the news of the Cen-Ji marriage alliance first broke, everyone found it incredible. Many even believed that announcing the engagement was merely a temporary measure, and the wedding would never actually take place.
But as the engagement banquet proceeded as scheduled and Cen Sen was transferred from Huazhang Holdings under Jun Yi back to the group headquarters as the Development Director, the crown prince’s intention to enter the Eastern Palace with the help of this marriage alliance became increasingly evident.
From the announcement of the engagement to the period after the wedding when the bride returned to visit her family, topics surrounding Cen Sen and Ji Mingshu never ceased.
It wasn’t until half a year after the wedding that gossip about the couple gradually faded from casual conversations.
But just then, Cen Sen suddenly proposed a transfer to Jun Yi’s overseas division, stating that he would be stationed in Australia to develop the overseas market.
This naturally caused another uproar.
When Cen Sen had just been transferred back to Jun Yi headquarters, he had pushed through opposition to launch a sub-brand called “Water Cloud Interval” focused on the concept of “hot spring resorts.”
At that time, few people thought well of the project. His forceful promotion of it without immediate results inevitably led to resistance from the group’s upper management in other areas.
Yet he never yielded, only ruthlessly purging the minor factions. Under his thunderous methods, he temporarily achieved “complete dominance.”
Having persevered through the pressure until the hotel’s completion, at the height of success when he should have been advancing further, Cen Sen suddenly made this move to transfer overseas, which was indeed puzzling.
In the blink of an eye, two years had passed. Nowadays, when hot spring hotels are mentioned, everyone, whether they can afford to stay there or not, would instinctively think of Jun Yi’s Water Cloud Interval.
Such a deeply ingrained brand impression was a silent but most direct affirmation.
And now Cen Sen had quietly returned without fanfare, which inevitably stirred up people’s long-dormant curiosity. From last night to this morning, there had been intense private discussions.
Ji Mingshu had also received a bombardment of messages. In WeChat, the red unread notifications were dense; just from the previews, she knew they were all asking about Cen Sen in various ways.
Gu Kaiyang didn’t probe into Cen Sen’s thoughts but sent voice messages early in the morning to tease:
“Not up yet?”
“Mr. Cen’s skills in bed are extraordinary.”
Ji Mingshu only opened the first message, but before she could bring it to her ear to listen, the second message automatically played through the speaker function.
She instinctively wanted to pause it, but her hand speed didn’t match the speech speed. By the time she pressed it, the voice message had just finished, and pausing it turned into replaying: “Mr. Cen’s skills in bed are extraordinary.”
All around was silence, with the teasing mixed with faint electrical currents repeating twice, somewhat like a listener’s lingering confirmation and affirmation.
Ji Mingshu anxiously pricked up her ears—
The previously even breathing behind her seemed to have stopped.
She froze, slowly stuffed the phone under her pillow in slow motion, her body tense and straight, her toes involuntarily curling.
Cen Sen was already awake.
He was sleeping on the left side of the bed and glanced at Ji Mingshu’s thin, rigid back, silently sneering.
Before long, he threw back the covers and got up.
Ji Mingshu heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the bed and immediately closed her eyes, though her eyelashes still fluttered up and down uncontrollably.
Soon, the footsteps approached her, and she inexplicably held her breath. In that brief moment, her mind had already simulated several ways to retort without losing face.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Thirty seconds.
Those footsteps came near and then moved away, until the sound of running water came from the bathroom. Only then did Ji Mingshu realize—Cen Sen couldn’t be bothered to expose her pretense of sleep.
Somehow, a feeling of frustration rose in her heart. She opened her eyes and stared at the bathroom for a few seconds, then suddenly threw back the covers and leaned heavily against the headboard as if venting her anger.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a stack of documents on Cen Sen’s bedside table. She leaned over, struggling to reach forward, stretching for quite some time before barely managing to grab them.
“Jun Yi Group Designer Hotel Development Proposal.”
Ji Mingshu had initially just grabbed them to vent her frustration, but upon seeing the title on the cover, her expression involuntarily changed.
When Cen Sen came out of the bathroom, he saw Ji Mingshu leaning against the headboard, seriously reading through the materials.
Her nightgown, ravaged throughout the night, was flipped up irregularly. Her legs were stretched out and crossed, appearing long, straight, and blindingly white.
Ji Mingshu noticed his movement but was reluctant to take her eyes off the documents. She asked while still reading: “Is Jun Yi building a designer hotel?”
Cen Sen made an affirmative sound, slightly lifting his chin as he buttoned the first button of his shirt collar.
Ji Mingshu didn’t say anything more and continued turning pages.
She was the only girl of her generation in the Ji family. Although her parents died early, her aunts and uncles were famously doting on her. After graduating from university and marrying into the Cen family of Jing Jian, she firmly secured her position as the top socialite in the capital’s elite circle.
Her daily routine consisted of being invited to various parties and, when free, jet-setting around the world for vacations—living an easy life that everyone envied.
Perhaps no one remembered that she was a top graduate from SCAD’s Interior Design program, not an empty-headed vase who only knew how to shop.
“I remember you studied Interior Design at SCAD before. Interested?” Cen Sen suddenly asked.
Ji Mingshu looked up, staring at him for a few seconds, completely surprised that her husband of convenience remembered this.
After a good while, Ji Mingshu came back to her senses. She secretly concealed her delighted interest and mentally prepared a haughty response, as if a princess condescending to grant him a favor.
But before Her Highness could open her royal mouth, Cen Sen continued: “When the hotel is completed in a while, I’ll have someone take you for an early tour.”
…?
“A tour?”
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of participating in the design?” He dismissed the idea without a thought. “Not possible. The hotel is not a place for you to practice.”
Ji Mingshu couldn’t help saying: “Yesterday’s banquet venue was designed by me.”
Cen Sen paused, turned to look at her. “So it was your design.”
A sudden realization, followed by a meaningful look.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that’s even more reason why you can’t be involved.”
He methodically put on his watch, eyes half-lowered, making a definitive statement.
Ji Mingshu was already feeling a bit guilty. Hearing his words, her ears turned red, and she instantly sat up straight.
“Last night wasn’t my true level!”
Her voice suddenly rose by eight degrees, perfectly demonstrating what it means to compensate for a lack of reason with volume.
Cen Sen almost smiled, his eyebrows lifting very slightly, patiently waiting for her explanation.
It was a long story. Yesterday’s banquet had long ago settled on a “Round Table” theme, echoing the first issue of “Zero Degrees” from ten years ago.
But just as Ji Mingshu had finished drawing the blueprints, the group headquarters and sponsors suddenly had a falling out, and funding immediately became tight.
Fashion needs money above all else. “Zero Degrees” refused to simplify the event, but headquarters wouldn’t allocate more funds. After a week of wrangling, both sides reluctantly reached an agreement to combine the tenth-anniversary fashion banquet with the charity banquet originally scheduled for the next quarter, holding it earlier.
With the charity label attached, playing with fashion concepts and party themes obviously wasn’t very appropriate, which meant that the previous venue design plan needed to be completely scrapped.
Ji Mingshu detested changes the most and had a big ego. The last time she had worked was two years ago when she designed the early spring runway show for Chris Chou’s first participation in Milan Fashion Week. If it weren’t for giving face to Gu Kaiyang, she wouldn’t have bothered with the “Zero Degrees” case at all. In the end, they dared to propose completely scrapping the design draft—when she heard about this, she directly hung up on the editor-in-chief without any courtesy.
Ji Mingshu’s original intention was to walk away and let whoever wanted to do it take over, but she couldn’t resist Gu Kaiyang’s persistent persuasion and eventually created a new plan.
However, with time constraints and having to start from scratch, the new plan was somewhat perfunctory. The final presentation of the venue was conventional, not lacking in luxury, but completely devoid of distinctiveness.
Ji Mingshu herself wasn’t satisfied with last night’s venue, but as she was about to defend herself, she realized she didn’t have much ground to stand on. Her lips moved several times, but nothing came out. Dejectedly, she knelt on the bed.
Cen Sen had already dressed and was preparing to leave. Seeing that she hadn’t said anything substantial, he wasn’t surprised. His gaze just cooled slightly. “What’s the use of kneeling to me? You might as well make three bows and nine kowtows at the Potala Palace—perhaps that could move heaven and earth.”