On an autumn afternoon, the sunshine was warm and gentle, and the breeze was pleasant.

But as the “beep” of the disconnected line rang out from the phone, with Cen Sen at the center, the surrounding temperature rapidly dropped to freezing.

Divorce?

Had Ji Mingshu just mentioned divorce?

Shu Yang, less perceptive than the sun now hiding behind clouds, blurted out “Holy shit!” His mouth running ahead of his brain as he asked in surprise: “You and Li Wenyin rekindled your old flame? When did this happen? Damn, Sen, what have you done? And Ji Mingshu found out! What now?”

Cen Sen didn’t respond, instead speed-dialing Zhou Jiaheng, his voice deep, “Make arrangements, return to the capital immediately.”

Hearing this, Jiang Che put down his golf club and patted his shoulder without saying a word.

Zhao Yang also remained silent, but the questions on his mind were the same as Shu Yang’s.

This was understandable—both were men who lived surrounded by women, playboys who had seen countless women, with no concept or principles of loyalty to love or marriage.

Now thinking that Cen Sen had cheated with Li Wenyin and had been caught by Ji Mingshu, their thoughts leaned toward how to protect their brother’s interests.

After Cen Sen left, the two continued discussing while playing golf.

Shu Yang: “Didn’t expect Li Wenyin to have such charm. She’s only been back for a short while, and they’ve hooked up again.”

Zhao Yang considered for a moment, then said: “It’s probably her personality. Ji Mingshu’s personality is difficult—most men really can’t handle it.”

Shu Yang: “That’s true. Hey, do you think they’ll divorce?”

Zhao Yang: “How could they? You think Ji Rusong and Ji Rubai are dead? Without Jing Jian backing them up, would the Ji family still be the Ji family we know? But this mainly depends on Sen’s intentions. If he wants a divorce, they’d divorce even without this incident.”

“You’re right,” Shu Yang nodded. “But Old Mr. Cen and Mrs. Cen both like Ji Mingshu so much, they definitely wouldn’t agree. And Uncle Cen… let me tell you, even if they divorce, Li Wenyin could never be accepted into the family—she wouldn’t get past Uncle Cen’s scrutiny.”

Hearing this, Zhao Yang scoffed lightly, “Come on, who’s talking about her joining the family? Haven’t you figured out that Sen has no intention of divorcing? Why else would he rush back so quickly? Ji Mingshu was just saying things in the heat of the moment—why are you worrying about nonsense?”

…

The two became increasingly animated in their discussion. Less than five minutes after Cen Sen left, they were already discussing how property should be divided after the divorce.

Jiang Che’s attitude toward marriage had always differed from theirs, but these were his brothers, so he didn’t feel it appropriate to say much. Gazing toward the distant green, he only commented flatly, “Stop talking, mind your own business.”

Admittedly, Jiang Che’s advice to “mind your own business” was quite insightful, but unfortunately, his warning wasn’t forceful enough. In the time it took to turn around, Zhao Yang and Shu Yang—those two big mouths—had accidentally let the news slip.

The marriage between the Cen and Ji families had already attracted considerable attention in their small circle. This sudden change naturally spread rapidly, one telling ten, ten telling a hundred.

By evening, after the story had transformed through multiple retellings, it had reached the ears of the Ji family.

Ji Mingshu first received calls from her first and second aunts.

They said similar things, both saying they’d heard she wanted a divorce and calling to ask about the situation. They also said that if Cen Sen had bullied her or made her suffer any grievances, the Ji family would help her seek justice.

The women who married into the Ji family were all from prominent families, with good upbringings and impeccable conversational skills.

If not for those classic lines about “encouraging reconciliation rather than separation” at the end, Ji Mingshu might have truly believed they were calling simply to protect her.

She gave perfunctory responses, her mood seeming to sink into an icy pool after already hitting rock bottom.

Perhaps her lack of clarity gave the Ji family a sense of crisis. After the two aunts finished their persuasion, her first uncle, Ji Rusong, called personally.

“Xiao Shu, what’s going on between you and Ah Sen? Why is everyone suddenly saying you want to divorce him?”

Ji Rusong didn’t beat around the bush but got straight to the point, his voice as always gentle yet not lacking the authority of a superior.

Ji Mingshu was crouching on the floor, packing her luggage. Having received several consecutive calls, she wasn’t surprised by Ji Rusong’s inquiry.

She put the phone on speaker and set it aside, her tone calm, “I’m the one who suggested it, Uncle. I can’t go on living with him anymore.”

“So it was you who suggested it?” Ji Rusong hadn’t believed it at first, but hearing this, he finally grew anxious, “Xiao Shu, how can you be so willful!”

Ji Mingshu lowered her eyes without responding.

Ji Rusong was still at the company, holding the phone in one hand with the other behind his back, feeling quite frustrated by his niece’s behavior.

He tried to calm himself down, “Xiao Shu, I won’t beat around the bush with you. You’re an adult; you can’t just act on your whims! Do you know how important the Nanwan project that Jing Jian and I are collaborating on is right now?”

“Times have changed. Jing Jian doesn’t necessarily need to work with the Ji family, but if we don’t work with Jing Jian, who else could handle this project? All development would have to stop!”

He sighed, then continued earnestly, “And your second uncle—he’s worked diligently for decades, never daring to make a single misstep! Do you think his current position is easy to maintain? Without Jing Jian’s support, how many eyes are watching, waiting to pull him down!”

Ji Rusong’s reproachful yet restrained words made Ji Mingshu’s already chaotic mind even more confused.

She slowly put down the clothes in her hands and gradually raised both hands to cover her face.

If Ji Rusong had immediately launched into a merciless scolding, she could have righteously claimed that they had raised her only for this marriage alliance, no different from raising courtesans in ancient times, and that they had no right to take the position of elders and criticize her.

But Ji Rusong hadn’t done that.

She knew better than anyone that though Ji Rusong and Ji Rubai’s care for her had ulterior motives, their efforts weren’t entirely insincere.

When she was little, schoolmates had mocked her for not having parents, calling her a wild child picked up from a garbage heap. She had cried and run to complain to Ji Rusong.

After learning about it, Ji Rusong had rushed back from out of town without hesitation to speak with the school leadership.

When taking her home after school, Ji Rusong had bought her ice cream and, while holding her hand and walking toward the compound, patiently comforted her: “Xiao Shu is the Ji family’s little princess—how could she be a wild child picked up from a garbage heap? Next time someone talks nonsense, remember to tell Uncle, and Uncle will help you catch the bad people, okay?”

The deliberately slowed steps of an adult and the narrow alley had long since yellowed with time, but remembering them now, all the details remained as clear as yesterday.

Her nose suddenly stung, and tears fell uncontrollably.

After a long while, she choked back sobs and said into the phone, “Uncle, I’m sorry, but I… I don’t want to continue like this anymore. I feel terrible; I’m in so much pain right now.”

She couldn’t bear to imagine scenes of Cen Sen with Li Wenyin, nor did she dare to deeply consider Li Wenyin’s words. Even less could she convince herself that she was only angry at Cen Sen for humiliating her.

It was supposed to be just a marriage of convenience, but suddenly other elements had been introduced, making even interests no longer pure.

The evening sun was like liquid salted egg yolk, orange with hints of red.

Ji Rusong stood by the window, suddenly falling silent.

He remembered when Ji Mingshu, orphaned after her parents’ deaths, was brought back to the Ji family’s old house—it had been during just such a twilight.

Back then, the little girl was like a small pink dumpling, wearing a puffy princess dress, clutching a beautiful doll, still innocent to the ways of the world.

When the little girl saw him, her eyes curved into a smile. The housekeeper taught her to call him “Uncle,” but when she tried, it came out as the funny “luobu bu” (radish).

In those days, the Ji family patriarch was still alive, and he had just taken over part of the Huadian business, full of youthful vigor, genuinely loving his younger brother’s little daughter from the bottom of his heart.

Unlike now, after weathering countless storms, when all emotions had faded. Strangely, as people age, they seem to become increasingly constrained by circumstances.

He leaned on the window railing, his voice gradually softening, “Xiao Shu, I’m not trying to force you, I just hope you can consider the Ji family a little. You’re not in a good emotional state right now, so I won’t say more. You can calm down first, then talk properly with Ah Sen.”

Ji Mingshu hugged her legs, burying her head in the crook of her arm, remaining silent for a long time.

Ji Rusong sighed and hung up the phone himself.

By the time Cen Sen returned to Mingshui Mansion, it was already nine in the evening. Tomorrow probably wouldn’t be a sunny day; there wasn’t a single star in the night sky.

The door to the master bedroom on the second floor wasn’t closed, and the lights in the dressing room were on. Two suitcases with monogram logos were placed by the door.

Cen Sen’s expression remained unchanged as he approached the dressing room and looked at Ji Mingshu, who was crouching inside, packing her luggage. He asked softly, “Where are you planning to go?”

Ji Mingshu’s back stiffened, but she neither turned around nor answered.

“Bocui Tianhua?”

“Your second uncle just called me. He thinks you need to stay at home and calm down properly.”

The apartment at Bocui Tianhua had been given by Ji Rubai. Compared to Ji Rusong, Ji Rubai’s heart had always been several degrees harder.

Ji Mingshu understood his meaning, abruptly standing up and turning to stare at Cen Sen for a few seconds. She abandoned her packing, grabbed the suitcase by the door, and moved to leave.

But Cen Sen suddenly reached out and blocked her.

“What are you doing?”

Ji Mingshu lowered her eyelids, her voice turning cold.

Cen Sen gave her a deep look, “Ji Mingshu, that’s what I should be asking you.”

The two stood offset by one position, frozen in the posture of her being blocked as she tried to brush past him.

Tired from the long journey, Cen Sen’s voice was deep and hoarse, carrying a hint of inexplicable irritation.

“Li Wenyin’s film wasn’t my investment decision, and I never intended to humiliate you. Before you lose your temper, you could ask me first. I can’t drop everything I’m doing every time to come back and deal with your momentary displeasure and young lady’s temper.”

Hearing the latter part, Ji Mingshu suddenly wanted to laugh, “So now you think I’m just momentarily unhappy and throwing a tantrum, is that right?”

She let go of the suitcase and looked up at the tall man in front of her, raising her voice to question, “You say you didn’t approve the investment for Li Wenyin’s film, but is it true that Jun Yi is investing in her movie?”

Cen Sen’s expression remained cold, and he didn’t respond.

“So it is true?”

Ji Mingshu felt her internal organs aching with anger. Her voice grew louder and her speech faster, “Your company is investing in your first love’s film meant to commemorate your pure love, and now you want to tell me you knew nothing about it, or even that now that you know, you have no right to stop it? Cen Sen, you’re twenty-seven years old—are you telling me you only understand work and not human relationships, that you don’t even understand something as basic as avoiding impropriety?!”

“It’s not what you imagine. She approached Jun Yi for investment through Director Chen’s introduction. Director Chen and my father are old acquaintances, and it wasn’t appropriate to refuse him, so I had her go through the normal evaluation process at our investment subsidiary.”

Cen Sen believed he was being extremely patient, and his explanation was objective: “She got this investment because the evaluation team believed her film could generate returns higher than the investment amount. In the end, whether to invest or not had nothing to do with me.”

“Nothing to do with you?” Ji Mingshu laughed bitterly in extreme anger. As she continued, her voice became increasingly trembling and choked, “Are you telling me your subordinates are so insensitive? If you had shown any indication of wanting to avoid this connection, wouldn’t they have sensed it and proactively avoided it?!”

She nodded, “Fine, I won’t pursue these points. Now that you know she’s received investment from Jun Yi, you know what she’s planning to film—call right now and have the group cancel the investment, call right now and blacklist this film!”

“Ji Mingshu, I think you need to calm down.”

Cen Sen’s voice was very deep as he gripped her hand that was trying to break free.

Ji Mingshu looked at him, and without warning, tears suddenly rolled down her cheeks.

She forcefully broke free from Cen Sen’s restraint and wiped her face with the back of her hand, but the tears fell in streams, impossible to wipe away completely.

Cen Sen felt an inexplicable irritation rising from the depths of his heart.

Ji Mingshu backed up two steps, “I’m very calm now. You won’t do it, right? Or is it that you can’t? The Mr. Cen of Jun Yi, the Mr. Cen of Jing Jian—is it so difficult for you to blacklist a film that hasn’t even started shooting? Is it that you can’t do it, or are you unwilling to do it? If you’re unwilling, fine, let’s divorce. I’ve had enough!”

By the end, Ji Mingshu was on the verge of collapse, hysterical.

All those emotions hidden in the depths of her heart, those she was unwilling to confront, were now pouring out uncontrollably.

Her face was covered in tears, her shoulders and fingers trembling.

That’s right.

She, Ji Mingshu, was indeed a vicious supporting character.

She had liked Cen Sen for many years but was unwilling to face her true emotions, unwilling to admit it.

She was jealous, jealous that Li Wenyin had been given the Cinderella success script since childhood, jealous that Li Wenyin, despite being inferior to her in looks, figure, and family background, had once won Cen Sen’s heart, and that whenever she reappeared, Cen Sen would feel sympathy for her. Meanwhile, Ji Mingshu had been married to Cen Sen for three years, yet he didn’t like her and never would!

If it were just a business marriage, she could have deceived herself and pretended to be deaf and blind, but why did it have to be Li Wenyin? Had he not considered her feelings for even a second? He knew what her relationship with Li Wenyin was like—why would he do this?

“Stop making a scene.”

Hearing Ji Mingshu demand that he blacklist Li Wenyin or else divorce, Cen Sen felt she was being somewhat unreasonable at the moment.

“I’m not making a scene. Cen Sen, I’m serious—let’s get divorced.”

She pried Cen Sen’s fingers open one by one, her voice broken and intermittent, with the calmness that follows exhaustion.

She absolutely would not allow this ridiculous marriage to have its last shred of dignity stripped away by Li Wenyin, this lingering ex. Cen Sen could dislike her, could not love her, but he could not maintain their marriage while keeping ties with Li Wenyin—not.

Cen Sen felt his temples throbbing, the irritation in his heart becoming increasingly apparent. Some words he was unwilling to clarify somehow escaped without thought.

“Divorce? You’ve mentioned divorce time and again—do you think you’d be more comfortable after divorcing than you are now? Ji Mingshu, what can you do without me?”

“Ask yourself honestly, after divorce, would the Ji family still treat you the same way? How many people in your circle would still be willing to accompany you? You’re not a child anymore; you need to take responsibility for your words and actions.”

Ji Mingshu closed her eyes briefly, “Yes, I’m incapable of anything, I can’t do anything, I’m just a canary you keep! So you’ve never valued me, never respected me. Not just you—your friends, my family—they all think without you, I’d be a helpless wreck who can’t even walk independently!”

“I’m not as good as Li Wenyin. I don’t have her talent or her shamelessness—breaking up but still using the excuse of commemorating the past to entangle with an ex! And I’m not as capable as her, actually getting her ex to slap his wife’s face to fulfill her dreams! So now I want to fly away—is that okay? Even if I fly out and get struck by lightning, it’s none of your business! Get out of my way!”

Ji Mingshu forcefully pushed past Cen Sen, this time not even taking the suitcase as she tried to leave.

Since Cen Sen had made it so clear that everything she had came from him, she wouldn’t be shameless enough to pack and take these things away.

But before she could leave the room, Cen Sen suddenly grabbed her wrist from behind, dragging her to the bed and throwing her onto it.

He loosened his tie slightly, a thin layer of murderous intent on his face.

He leaned over Ji Mingshu, pinning her two slender wrists behind her back, while his other hand gripped her chin, forcing her to accept his kiss.

He rarely kissed so urgently, so fiercely, and he didn’t analyze why he was doing this—he just instinctively wanted to do it, so he did.

Ji Mingshu had just been crying; her eyes were red and slightly swollen, with a salty, bitter taste around her eyes and on her cheeks.

Cen Sen kissed from her lips to her eyebrows and eyes, then to her earlobes, neck, and collarbone, as if igniting fires across her body.

For the first thirty seconds after being thrown onto the bed, Ji Mingshu hadn’t reacted. When she finally did, there came a storm of kisses, and it wasn’t until Cen Sen started unbuttoning her clothes that she began to struggle.

“Let me go, let me go, let me go! Pervert!”

Her hands were restrained tightly, completely immobile, and her kicks were straight but weak.

It wasn’t until Cen Sen kissed her lips again that she found the opportunity to bite him hard. Instantly, both tasted the iron flavor of blood.

This bite seemed to sober Cen Sen considerably, and the irritation in his heart gradually dissipated.

He propped himself up on Ji Mingshu’s waist, slowly running his fingertips over his bleeding lower lip. He didn’t seem to feel the pain, his eyes fixed on Ji Mingshu, examining her inch by inch, as if appreciating an exquisite work of art.

After a while, he stood up, methodically adjusting his collar, his gaze now calm.

“I agree with your uncle—you need to calm down. Stay here, don’t go anywhere.”

Ji Mingshu struggled to sit up on the bed, but before she could stand, Cen Sen had left the bedroom, slamming the door shut with a bang and locking it from the outside.

She froze for three seconds, then went to turn the doorknob without even putting on her shoes.

It was truly locked.

Cen Sen had locked her in this bedroom?!

Ji Mingshu stood at the door, feeling as if her brain might explode, her thoughts completely unable to keep up with the development of events.

Why wouldn’t Cen Sen let her leave?

Did he think her leaving would unfairly label Li Wenyin as a homewrecker? Or did he want to wait for a tribunal to first calculate how much money she had spent over these years?

It was truly absurd—in the 21st century, someone who couldn’t win an argument would lock his wife in a room. Was this imprisonment?

After leaving the room, Cen Sen stood at the top of the stairs, motionless for a long time. He closed his eyes, reflecting on the series of actions he had just taken, seemingly unable to find any logic in them.

The only thing clear in his heart was that he couldn’t let Ji Mingshu leave.

It seemed all loss of control had begun when Ji Mingshu said the word “divorce”—from being in Xingcheng, to boarding the plane, to returning home without a word.

He rubbed his brow bone and called Zhou Jiaheng, “That film of Li Wenyin’s—Jun Yi will withdraw investment without explanation. Also, find Li Wenyin’s contact information and send it to me.”

Ten minutes later, he dialed the unfamiliar number Zhou Jiaheng had sent.

“Hello?” A gentle, cultured female voice answered.

“This is Cen Sen.”

The phone went silent for two seconds, then that gentle voice sounded again, “Oh, do you need something from me? Did Mingshu… say something to you?”

He got straight to the point: “Miss Li, we dated for three months, and that period ended nearly ten years ago. I don’t believe there’s anything between us worth commemorating in a film.”

Li Wenyin was startled, then laughed lightly, “Films these days need promotional tactics; audiences won’t pay for movies without a story. You can rest assured, I won’t expose your identity, and I have no intention of damaging your relationship with Mingshu… if there is one.”

Cen Sen’s voice was cold, “I’m not interested in any of that. I’m only calling to inform you that you can continue filming, but neither my wife nor I appreciate being used for consumption in any form. Therefore, I cannot guarantee that Miss Li’s film will have a smooth release.”

With that, he hung up the phone directly.