Since the “Zero Degrees” event was more relaxed and casual, the stylist only gave Ji Mingshu a lazily natural yet calculated wavy hairstyle, and her makeup was applied quite lightly.
For clothing, Ji Mingshu herself chose a smoke-pink sleeveless tube top jumpsuit with a smooth texture that perfectly displayed her flowing shoulder and back lines while accentuating her excellent body proportions.
When choosing a lip color, Ji Mingshu took out a large box of cosmetics she had recently purchased and discussed it with the stylist.
The two had slightly differing opinions, so Ji Mingshu held up the box and asked Cen Sen, “Which color do you think would look better on me?”
Cen Sen initially wanted to say “all looks good,” but meeting Ji Mingshu’s expectant gaze, he lowered his eyes without changing his expression and carefully selected from the box for a while.
Finally, he picked up a tube of rose-colored lip gloss and launched into an in-depth analysis worthy of a monthly corporate summary, covering color tone, texture, and event suitability.
Ji Mingshu and the stylist listened in stunned silence.
When he finished, Ji Mingshu hesitantly took the lip gloss from his hand, unscrewed it to look, and suddenly fell silent.
“…”
“Um, your analysis was very good, except this is a liquid blush.”
The atmosphere became extremely awkward, but fortunately, the stylist was good with words and quickly joked that all straight men are like this—unable to distinguish between cosmetics. Although it was a blush, being able to select such a beautiful color was already quite impressive.
So Ji Mingshu didn’t disappoint Cen Sen’s thorough and accessible analysis and chose a matte lipstick of the same color.
The effect on her lips was indeed nice, very enhancing to her complexion and well-suited to today’s makeup and outfit.
But with all this hemming and hawing and back-and-forth, by the time the two arrived at the event venue, they had successfully missed May’s, the editor-in-chief of “Zero Degrees,” expired chicken soup speech.
Ji Mingshu walked in arm-in-arm with Cen Sen, and asked casually as if in passing, “What do you think of the venue today?”
“Very creative.”
Cen Sen nodded, seemingly quite approving.
She couldn’t help but quietly boast, “I was the interior design consultant for this event. The color matching and layout were all my work.”
“Is that so?” Cen Sen glanced at her, once again affirming, “Your recent works all have a special spirit to them.”
Ji Mingshu’s lips curved upward again.
This dog of a man, Cen Sen, was really strange—sometimes he was as straight as if his bones were lined with steel nails, but sometimes he was particularly good at saying the right thing!
For instance, that compliment just now—praising a designer for having a special spirit was undoubtedly the highest praise for her.
She was in a good mood as they walked further in to look around, unconsciously drawing closer to Cen Sen.
Cen Sen also smoothly changed from linking arms to holding hands and began telling her about similar events he had attended while studying abroad.
Although he had studied management, it didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate art.
In fact, from the moment they walked into the venue, he had recognized Ji Mingshu’s design style.
His praise wasn’t insincere flattery—compared to her half-hearted charity banquet, her recent designs were relatively more complete and mature. She had also incorporated some very distinctive personal touches.
Moreover, her design style highly matched her personality. Whether it was home decor, runway shows, or exhibition-style creative designs like this salon, she had her consistent extreme refinement that was very recognizable.
From an observer’s perspective, the two were holding hands and chatting happily, looking very intimate.
Someone noticed her from a distance and quickly formed small groups, whispering: “Hey, Ji Mingshu is here.”
“Where?” The girl looked in the direction indicated, slightly surprised. “It is her… How long has it been since she’s been out? At Chris Chou’s show, I didn’t even know which corner she was sitting in, and she didn’t attend the after-party either. I thought she wouldn’t show her face until after the New Year.”
Another girl continued, “Who’s that guy next to her? He’s quite handsome. They seem so intimate. A new love interest?”
Jiang Chun happened to be passing by with a small cake and overheard their whispers. She could finally hold her head high and smile, responding in a contemptuous tone that said “you really have no knowledge of the world”: “Aren’t you all gossiping every day about whether Ji Mingshu and her husband will really divorce, and how Ji Mingshu would be nothing without her husband? How can you not even recognize her husband?”
…?
Is this Ji Mingshu’s husband?
That ruthless and formidable future successor of the Cen family?
So young?
So handsome?
Ji Mingshu is the type of person who would post on her Moments about pork ribs made by her husband and movies watched with him, so why has she never shown off this level of handsomeness?! It’s too unreal!!!
They all fell into a long silence of shock and doubt.
In truth, it wasn’t their fault for being uninformed—they were just peripheral figures in the imperial city’s elite circle, still too far from the core circle.
And Cen Sen was an elite pragmatist at the top of the food chain among the younger generation, fundamentally different from those wayward rich kids who hung around all day. He rarely made public appearances, giving people few chances to recognize him.
Usually, for playboys and socialites, they could barely remember the names of these cadre-like heirs, at most knowing that there was such an untouchable figure in the Jingjan Cen family.
But as it happened, he had Ji Mingshu, a socialite wife who was the center of attention wherever she went, which created this situation—everyone was extremely concerned about Jingjan’s development, and Cen Sen’s name was familiar to all gossip followers, but they just couldn’t match it to the actual person, creating an awkward situation.
Of course, there were many who did recognize him, and there were rumors about his appearance and personality, but without pictures, there was no proof. Who knew if it was just Ji Mingshu boasting outside?
While they were silent, surprised, and confused, Jiang Chun had already gracefully carried her small cake away to find a good spot for photos.
—Ji Mingshu had finally come out to attend an event with her husband, and she wouldn’t be so tactless as to go up and be a third wheel.
Jiang Chun was tactful, but Ji Mingshu’s usual plastic sisters weren’t so considerate.
Those who could become Ji Mingshu’s plastic sisters were naturally several levels above the peripheral figures, and among them, those who knew Cen Sen outnumbered those who didn’t.
Seeing the two attending a lower-tier casual event like a magazine salon together dispelled all the doubts that had arisen due to Ji Mingshu’s prolonged absence from home. They all flocked to chat with Ji Mingshu and flatter her.
Cen Sen had been playing with a fortune stick tube with Ji Mingshu, but a wave of perfume unexpectedly surrounded them in an encircling attack, accompanied by soft, elegant voices offering various praises.
Standing beside Ji Mingshu, his temples began to throb. Faced with questions that occasionally required his input, he only nodded slightly, always maintaining a politely distant and safe distance from these ladies who were “friendly” with Ji Mingshu.
Yet Ji Mingshu habitually navigated among them with ease, making Cen Sen, who stood beside her, look like a silent mascot.
After about five minutes, Ji Mingshu finally noticed how out of place Cen Sen was. She sent him to get cake for her, thinking they would leave after chatting for another two minutes.
But as soon as Cen Sen left, someone amid the perfumed group timidly mentioned, “Xiaoshu, that Li Wenyin seems to be here today as well.”
The previously lively atmosphere instantly turned cold.
Li Wenyin?
She was persistent.
Someone quickly came to their senses and stood on Ji Mingshu’s side to help speak: “So what if she’s here? Hasn’t she recently hooked up with that sickly guy from the Yuan family and coaxed him into investing in her movie? Who knows what kind of garbage she’s filming and who she’s trying to irritate.”
“She’s just jealous of Mingshu, anyone can see that. It was like that back in school, and now she talks big about film art, but that small-minded pettiness in her bones really can’t be changed.” One of the girls was Ji Mingshu’s former classmate and knew a bit about Li Wenyin’s past antagonism toward Ji Mingshu.
Everyone chimed in agreement.
But Ji Mingshu suddenly lost interest in continuing the conversation with them.
She had a strange feeling of déjà vu from the Hong family reception. A similarly relaxed and casual theme, everyone similarly standing on her side helping her denounce Li Wenyin, but in the end, she had lost face so badly, so badly in front of Li Wenyin.
She looked in the direction Cen Sen had gone, hesitated for a moment, then silently followed him.
The group she left behind exchanged glances and tacitly followed from a distance.
Everyone had different thoughts—some wanted to see Li Wenyin make a fool of herself, some wanted to see Ji Mingshu embarrassed, and others were purely there for the drama.
As luck would have it, when Ji Mingshu followed, Cen Sen and Li Wenyin happened to come face to face.
Li Wenyin had just taken a glass of red wine from a waiter’s tray and turned to see Cen Sen walking toward the dessert area, somewhat surprised.
The next second, she caught sight of Ji Mingshu in her peripheral vision, as well as the group of bored rich daughters following several meters behind Ji Mingshu. The hand holding the wine glass involuntarily tightened.
It was hard for her to describe exactly what she was feeling at that moment. She knew Cen Sen was attending with Ji Mingshu, knew Cen Sen had already made things perfectly clear last time, but she just couldn’t accept it.
After so many years, Cen Sen had countless reasons not to continue their past relationship, and she could understand that. But how could he bind himself for life to a woman like Ji Mingshu, whose taste was so lowbrow and who mistook brainlessness for authenticity? He couldn’t possibly like Ji Mingshu, because Ji Mingshu simply wasn’t worthy.
This feeling was so strong that it drove her to want to do something, even if it meant using some very low tactics. As long as she could make Ji Mingshu understand that she and Cen Sen shouldn’t be forcibly bound together, it would be enough.
She called to a waiter, took another glass of wine from the tray, and then gracefully walked toward Cen Sen, slightly extending the wine glass forward. Her voice was, as always, gentle and proper: “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. I didn’t expect to meet you on such an occasion.”
Ji Mingshu stood five meters away, holding a small diamond-studded handbag, her nails turning white from the pressure of the diamonds, without any reaction.
Her mind was blank.
There was only one thought supporting her: Please don’t take it, even if it’s just out of politeness, could you please not be so polite this one time?
Because she never wanted to see the person she liked standing together with the person she hated most ever again in this lifetime.
She was the real Mrs. Cen, and she was confident when facing others, but she just couldn’t handle facing Li Wenyin. Cen Sen had never taken a stand in front of Li Wenyin, and it seemed like she would never be able to stand in front of Li Wenyin and righteously say, “Please stay away from my husband.”
It took Cen Sen only five seconds to respond, but to Ji Mingshu, those five seconds felt as long as watching an entire movie.
—She saw Cen Sen lower his eyes to look at the glass of red wine, then slowly raise his eyes to look at Li Wenyin.
His gaze probably lacked warmth because the next second, he acted as if she didn’t exist, took a piece of cake from the dessert table, and turned around directly.
And then their gazes met in mid-air.
The movement was brief and without detailed deconstruction, so when Ji Mingshu made eye contact with him, she could still see the indifference in his eyes.
Somehow, she suddenly found the courage to step forward, take the cake from his hand, and say a soft “thank you.”
Before Cen Sen could ask what she was thanking him for, she moved past him and took the glass of red wine from Li Wenyin’s hand, pouring it down without a moment’s hesitation.
The quality of the red wine provided at such an event was quite ordinary. Those who knew wine could tell just by looking at the color and smelling the aroma, but as the wine trickled to the ground, the sound was particularly loud.
Ji Mingshu didn’t bother with the flecks of stains splashed on her jumpsuit and finally said righteously the sentence that had circled in her mind countless times—
“Miss Li, please stay away from my husband in the future.”