Still haunted by the memory of being locked up for two days, Ji Mingshu subconsciously walked to the door and turned the handle.
The next second, the door opened.
Zhou Jiaheng was still standing outside the door.
Seeing that she was awake, Zhou Jiaheng smiled gently, bowed slightly, and said respectfully, "Madam, the Lausanne College delegation is arriving in Beijing tonight for exchanges. President Cen must attend, and he specifically instructed me to wait for you here."
Ji Mingshu said "Oh," then, remembering the bandage, asked again, "His hand..."
"Mr. Cen's wound seems to have reopened, but the dressing has been changed and he's fine."
Ji Mingshu nodded, leaning against the door frame, seemingly lost in thought. After a long while, she said, "Then take me back."
Zhou Jiaheng unsurprisingly replied with an "okay".
Ji Mingshu turned around, picked up her bag and high heels, and added after getting into the car, "Take me back to Star Harbor International."
"...?"
Zhou Jiaheng's lips stiffened, and he forgot to reply.
The capital city is bathed in the flickering lights of night, with lanterns shimmering and rustling.
The Porsche, as if deliberately delaying, took an hour to slowly drive to Star Harbour International.
Before she even got off the bus, Ji Mingshu received a WeChat message from Cen Sen.
Cen Sen: [Aren't you going home yet?]
Ji Mingshu ignored him and glanced at Zhou Jiaheng in the rearview mirror.
Zhou Jiaheng had long since mastered the art of being a tough nut to crack, and at this moment he was keeping his eyes down, skillfully avoiding eye contact with her.
More news came in.
Cen Sen: [The broken lamp has been reordered and should arrive in the next couple of days.]
Ji Mingshu replied with a very aloof "Mm".
Cen Sen: [I'll send the scarf to you tomorrow.]
It was still a cool and aloof "hmm".
After a while, Cen Sen finally sent a voice message, asking the most crucial question, "My hands aren't very good at typing, Ming Shu, when are you planning to go home?"
Ji Mingshu: [I don't know.]
Ji Mingshu: [I reasonably suspect you're playing the victim.]
Chapter 47
After Ji Mingshu finished questioning, he saw that Cen Sen's chat box displayed "The other party is typing" and "The other party is speaking" for a long time. In the end, Cen Sen only replied with a long string of ellipses.
Ji Mingshu had no choice but to accept the situation as having nothing to say and plead guilty.
She put away her phone and got out of the car. Zhou Jiaheng, the quick-witted informant, immediately followed her out of the car, even more respectful and attentive than he was in front of Cen Sen. He rushed to help her carry her bag and shoes and even led the way to escort her upstairs.
Before she went inside, Zhou Jiaheng added, "Whenever you want to go home, just give me a call. I'm available 24/7."
Ji Mingshu gave a forced smile, waved goodbye, and slammed the door shut without any hesitation.
Zhou Jiaheng closed his eyes and then touched his nose dejectedly.
At this hour, Gu Kaiyang was still working overtime at his magazine, "The Weekly Skinning".
After changing into slippers at the door, Ji Mingshu hummed a song and limped into the bathroom, feeling inexplicably happy.
When she imagined Cen Sen being exposed for playing the victim and having no words to say, she felt even happier.
However, as Ji Mingshu squeezed makeup remover onto the cotton pad, she suddenly looked up and stared intently at the mirror, seemingly lost in thought.
strangeness.
Is Gu Kaiyang's lipstick expired?
Why is the color fading so fast today?
The thought only lasted a moment, and she didn't think about it deeply before continuing to hum a song while removing her makeup.
In the following days, Ji Mingshu's foot injury had not yet healed, and she was not very mobile, but she maintained a very cheerful mood and high work efficiency.
She modified the design of the audience area at home based on Cen Sen's ideas, and went to the hotel every day to keep up with the progress of the actual set construction.
These past few days, she's been all smiles and incredibly friendly with everyone she meets. Even when Jiang Chun was caught lying about her latest weight online, she gently expressed her understanding.
Ji Mingshu: [If Tang Zhizhou doesn't mind, then it's okay for you to indulge yourself occasionally. A girl who's skinny to the point of being a skeleton isn't attractive.]
Jiang Chun: [...]?
Jiang Chun still couldn't believe that Ji Mingshu's insightful words, "When I like you, you're a treasure; when I dislike you, you're just a stinky little fatso," could come out of her mouth. She simply couldn't believe that Ji Mingshu could say anything genuine about "occasional indulgence."
At this moment, her gentle words took several turns in Jiang Chun's mind and directly turned into a newly invented reverse incentive strategy.
Jiang Chun's heart trembled, and she quickly adopted a posture of sincerely admitting her mistake by prostrating herself on the ground at a 180-degree angle.
Jiang Chun: [I was wrong, I unconditionally admit my mistake to the organization! Please forgive me, Your Highness! waaaaah!]
Jiang Chun: [After the Christchou fashion show, I'll definitely stuff my Hermès bag full of cash and sneak it out to support our noble princess! My princess is suffering!!!]
Ji Mingshu: [No need.]
After replying, she rested her chin on her hand, smiled, and glanced at the row of orange boxes that Zhou Jiaheng had brought over, her fingers unconsciously tapping against her cheek.
Two weeks later, the Christchou early spring fashion show was held as scheduled at the Junyi Huazhang Hotel on Huating Road in Beijing.
On the day of the show, celebrities strolled around the hotel entrance, luxury cars were everywhere, and reporters waited outside, with flashes and camera clicks going off constantly.
Yesterday, Ji Mingshu was present throughout the rehearsal, making final adjustments to the entire show based on the models' positioning and Christchou's feedback. Exhausted late into the night, she even went out for a late-night snack with her staff, exchanging experiences.
Actually, Chrischou's Milan debut two years ago was also designed by Ji Mingshu. However, at that time, Chrischou's shows were not as high-profile, and he himself was not a big name enough to invite Ji Mingshu to participate in the entire show's set design.
As far as I can remember, Ji Mingshu only went to see the site and produced a design drawing, and then didn't worry about it anymore.
To be honest, the feeling of creating wildly imaginative design sketches two years ago is completely different from the feeling of participating in the entire design process and watching the show take shape.
She used to be very high and mighty, only needing to think, without having to consider how others would put her ideas into practice.
Over the past two years, many people have praised Christchou's clothing designs and runway show at her Milan debut. She would accept the praise as a matter of course, feeling that all the gorgeous presentation on the screen was the result of Christchou and her own efforts.
But when she got involved herself, she realized how much meticulous design and silent effort went into the success of a show.
Before the show started, there was about forty minutes of social time, during which socialites, celebrities, editors, buyers, and fashionistas arrived one after another, signing autographs, taking photos, and giving interviews in the media interview area.
Five minutes before the show was scheduled to begin, an announcement in both Chinese and English reminded guests to take their seats.
Ji Mingshu and Chrischou gave each other a five, then picked up their handbags and hurriedly walked from backstage to their seats.
She always sits in the front row when watching shows, but this time, since she was personally involved in the show's design, she took the initiative to choose a corner seat three rows back when the PR was arranging the seats, saying she wanted to see the viewing experience from the back.
Jiang Chun was also in this row, but there were several seats between them. Just as Ji Mingshu was about to greet her, a tall figure blocked her view.
She paused slightly, then looked up—
It turned out to be Cen Sen.
Cen Sen straightened his clothes and sat down, exuding a gentlemanly air of nobility. He even managed to make the corner of the back row feel like someone who had inherited the throne.
Ji Mingshu asked instinctively, "Why are you here?"
"My hotel, let me check if there's a problem."
"..."
That's naturally not a problem.
But how could someone like him, an old-fashioned person who doesn't even have internet access in his office, understand a fashion show? Why is he even bothering to join in?
The funniest thing is that he was even wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses with a serious expression, probably because he hadn't finished reading the documents in the office before coming here.
Ji Mingshu looked him up and down, her gaze naturally falling on his hands.
Wait, it's been half a month, and it's still wrapped in gauze...?
So, he's still playing the victim? Even a broken bone should be healed by now, right?
Just as Ji Mingshu was about to say something, the show entered its final ten-second countdown, "ten, nine, eight..."
As the countdown reached "one," music began to play, and the immersive video installation transformed into a shimmering golden light. A small golden figure jumped above everyone's heads, eventually transforming into a small golden airplane that flew across the LED screen, outlining the English logo of Christchou in the center in the shape of a contrail. A surround-sound American female voice then simply announced, "Werich Christchou."
Fashion shows and celebrity dinners are different from television programs; there is no host or opening remarks.
After the logo appeared, it gradually disappeared into the center of the screen in the form of broken gold, followed by dynamic drumbeats and an increasingly lively music rhythm.
Amidst the changing music, a spotlight shone on the well-known Chinese models who opened the show. The models walked forward on the piano steps, their faces expressionless.
—I didn't expect that sitting in the back row would have such a great show experience.
Ji Mingshu silently gave a thumbs-up in his heart. After being on tenterhooks for many days, he finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Cen Sen also commented at the opportune moment, "Not bad."
Ji Mingshu glanced at him.
Not bad? What's so great about it? Can you even understand it?
Cen Sen truly understood. He slowly and deliberately said, "Your stage design and this designer's work remind me of an oil painting that sold for nearly ten million yuan in the 1990s. That work is called 'Paper and Gold,' and it belongs to abstract expressionism. The composition is very simple, mainly using lines and colors..."
"..."
Did you do some research?
Ji Mingshu couldn't help but interrupt in a low voice.
Cen Sen glanced at her indifferently. His glasses reflected the light, obscuring his expression, but his voice sounded calm and collected. "Within my knowledge, this is common sense."
common sense.
Ji Mingshu choked up and remained silent for a long time.
However, she quickly remembered that the two were still in a state of cold war and it was not appropriate to be too affectionate, so she decided not to talk to him anymore and just watch the show quietly.
Cen Sen would occasionally offer a casual comment from the side, such as, "This one is nice," or "This one is nice too."
In fact, after months of preparation, the actual show time was only one hour.