Cen Sen wasn’t the type of man who could switch to mushy mode anytime, anywhere—at least for now, he found it difficult to activate when Ji Mingshu was fully awake.
He kissed her lips lightly like a dragonfly skimming water, said goodnight again, and prepared to go to bed.
But Ji Mingshu wasn’t so easily appeased. She kept her arms around his neck, unwilling to let go, her delicate nose wrinkled up, insisting on hearing him say it once more.
Cen Sen’s eyes darkened, his gaze lingering from her cascading curls to her fallen spaghetti strap.
Soon, he leaned in for another warm kiss, far more aggressive than the previous one.
By the time Ji Mingshu realized what was happening, it was already too late. She stared at him, making muffled protests and struggling with both hands and feet, but in the end, she shamefully melted into a puddle beneath him.
At the height of passion, she thought she heard an intimate, husky “baby,” but her mind was blank at that moment, and she couldn’t be certain if she had imagined it.
She only remembered that her little bit of dignity had quickly fallen apart, and she had been forced by Cen Sen to brokenly and whimperingly call him “husband” many times.
The next morning, sunlight poured through the clear floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm golden glow, while the air retained traces of intimate sweetness.
Ji Mingshu’s body ached, and she got out of bed as if boneless, clinging entirely to Cen Sen.
Even while brushing her teeth, she leaned against his chest, eyes half-closed, whining and acting coquettish.
“Toothbrush, take it,” Cen Sen placed the toothbrush with toothpaste next to her hand.
She didn’t take it. “No strength. It’s all your fault. I can’t even lift my arms.”
Cen Sen: “…”
Ji Mingshu: “Then you brush for me.”
Cen Sen looked down at her. “Brush yourself. I’m going to be late.”
“Then I won’t brush.” She was being unreasonable.
Cen Sen was silent for a few seconds. “Open your mouth.”
She couldn’t hold back a triumphant smile, though she quickly suppressed it, obediently opening her mouth like a beautiful, lazy ragdoll cat nestled in its owner’s arms, waiting to be petted, occasionally extending its small paws to interact with the owner.
Cen Sen, as the owner, exhibited extraordinary patience, attending to every detail—brushing teeth, washing face, combing hair—serving her meticulously.
At first, his movements were awkward and uncomfortable, but seeing Ji Mingshu’s secret smile in the mirror, his waning patience gradually rekindled, and he developed more interest in these mundane, intimate moments.
While Ji Mingshu and Cen Sen were being affectionate in their room, the executives who had come from Beijing were already waiting in the VIP lounge outside.
That morning, Cen Sen was scheduled to inspect Junyi Water Cloud Retreat in Star City with this group of executives, as a high-profile tourism summit would be held at the Water Cloud Retreat Hotel later.
With one minute left until the appointed time, the door to the suite finally opened. Everyone stood up, adjusting their attire, ready to formally acknowledge Cen Sen from halfway down the corridor.
But as a minute passed, their respectful gazes were directed at nothing but air. No one appeared at the door, though a woman’s coquettish voice reached everyone’s ears.
“A kiss, no leaving without a kiss!”
…
“Hmm, then one more kiss!”
…
“No, I’m too tired. I only slept a few hours. I’ll draw after I wake up.”
…
The older executives, having seen it all, maintained a zen-like composure, like ancient monks in deep meditation.
The younger ones, more thin-skinned, dared neither look nor listen, only intermittently adjusting their cuffs or collars. The atmosphere became extremely awkward.
Ji Mingshu, unaware that people were waiting outside, hurriedly helped Cen Sen fix his tie and went to open the door for him. Seeing they still had a minute, she hung on him, acting coquettishly, demanding a good morning kiss.
After getting what she wanted, she pushed Cen Sen out, still holding onto the door, poking out half her head to wave goodbye to him.
But as soon as she peeked out, Ji Mingshu froze completely. An indescribable embarrassment shot from the soles of her feet straight to the top of her head.
Ji Mingshu: “…”
Cen Sen: “…”
All the executives: “…”
Zhou Jiaheng, whether from lack of sleep or something else, had a brain that seemed clogged with paste that early morning.
From the moment the door opened and he heard the voices, he had stood there like a wooden chicken, unable to think of any remedial measures.
Now, seeing Ji Mingshu’s half-revealed head, his brain short-circuited, and he stood at the front, bowing to her: “Good morning, Madam.”
The executives, not fully understanding the situation, immediately followed with bows, greeting her: “Good morning, Madam!”
Their greetings, from young and old voices, came out unevenly, like a group of forcibly intellectually diminished amateur actors.
But the only response they received was the heavy sound of the door closing: “Bang!”
Jiang Chun: [Ji-style Shushu, you’re too funny hahahahaha dying of laughter hahahaha *hiccup*!]
Ji Mingshu: […]
Ji Mingshu: [Have you died completely? Need me to add a bottle of pesticide?]
Gu Kaiyang: [Hahahahaha, why didn’t you say “Comrades, thank you for your hard work” hahahahaha!]
Ji Mingshu: […]