His physiological preference

3:17 a.m.

Qin Yuzheng suddenly opened his eyes.

In the dimly lit room, a sliver of streetlight light shone through the gap in the curtains. He lay there motionless, trying to calm his rapid breathing, but his chest was still heaving violently, and his back was soaked with sweat.

The scene from my dream resurfaced in my mind.

The woman wore a cheongsam, her slender waist almost too small to be grasped in one hand. She had a delicate figure, fair skin, and a face like a peach blossom. Her pretty face had a dreamy look in her eyes, and she was so beautiful that it was impossible to look away.

Qin Yuzheng's eyes were deep and dreamy as he gazed at the delicate beauty, then he slightly curved his lips and kissed her.

Her lips were soft, sweet, and captivating to him.

Since last week at that coffee shop on Renmin Road, Qin Yuzheng came down from the second-floor conference room and saw this beautiful woman in a cheongsam through the floor-to-ceiling glass.

Qin Yuzheng stopped in his tracks at that moment.

His secretary called him twice before he came to his senses.

At the time, he thought, "This cheongsam is beautiful."

Now he realizes he was wrong. It wasn't the cheongsam that was beautiful, it was the person.

Qin Yuzheng threw off the covers and sat up.

The alarm clock on the bedside table showed 3:20. He reached for the lamp switch, and with a "click," a warm yellow light illuminated half of the bed.

Qin Yuzheng glanced down and muttered under his breath, "Damn it."

I have to change the sheets and duvet cover again.

This is the second time in thirty-five years.

The first time was the night before last. Same dream, same woman, same way of waking up.

He closed his eyes and resignedly went to the bathroom to take a cold shower. The icy water clashed with the scalding heat.

Water flowed over his chest, over his firm six-pack abs.

Qin Yuzheng is 35 years old this year. When he was 27, he followed his family's arrangement for a political marriage. He divorced two years later, and it has been six years since the divorce.

I have never had sexual intercourse, not even once.

It's not that he doesn't want to, it's that he can't. No, to be precise, it's that he has no desire. For thirty-five years, he has never felt that kind of impulse towards any woman.

During his adolescence, when the boys in his dormitory talked about pornography, they would all blush and stammer, while he sat next to them listening without any emotional reaction.

He thought he was a late bloomer.

Even after graduating from university, entering the system, and seeing everyone around him get married and have children, he still felt nothing.

At the age of twenty-seven, Qin Yuzheng was arranged by his family for a political marriage. The woman was the daughter of another faction in the province; they were a good match, and both families were interested. Qin Yuzheng did not refuse.

He craves fame and fortune. He enjoys the feeling of being at the top of the pyramid, strategizing and maneuvering. If a marriage he doesn't care about can bring him greater resources, he thinks it's a worthwhile deal.

On their first night together, the two sat on their wedding bed. His wife, wearing a red silk nightgown, had her hair down and was looking at him dreamily.

He looked at her, but felt nothing.

He tried many times.

His wife kissed him, touched him, and even pulled his hand to her chest. He did as she asked, but his body didn't react at all, like a malfunctioning machine.

His wife's expression shifted from expectation to confusion, from confusion to embarrassment, and finally to a disappointment he dared not look directly at.

That year, he realized for the first time that even he, who was seemingly perfect, had flaws.

He went to the hospital secretly. He used a fake name when registering and wore a mask when he saw the doctor.

A full range of tests were performed, including blood tests, hormone tests, nerve reflex tests, and tests to rule out organic lesions.

On the day the results came out, the attending physician adjusted his glasses, looked at him, and said, "Sir, from a medical perspective, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your body."

Qin Yuzheng stood there, holding the test results, unsure whether to be happy or not.

"Then why is that?" he asked.

The doctor hesitated for a moment: "It could be psychological. Have you had any traumatic experiences before?"

He said no.

The doctor glanced at him again, hesitated, and finally said, "Some men experience suppressed physiological functions due to stress, anxiety, or certain psychological barriers. In your case, I suggest you see a psychologist."

He went, but it had no effect whatsoever.

In the third month after their marriage, his wife first stopped talking to him, then they slept in separate rooms, and finally she didn't come home for entire nights.

The Qin family was frantic with worry.

His mother had subtly inquired about his condition several times, but he always said nothing was wrong. His father locked himself in his study and sighed. The family even tried folk remedies, brewing a dark and bitter herbal soup, which he drank every single bowl of.

It's useless. Nothing works.

He spent two years trying every method he could think of: traditional Chinese medicine, Western medicine, acupuncture, and even a folk remedy that was supposedly very effective.

Nothing has changed.

His body was like a door that had been closed for thirty-five years; no matter how much knocking came from the outside, there was always silence inside.

Two years later, his wife filed for divorce.

The day she left, Qin Yuzheng gave her all the marital assets. The house, the car, the savings—he gave her everything he could. He left with nothing.

Both families gave the same explanation to the outside world: a peaceful breakup due to personality clashes.

But rumors still circulated within their small circle. Once, his ex-wife got drunk and cried to her best friend, "He's just not good enough. I've been married to him for two years, and he hasn't touched me even once."

Once this rumor spread, it was embellished, and eventually the circle tacitly agreed that Qin Yuzheng was incompetent. However, due to the Qin family's power, no one dared to bring it up openly.

The fact that no other woman has appeared around Qin Yuzheng since then further confirms this rumor.

Qin Yuzheng wasn't deliberately avoiding it; he genuinely had no interest. When female colleagues reported on their work, he wouldn't even glance at them; at dinner parties, when women offered him a toast, he would only touch it briefly and say nothing more.

Over time, everyone said that Qin Yuzheng was indifferent to women, impervious to persuasion, had a strong work ethic, and was a man who could accomplish great things.

Qin Yuzheng devoted all his energy to his work over those six years. His promotions were meteoric; at 35, he was already the youngest leader in the province, wielding considerable influence.

In the world of fame and fortune, he thrived and enjoyed immense success.

Only occasionally, when he returned home late at night, was he alone in the huge house. He changed into slippers, opened the refrigerator, poured a glass of water, and sat in the dark living room to drink it.

Then take a shower and go to sleep.

The next day, I woke up and the same life began again.

This has been the case for the past six years.

Until last week, the appearance of the woman in the cheongsam shattered Qin Yuzheng's tranquility.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the warm yellow light of the lamp illuminating his still handsome face at thirty-five. High brow bones, a straight nose, thin lips, a cool and aloof demeanor, and the imposing presence of someone accustomed to a high position made it difficult to look him directly in the eye.

At this moment, his face was filled with confusion, yet also with a kind of yearning that even he himself was unwilling to admit.

He picked up his phone from the bedside table and glanced at it.

Tuesday, 3:40 a.m.

He slammed his phone back on his phone in frustration, tilted his head back, and stared at the ceiling.

He found it absurd that a 35-year-old virgin from Zhongdeng would have a sexual dream about a woman he had only met once.

Who would believe that if I told them?

He had unread messages on his phone. He picked it up and glanced at them; they were news notifications pushed out in the middle of the night, nothing particularly interesting.

But he noticed there was still a message on the screen that he hadn't opened. It was sent by his secretary yesterday afternoon: "Secretary Qin, we have received the invitation to the Federation of Industry and Commerce Qipao Culture Exhibition on Saturday. You said you didn't want to go before. Are you going to turn it down again?"

He stared at the words "cheongsam." He didn't reply.

I put my phone back in its place, turned off the light, and lay down again.

In the darkness, he closed his eyes. The image of the beautiful woman in the cheongsam resurfaced in his mind, her waist slender and delicate.

He rolled over, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and closed his eyes tightly.

I still can't sleep.

After a long time, he opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, he would go find Qiu Jinyi.

We must find him and ask him clearly.

Is he really incapable?