His physiological preference

"Okay, okay," Liu Minlan's tone carried a hint of "I don't believe you for a second," "Your friend bought the house across the street from her so quickly?"

"It's not about buying, it's just a coincidence, she lives across from me."

There was another moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

Then Liu Minlan let out a meaningful "Oh~"

"Alright," Qin Yuzheng said, his tone as stiff as if he were giving instructions in an office, "just tell me how to pursue her."

Liu Minlan chuckled a few times on the other end of the line, and only spoke after she had finished laughing, her tone becoming more serious:

"Pursuing a girl can be difficult or easy. Create opportunities to spend time together, and don't confess your feelings right away. If you suddenly say 'I like you' when you don't know her well, she'll think you're crazy."

Qin Yuzheng wrote this sentence down.

Don't confess your feelings right away. Create more opportunities to spend time together.

"Also," Liu Minlan added, "you need to find out first whether she has a boyfriend."

Qin Yuzheng's thumb brushed against the edge of the phone.

"She's single," he said.

Liu Minlan laughed again on the other end of the line, this time even more unrestrainedly than before.

How did you know?

Qin Yuzheng did not answer.

Liu Minlan finished laughing, slowed down her speech, and became serious: "Azheng, let me tell you, don't be too hasty. The biggest problem for people of your status when pursuing girls isn't that you can't win them over, it's that you don't know how to interact with ordinary people. You're used to giving orders and having others cater to you, but pursuing girls isn't like that. You have to approach her as an equal, sincerely, and like an ordinary person."

Qin Yuzheng leaned back on the sofa, his phone pressed to his ear, his gaze fixed on the several documents spread out on the coffee table.

"Okay," he said, and then hung up the phone.

The afternoon passed slowly amidst laughter and the aroma of cooking.

Yang Zhiyan worked in the kitchen for over an hour, bringing out dish after dish and filling the entire dining table. The braised chicken wings, with their glossy red color and thick sauce, were sprinkled with white sesame seeds, making them look incredibly appetizing.

The boiled prawns, their bodies curled into a crescent shape, were neatly arranged on a plate, with a small dish of ginger and vinegar sauce beside them. The stir-fried vegetables were vibrant green and glistening with oil.

Stir-fried tomatoes and eggs, with tender eggs and a rich sauce, the sourness of tomatoes and the aroma of eggs blend together, is one of the most common yet most difficult home-style dishes to make well.

The pork rib and lotus root soup is milky white, with the lotus root stewed until soft and tender, and the pork ribs stewed until they fall off the bone with a touch of chopsticks. There's also a scallion pancake, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, with a rich scallion aroma that crumbles with every bite.

Jiang Siya sat at the dining table, her chopsticks and mouth never stopping. She ate and praised the food, until she ran out of words and just kept repeating "Delicious, delicious, delicious" on repeat.

"Zhiyan, if you open a restaurant in the future, I'll go there every day." Jiang Siya's mouth was stuffed with a chicken wing, and her words were muffled.

"Swallow what's in your mouth before you speak." Yang Zhiyan sat opposite her, holding a bowl of soup and sipping it slowly.

The two chatted as they ate, from embarrassing moments in college to their recent jobs, and then to their love lives.

Jiang Siya said she has recently been meeting a man who works in finance. He is decent-looking, but he talks too much. Every time they eat, he talks from beginning to end, and she doesn't even have time to eat her food.

Yang Zhiyan listened with a smile, occasionally interjecting a word, but most of the time she just listened quietly, watching Jiang Siya talk about all sorts of random things with great enthusiasm.

After dinner, the two snuggled on the sofa, covered with the same knitted blanket, and watched a movie recommended by Jiang Siya.

Before the movie was even halfway through, Jiang Siya started yawning, one yawn after another, until she finally slumped onto the sofa, resting her head on Yang Zhiyan's shoulder and squinting her eyes.

"I'm not leaving tonight," Jiang Siya said with her eyes closed. "This house is so comfortable, I want to stay here."

Just as Yang Zhiyan was about to say something, Jiang Siya's phone rang.

The screen displays "Mom".

Jiang Siya answered the phone, listened for a few minutes, and her expression changed from a languid yawn to a regretful "Oh, I see." She hung up, tossed her phone onto the coffee table, and sighed.

"My mom wants me to go back home. Relatives have come and insist on seeing me."

She sat up from the sofa, stretched, and when she stretched her arms above her head, a small section of her fair waist was revealed. "Come stay another day."

Yang Zhiyan escorted her to the door.

As Jiang Siya was changing her shoes, she suddenly lowered her voice and whispered something in Yang Zhiyan's ear:

"Your neighbor doesn't seem like a bad person, but don't be too careless."

"Okay, okay." Yang Zhiyan stuffed her bag into her arms and pushed her out the door.

The motion-activated lights in the corridor turned on.

Jiang Siya took two steps, turned around, and waved to Yang Zhiyan.

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside. In the last second before the doors closed, she made a "make a phone call" gesture towards Yang Zhiyan, waving her fingers near her ear before they were snapped off by the elevator doors.

Yang Zhiyan stood at the door, watching the elevator doors close. After a few seconds, making sure Jiang Siya hadn't left anything behind, she turned back to close the door.

Just as she was about to close the door, the door opposite opened.

Qin Yuzheng stood at the door.

He was wearing a light gray loungewear set and black casual pants today.

His complexion was better than last week, and his cold was probably gone, but there was still a faint bluish-black tinge under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well.

"Miss Yang," he said, nodding.

"Mr. Qin." Yang Zhiyan nodded, her hand on the doorknob, ready to close the door at any moment.

Qin Yuzheng stood at the opposite doorway, his hands in his pockets, looking casual, but his mind was racing.

Liu Minlan said to create more opportunities to spend time together. How do we create opportunities? Right now is one such opportunity.

She had just seen her friend off and was home alone; he lived across the street. If he went back now and closed the door, they would have no further contact tonight.

"Miss Yang," Qin Yuzheng said, "are you free now? I'd like to discuss the details of making a cheongsam for my mother with you."

Yang Zhiyan looked at him and hesitated for about two seconds.

"Okay," she said, opening the door wider. "Please come in."

When Qin Yuzheng walked in, he was more reserved than she had expected. His gaze didn't wander around; he only swept around the living room before looking away, his eyes landing on the pot of daisies on the coffee table for about a second.

When he sat down on the sofa, he sat very upright, with his back not against the cushion and his waist straight.

Yang Zhiyan poured him a glass of water and placed it on the coffee table. Then she sat on the single sofa opposite him and took out the memo she had written last time from her phone.

"Mr. Qin, last time you mentioned that your mother likes simple colors. Do you have any specific preferences? For example, what color cheongsam does she usually wear? Or do you have any recent photos of her so I can refer to her skin tone and complexion to choose the fabric?"

Qin Yuzheng paused for a moment.

he does not know.

He knew nothing about his mother's favorite colors, what she usually wore, her skin tone, or her complexion—things he should have known.

It's not that he's unfilial, but there's a subtle distance between him and his mother—they're close in some ways, but not in others.

He grew up with his grandmother and never confided in his mother; they always kept to themselves and were very polite to each other.

"She likes light colors," he said, his tone uncertain. "Light blue, light purple, something like that. Not bright red."

Yang Zhiyan wrote it down on her phone: light blue/light purple, dislikes bright red.

"What about fabrics? Silk, brocade, Xiangyun yarn, cotton and linen—does your mother have a particular favorite?"

"Silk, I guess," Qin Yuzheng said. "Her skin is sensitive, and silk feels comfortable against her skin."

Yang Zhiyan looked up at him.

He said "she has sensitive skin" in a very natural tone.

"What style?" she continued, "Traditional or modern? Long or midi? Do you prefer a higher or lower neckline?"

Qin Yuzheng was stumped by the series of questions. His lips twitched slightly, a small, unconscious, slightly embarrassed gesture that came from being stumped.