His physiological preference

He picked up his chopsticks and ate the vegetables.

"Hmm," he said.

The two of them focused on eating, exchanging a few words occasionally.

Qin Yuzheng mostly initiated conversations, asking Yang Zhiyan about the cheongsam studio. Yang Zhiyan is not a talkative person, but when it comes to her hobbies, the two can have a pleasant chat.

Yang Zhiyan said that she was finishing the hem of a Xiangyun yarn cheongsam. Xiangyun yarn is very difficult to work with because the fabric is slippery, and you have to be very slow when stitching, otherwise it will wrinkle.

When she speaks, she gestures in the air, drawing lines with her fingertips, gesturing animatedly.

Qin Yuzheng listened attentively, looking intently at her hands—long, fair, and with neatly trimmed nails.

He thought, how wonderful it would be if one day I could hold these hands in mine.

"Brother Qin?" Yang Zhiyan called out to him.

"Huh?" He snapped out of his daze.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about how to cook these ribs," he lied without batting an eye, "I want to learn."

Yang Zhiyan looked at him, and the corners of her mouth slowly curved up.

"Then you wash the dishes first," she said, standing up to clear the table. "I'll tell you when you're done."

Yang Zhiyan thought to herself, "She's gotten too bold, openly ordering her superiors around."

Qin Yuzheng stood up, rolled up his sleeves, stacked the bowls and chopsticks together, and carried them into the kitchen.

Yang Zhiyan followed behind him, carrying the plate of unfinished sweet and sour pork ribs. The kitchen light shone down from above, casting their shadows on the floor tiles, one in front of the other.

After washing the dishes, the two continued installing the worktable.

When the worktable was being assembled to its final stage, Qin Yuzheng squatted down and tightened the last screw.

Yang Zhiyan squatted down next to him, holding the instruction manual in her hand, and helped him see which hole corresponded to which position.

With their heads close together, Yang Zhiyan caught a whiff of his refreshing and pleasant scent, which instantly enveloped her, causing her heart to skip a beat.

"Is it okay to tighten this screw?" Qin Yuzheng turned to ask her.

"It should be." She flipped the instruction manual over, pretending to read it, but she didn't actually read a single word.

Qin Yuzheng tightened the last screw, stood up, and stretched his knees, which had been squatting for a long time.

Yang Zhiyan also stood up, folded the instruction manual in her hand twice, and placed it on the worktable.

The worktable was finally installed. It was solid wood, dark brown, with a layer of clear varnish that gleamed warmly under the light. She ran her finger across the surface; it was smooth, flat, and without any splinters.

"Great!" she exclaimed, patting the table as if greeting a new friend. "It'll be ready to use tomorrow."

"You still haven't told me how to cook the ribs." Qin Yuzheng leaned against the balcony door frame, his sleeves still rolled up on his forearms.

Yang Zhiyan turned around, leaned against the worktable, and rested her hands on the edge of the table behind her, her posture more relaxed than before.

"Sweet and sour pork ribs are actually not difficult. First, blanch the ribs to remove the fishy smell. Then, put oil in a pot, add rock sugar and stir-fry until it turns amber. Don't overcook it, or it will taste bitter. Put the ribs in to coat them with the caramelized sugar, add ginger slices, star anise, cooking wine, light soy sauce, and vinegar. Add water to cover the ribs, simmer over low heat for forty minutes, and finally reduce the sauce over high heat. Before serving, drizzle a spoonful of vinegar to enhance the flavor."

She spoke very quickly, as if she were doing something she had practiced countless times. When she said the word "vinegar," she gestured in the air, drawing a small circle with her fingertips, like stirring something in a pot.

Qin Yuzheng looked at the hand she was gesturing with, paused for a moment, and then looked away.

"Isn't caramelizing sugar the hardest part?" he asked.

"Yes," Yang Zhiyan nodded, "If you don't control the heat well, it's easy to burn it. When I was a kid learning to cook, I burned it many times, and my mom scolded me for ruining the pan."

When she said "my mom scolded me," her tone was relaxed, and there was even a slight smile on her lips.

"Did you start cooking when you were a child?" he asked.

"Hmm," Yang Zhiyan straightened up from the workbench, gathered the tools scattered on the ground into the toolbox, and put them away one by one. "I started doing this when I was very young. My mom said that when I wasn't even as tall as the stove, I was already standing on a stool to cook."

I feel so sorry for her. Why didn't he meet her sooner?

She squatted down, put the screwdriver into the slot in the toolbox, and it clicked shut.

Qin Yuzheng watched her back. She wore a light green shirt and white wide-leg pants. When she squatted down, a section of the shirt hem peeked out from her waistband, revealing a small part of her waist. Her skin was white and delicate, like mutton fat jade.

He looked away.

The tools were mostly collected, but a few spare screws and two expansion bolts were scattered on the ground. Yang Zhiyan squatted down to pick them up, and Qin Yuzheng also squatted down to pick them up. The two of them bent down at the same time, and their heads almost bumped together again.

"I'll do it."

"I'll do it."

The two people spoke at the same time, shut up at the same time, and reached out their hands at the same time.

Yang Zhiyan's hand touched the screws, and Qin Yuzheng's hand touched the back of her hand. Dry, warm, with a thin layer of calluses on their palms, the rough texture transmitted through their skin.

She flinched back. Like a finger touching a scalding hot cup, it recoiled before she could even react.

She quickly lowered her head, pretending to be seriously picking up the screws on the ground, her ears burning hot.

"I'll go get a glass of water." She stood up and practically fled into the kitchen.

The kitchen light was on. She turned on the tap, letting the cold water splash on her wrists, feeling a cool sensation. She took a couple of deep breaths. Her heart was still pounding.

It's just a matter of touching hands, isn't it?

It's not like I haven't tried it before.

We touched each other before, and before that. Fingertip to fingertip, palm to palm, we touched each other.

But it's always the same. My heart races, my ears burn, and my fingertips feel like they've been burned by something, leaving an invisible mark.

She turned off the tap, picked up a clean glass, and filled it halfway with warm water.

He walked out of the kitchen carrying a water glass.

Qin Yuzheng was squatting on the balcony floor, his back to her, checking the floor for any tools he had forgotten.

His back was broad, and the lines of his shoulder blades stretched his shirt into two straight folds that extended from his acromion to his waist.

Her waist was narrow, forming an inverted triangle shape with her broad shoulders. The hem of her shirt was tucked into her trousers, creating a clean waistline.

Yang Zhiyan walked over with her water glass in hand, her gaze falling on his back.

Then her toe kicked the toolbox on the ground.

The metal corner of the toolbox struck her shinbone, causing her to hiss in pain and lurch forward. The water glass flew from her hand, the water inside tracing an arc in the air.

She tried to steady herself, but her foot tripped over the toolbox, her knee bent, and she fell forward.

She rushed into someone's arms.

It was a warm, solid chest, carrying his unique, light scent that lingered around the tip of the nose, inexplicably making one feel both at ease and longing.

Her hands were resting on something hard, palms pressed together, fingers curled, fingertips touching her firm, undulating chest.

She knelt there, and through the fabric of her cotton-linen shirt, she could feel the warmth of his thighs.

The world is quiet.

She could hear her own heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump, as fast as a drumbeat.

She could feel Qin Yuzheng's heart pounding just as hard as hers.