His physiological preference

The next day, on Renmin Road, at a coffee shop.

Yang Zhiyan came to this area last week to deliver a cheongsam. She came in and bought a cup of coffee, which was very expensive. She was heartbroken.

The coffee shop is located in the middle of Renmin Road. It has a row of floor-to-ceiling windows with brown leather sofas inside. The area is frequented by high-end professionals, so the items sold there are quite upscale.

She didn't want to come, but seeing her mother's predicament, she decided to give her relative face.

They met once, and then he came back saying he had no feelings for her.

The glass door was polished to a shine, reflecting her image. She glanced at her reflection; she was wearing a modified cheongsam, her hair loosely tied up with a wooden hairpin, her face bare, yet her beauty was still undeniable.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside. A wave of cool air from the air conditioner hit her, carrying the aroma of roasted beans. The café was quite large, with brown leather booths, warm yellow lighting, and a few scattered tables of customers.

She looked around but didn't see anyone wearing a blue suit.

Across from me, by the window, sat a man in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A glass of water sat in front of him, but he wasn't drinking; he was looking down at his phone. The light shone down from above, highlighting the contours of his profile.

Yang Zhiyan's gaze lingered on his face for a moment before quickly shifting away.

He was very handsome, but Yang Zhiyan didn't dare to look at him for long; his aura was too intimidating. This kind of presence, born of long-term high status, made it impossible for anyone to look him directly in the eye.

She looked away, chose a seat near the door, placed her bag on the chair next to her, and began to wait.

The appointment was for 3 o'clock, but it's 3:10 now and no one has come.

Yang Zhiyan picked up the water glass on the table and took a sip, thinking she would wait another five minutes, and if they didn't come, she would leave. Anyway, she had already come, and it was the other person who didn't come; she would just tell her sister-in-law that when she got back, so it wouldn't be her fault.

At 3:12, the coffee shop door was pushed open.

Yang Zhiyan subconsciously looked up.

A man entered through the door. He was slightly bald on top, with a few strands of hair combed from left to right in an attempt to cover the shiny scalp.

His face had all the necessary features, but his skin was oily, and the sides of his nose were shiny. The blue suit he wore had a wide shoulder line, as if it were borrowed.

Yang Zhiyan was stunned for a moment.

She glanced down at the photo her sister-in-law had posted on her phone. The person in the photo, while not exactly handsome, at least had hair and his face wasn't so oily; he could be considered a reasonably normal-looking person.

Could this be the same person?

The bald man had already walked up to her, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe without any attempt to hide it, before finally settling on her face and grinning.

My teeth are a little yellow.

"Hello there."

His voice carried a deliberate calmness, as if he were imitating the tone of a leading cadre speaking on television.

Yang Zhiyan stood up, nodded slightly, and politely replied, "Hello."

Then she hesitated for a moment, but still said, "Are you sure you haven't mistaken me for someone else?"

The man's smile froze for a moment, then returned to normal. He raised his chin slightly and said in a condescending tone, "You must be Yang Zhiyan. Your sister-in-law showed me your picture."

Yang Zhiyan remained silent.

"Don't say that," Zhou Yuanzhi pulled out a chair, sat down, crossed his legs, and one leg was shaking, "you're even prettier than in the photos."

Yang Zhiyan stood and looked at him for two seconds before slowly sitting down.

She still found it hard to reconcile the bald, greasy man in front of her with the person in the photo. After hesitating for a moment, she finally asked, "You look... a little different from the photo."

Zhou Yuanzhi laughed, looking at her with an "you don't understand" expression, and reached out to touch the few strands of hair covering his head, his posture quite confident.

"Photo editing is deceptive, who doesn't use it? I'm definitely more handsome in person than in photos."

Yang Zhiyan thought to herself, at least the one in the photo still has hair.

She picked up her water glass, took a sip, and suppressed the various thoughts in her mind. Fine, she'd only stay for ten minutes. Just a polite formality, then she could go back and report.

Zhou Yuanzhi raised his wrist and glanced at the watch. The dial was quite large, with a gold rim, but it didn't look like real gold.

"I have to go back to work overtime later, so let's get straight to the point." He put away his smile, sat up a little straighter, crossed his hands on the table, and assumed a serious demeanor.

"Marry me, and I'll support you after we're married. You don't have to do anything; just take good care of my mom."

Yang Zhiyan put down her water glass but didn't reply.

"And another thing," Zhou Yuanzhi said seriously, "you have to give me a son."

Yang Zhiyan raised her eyes slightly: "Have a son?"

"Yes, three." Zhou Yuanzhi held up three fingers and said very seriously, "At least three sons."

Yang Zhiyan looked at him and realized he wasn't joking.

Jazz music played in the café, the saxophone's sound languid and ambiguous. She sat there, momentarily at a loss for words.

What era are we living in? They still require you to have three sons, and can he even afford to raise them?

She remembered that her own father was no different. He had insisted on having a son, and after having her brother, he wasn't satisfied and wanted another child, but ended up having a daughter as his second pregnancy.

Her father would often nag her that she was a money-loser, and no matter how much or how well she did, in her parents' eyes she was not as good as their useless son.

Her brother got 60 points on his test, and her dad said, "My son is really amazing, he'll get an extra chicken leg tonight." She got 100 points, and he said, "What's the point of a girl studying so much?" Haha, how ridiculous.

"Does your family have a throne to inherit?" Yang Zhiyan asked.

His tone was somewhat joking, but the barb in his words was unmistakable.

Zhou Yuanzhi either didn't notice, or he did but didn't care. His expression became even more serious, and he lowered his voice.

"Look, I'm a civil servant now. In ancient times, a civil servant was an official. Of course, an official needs a son to carry on the family line; otherwise, who am I serving as an official for?"

Yang Zhiyan opened her mouth as if to say something, but then swallowed it back.

Zhou Yuanzhi continued, getting more and more excited: "Besides, my mother had my fortune told. The master said I'm destined to have three sons in my life. Don't worry,"

He glanced at Yang Zhiyan, his tone carrying a kind of benevolent generosity, "You're just a cheongsam maker, a far cry from my circumstances, but you are indeed quite beautiful, so your son won't be bad. You don't need to worry about not being able to have a son."

Yang Zhiyan finally couldn't listen anymore.

She put her half-finished water glass on the table, looked up, and almost threw up her lunch when she saw the shiny, oily face opposite her.

"But the fortune teller said I'm not destined to have a son, and can only have daughters."

Zhou Yuanzhi looked as if someone had grabbed him by the neck.

His mouth was agape, and he stood there stunned for several seconds before the smile on his face slowly faded. He sat up straight and looked at her with an offended expression.

"That won't do."

His tone changed; it was no longer kind or generous, but carried a sense of being taken for granted for being let down.

"I was an official, and you were just a tailor; the gap between us was huge. If it weren't for our kinship and your good looks, I wouldn't have agreed."

He stood up, adjusted the blue suit jacket that was too wide at the shoulders, and raised his chin even higher.

"So you can't have a son? That won't do."

He picked up the Americano that the waiter had just brought over, which he hadn't had a chance to drink yet, and turned to leave.

He took two steps, then stopped and turned back: "You pay for the coffee, I have to go now."

The door was pushed open and then closed again.

The wind chimes by the door swayed twice, tinkling softly.

Yang Zhiyan sat alone in a booth, a latte on the table in front of her.

Then I called the waiter, "Could you please pack this up for me?"

We cannot waste it.

It's 58 yuan a cup.

When Yang Zhiyan looked at the 116 yuan displayed on the cashier's counter at the checkout, her heart was bleeding.

She only has 3,000 yuan left each month. She doesn't have to pay rent at home, but she has to give 5,000 yuan to her family for household expenses every month, which is more than the rent she spends.

Her brother's salary barely covered the mortgage, leaving little for the family. Their entire household expenses depended on her 5,000 yuan allowance. Her mother called promptly on the 15th of each month, her tone gentle but her meaning clear: "Yan Yan, have you received your salary yet?"