His physiological preference

Qin Yuzheng thought for a moment, then turned on his turn signal and drove out of the parking space.

He chose a local Shanghainese restaurant in the north of the city, not too close, not too far from Shengshi Tianxi. It was located on an old street, with an ordinary storefront, but the cars parked in front were all expensive.

He knew the restaurant; he had been there several times. The food was good, and the environment was quiet.

As the car turned into the old street, the road narrowed, with old-fashioned brick walls and wooden doors on both sides. Moss grew at the base of the walls, and faded lanterns hung on the lintels.

As darkness fell, the streetlights remained off, casting an ambiguous, grayish-blue twilight over the entire street. The branches of the sycamore trees intertwined overhead, slicing the sky into fragments.

Qin Yuzheng parked the car under a sycamore tree and turned off the engine.

The two got out of the car and walked into the shop side by side. The owner recognized Qin Yuzheng, smiled when he saw him, and without asking any questions, led them to a small table at the very back.

The table is by the window, outside which is a small courtyard. In the courtyard grows a pomegranate tree, on which hang a few small, green pomegranates, no bigger than a fist.

The courtyard floor was paved with bluestone slabs, and fine green grass grew in the gaps between the slabs, velvety and like a thin carpet.

The two people sat down facing each other.

The waiter handed over the menu, but Qin Yuzheng didn't look at it. He directly ordered the dishes: Crystal Shrimp, Braised Eel in Hot Oil, Stir-fried Seasonal Vegetables, and Braised Pork Belly with Bamboo Shoots. These were all classic Shanghainese dishes, unpretentious, but their quality depended entirely on the chef's skill.

"Why won't you let me order?" Yang Zhiyan asked.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll like what I ordered."

Qin Yuzheng handed the menu to the waitress, looking at her with a slight smile on his lips.

Yang Zhiyan opened her mouth, wanting to say, "How do you know what I like?", but swallowed the words back. The sentence was somewhat ambiguous.

So Yang Zhiyan jokingly said, "Thank you for remembering my preferences, boss."

"Of course, I'm an excellent dining partner," Qin Yuzheng said.

Yang Zhiyan lowered her head and drew a circle on the tablecloth with her finger. Could their relationship as dining buddies take things further?

The dishes were served quickly. The crystal shrimp were translucent and large; each bite was crisp and the freshness exploded in your mouth.

The sizzling eel was served still hot. The hot oil was poured over the minced garlic, and the aroma immediately wafted up, mixed with the mellow flavor of Shaoxing wine and the spiciness of pepper.

The soup of Yan Du Xian is milky white, with the saltiness of the salted pork and the freshness of the pork infused into the broth. The bamboo shoots are crisp and tender, and the tofu knots are soaked in the broth, bursting with juice with every bite.

The two chatted and ate, thoroughly enjoying themselves. Yang Zhiyan, who suffers from mild social anxiety, always seemed to have endless topics to discuss, guided by Qin Yuzheng's conversation.

Qin Yuzheng, an emotionally detached person, was always able to notice Yang Zhiyan's subtle expressions. Being with Yang Zhiyan was truly relaxing, joyful, and stress-relieving.

Qin Yuzheng now felt that Yang Zhiyan not only aroused his sexual desire, but also gave him a sense of peace and security, away from the intrigue and backstabbing of officialdom.

He enjoyed the strategic maneuvering in officialdom, and he also enjoyed the relaxed and comfortable feeling of being with her.

After finishing their meal, the two walked out of the restaurant. It was already completely dark, and the lanterns on the old street were lit, their red light shining through and illuminating the bluestone pavement like scattered red fragments. The shadows of the sycamore trees fell on the wall, swaying gently in the wind.

Qin Yuzheng drove the car to the underground parking garage of Shengshi Tianxi, and the two of them took the elevator to the 22nd floor.

There were only the two of them in the elevator. Their silhouettes were reflected on the elevator wall; she was wearing a light purple dress, and he was wearing a white shirt and black trousers. They stood together, a fist's distance between their shoulders.

We've arrived at the 22nd floor.

The two people walked out and went to their respective doors.

"Tell me what you want to eat next time," he said.

Yang Zhiyan looked up at him.

"Okay," Yang Zhiyan said.

The two people opened the door at the same time, went inside at the same time, and closed the door behind them simultaneously.

On Friday evening, the setting sun slanted in through the west-facing windows, bathing the entire office in an orange-red hue.

Qin Yuzheng stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, holding his phone. The screen displayed the last message from Qin Yuzhi: "Remember the plan? Dinner, movie, flowers, gifts. Don't mess it up."

He read the message for the third time. He felt as if he had been sent on a mission he had never done before, with a tight schedule, heavy workload, and no rehearsal.

He never hesitated when making any decisions in officialdom; he approved documents, held meetings, and made decisions swiftly and decisively.

But he hesitated for a week on this matter. From last Saturday to this Friday, from breakfast to bedtime, in every work break, in every meeting interval, and every time he tossed and turned in bed late at night, he kept thinking about the same question: how to bring it up.

"Zhiyan, I like you."

He practiced this phrase in front of the mirror. He said it to himself while washing up in the morning, to the foggy window while showering at night, and to the empty passenger seat while driving.

He spoke naturally, without stumbling or trembling. But he knew that when he actually stood in front of her, he might not be able to speak.

For thirty-five years, he had never said those words to anyone. At this moment, he was like a young man experiencing his first love. He wanted to confess his feelings, but didn't know how.

Qin Yuzheng put his cell phone away, picked up the landline on his desk, and dialed the internal line.

"Fang Yinbin, come in here for a moment."

Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and Fang Yinbin pushed the door open and came in, holding a notebook and pen, ready to take notes.

"Secretary Qin, please speak."

Qin Yuzheng leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms in front of his abdomen, and looked at Fang Yinbin.

Fang Yinbin had been with him for five years and was his most capable secretary.

He is reliable and discreet, never asking or saying anything he shouldn't. He has never made a mistake in the past five years.

At this moment, Fang Yinbin stood there with the standard "ready at any time" expression, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

He suspected his boss was in a relationship due to his recent strange behavior. He had been working for his boss for five years and, aside from the occasional appearance of Ms. Qin Yuyan, had never seen any other women.

"Tomorrow is Qixi Festival," Qin Yuzheng began, his tone as if assigning a routine task, "and you order me a bouquet of flowers."

Fang Yinbin's hand paused on the notebook. Flowers. Secretary Qin wanted to order flowers. He processed this information in his mind for a fraction of a second, then neatly wrote the word "flowers" in the notebook.

They're definitely in a relationship. Tomorrow is Qixi Festival (Chinese Valentine's Day).

"What kind of flower? Red roses? How many?" Fang Yinbin looked up, his expression still the standard "taking notes" look, but his speech was half a beat faster than usual, full of curiosity.

Qin Yuzheng thought for a moment. Red roses seemed too cliché to him. But he didn't know what flowers she liked.

Her home is decorated with daisies, her windowsill with succulents, and her studio with lilies, but she has never said what her favorite thing is.