His physiological preference

She took out her phone, snapped a picture of the window, and sent it to Qin Yuzheng. "We've arrived. The room is nice."

Qin Yuzheng replied with a single word: "Okay." Then he added: "Shall we contact the manufacturer?"

Yang Zhiyan: "It's on the appointment."

Qin Yuzheng: "Be careful. Call me when you're done talking."

Yang Zhiyan placed her phone next to her pillow and closed her eyes for a while.

The light filtering through the curtains flickered on the ceiling, casting the shadow of the osmanthus tree, which swayed gently in the breeze.

With her eyes closed, she was thinking about how she wasn't nervous at all on her first business trip alone.

It wasn't because things weren't difficult, but because she knew that in another city, there was someone behind her, someone who would be there whenever she needed him.

Yang Zhiyan arrived at the Yunjin Factory.

The factory is located in the northern part of S City, in an old industrial area. On both sides of the road are old factory buildings built in the 1970s and 1980s, with red brick walls, sloping roofs, and iron window frames.

There was a damp smell in the air, as if it had just rained, or as if this place was always this damp.

The office of the Yunjin factory was on the second floor of a three-story building. When Yang Zhiyan pushed open the door, a woman in her forties stood up from behind her desk, wearing a business suit, her hair tied up, and gold-rimmed glasses.

Her gaze swept over Yang Zhiyan.

"Hello, I'm Zhou Min, the person in charge of the Yunjin factory." She extended her hand.

Yang Zhiyan shook hands. "Yang Zhiyan, Mu Fei Studio."

"Sit down," Zhou Min said, pointing to the chair opposite the desk.

Yang Zhiyan sat down, placed her bag on her lap, and looked at Zhou Min.

"President Zhou," Yang Zhiyan spoke first, "about that batch of Nanjing brocade..."

"It's raining." Zhou Min interrupted her. "S City has had a lot of rain this year, and the production of Yun brocade can't keep up. It's not that we don't want to deliver, it's that we can't make it. The batch of goods you want will take at least another month."

Yang Zhiyan slowly clenched her fingers on her knee. One month. The customers for that batch of customized orders had already waited three months; another month wouldn't be enough.

"Is there no other way?" she asked.

Zhou Min leaned back in her chair, her hands crossed in front of her abdomen.

"Either wait, or you can go to Yun Town and look for it yourselves. There are a few small vendors there who might have some stock. But the quality can't be guaranteed, and the prices aren't cheap."

Yang Zhiyan looked at Zhou Min. Zhou Min's expression didn't change; she didn't seem to be lying to her.

"Where is Yunzhen?" Yang Zhiyan asked.

"It's more than a two-hour drive north of S City."

Zhou Min took a business card from the drawer and handed it over. "This is the address of an old craftswoman in Yun Town, surnamed Chen. She might have some goods; go and take a look. But I can't guarantee she'll sell to you; she has a bit of a strange temper."

Yang Zhiyan took the business card. The card was a bit old, with the edges slightly curled up. The words on it were handwritten: "Chen Guilan, Yun Brocade Craftswoman," followed by an address in neat handwriting.

"Thank you, Mr. Zhou." Yang Zhiyan stood up.

Zhou Min also stood up and glanced at her. "Mu Fei and I have been together for so many years. I'll do my best to help if I can."

"You came alone?"

"Um."

"This young lady has quite the nerve," Zhou Min said, her tone carrying a hint of surprise and slight admiration.

Yang Zhiyan smiled, said nothing, and turned to leave the office.

The next morning, Yang Zhiyan took a car near the hotel to Yunzhen.

Yunzhen is located north of S City, less than three hours away by highway. After exiting the highway, the road narrows, and the scenery on both sides changes from city to fields, and then from fields to hills.

In August, the rice paddies in Jiangnan are still green, the distant mountains are also green, the sky is grayish-blue, and the clouds are low, pressing down on the mountaintops like a grayish-white hat.

Yun Town is small, built on the side of a river. The river is not wide, and the water is very clear, so you can see the aquatic plants and small fish swimming around at the bottom.

The two sides of the river are lined with old-style houses with white walls and black tiles. Some walls are covered with ivy, which is lush and green, like a green carpet.

The town was quiet, with the occasional bark of a dog and the crowing of a rooster in the distance.

The driver parked the car at the town entrance, and Yang Zhiyan, holding the business card, began searching for the address. The roads in the town were narrow, paved with bluestone slabs, some of which were covered with moss and a bit slippery.

She walked slowly, glancing at the house numbers as she went. The alley was narrow, with high walls on both sides, and a few pomegranate branches peeked out from the top of the walls, hanging with small, green pomegranate fruits.

There was a mixed smell in the air: the fishy smell of the river, the damp smell of moss, and the occasional smell of cooking smoke. It was hard to describe what it was, but it made people feel at ease.

She found the address on the business card.

An old house with a wooden door. A faded Spring Festival couplet is pasted on the door. The red paper has turned white, but the ink is still there. It reads: "May your happiness be as boundless as the Eastern Sea and your longevity as enduring as the Southern Mountain pine."

The door was ajar and unlocked. Yang Zhiyan stood at the door, hesitated for a moment, and then knocked three times.

Knock knock knock.

no respond.

She knocked three more times. After a few seconds, a voice came from inside, old and hoarse, like the wind blowing through dry leaves. "The door's unlocked, come in."

Yang Zhiyan pushed open the door and went inside.

There is a loquat tree in the yard. The trunk is very thick and the canopy is very large, covering most of the yard.

An old woman sat under a loquat tree, holding a round wooden frame with a piece of white silk stretched across it, and was embroidering.

She was wearing a dark blue cotton jacket, and her hair was completely white, tied in a bun at the back of her head and secured with a silver hairpin.

Her face had many deep wrinkles, like the lines on a walnut, but her eyes were bright and she looked very energetic.

The old lady looked up at Yang Zhiyan, her gaze lingered on her for a moment, then she lowered her head to continue embroidering.

"Who are you looking for?" she asked, her voice low but clear.

"Hello, are you Grandma Chen Guilan?" Yang Zhiyan walked over and stood under the loquat tree.

"It's me." The old woman didn't look up, her needle and thread moving steadily across the silk cloth, stitch by stitch.

Yang Zhiyan pulled out Zhou Min's business card from her phone and handed it over. "Ms. Zhou recommended me. I'm from Haicheng Mufei Studio. We'd like to buy a batch of Yun brocade, and we heard you have some in stock."

The old woman finally raised her head. She inserted the needle into the bandage, placed the bandage on her knee, and looked at Yang Zhiyan.

Her gaze wasn't sharp, but it was very penetrating.

"Mufei Studio," the old lady repeated, "Does Mufei still make cheongsams?"

Yang Zhiyan was taken aback. "You know my master?"

The old woman didn't answer the question. She stood up, patted the loose threads off her jacket, and walked into the house. "Come in."

Yang Zhiyan followed her into the house. The house was not large, but it was very deep. There was a corridor leading from the door, with rooms on both sides of the corridor.

There was a camphor wood scent in the air, mixed with the faint, slightly sour smell of silk. The old woman pushed open a door at the end of the corridor, leading to a warehouse.

Rolls of cloth were stacked on the wooden frame, some wrapped in plastic sheeting, others exposed, their colors ranging from dark to light, from rich to pale, like paintings layered together.

The old woman walked to the innermost wooden shelf, reached down from the top to take a roll of cloth, placed it on the table next to her, untied the rope, and unfolded the cloth.

It is a piece of brocade, with a deep blue background and silver-white cloud patterns woven on it.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on the brocade. The silvery-white cloud patterns shimmered in the light, looking like real clouds floating in the sky.

Yang Zhiyan reached out and touched it. The feel of Yun brocade was different from ordinary silk; it was thicker and more structured, yet still soft.

Her fingertips slowly glided across the brocade, as if caressing something alive. She knew it was a fine piece, better than most of the brocade she had ever seen before.

"Grandma Chen, how much is this?" she asked.

The old lady quoted a price. It was 30% higher than the market price.

Yang Zhiyan did the math in her head: 30% higher was within her acceptable range. But she didn't nod immediately.

"Grandma Chen, this price..." she hesitated, then said, "is a bit higher than the market price."