His physiological preference

Yang Zhiyan looked at him, her eyes turning cold. At the time, she felt they were family, and she would borrow money to help them.

She thought, this is her home. Even though her family favored sons over daughters, they were still her biological parents. Giving them 100,000 yuan would be good enough to have a home.

But she was wrong. This place was never her home, and the people here never treated her like family.

My roommate in college said that I must save up money to buy a small house in the future, otherwise if we quarrel after getting married, and my wife tells me to get out of her house, I won't have the confidence to talk back.

I never expected that she would experience this kind of scene before she was even married.

From the sofa came her mother's voice: "That's right, Yan Yan, that money was for your parents, you said it yourself."

His tone was urgent, eager to define the nature of the matter.

Yang Zhiyan turned her head and looked at her mother.

Her mother sat at the far end of the sofa, the towel in her hand now crumpled into a ball.

"What exactly did you say?" her mother continued nagging. "You said the money was for your parents to use, and they could do whatever they wanted with it. Your brother buying a house is a big deal for our family, so what's wrong with your parents giving this money to your brother?"

What's wrong with it? There are so many wrong things. The unfavored person is wrong no matter what they do.

Yang Zhiyan opened her mouth, then closed it again.

She recalled the scene from that night. She placed the bank card in her mother's hand and said that the 100,000 yuan was for the down payment on a house for the family.

Her mother's eyes were red when she took the card. She held her hand and said that Yan Yan was sensible and filial. Her brother sat next to her without saying anything, but he smiled, a little embarrassed.

At that time, she genuinely felt that the money didn't matter to anyone. They were family; there was no need to distinguish between "yours" and "mine."

Now she slowly understands that in a family, there's no such thing as "yours" and "mine." What's yours belongs to everyone, and what belongs to everyone belongs to her brother.

Her father came out of the bedroom. It was unclear whether he had been listening behind the door or had been woken up by the noise outside.

Wearing faded striped pajamas, her hair unkempt and uneven, she stood at the entrance of the hallway, frowning as she surveyed the living room.

"What's all this noise for so late at night?" The voice was impatient. "Can't we talk things out properly?"

No one responded.

He glanced at Yang Zhiyan, then at the phone on the coffee table with its screen lit up. The photo was still on, the bald man's face smiling in the image.

"Your sister-in-law introduced you to potential partners for your own good," her father said, his tone like a concluding statement. "You're a young woman; you'll get married sooner or later. What kind of future can you possibly have making cheongsams?"

Yang Zhiyan stood in the center of the living room, the light shining down from above, making her shadow shrink to a tiny ball at her feet.

The pain of one's family of origin requires a lifetime to heal. Yang Zhiyan thought, "No one in this world loves me anymore, so I should love myself from now on."

"Okay," she said, her voice firm yet distant, "Consider the 100,000 yuan as my repayment for the kindness of raising you."

She turned and walked towards her room.

"Stop right there!" My sister-in-law's voice came from behind, sharp and urgent. "You think you can just move out like that? You can't just move out like that. It's not like I'm the one who's stopping you from living here or kicking you out. How am I supposed to face people on this street?"

Yang Zhiyan stopped walking, but didn't turn around.

He said sarcastically, "Isn't that right?"

The April evening breeze slipped in through the gap in the balcony door, blowing coolly on her back.

There was silence for a few seconds behind me. Then my sister-in-law's voice rang out again, higher in pitch and faster in pace, as if she were crying out for justice to someone:

"Yang Zhiyan, put your hands on your conscience. I bore children for the Yang family, and it wasn't easy for me to carry this child. I introduced you to someone for your own good. He's such a good catch—a civil servant, a secure job. So many girls would love to marry him. If he weren't a bit older and balding, would you even have a chance?"

Yang Zhiyan slowly turned around.

She looked at her sister-in-law's face, flushed with emotion. Her mouth moved, saying, "I'm doing this for your own good," "So many people are vying to marry you," and "Do you even have a chance?"

What's the point of talking to someone who thinks being a civil servant is like being an official in ancient times and that having a son is a woman's entire value?

When you try to reason with her, she talks about conscience. When you talk about conscience, she talks about sacrifice. When you talk about sacrifice, she accuses you of being ungrateful.

The steps are all interconnected and leave no room for error.

It's exhausting to communicate with uncultured people. Indeed, the less cultured a person is, the more stubborn and opinionated they tend to be. This statement is true.

"I'm already looking for a place," she said. "I'll move in a few days. It won't stop you from decorating the children's room."

This time she didn't stop.

Enter the room and close the door.

But those words, "heartless, heartless," "ungrateful," and "serves you right for not being able to get married," still reached Yang Zhiyan's ears through the poorly soundproofed walls.

Yang Zhiyan leaned her back against the door panel, slowly slid down, and squatted down.

The room was dark. The curtains were drawn, and a sliver of streetlight shone in, casting a narrow strip of light on the floor. Half of her shadow was illuminated by that light, while the other half remained hidden in darkness.

She squatted there for a long time.

Later, the sounds in the living room gradually subsided, the TV was turned off, the footsteps faded away, and the bedroom door closed.

Yang Zhiyan stood up; her legs felt a little numb.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, reached for her phone, and opened the rental app. The screen's light shone on her face, a stark white that clearly illuminated the bluish-gray patches under her eyes.

Online listings vary widely, with typical one-bedroom apartments generally costing between 2,500 and 3,500 yuan.

If I move out, I won't have to pay 5,000 in household expenses, but I'll pay 3,000 more in rent. That way, I'll still have 5,000 left each month. I can even save some, plus commission. Maybe I really will be able to own my own little house someday.

Moreover, living alone should be relaxing and comfortable.

Yang Zhiyan saved several properties she liked and planned to ask her teacher for leave tomorrow to go see them. It was best to move out as soon as possible.

Teacher Mu might scold her, but after that, she'll probably help her find someone. Teacher Mu has lived in Haicheng for most of her life and knows many people; she might be able to find someone cheap and safe.

When Yang Zhiyan asked Teacher Mu for money to pay for Yang Yaohua's down payment, Teacher Mu warned her.

Your family is so sexist, you should be careful. If a girl takes every penny she earns home, she won't have any money to spend in case of an emergency later.

Later, at Teacher Mu's suggestion, Yang Zhiyan opened a new card without telling anyone. Every time she made a cheongsam, Teacher Mu would deposit the commission into the card.

This was her only source of confidence. Yang Zhiyan thought to herself, she was so lucky to have met such a wonderful teacher as Teacher Mu.

As I thought about it, my eyelids slowly grew heavy.

My phone vibrated.

Yang Zhiyan picked it up and saw that it was a message from Teacher Mu. It was almost eleven o'clock, and the teacher was still awake.

"Yan Yan, about that haute couture order I told you about today, the customer added three more pieces, making it six in total. The commission is 3,600, which will be deposited into your account at the end of the month."

"Okay, thank you, teacher."

"And how are the preparations for the cheongsam culture exhibition on Saturday going?"

"Don't worry, teacher, everything is ready."