His physiological preference

There was no response. He knocked three more times.

Knock knock knock.

There were rustling sounds coming from inside the door—the sound of people getting up, the sound of slippers hitting the floor. Then the door opened.

Yang Zhiyan stood at the door, wearing a white nightgown, her hair loose and a little messy, with pillow marks on her face.

Her eyes weren't fully open, covered with a thin layer of mist. She looked as if she had just been dragged out of bed, dazed and confused, not knowing what had happened.

She rubbed her eyes and looked up. There was a person standing in front of her.

Dark circles under the eyes.

She recognized his face—his brow bone, his nose, his jawline. She had seen it countless times in the corridors of Haicheng.

But this isn't Haicheng; this is Yunzhen, more than a thousand kilometers away from Haicheng. Is she dreaming?

"Qin Yuzheng?" she called his name, her voice hoarse and tentative as she woke up.

Qin Yuzheng stood there, looking at the woman in front of him who was wearing a white nightgown, with messy hair and pillow marks on her face.

She was alive. She stood before him, perfectly healthy, whole, able to speak and move, with body temperature and a heartbeat.

She was wearing slippers, her toes were white, and she stood on the floor by the door.

He didn't speak. He took a step forward, reached out, and pulled her into his arms.

His arms tightened, encircling her from her shoulders to her waist, holding her tightly in his embrace. The force was great, and she felt a lingering fear of having regained what she had lost.

Yang Zhiyan was so tightly held by him that she could barely breathe. Her face was pressed against his chest, and she could hear his heartbeat, pounding like a drum.

His body was trembling slightly, shaking uncontrollably.

He pressed her face against his chest, his voice muffled. "Why are you here?"

Qin Yuzheng didn't answer. He buried his face in the top of her head and closed his eyes. Her hands slowly rose and wrapped around his waist.

He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Her fingers intertwined on his back, and she could feel his spine, segment by segment.

"I can't get through on the phone," Qin Yuzheng finally spoke, his voice hoarse and muffled by the hair on top of her head. "I've tried dozens of times, but I can't get through."

Yang Zhiyan gently stroked his back, as if soothing a frightened beast.

"My phone is in the room, I didn't take it out. I ran too fast during the earthquake and didn't take anything with me."

"I'm glad you're safe."

His arm tightened a little more. Yang Zhiyan rested her chin on his shoulder, turned her head, and saw a tall man standing at the end of the corridor behind him. It was Zhou Zhanyu.

Zhou Zhanyu leaned against the wall at the end of the corridor, his hands in his pockets, looking this way.

His expression was calm, but his eyes were full of gossip.

When he saw Yang Zhiyan looking at him, he nodded slightly.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a bright, warm yellow patch on the floor.

There were birds chirping in the distance, I don't know what kind of birds they were, but they were chirping happily, as if they were celebrating something.

When Qin Yuzheng released her, neither of them spoke.

Yang Zhiyan looked down at her bare feet. Her toes were white and round, and she was standing on the wooden floor of the guesthouse corridor, next to Qin Yuzheng's leather shoes.

His leather shoes were covered in a layer of dust, and one of the shoelaces was loose, dragging on the ground. She knelt down and tied the loose shoelace for him.

Qin Yuzheng looked down at her squatting on the ground. Her hair was loose, and the curve of her nape was gleaming white.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she tied her shoelaces, whether from the shock of the earthquake or something else, it was hard to tell.

The proprietress, Sister Zhao, glanced back and forth between the two men, confirming that the man was indeed the girl's boyfriend. She smiled slightly, turned around, and went downstairs.

I didn't disturb them.

"Come in and sit down." Yang Zhiyan stood up, pushed open the door, and stepped aside to let him in.

Qin Yuzheng entered her room. The room was small, containing a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and a window.

The curtains weren't fully drawn, and sunlight streamed in through the gaps. The blankets on the bed were pulled back, and there was a faint crease on the pillow where she had just gotten up to open the door for him.

There was nothing on the bedside table except her phone, which lay quietly on it, screen down.

Qin Yuzheng walked over and picked up her phone. The screen lit up briefly, revealing dozens of missed calls, all in his name, from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m., densely packed like a trail of footprints with no way out.

He stared at the missed calls for two seconds, put the phone back, turned around, and looked at her.

"You scared me to death," he said.

His eyes were red-rimmed; he was genuinely worried that something might happen to Yang Zhiyan.

Yang Zhiyan stood there, looking at his red eyes, her heart softening completely.

There aren't many people in this world who care about her. Teacher Mu is one, and Jiang Siya is another.

Now there's another one. Standing before her is a man with dark circles under his eyes, who seems to have flown in from over a thousand kilometers away.

She walked over and took his hand. His hand was cold, his fingertips were icy.

"It's alright," she said softly. "I'm perfectly fine, aren't I?"

Qin Yuzheng gripped her hand tightly without saying a word.

The two stayed in the room for over an hour. Qin Yuzheng sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, while Yang Zhiyan leaned on his shoulder; neither of them spoke.

The sunlight outside the curtains moved slowly, creeping up the walls from the floor, and then up to the ceiling. In the distance, birds chirped and twittered, their calls cheerful and lively.

Yang Zhiyan closed her eyes and felt his hand slowly stroking her hair.

"Do you know how many phone calls I made?" he suddenly asked.

"Dozens," Yang Zhiyan said with her eyes closed.

"Forty-seven," Qin Yuzheng said.

Yang Zhiyan opened her eyes and looked up at him. He didn't look at her; he leaned against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.

His eyes reflected the light and shadow of the ceiling, a pale gray, like an unfinished story.

"I called from one o'clock to three o'clock," he said, "and didn't get through to a single one."

Yang Zhiyan sat up straight and turned to look at him. His profile was illuminated by light filtering through the curtains, half bright and half in shadow.

His jawline was sharp, and he had some stubble, a light, bluish stubble that was clearly visible in the light. She reached out and touched his chin with her fingertips. It felt prickly and ticklish.

"Qin Yuzheng"

He turned to look at her.

Qin Yuzheng looked at her, the redness in his eyes not yet completely gone. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Hmm." His voice came down from above her head, muffled.

An hour later, the two people came out of the room.

The two went downstairs. Zhou Zhanyu stood in the courtyard, leaning against the loquat tree trunk, holding his phone and looking at something.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up, his gaze sweeping from Qin Yuzheng's face to Yang Zhiyan's face, then back to Qin Yuzheng's face, and his lips twitched slightly.