His physiological preference

The phone rang.

Yang Zhiyan glanced down at the screen. "Mom." She usually didn't want to answer her mother's calls.

Yang Zhiyan wanted to leave, and this phone call, which she didn't like, was like a timely rain.

Yang Zhiyan answered the phone, held it to her ear, walked to the doorway of the main room, and stood by the threshold. Sunlight streamed in from outside, illuminating the tips of her shoes.

Qin Yuzheng stood in the middle of the main room, watching her walk to the door and put her phone to her ear.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but when he saw her answer the phone, he closed his mouth again.

Yang Zhiyan stood by the threshold, sunlight falling on her and casting her long, thin shadow on the blue brick floor of the main room, stretching all the way to Qin Yuzheng's feet.

She looked at the shadow without speaking or turning around.

Then she stepped across the threshold.

Yang Zhiyan stood under the osmanthus tree, holding her phone to her ear.

"Yan Yan, come to the hospital quickly, your sister-in-law is about to give birth!"

Yang's mother's voice exploded from the microphone, sharp and urgent, as if her eyebrows had been burned by fire.

Yang Zhiyan's fingers slowly tightened on the phone case. She looked up and glanced in the direction of the main room.

Qin Yuzheng stood inside the threshold, his hands hanging at his sides, his fingertips slightly curled. His gaze remained fixed on her, never wavering.

She lowered her eyes, bringing her gaze back to the bluestone pavement beneath her feet.

Several osmanthus blossoms have fallen, small and golden, lying in the cracks of the stone slabs, their edges already beginning to wilt.

"Aren't my brother and dad here?" Her voice was flat. "I can't help her with childbirth."

"Your brother is away on a business trip! It's inconvenient for your dad to be alone!"

Yang's mother spoke even faster, "We're all family, this is a matter of life and death, why don't you come and lend a hand!"

Yang Zhiyan closed her eyes briefly. Human life was at stake. Having a child wasn't just a matter for two people, it was a matter for the entire family.

When did it become her business? She's an unmarried girl; what help can she possibly give her sister-in-law when she's having a baby?

She knew in her heart that this wasn't something she could simply "lend a hand" at. But she didn't want to press her further over the phone.

If you press them for details, it's always the same old lines: "We're family," "Let's help each other," "It's what you should do." I've heard it for over twenty years, and I can recite every single one of them.

"I understand." She hung up the phone and clutched it tightly in her hand.

On the other end of the phone, Yang's mother took the phone away from her ear and turned to look at Li Fengxia on the hospital bed.

Li Fengxia leaned against the pillows on the hospital bed, her belly bulging high, stretching her hospital gown taut.

Sweat beaded on her face, her lips were a little pale, and the contractions came in waves. Her brows furrowed, relaxed, and furrowed again.

But her eyes were clear, even brighter than usual, and her mind was racing with calculations.

"What did she say?" Li Fengxia's voice was a little tense; the contractions hadn't subsided yet.

"She said she'd be right over." Yang's mother sat down on the edge of the bed, placed her phone on the bedside table, and reached out to wipe the sweat from Li Fengxia's forehead.

Li Fengxia closed her eyes briefly, and the corners of her mouth slowly curved upwards.

"Mom, when she arrives later, when you go to complete the hospital admission procedures, tell her to pay the fees."

Yang's mother paused for a moment, stopping above Li Fengxia's forehead, clutching the sweat-soaked tissue in her hand.

"Will she... pay?" Yang's mother asked hesitantly.

"She will," Li Fengxia said confidently.

"She's soft-hearted and can't stand seeing people die. Just tell her you don't have enough money at home and ask her to cover it first."

Yang's mother crumpled the tissue into a ball, but didn't throw it away; she just held it in her hand. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but then she closed them again.

Li Fengxia noticed her hesitation. She reached out and patted Yang's mother's hand, saying, "You can trust me."

That hand was round and chubby, with short, thick fingers and very short nails.

"Mom, think about it," Li Fengxia said in a low voice, so low that only the two of them could hear her.

"In the few months since she moved out, the family has lost 5,000 yuan, and they've been struggling to make ends meet."

These words struck a nerve with Yang's mother. Five thousand yuan. Five thousand yuan a month, taken from Yang Zhiyan's salary.

Previously, this payment was always made without fail; salaries were paid on the 15th, and the money would arrive in the account on the 16th.

After Yang Zhiyan moved out, the money stopped coming in.

Yang Yaohua's salary is barely enough to pay the mortgage. Yang's mother and Li Fengxia are both unemployed, and the family's basic needs are all met by Yang's father's meager retirement pension.

Yang's father had originally planned to use that little bit of money for a drink or a few gambles, but now it's all gone. Naturally, he's constantly complaining, throwing things around at home, and making veiled insults. These past few months have been chaotic at home.

Seeing the change in Yang's mother's expression, Li Fengxia knew her words had worked. She added fuel to the fire.

"And think about it, she moved out and stopped contributing to household expenses, but isn't she your daughter? You gave birth to her and raised her, and now she thinks she can just ignore the family?"

Yang's mother slowly clenched her hands on her knees. She was clutching her own trousers, wrinkling the fabric.

"She said she would take care of us when I get old," Yang's mother's voice lowered, carrying a sense of grievance after being stung.

Li Fengxia didn't reply. She leaned against the pillow and closed her eyes for a while.

The contractions started again. Her brows furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line, her nostrils flared, and her hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles turning white.

After the contractions subsided, her breathing gradually calmed down. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Yang's mother. Her eyes held a satisfied look of shrewd calculation.

"Mom," her voice was very soft, as if she were talking about something trivial, "Anyway, I don't have the money for childbirth. If Zhiyan doesn't pay, will you?"

Looking into Li Fengxia's eyes, Yang's mother wondered, "Where would she get money? Could she know I've secretly saved a little money?" This wouldn't do; that money was money she had painstakingly saved for herself. It couldn't be spent.

So he nodded in agreement. "My friend is not me."

Li Fengxia smiled, but the smile was brief. Then she frowned again; the contractions returned, this time more frequent and with shorter intervals.

She bit her lip, not making a sound, but gripped the sheets even tighter.

A nurse pushed a cart through the corridor, the wheels making a soft crunching sound as they rolled over the paving stones.

In the distance, there was the sound of a baby crying, loud and fresh. Li Fengxia listened to the cry, and a smile slowly appeared on her lips. As a woman about to become a mother, when she heard another child crying, she instinctively, unconsciously, and uncontrollably curved the corners of her mouth.

She placed her hand on her bulging belly and slowly drew circles.

She was waiting. Waiting for Yang Zhiyan to come. Waiting for her to pay the bills. Waiting for her to pay the hospital fees. Waiting for her to fill the gap left by the deficit of the past few months.

Yang's mother stood up, walked to the door of the ward, and glanced outside.

The corridor was bustling with people. Pregnant women with large bellies walked slowly, fathers carrying babies walked cautiously, and family members carrying insulated containers hurried by. Yang Zhiyan was not among them.

"It's not here yet," said Yang's mother, her voice carrying an indescribable emotion—anxiety and unease.

"It'll be soon," Li Fengxia said with her eyes closed.

The ward fell silent. The electrocardiogram monitor screen glowed green, flickering like an eye that would never close.

The sky outside the window was already getting dark. The days in September were getting shorter. Around six o'clock, the setting sun shone through the window and fell on the white sheets of the hospital bed, turning the whole ward into a light orange hue.

The shadow of the osmanthus tree was cast through the window, flickering on the bed sheet for a moment, then flickering again.

In the courtyard of the old house, the osmanthus blossoms are still falling.

Yang Zhiyan hung up the phone, clutched it in her hand, and stood there for a few seconds. Then she turned and walked back into the main room.