His physiological preference

In late May, the city had mostly shed its sycamore fluff, and the streets were filled with the faint fragrance of gardenias.

At six o'clock in the evening, the sun was still hanging in the west, reluctant to set. The light slowly transitioned from amber to orange-red, coating the whole street with a warm, old-fashioned color.

Qin Yuzheng parked the car on the side of the road, left the engine running, and sat for a while.

The location sent by his grandmother was still lit up on his phone screen. The old lady sent several voice messages, each sixty seconds long, and Qin Yuzheng listened patiently to her rambling.

Qin Yuzheng grew up with his grandmother because his parents were both busy with work when he was a child. He was very close to his grandmother.

He had always been alone, which Qin Yuzheng himself thought was fine, but his grandmother was most worried. The old lady's traditional values ​​were deeply ingrained, and she was always worried that he would be lonely and helpless.

Qin Yuzheng patiently replied to his grandmother via voice message, turned off the engine, removed the key, and opened the car door.

The May wind blew in, lukewarm, carrying the scent of lilies from the flower shop downstairs.

He looked up at the old building in front of him, with its gray terrazzo exterior, dark green window frames, and a section of wrought iron balcony extending from the second floor, covered with ivy.

The old building is well-preserved, with the sign "Mufei Cheongsam Studio" hanging at the entrance.

Before he even reached the door, the sounds from inside drifted out.

A young woman's voice, with a rhythmic pace, was clear and melodious, like beads falling on a porcelain plate.

The voice sounds familiar.

"The earliest record of Chinese knot buttons can be traced back to the Song Dynasty, when they were called 'niu ban' (纽绊), and they didn't look like they do now. It wasn't until the Republic of China era, with the rise of the cheongsam, that Chinese knot buttons truly transitioned from practical to decorative. A small button can contain dozens of weaving techniques..."

Qin Yuzheng stopped in his tracks. His eyes were already drawn to the source of the voice, and he tried to conceal the turmoil in his heart.

Qin Yuzheng surveyed the studio without making a sound.

The windows on the south-facing wall were bathed in perfect sunlight at this time, streaming in at an angle and illuminating the entire room.

Two worktables were placed side by side by the window, with fabric, needles and thread, chalk, and scissors spread out on them, a chaotic yet orderly scene.

Various silk rolls were stacked on the wooden shelves against the wall—red, blue, moon white, and dark blue—and shimmered with a fine sheen when the light shone on them.

Several finished cheongsams hang on the wall, appearing from afar and near, like three-dimensional paintings.

After a quick glance, his gaze involuntarily drifted elsewhere.

Yang Zhiyan stood in front of a long table, facing sideways to the door. Today she was wearing a moon-white cotton-linen shirt, with one button undone at the collar, revealing a small section of her collarbone.

Below is a navy blue midi skirt, tucked into the shirt at the waist, accentuating a slender figure.

Her hair was still loosely tied up with a wooden hairpin, with a few stray strands hanging down beside her ears, swaying gently in the evening breeze coming in through the window.

She had several old picture books and design drafts spread out in front of her, and was talking to a middle-aged woman in a navy blue dress next to her.

Her arm was slightly raised, her fingertips pointing to a picture in the book, her wrist slender and white.

Qin Yuzheng leaned against the doorframe, listening to her speak. Her voice was so beautiful.

"Look at the difference between these two kinds of Chinese knot buttons," she said, pointing her finger back and forth between the two patterns.

"The one on the left is a pipa button, which is relatively simple to weave and has a full shape, making it suitable for pairing with thicker fabrics. The one on the right is a butterfly button, which is much more complicated to make. Just the thread needs to be wrapped 108 times. It is flat and light, making it suitable for pairing with silk."

She paused, tilted her head, and pondered her next words. Her smile was natural and genuine, her eyes gleaming with joy.

"My master told me that the frog button is not a button, but the eye of the garment. I didn't understand at the time, but after working in the industry for two years, I gradually came to understand that a good frog button is the most exquisite embellishment of a cheongsam."

The most exquisite embellishment. Qin Yuzheng glanced at the buttons on Yang Zhiyan's cotton and linen shirt, then moved his gaze upwards. Hmm, very exquisite.

Yang Zhiyan felt a burning gaze and looked up towards the door.

The incredibly imposing man from the coffee shop last time?

The moment their eyes met, Qin Yuzheng clearly saw a flicker of panic in her eyes, like a small ripple on the surface of water.

Yang Zhiyan unconsciously pulled her shoulders back an inch. The sudden appearance of this exceptionally handsome man made her feel embarrassed.

"Hello," Yang Zhiyan greeted politely.

"I've come to get the cheongsam," Qin Yuzheng said as he walked in, giving his grandmother's name.

"Okay, please wait a moment."

Yang Zhiyan let the middle-aged woman take her time choosing the styles, then turned and walked towards the clothes rack. "It was prepared yesterday. Teacher Mu told me several times that Grandma Qin needed it urgently."

She removed the dust bag, unzipped it, and carefully took out the dark green cheongsam from inside, holding it in both hands and unfolding it in front of him.

The movements were gentle, as if holding a rare treasure.

Qin Yuzheng's gaze lingered on the cheongsam. The embroidery was indeed exquisite. The magnolia petals were embroidered with three different shades of silk thread, creating a layered transition from the center of the flower to the edge of the petals, making them incredibly lifelike.

My grandmother was a lady from a prominent family, and she used very exquisite things. She especially liked things with a classical charm.

Qin Yuzheng looked at Yang Zhiyan's hand holding the cheongsam. He watched the curve of her neck as she slightly tilted her head. He noticed her lips, which were slightly pursed in concentration.

"Very good," Qin Yuzheng said, though he himself wasn't sure if he was referring to the clothes or the person.

Yang Zhiyan folded the cheongsam and put it into a dust bag. She had zipped it up halfway when she heard him say that, and her hand paused for a moment.

"Thank you," she said, lowering her head to continue zipping up her zipper, her eyelashes drooping, obscuring her expression.

Qin Yuzheng stood there, looking at her profile as she lowered her head. Light streamed in from the window, casting a soft glow on her face, while the shadow of her nose fell on her other cheek, like a chiaroscuro sketch.

His gaze lingered on the shadow for a moment, then shifted to the wisp of hair behind her ear. The hair clung to her earlobe, and the edge of her ear was almost transparent in the light, tinged with a faint pink.

He shouldn't have looked. He looked away and turned his gaze to the row of cheongsams hanging on the wall.

The pale white one had a specially bound collar, while the dark blue one had a small clump of orchids embroidered on the hem. He pretended to look at them, but he didn't really see anything.

"Miss Yang," he heard himself say.

"Hmm?" She looked up.

Qin Yuzheng paused for a moment, thinking about how to phrase it.

He was the youngest senior leader, and he spoke fluently and smoothly at large meetings, delivering his work reports in one go.

Standing in a qipao studio, facing a 25-year-old girl, I couldn't think of a suitable thing to say for a long time.

"My mother's birthday is coming up soon," he finally said, "and I'm really struggling to figure out what to get her. Miss Yang, your craftsmanship is so good, could you please make one for me?"

Yang Zhiyan was naturally delighted to accept the unexpected order.

Qin Yuzheng revealed his ultimate goal: "I want to add you on WeChat so we can contact each other more easily in the future."

Yang Zhiyan looked at him and blinked.

Those eyes were large and clear, the pupils not pure black, but a light amber color, like two glass beads washed with water under the light.

At that moment, the two beads reflected his image: a man in a dark gray suit with a solemn expression.