His physiological preference

After finishing his meal, Qin Yuzheng went to pay the bill.

The waiter checked and said, "Sir, your table has already been paid for. A Mr. Huang paid for it for you."

Qin Yuzheng's fingers paused on the counter for a moment, his brows furrowed.

Then he nodded, took out his phone, and dialed Fang Yibin's number as he walked out of the restaurant.

Yang Zhiyan walked beside him and heard him say:

"Check the account of that building materials supplier surnamed Huang, and return every penny he paid for my meal. Also, investigate his company; if there are any irregularities, deal with them according to the rules."

It's so annoying. Not only does it ruin his and Yang Zhiyan's time alone, but it also makes him so fond of making decisions on his own.

His tone was calm, but when he said the words "follow the rules," Yang Zhiyan felt a chill run down her spine.

She realized that this gentle and considerate person in front of her was an unapproachable and unreachable big shot in front of others, and even had the ability to keep others up at night.

When he was with her, he put away all his sharp edges, leaving only his gentlest and purest side.

The car was parked in the underground parking garage of Shengshi Tianxi. The two people took the elevator to the 22nd floor.

Yang Zhiyan opened the door and stood at the entrance, about to turn around and say goodnight. Qin Yuzheng stood behind her, not turning back to his side.

"I'm thirsty," he said casually. "Could I come in for a cup of tea?"

Yang Zhiyan looked at him. His expression was innocent, and his eyes were wet with pleading.

She rolled her eyes. "I only have monk fruit tea at home, do you want some?"

"Drink." Qin Yuzheng had already gone inside.

He changed his shoes, then naturally walked to the kitchen, opened the upper cabinet, and took out a monk fruit from the second shelf.

Yang Zhiyan stood at the kitchen doorway, watching him break off half a monk fruit, put it into a glass kettle, and pour in boiling water.

The monk fruit slowly unfurled in the hot water, its dark brown flesh resembling a flower in bloom.

"Autumn dryness is best relieved by drinking monk fruit tea," Qin Yuzheng explained deliberately.

Yang Zhiyan leaned against the kitchen door frame, watching his back as he carried the glass kettle toward the living room.

She thought he really needed to calm down. A couple of days ago, she was in his car, holding an ice cream and finding it inconvenient to fasten her seatbelt, so she asked him for help.

He turned to the side, pulled the seatbelt over, and buckled it. His arm was very close to her body as it crossed across her chest.

Then his nose started bleeding. Without any warning, it just started.

One drop, then two drops, fell onto his shirt cuff, staining it with two small, dark red flowers.

Yang Zhiyan hurriedly rummaged through her bag for tissues and handed them to him. He took them and wiped his face; the tissues were covered in red.

He said, "Autumn is too dry." Yang Zhiyan wholeheartedly agreed.

Qin Yuzheng placed the glass pot on the coffee table, poured two glasses, placed one in front of her, and held the other in his own hand.

The two sat side by side on the sofa, separated by a cushion.

Qin Yuzheng wanted to sit next to her, so he moved a little closer to her. Yang Zhiyan quietly slipped a cushion between them.

Qin Yuzheng glanced at the cushion but didn't move.

The two chatted casually. They talked about his work that day, her drawings, the progress of the technology exhibition, and the format of the design competition.

They were saying nothing of substance, nothing meaningful, but neither of them seemed inclined to end the conversation.

The night outside the window grew deeper and deeper. One by one, the lights in the distant buildings went out, leaving only a few office buildings still lit up, looking like a few glowing pillars in the darkness.

After finishing his third cup of monk fruit tea, Qin Yuzheng placed the cup on the coffee table, leaned back on the sofa, and let out a long sigh.

After a busy week, only now, sitting here drinking her monk fruit tea, does he feel like he's finally recovered.

When he was with her, his lust, appetite, desire to express himself, and desire to share all reached their peak, and all the things that were suppressed during the workday came out.

"Baby," he suddenly said, "when are you going to give me a proper status?"

Yang Zhiyan was drinking tea when she heard this and almost choked.

She put down the cup and turned to look at him. His expression was serious.

"No flowers, no gifts," Yang Zhiyan said, "Do you think you can just rely on your words to say you like me?"

She paused for a moment, then added, "No, you've hardly ever said you liked me."

Qin Yuzheng opened his mouth. "So you agreed just because there were flowers and gifts?"

"Effort doesn't guarantee success," Yang Zhiyan said, taking a sip of tea. "But without effort, success is impossible."

Qin Yuzheng looked at her. She held her teacup and drank her tea with great composure.

He thought to himself, "Very good, he's learned to speak in official jargon. He's a promising young man."

He stood up and walked over to her. When Yang Zhiyan looked up at him, he bent down and quickly kissed her cheek.

It happened very quickly, like a dragonfly skimming the water.

"Goodnight, baby." He had already reached the door, his hand on the doorknob. He turned back to look at her, a smile on his lips. "Remember not to miss me too much."

A cushion flew from the living room, hit the door, and landed on the floor.

Qin Yuzheng opened the door and went out. The door closed. Yang Zhiyan sat on the sofa, her hand still in the position of throwing the cushion. She lowered her hand and touched her cheek.

The spot where he kissed her was warm. She couldn't tell if it was the temperature of his lips or the temperature of her own skin.

"Who misses you, you narcissist," she said to the closed door.

That night, Yang Zhiyan had a shameful dream.

In her dream, Qin Yuzheng was cooking in the kitchen, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and an apron around his neck.

The apron straps were tied in a bow at his waist, with the two ends of the bow hanging down and swaying gently as he chopped vegetables.

She hugged him from behind, her face pressed against his back, feeling his body temperature and heartbeat.

He put down the knife, turned around, pinned her against the kitchen counter, and lowered his head to kiss her.

His lips were burning. His hand slowly moved up her waist, slipping under the hem of her clothes...

Yang Zhiyan heard her own breathing, rapid and broken. Then she woke up.

It was still dark outside, a hazy gray. Her heart was pounding, like a drum pounding in her chest.

She pulled her hand out from under the covers and touched her lips. They were burning hot. She closed her eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but couldn't.

It felt like something was burning inside her body, making her mouth and throat dry.

She got up and went to the bathroom to wash her face. The cold water on her face reduced the irritation by half.

Then she noticed a dark red stain on her underwear. She squatted down on the bathroom floor, opened the cabinet door, and rummaged through it to find the unused pack of sanitary napkins.

"Oh, it's my period," she thought to herself. "Could it be hormones causing this dream?"

Yang Zhiyan changed into clean pajamas and lay back down on the bed. Dawn was breaking outside the window; a thin line of pale white, grayish-blue, appeared on the eastern horizon.

She closed her eyes, but the dream lingered in her mind, impossible to shake off. Qin Yuzheng's hands, Qin Yuzheng's lips, Qin Yuzheng's body temperature. She buried her face in the pillow, overwhelmed with shame.

Qin Yuzheng sent a message early in the morning.

Good morning, baby, breakfast is hanging by your door.

"Baby, are you free today? I'd like to invite you to dinner."

Yang Zhiyan felt a sweet warmth in her heart.