It was 3:17 a.m.
Qin Yuzheng’s eyes flew open.
The room was dim. A sliver of streetlight filtered through the gap in the curtains. He lay perfectly still, struggling to steady his ragged breathing, but his chest continued to heave violently. Sweat had soaked through the back of his pajamas.
The scene from the dream resurfaced in his mind.
The woman wore a fitted cheongsam, her slender waist so delicate it seemed it could be encircled with one hand. Her skin was porcelain-white, her face as lovely as a peach blossom. Her beautiful eyes were hazy with emotion, making it impossible to look away.
His own gaze had been deep and clouded with desire as he smiled faintly and leaned down to kiss her.
Her lips were soft.
Sweet.
Completely intoxicating.
Ever since last week, when he’d come downstairs from a meeting on the second floor of that café on Renmin Road and caught sight of the woman in the cheongsam through the floor-to-ceiling windows…
He had stopped in his tracks.
His secretary had called his name twice before he finally came back to himself.
At the time, he’d thought,
The cheongsam is beautiful.
Now he knew he’d been mistaken.
It wasn’t the dress that was beautiful.
It was the woman.
Qin Yuzheng threw back the blanket and sat up.
The alarm clock on the bedside table read 3:20. He reached for the lamp switch. With a click, warm yellow light illuminated half the bed.
He looked down, then cursed under his breath.
“Damn.”
He’d have to change the sheets again.
In thirty-five years, this was only the second time.
The first had been the night before last.
The same dream.
The same woman.
The same humiliating way of waking up.
Closing his eyes, he resigned himself to taking another cold shower.
The icy water poured over his burning body.
It streamed across his chest and over the firm lines of his six-pack abs.
Qin Yuzheng was thirty-five years old.
At twenty-seven, he’d obeyed his family’s wishes and entered a political marriage. They divorced two years later, and he had now been divorced for six years.
He had never had sex.
Not even once.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to.
He couldn’t.
No—that wasn’t quite right.
It was that he had never felt desire.
In all thirty-five years of his life, he had never experienced sexual attraction toward any woman.
Back in puberty, the boys in his dormitory would blush and laugh awkwardly while exchanging dirty jokes.
He would sit beside them, listening without the slightest ripple in his emotions.
He’d assumed he was simply a late bloomer.
Then he graduated from college.
Entered government service.
Watched the people around him get married and have children.
Still…
Nothing.
When he was twenty-seven, his family arranged a political marriage.
The bride was the daughter of another influential provincial faction. Their backgrounds matched perfectly, and both families approved of the match.
Qin Yuzheng didn’t object.
He liked power.
He liked wealth.
He enjoyed standing at the top, directing everything from above.
If a marriage he didn’t particularly care about could bring him greater political resources, then it was an excellent bargain.
On their wedding night, the two of them sat on the bridal bed.
His wife wore a red silk nightgown, her long hair cascading over her shoulders as she gazed at him with expectation.
He looked back at her.
And felt absolutely nothing.
He tried.
Many times.
She kissed him.
Touched him.
She even took his hand and placed it against her breast.
He cooperated.
He did everything he was supposed to do.
But his body never reacted.
It was like a machine that had completely malfunctioned.
The expression on his wife’s face changed from anticipation…
…to confusion…
…to embarrassment…
…and finally to a disappointment he couldn’t bear to meet.
That was the first time he realized that perhaps he wasn’t as flawless as he’d always believed.
Secretly, he went to the hospital.
He registered under a fake name and wore a mask when meeting the doctor.
He underwent every examination available.
Blood work.
Hormone tests.
Neurological reflex testing.
Screening for organic disorders.
When the results came back, the attending physician adjusted his glasses and said,
“Sir, medically speaking, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your body.”
Qin Yuzheng stood there holding the test results, unsure whether he should feel relieved or disappointed.
“Then why is this happening?” he asked.
The doctor pondered for a moment.
“It may be psychological. Have you experienced any past trauma?”
“No.”
The doctor looked at him again, hesitating before finally saying,
“Some men experience suppressed sexual function due to stress, anxiety, or certain psychological barriers. Given your situation, I recommend seeing a psychologist.”
He did.
It accomplished nothing.
By the third month of their marriage, his wife stopped talking to him.
Then she began sleeping in a separate room.
Eventually, she stopped coming home at night altogether.
The Qin family panicked.
His mother questioned him indirectly several times, but he always insisted everything was fine.
His father shut himself inside the study, sighing endlessly.
The family even sought out folk remedies, brewing bowls of bitter black herbal medicine. Qin Yuzheng drank every single bowl without complaint.
It was useless.
None of it worked.
Over the next two years, he tried everything imaginable.
Traditional Chinese medicine.
Western medicine.
Acupuncture.
Even obscure folk treatments rumored to perform miracles.
Nothing changed.
His body was like a gate that had remained locked for thirty-five years.
No matter how insistently the world knocked…
There was only silence behind it.
Two years later, his wife asked for a divorce.
On the day she left, Qin Yuzheng gave her everything they had acquired during the marriage.
The house.
The cars.
Their savings.
Anything he could give, he did.
He walked away with nothing.
To the outside world, both families presented a united explanation:
An amicable divorce due to incompatible personalities.
But rumors inevitably spread through their social circle.
Once, after getting drunk, his ex-wife tearfully confessed to a close friend,
“He’s incapable. I was married to him for two years, and he never touched me once.”
As the story spread, it became increasingly exaggerated.
Eventually, everyone in their circle quietly accepted that Qin Yuzheng was impotent.
No one dared say it openly, given the Qin family’s influence.
But after the divorce, no woman was ever seen by his side again.
That only reinforced the rumors.
It wasn’t that Qin Yuzheng deliberately avoided women.
He simply wasn’t interested.
Female colleagues came to report work; he never gave them a second glance.
Women at business banquets toasted him; he accepted politely and ended the interaction immediately.
Over time, everyone came to believe that Secretary Qin was immune to feminine charm, incorruptible, disciplined—a man destined for great achievements.
And over those six years, he devoted every ounce of his energy to work.
His promotions came one after another at astonishing speed.
At thirty-five, he had already become the youngest department-level Party secretary in the provincial government.
In the arena of power and influence, he thrived.
Successful.
Respected.
Untouchable.
Only occasionally, late at night, when he returned to the enormous, empty house…
There was no one waiting for him.
He changed into slippers.
Opened the refrigerator.
Poured himself a glass of water.
Sat alone in the darkness of the living room while he drank.
Then showered.
Went to bed.
Woke the next morning.
Repeated the same routine.
For six years.
Until last week.
The appearance of the woman in the cheongsam shattered every bit of tranquility he had.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
The warm bedside lamp cast its glow over the face of a man who remained strikingly handsome even at thirty-five.
High cheekbones.
A straight nose.
Thin lips.
An aloof, aristocratic elegance.
The commanding presence of someone long accustomed to holding power.
Yet now, that same face carried unmistakable confusion…
…and a yearning he refused to acknowledge, even to himself.
He picked up his phone and glanced at the screen.
Tuesday. 3:40 a.m.
With a frown, he tossed it back onto the bedside table and leaned his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
The whole thing felt absurd.
A thirty-five-year-old virgin…
Having an erotic dream about a woman he’d only seen once.
Who would believe it?
His phone showed an unread notification.
It was just a news alert from earlier that night—nothing worth reading.
But another message caught his attention.
It had been sent by his secretary yesterday afternoon.
Secretary Qin, we’ve received the invitation to Saturday’s Chamber of Commerce Cheongsam Cultural Exhibition. You previously said you didn’t want to attend. Should I decline it?
His eyes lingered on the two characters:
“Cheongsam.”
He didn’t reply.
He set the phone back down, switched off the light, and lay down again.
In the darkness, he closed his eyes.
Once more, the woman in the cheongsam appeared before him.
Her slender waist.
Graceful enough to fit within a single embrace.
He turned over and pulled the blanket up to his chin, squeezing his eyes shut.
Sleep refused to come.
A long while later, he opened his eyes again and stared blankly at the ceiling.
Tomorrow.
He would go see Qiu Jinyi.
He had to get a clear answer.
Was there really something wrong with him… or not?