By the end of May, the city’s plane tree fluff had almost completely disappeared, and a faint fragrance of gardenias drifted through the streets.
At six in the evening, the sun still lingered stubbornly in the western sky. The light gradually shifted from amber to orange-red, bathing the entire street in a warm, nostalgic glow.
Qin Yuzheng pulled his car over to the curb but didn’t turn off the engine. He sat quietly for a while.
His phone screen still displayed the location his grandmother had sent him. The old lady had also left several sixty-second voice messages. Patiently, Qin Yuzheng listened to her rambling chatter.
His parents had always been busy with work when he was growing up, so he had been raised by his grandmother. She was the person he was closest to.
He had always been content living alone, but his grandmother worried about him the most. Deeply rooted in traditional values, she constantly feared he would spend his life lonely and without anyone to depend on.
After patiently replying to her with a voice message, Qin Yuzheng turned off the engine, pulled out the key, and stepped out of the car.
The gentle May breeze rushed in, carrying with it the sweet scent of lilies from the flower shop downstairs.
He looked up at the old building before him.
Its exterior was clad in gray washed stone, the window frames painted a dark forest green. A wrought-iron balcony jutted out from the second floor, half-covered in climbing ivy.
It was a beautifully preserved historic building.
A sign above the entrance read:
Mufei Qipao Studio.
Before he even reached the door, voices floated out from inside.
A young woman’s voice.
Her speech flowed with a pleasant rhythm, crisp and melodious like pearls falling onto a porcelain plate.
The voice sounded strangely familiar.
“The earliest records of traditional Chinese frog buttons date back to the Song Dynasty. Back then, they were called niuban and looked quite different from what we see today. It wasn’t until the Republican era, when the qipao became popular, that frog buttons evolved from purely functional fasteners into decorative art. A single button can be woven in dozens of different styles…”
Qin Yuzheng stopped in his tracks.
His eyes were already drawn toward the owner of the voice, though he deliberately looked around the studio first to conceal the stir in his heart.
The studio’s entire south wall was made of windows. At this hour, the sunlight streamed in at the perfect angle, filling the room with warm brightness.
Two worktables stood side by side beneath the windows, covered with fabric, thread, tailor’s chalk, scissors, and sewing tools—cluttered, yet perfectly organized.
Against one wall stood wooden shelves stacked with bolts of silk in every color imaginable—crimson, sapphire blue, moon white, deep teal. Under the lights, the silk shimmered with a delicate sheen.
Several finished qipaos hung on display along the walls, like three-dimensional paintings.
After a quick glance around the room, his gaze drifted elsewhere of its own accord.
Yang Zhiyan stood beside a long worktable, her body angled slightly toward the doorway.
Today she wore a moon-white cotton-linen blouse. One button at the collar had been left undone, revealing a small stretch of delicate collarbone.
Below, she wore a navy long skirt tucked neatly at the waist, accentuating her slender figure.
Her hair was still loosely gathered with a wooden hairpin. A few wisps had escaped beside her ears, swaying gently in the evening breeze blowing through the window.
Several old design albums and sketches were spread across the table before her as she spoke to a middle-aged woman dressed in dark blue.
She lifted one arm slightly, her fingertip pointing at a particular pattern in the album.
Her wrist was slender and fair.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, Qin Yuzheng listened.
Her voice really was beautiful.
“Look at the difference between these two types of frog buttons.”
Her finger moved back and forth between two illustrations.
“The one on the left is called a pipa button. It’s relatively simple to weave, has a fuller shape, and pairs well with heavier fabrics.”
“The one on the right is a butterfly button. It’s much more complicated. Just wrapping the thread alone takes one hundred and eight loops. The finished button is flatter and lighter, making it ideal for silk.”
She paused, tilting her head slightly as she considered how to phrase her next sentence.
The smile on her face was natural and genuine, her eyes sparkling with quiet delight.
“My master once told me that a frog button isn’t just a button—it’s the eyes of the garment.”
“I didn’t understand back then.”
“It wasn’t until I’d been making them for two years that I slowly realized… a beautifully crafted frog button is the most exquisite finishing touch on a qipao.”
The most exquisite finishing touch…
Qin Yuzheng glanced at the button on Yang Zhiyan’s cotton-linen blouse.
Then his eyes slowly traveled upward.
Mm.
Very exquisite indeed.
Feeling an unusually intense gaze upon her, Yang Zhiyan looked toward the doorway.
That incredibly handsome… intimidating man from the café?
The instant their eyes met, Qin Yuzheng clearly saw the flicker of panic in hers.
Like a tiny ripple spreading across still water.
Almost unconsciously, Yang Zhiyan drew her shoulders back a fraction.
The sudden appearance of such an exceptionally handsome man made her inexplicably shy.
“Hello.”
She greeted him politely.
“I’m here to pick up a qipao.”
Qin Yuzheng walked inside and gave his grandmother’s name.
“Certainly. Just a moment, please.”
After telling the middle-aged customer to continue browsing at her leisure, Yang Zhiyan walked over to the clothing rack.
“It was finished yesterday. Teacher Mu reminded me several times that Madam Qin needed it urgently.”
She removed the protective garment bag, unzipped it, and carefully took out the dark green qipao.
Supporting it with both hands, she unfolded it before him.
Her movements were exceptionally gentle, as though she were holding a priceless treasure.
Qin Yuzheng’s gaze rested on the dress.
The embroidery truly was superb.
The white magnolia blossoms had been stitched with three different shades of silk thread, creating delicate gradients from the flower’s center to the edge of each petal. They looked astonishingly lifelike.
His grandmother had grown up in an aristocratic family and had always appreciated refined craftsmanship, especially anything with classical elegance.
Qin Yuzheng looked at the hands supporting the qipao.
At the graceful curve of the back of her neck as she tilted her head ever so slightly.
At the way her lips pressed together in quiet concentration.
“Very beautiful,” he said.
Even he wasn’t sure whether he was talking about the dress…
…or the woman.
Yang Zhiyan folded the qipao and slipped it back into its garment bag.
She had only pulled the zipper halfway when she heard his comment, and her hands paused for a moment.
“Thank you.”
Lowering her head, she continued zipping it up, her eyelashes casting shadows that concealed her expression.
Qin Yuzheng stood there, watching her profile.
Sunlight poured through the windows, painting one side of her face with soft light while the bridge of her nose cast a gentle shadow across the other, like a carefully shaded charcoal sketch.
His gaze lingered on that shadow for a moment before drifting to the loose strand of hair tucked behind her ear.
The fine strand clung lightly to the curve of her ear.
The edge of her ear appeared almost translucent in the sunlight, tinged with the faintest blush of pink.
He shouldn’t keep looking.
He forced himself to look away and turned toward the row of qipaos hanging on the wall.
The moon-white one had an especially intricate trim around the collar.
The deep teal one featured a cluster of embroidered orchids along the hem.
He pretended to admire them.
In truth, he wasn’t seeing any of it.
“Miss Yang.”
He heard himself speak.
“Yes?”
She looked up.
Qin Yuzheng hesitated, carefully choosing his words.
He was the youngest department-level Party secretary in the provincial government. Delivering speeches before large audiences came effortlessly to him. He could present work reports without the slightest pause.
Yet here he was, standing inside a qipao studio before a twenty-five-year-old woman…
…unable to come up with a single natural sentence.
“My mother’s birthday is coming up in a while,” he finally said.
“I’ve been wondering what to get her. Since your craftsmanship is so remarkable, would it be possible to ask you to custom-make a qipao for her?”
Faced with such an unexpected commission, Yang Zhiyan naturally accepted with a smile.
Only then did Qin Yuzheng reveal his real objective.
“I’d like to add you on WeChat,” he said. “It’ll make it easier for us to stay in touch.”
Yang Zhiyan looked at him and blinked.
Her eyes were large and crystal clear.
Instead of jet black, her irises were a light amber, gleaming like two glass beads freshly washed with water.
At that moment…
Those two luminous eyes reflected only one figure—
A man in a dark gray suit, standing before her with an unusually solemn expression.