The 60s Island: The Daily Life of a Capitalist Young Lady with the Army - Chapter 67: Might as Well Just Gulp It Down!

Chapter 67: Might as Well Just Gulp It Down!

Xu Xiangsi leaned in to sniff the liquid, and the pungent, spicy aroma shot straight to her senses. Her delicate brows instantly furrowed into a knot.

“What is this?”

Her face was clearly etched with one word: disgust.

Long Peiye replied succinctly, “Ginger tea.”

Xu Xiangsi immediately shook her head like a rattle drum. “I’m not drinking it! I can’t stand this smell!”

Long Peiye’s brows furrowed as well, his tone carrying a stubborn edge. “You went into the water today and wore damp clothes in the wind for so long. Drink this to ward off the cold. Be good.”

“No!” Xu Xiangsi’s refusal was even more resolute. “I know my own body—it’s perfectly fine! Besides, how could anyone get sick in this weather?”

She bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, every inch of her radiating resistance.

Long Peiye looked at her, feeling somewhat helpless.

He tried coaxing her, “Just a small sip to warm yourself up.”

Xu Xiangsi turned her head away, refusing to look at him, her actions underscoring her determination.

Seeing her stubborn profile, Long Peiye finally sighed and relented.

“Fine, no need to drink it then.” He set the bowl of ginger tea aside.

“Then come over to the stove and dry your hair. No sleeping with wet hair.”

At this, Xu Xiangsi’s face again showed displeasure.

“In this weather, it’ll dry on its own soon. Using the fire will just scorch my hair—don’t you know it’ll damage the quality?”

She grumbled under her breath, grabbing a towel to haphazardly rub her hair until it was half-dry, then turned to head back to her room to sleep.

But after just two steps, someone grabbed her wrist.

Xu Xiangsi turned around and met Long Peiye’s deep, slightly helpless eyes.

In the next moment, the man wordlessly took the damp towel from her hand, went back inside, and returned with a dry one.

He led her to a small stool in the yard and had her sit down.

Then, standing behind her, he began carefully and meticulously drying her still-damp long hair with the dry towel.

His movements, unlike his calloused hands, were unexpectedly gentle and attentive.

Xu Xiangsi was taken aback.

While inwardly lamenting the inconvenience of this era without hairdryers, she keenly felt the tender pressure on her scalp.

This man… was surprisingly gentle.

Once her hair was mostly dry, Long Peiye produced a wooden comb from somewhere.

Holding the small comb, he started from the crown of her head and carefully worked his way down, section by section.

“Sleeping with wet hair will cause problems—you’ll get migraines when you’re older.”

His voice, low and husky, sounded just above her head, as if explaining or stating an indisputable fact.

Xu Xiangsi’s heart felt as if it had been gently nudged.

It was a strange sensation—sour, tingling, and a little… sweet.

She sat there, feeling the careful, protective combing on her scalp, and it took her a moment to find her voice again.

Tilting her head back to look up at the tall, silent man behind her, a flicker of mischief shone in her eyes.

She deliberately drew out her words, teasing him playfully.

“I found out, Battalion Commander Long.”

“You really are… an exceptionally good husband to me, your ‘wife’.”

Long Peiye’s face flushed red at Xu Xiangsi’s remark about him being an “exceptionally good husband.”

He coughed lightly, averted his gaze, and muttered stubbornly, “It’s only what should be done.”

His voice was low, carrying a hint of unease.

Xu Xiangsi couldn’t help but laugh at his serious yet feigned composure.

“Oh my, how can you be so adorable?”

She teased while lightly patting his arm, “Alright, alright, you’re going to rub my hair right off my scalp!”

Long Peiye’s ears turned even redder, but he still carefully squeezed the moisture from her hair ends with the towel before reluctantly setting it down.

“All done, you can go to bed now.” After speaking, he glanced at the ginger tea on the table, “Would you like a sip now? It’s a bit cold, but…”

Before he could finish, Xu Xiangsi wrinkled her nose in disgust and shook her head vigorously like a rattle-drum.

“No! Cold ginger tea tastes even stronger. I’d rather get sick than drink that!”

She assumed an unyielding stance, eyeing the bowl of ginger tea as if guarding against a thief.

Long Peiye sighed in resignation, “I really don’t know what to do with you… Go to sleep quickly. We’ll talk about anything else tomorrow.”

“Got it!” Xu Xiangsi turned back toward her room, muttering under her breath as she walked, “Such a big man and yet so nagging…”

As night deepened, the small courtyard grew quiet, leaving only the occasional clinking of pots and pans from the kitchen and distant barks from dogs.

Early the next morning, when dawn was just breaking, Long Peiye was already dressed and heading out.

He warmed up breakfast, placed it on the stove, and left quietly without disturbing the person in the master bedroom.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Xu Xiangsi presented a completely different scene.

Sunlight streamed through the window, but she was too lazy to even turn over, lazing in bed until past ten o’clock before finally rubbing her eyes and getting up.

As soon as she rose, she felt something was off.

Her nose was badly congested, making her voice sound nasal and muffled.

Her heart sank immediately. She instinctively touched her forehead and tentatively sniffed, feeling utterly miserable as if she couldn’t breathe properly.

“Oh no… Did I really make myself sick last night?” she muttered to herself, her face scrunching up with a sense of foreboding.

She had thought washing up would help her feel better, but the more she moved, the more exhausted she felt. Her head was dizzy, as if she were treading on cotton—each step felt soft and unsteady.

When she reached the kitchen and saw the small covered clay pot on the stove alongside steaming large mantou buns, the aromas that should have been enticing now held no appeal.

She forced herself to break off a piece of mantou and put it in her mouth, only to find it tasteless, like plain flour.

After chewing a couple of times, she spat it out, slumping listlessly against the chair back with a long sigh. “I’m done for, I’m really sick…”

Remembering the dark, spicy, cloyingly sweet ginger tea from last night, she suddenly felt a pang of regret.

If she had known this would happen, she should have just forced herself to drink it!

But where in the world could one find a pill for regret?