Chapter 18

In the height of summer, even at night, the wind still carried a wave of heat.

Song Qingdai’s long hair reached her waist, swaying lightly near her hips. Droplets of water fell from the tips, soaking the fabric behind her and clinging to the curve of her waist.

As she walked, her silhouette rippled with graceful curves, the softness of a woman’s figure fully revealed in that moment.

The instant she stepped out, a scorching gaze landed on her.

Even though she had already dried her hair with a towel, it was too long to be completely dry.

As she passed by him, a trace of fresh bath moisture still lingered on her body, like an invisible pheromone that stirred something deep inside him.

Suddenly, her wrist was grasped by a broad, warm palm and gently pulled back.

“Come here. Dry your hair.”

Gao Han’s words were brief and commanding, giving Song Qingdai no room to object. In his hand was a fresh, dry towel, which he promptly draped over her head.

He rubbed at her hair in a rough, unrefined way—not skillfully, but efficiently, just to get the moisture out.

“I-I can do it myself,” Song Qingdai murmured, still not quite used to this.

She had just finished showering, and a breeze swept under her skirt, bringing with it a strange mix of chill and stifling heat.

“If you sleep with wet hair, you’ll get a headache. If you could dry it yourself, why didn’t you?”

Above her, the man’s deep, magnetic voice resonated. It was a beautiful voice, yet somehow sounded a bit fierce.

He stood right behind her, so close that his chest almost brushed her back. She could feel the heat radiating from his body.

It reminded her, uncontrollably, of the night before—when neither of them had a single piece of clothing on.

Though she had been in a daze when it happened, Song Qingdai remembered the details clearly afterward—far too clearly.

Gao Han possessed a strength and endurance unlike most men. She was almost certain that even after everything last night, he still hadn’t gotten his fill.

The girl’s pale earlobes turned pink. The more she tried to push the thoughts away, the more uncontrollable they became.

His fingertips threaded through her hair and along her scalp, the soft towel soaking up the last traces of moisture.

Gao Han’s eyes lingered on her now visibly flushed ears. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Did you see that? That rascal smiled! He actually smiled!”

“I told you he definitely likes Comrade Xiao Song! Why else would he suddenly want to marry her?”

Not far away, Ye Chunjiang and his wife had deliberately turned off the lights and were secretly watching from the shadows.

Especially when they saw their son so gently drying the girl’s hair, they both wondered if their eyes were playing tricks on them.

“Hehehe, you’re amazing, honey. At this rate, we’ll be holding a grandchild in no time!”

“That second daughter-in-law is always flaunting her grandson in front of us. What’s there to show off? Our daughter-in-law—just look around Hongxing Town, and you won’t find a girl more delicate and pretty!”

Even Ye Chunjiang had to admit, the more he looked at Song Qingdai, the more he liked her.

A daughter-in-law of one’s own—naturally, the more you look, the more precious she seems.

“She actually wanted to matchmake her distant niece with Gao Han! Hmph, don’t think I don’t know. That girl—lazy and overbearing would be putting it kindly. And her figure? A full two hundred pounds!”

Ye Chunjiang widened his eyes dramatically as he spoke.

He had originally thought that if Li Xiuzhi was introducing someone, the girl couldn’t be that bad. But after asking around, it was like heaven and earth in comparison.

Because of this, Li Xiuzhi had started to resent their family. Now that Song Qingdai was about to marry into it, she assumed the girl had ruined her niece’s shot at a good marriage—and naturally, she wasn’t happy about it.

Meanwhile, Gao Han seemed to sense someone was spying on them. He suddenly turned his head, his sharp eyes stabbing straight into the darkness.

Mrs. Ye Chunjiang hurriedly clapped a hand over her own mouth—and didn’t forget to cover her husband’s too.

“Go, let’s go, quick!”

Why was that rascal so sharp?

Had he discovered them?

“Comrade Gao, what’s wrong?”

Song Qingdai looked at him curiously.

“Nothing. Your hair’s almost dry. Go up and sleep—I’ll come in a bit.”

He turned and headed toward the side room, picking up the enamel basin on the floor as he went. Inside were the clothes Song Qingdai had just changed out of.

“I can hang them myself. No need to trouble you,” Song Qingdai quickly said.

“Go rest.”

His tone was calm—there was nothing particularly forceful about it—yet it carried a strange weight, like a command issued by a military officer to his troops.

It made her back stiffen. She didn’t dare disobey.

“Then… I’ll trouble you,” she said, slightly embarrassed.

He was used to doing everything on his own in his previous life—always alone—so she had never gotten used to having someone help her.

Even if that person… was going to be her future husband.

Even with their wedding just around the corner.

Catching the flicker of emotion in her eyes, Gao Han frowned again.

Why did she look scared?

Was his tone… too harsh?

It didn’t seem like it… right?

In the side room, there was a small plastic mirror. After hanging up her clothes, Gao Han looked at himself in the mirror.

Left, right, inspecting his face.

Was he really that ugly?

Why did she always look like she wanted to avoid him?

Too fierce?

So he tried to force a gentle smile in the mirror—one he thought looked warm and kind.

Whether it looked gentle or not, he didn’t know.

But it did look weird.

Weird enough to disgust even himself.

Upstairs, the Diamond-brand fan whirred noisily. The wooden bed was a full 1.8 meters wide, stuffed with straw underneath that gave off a faint scent of harvested grain.

On top was a bamboo mat woven from thin strips. A mosquito net hung around the bed. At the headboard, several boxy cabinets were stacked on top of one another.

Inside were thick winter quilts folded and stored away.

But what caught Song Qingdai’s attention was a splash of military green fabric at the bottom of one of the cabinets.

She couldn’t help stepping closer, curious to see what it was. She reached out as if to lift it, but paused—feeling it wasn’t quite polite to dig through someone else’s belongings.

“What are you looking at?”

The sudden voice from the doorway startled her. She quickly pulled her hand back and turned around.

But the plastic slippers she was wearing were still wet and slippery.

With a crack, her ankle twisted, and she fell backwards, her waist slamming into the sharp corner of the cabinet.

The pain brought tears to her eyes instantly.

“Qingdai!”

Gao Han reacted swiftly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into his arms, stopping her from falling further.

Then, he picked her up in a bridal carry and laid her gently on the bed.

“Let me see!”

His voice had a barely noticeable tremble.

Song Qingdai quickly pressed down on his hand, which was about to lift her nightdress. Her face flushed bright red—partly from the pain, but mostly from embarrassment.