He'd learned the art of selling misery a few years back, and Xiao Yu really fell for it; as long as he played pitiful and acted weak, Xiao Yu's heart would ache for him.
Gu Jinli frowned, asked suspiciously, "Really? But why do I feel like you're faking it?"
The winter drills were his idea; these past few years he'd deliberately picked snowy days to lead the troops into the mountains for winter training—would he still be afraid of the cold?
Qin San Lang nodded. On his firm, cold, stern face, a pair of eyes filled with pain looked at her as he said, "Mm, my stomach really hurts."
"Then I'll rub it for you, get the gas moving. Tomorrow I'll make you a face mask so you can cover your nose and mouth, then you'll breathe in less cold wind." Gu Jinli's heart softened, and she began to rub his stomach.
