My brother entrusted his child to me, and I livestreamed raising the baby, making the Empress cry wi

Little Douzi paused for a moment, looking at the crumbs on the table. Her little eyebrows furrowed with heartache, and she looked up at Lin Ye anxiously.

"Godfather...it...it's broken...it's so fragile...Little Pocket didn't mean to..."

Lin Ye chuckled and reached out to soothe her soft hair. "It's alright, it's just a crunchy little dumpling. It wouldn't taste good if it weren't crunchy. Here, eat the rest."

Little Douzi carefully put the remaining egg tart into her mouth, and then—

Her eyes lit up again.

"Crispy on the outside! And surprisingly soft on the inside! So sweet! This is delicious, Godfather!"

She ate a few more bites of the steamed bun, then felt a bit dry. She picked up the glass of white liquid on the table and gulped down two large mouthfuls.

A white milk stain circled around his mouth, making him look like a little old man with a white beard.

She put down her cup, smacked her lips, took a sip, and suddenly froze.

She looked down at the remaining milk in the glass, then looked up at Lin Ye, something shimmering in her eyes like starlight reflected on a lake.

"Godfather..."

Her voice suddenly became softer, gentle and soft, like a feather falling on the water, floating quietly.

"This...is it milk?"

"Yes, it's milk." Lin Ye nodded, having just cut a piece of steak and put it in his mouth. He saw her freeze, stopped chewing, and looked at her.

"What's wrong, little one? Don't you like this?"

"No... I don't like it, Little Douzi likes it..." Little Douzi shook her head, hugged the cup to her chest, and held it carefully with both of her little hands.

She looked down at the milky white liquid in the glass, her voice growing softer and softer, as if it were drifting from a great distance.

"It's the flavor that Xiaodouzi drank when he was little..."

She paused, as if recalling something from a long time ago. A tuft of hair fell down, resting on her forehead, swaying slightly with her breath.

"Back then... Father was still alive... Little Dou Dou was very, very small... The rice porridge that Mother Queen had sent over... had this taste."

She raised her head, her eyes looking at her with a clear, cool gaze, as if they were filled with a pool of clear spring water.

"Daddy said it's rice porridge made with cow's milk, and Little Douzi loves it. She always drinks it all up..."

Little Douzi raised her cup; she missed her father.

The milk sloshed around in the clear glass, its thick consistency clinging to the glass and leaving a white streak.

No, you can't cry. Things are much better now. Even though Daddy is gone, he sent Godfather to find her!

Her godfather even brought her to this fairyland-like place.

Her father and godfather both love her very much; she is a happy little girl!

How can you cry!

Little Douzi sniffed hard, looked up and shifted her attention to the food, and smiled again.

"Godfather...there's...so much milk here!"

She smiled gently, revealing a row of small, white teeth.

"This—is such a huge cup! It's all of it!"

Great Flame Country, all over the country.

Dead silence.

No one speaks.

No one moved.

No one blinked.

It was as if even the wind had stopped.

The bowl of porridge in Xiao Bo's hand tilted, and a few drops of porridge dripped down the rim, soaking his sleeve and then onto the ground. But he was completely unaware.

He stared blankly at the cup of milk held in the little girl's hands in the sky.

The milky white liquid sloshed in the transparent glass, so thick that you could see the white marks it left on the glass, like a painting on the glass.

He looked down at the milk and millet porridge in his bowl.

That's porridge made from cow's milk.

He already thought this was the most luxurious breakfast in the world.

But what the little girl was holding in her hands—

It's a whole cup!

That cup was as long as a baby's forearm!

Moreover, it doesn't contain rice, water, or anything else!

It's pure, white, and thick milk!

A whole big cup!

He suddenly felt that the porridge in his mouth had become bland and tasteless, like a mouthful of rice bran or sawdust, dry and astringent, impossible to swallow or spit out.

The bowl in Shu Jingwei's hand fell to the ground with a "thud".

The Ding kiln white porcelain shattered into several pieces, and milk and millet porridge splashed all over the ground. The sticky rice grains slowly flowed on the white marble floor tiles, like a blooming orange-yellow flower, or like a frozen sunset.

She didn't look down.

Her eyes were fixed on the small figure in the sky—her daughter, who was holding a cup of thick milk, taking sips now and then, her eyes squinting with laughter, and her tuft of hair trembling with laughter.

Milk!

A whole big glass of milk!

She was the ruler of a country, the most honored woman in the Great Flame Kingdom. Even in her most extravagant moments, she only drank a small bowl of milk—just that small bowl, which she finished in three sips.

But her daughter!

That daughter she abandoned in the cold palace and ignored for two whole years!

Right now, he's holding a big glass of milk, drinking it without restraint, as much as he wants, and even asking for more after he's finished!

Her eyes welled up with tears.

It felt like she'd been slapped hard across the face; her cheeks burned, the heat spreading from her face to her ears, and from her ears to her neck, making her feel feverish all over.

Shu Rou stood beside Yao Jingyuan, her little face tilted up, her eyes glued to the sky and to the food.

Her mouth was wide open, big enough to fit an egg, and saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth, falling drop by drop onto her bright red silk jacket, leaving dark stains.

She looked at the table full of food in the sky.

Golden porridge she'd never seen before; steamed buns shaped like little animals; transparent dumplings where you could see the shrimp inside; golden, crispy pastries; lean, tender meat sizzling with oil; and colorful fruits on a plate.

and also.

That big glass of milk.

Every bite made the little beggar's eyes light up, every bite made him shout "Delicious!", every bite was like a hook—

It made her crave it, it made her feel like her internal organs were churning, and she felt as if a thousand ants were crawling in her veins.

She couldn't help but swallow hard.

The sound was as loud as thunder outside the now silent Hall of Supreme Harmony.

Then she looked down at the bowl in front of her—milk porridge, which had cooled down a bit, with a layer of white skin on the surface, wrinkled, like a rag that had been thrown on the table.

The rabbit-shaped steamed buns on the plate were half left, and they had become cold and dry from the wind, no longer soft.

When you squeeze it, it crumbles like a clod of dirt.

She ate several bites of that dish of braised wild boar meat, finding it incredibly delicious and thinking it was the best thing in the world.

But compare it to the lean, brown meat sizzling and dripping with juice on the sky...

The pork in this dish has now cooled and solidified, covered with a layer of white, greasy solid, somewhat like melted and cooled candle wax, which looks disgusting.

She suddenly felt that these things—

How shabby.

It tastes awful.

How disgusting.