Ma Lihua looked at the dark, lumpy thing in front of her, her stomach churned, and she almost couldn't hold back her tears.

Her eyes widened, her face filled with disbelief.

"Grandma, what are you making?"

Her voice trembled slightly, as if she were questioning an unbelievable being.

Ma Linghua said happily, "Can't you tell? This is porridge! Eight-treasure porridge."

Her face beamed with pride, as if she were displaying a masterpiece.

However, Ma Lihua was internally devastated.

She stared at the dark object, finding it impossible to associate it with the delicious eight-treasure porridge.

A complex expression appeared on Ma Lihua's face, a mixture of helplessness, surprise, and a hint of despair.

Ma Lihua: "……………………"

She remained silent for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Various images of eight-treasure porridge flashed through my mind—sweet, soft, and colorful—but none of them included this black lump in front of me.

"Whose porridge is black?" Ma Lihua finally couldn't help but complain to herself.

Her voice was full of doubt and dissatisfaction.

She couldn't imagine how this so-called "eight-treasure porridge" had turned out like this.

Could something have happened to her grandmother while she was cooking the porridge?

Or is there some mysterious formula that caused this strange color?

Ma Lihua was filled with questions, yet she dared not easily try this bowl of black porridge.

She stood there, looking at the bowl of porridge, lost in deep thought.

"Pear Blossom, eat! You're growing right now, you can't skip meals."