The woman stretched out her hand, staring intently at the oil paper in Song Zhuiyan's hand, as if afraid it would be snatched away by someone else. Song Zhuiyan handed the oil paper to Song Tantan.
The old woman's eyes dimmed, and she gritted her teeth, her heart aching yet humble, and said, "Young lady, after you've finished licking it, could you give the oiled paper to my grandson to taste?"
Song Tantan: "..." What the hell? She wanted to lick it too? Her aunt told her to secretly give her some more food, okay?
It's driving me crazy.
However, she did not refute the old woman's words. In the distance, other refugees were watching them intently. Although Song Tantan had shrunk from twenty-three to five or six years old, she still retained the mind of an adult.
If she were to take things out of her spatial storage and distribute them to the refugees now, it would inevitably lead to looting and chaos, and it would be questionable whether she and her aunt could survive.
So she pretended to put one hand into her tattered pocket. Indeed, when she and her aunt came in, they were wearing ragged gray clothes, looking like refugees, their image completely blending into the era.
She took her little hand out of her pocket again, and there was a ball of fried rice in her palm. She quickly wrapped the rice ball in oil paper, and said in a serious voice, "This is the last bit of food I've saved. There won't be any more. You should give it to your grandson quietly and don't let anyone else take it."
The old woman's cloudy eyes flashed with a sharp light, and she quickly snatched the oil paper from Song Tantan's hand. Before Song Tantan could even see how she did it, the rice ball had already been stuffed into her grandson's mouth.
"Swallow it quickly, or someone will try to take it from you."
The child, who looked to be only three years old, swallowed the rice ball without the old woman's prompting, and his eyes rolled back as he swallowed it.
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