Jiang Xingye knew the exact flour used for these steamed buns just from the smell. With a single bite, an unusual, pure sweetness bloomed between his lips and teeth. Though he had been starving, a single bun left him half-full.
A wave of warm energy circulated through his body, instantly sweeping away the exhaustion from a morning's hard labor.
The tomato was ordinary enough; he could tell it was grown in her yard. But the egg was different—it looked like a chicken egg, yet wasn't quite like one.
Chapter 155