The final product looked like a porridge that had been boiled down, with some smooth and tender things inside, resembling something like rivulets in sour soup, with a smooth and tender texture.
Lord Zhu asked the cook to step aside; he did everything himself, looking very serious.
After it was ready, he added some brown sugar to the pot, took a spoon himself, calmly and seriously stirring slowly over the lowest heat to prevent it from sticking to the pot.
That year, he was still small and felt unwell. His grandfather scolded his father and personally cooked a bowl of sweet soup for him while he watched by the side. He watched his grandfather, whom people said was fierce and frightening, patiently cook a bowl of sweet soup.
This was the most profound thing he remembered, far surpassing all other things.
Even in death, the first thing he recalled was still this event.
