The one snoring was none other than Su Liyan's daughter, Bengbeng.
Su Liyan stepped forward, looked at Bengbeng, and remarked, "Wow, how did Bengbeng get so big?"
For the past two months, Aunt Zhao had been feeding Bengbeng with meticulous care.
Whenever she had milk, she always prioritized Su Liyan's child.
It was just like a country woman who saves the best wine and meat at home, reluctant to touch it herself. Only when guests arrived would she generously bring it all out, often murmuring, 'If we eat all the good food and drink ourselves, what will we serve when company comes over?'
And breast milk wasn't like rice and oil from the market; you couldn't just buy it with money.
Leaning against the bed, Aunt Zhao cupped her hands as if weighing something and said, "You're telling me! Out of two full pails of milk, our Bengbeng can drink a pail and a half. And she throws a fit if you don't give it to her."
