Song Zhen placed George on the bed and tasted a bowl of porridge.
At that moment, the porridge was warm, just right for eating.
The subtle flavor of chicken soup lingered between his lips and teeth, and the millet porridge was thick, creamy, and tasted wonderful.
Song Zhen set down the bowl, picked up another, scooped up a spoonful, and brought it to George's lips, "George, try this, millet porridge."
George had never had millet porridge before.
Seeing it for the first time, he was struck by its aroma and stared intently, asking, "Is this millet porridge?"
"Yes," Song Zhen said softly, "Open up, it's not hot."
George took a bite, his eyes lit up with delight. Not waiting for Song Zhen's next spoonful, he already opened his mouth wide, waiting for the next bite.
Song Zhen smiled contentedly, "Is it good?"
"Delicious!" George swallowed another bite and said, "This is the best thing I've ever eaten in my life!"
