In the small courtyard of Taiping Medical Hall, a group of people crowded around a tiny Eight Immortals table, packed tightly together. With just a slight lift of his arm, Liang Mao'er nearly pushed Liu Quxing to the ground.
The table was piled high with steaming baskets, each full of buns. As the lids were lifted, hands reached from the left and right, and in the blink of an eye, a whole basket of buns vanished as if snatched in haste.
Just as Old Yao reached out to grab a bun, Liang Mao'er's hand flashed by, and the buns in the basket had already disappeared.
As he was about to grab another bun, it had already ended up in the Princely Heir's hands.
Old Yao, holding a bowl of millet porridge with a subdued expression, sipped it slowly. He had been accustomed to the quiet and cold days of the past, and now, the bustling scene of the Taiping Medical Hall was something he was still getting used to...
The chatter during the meal was too noisy.
