The snow-white milk looked as smooth as silk as it poured from the plain, dark earthenware pot. Red dates, dried rose petals, and some preserved fruits tumbled out with it, and Little Tiger couldn't help but let out a loud GULP as he swallowed his saliva.
'It smells so good!'
'I've never smelled such a sweet drink! Oh, wait, Sister Ming said this is called milk tea.'
In the past, farmers from the suburbs would pass through their market carrying buckets of milk. He had once joined the crowd to take a look at this so-called "fresh milk."
The moment the lid was lifted from the wooden bucket, the smell hit him so hard he almost fell over backward.
It was so foul. The rank, milky smell was so strong he couldn't help but dry-heave. Later, he heard his mom say that stuff was actually very precious. Especially in the summer, it had to be transported over several miles, and without ice, it might spoil.
That was the kind of thing only wealthy families would have.
