Yang An rolled up his sleeves and started handing out steamed buns to everyone.
He had a strong grip, holding the buns steady as he passed them out one by one.
The villagers took the still-warm, white-flour buns. As their fingertips touched the fluffy texture, many couldn't resist bringing them to their noses for a sniff. The scent of wheat, mixed with steam, filled their lungs, bringing a deep sense of comfort.
"Uncle Shouzhuo is truly too generous!" a middle-aged woman said, cradling a bun, her voice full of emotion. "So many white-flour buns, how much grain must this have cost!"
The man next to her chimed in, "Isn't that the truth! Who could have afforded to be so generous in the past? It's only because Yang Jing is so successful now that the Yang Family has these kinds of resources. Just look at these buns—how big they've risen, so white they're dazzling. We wouldn't even dare to dream of this normally."
