When I looked at the bowl filled with a bloody, foul-smelling substance, I recoiled in disgust, taking several steps back.
"What are you afraid of? This is ten-year-old rooster blood." My mother smacked my head hard and caressed the edge of the bowl, unable to let go.
"Eating this will help him develop faster; soon my grandson will become a genius." My mother's smile carried a disturbing quality.
Then she quickly added, "Gaven is the heir of our family, and you'll also rely on him in the future. As his aunt, you must help him."
After saying that, my mother held the palm up with fingers slightly curled, her gaze revealing an uncompromising authority.
I knew what she meant. She wanted me to contribute some money for my nephew to consume raw chicken blood. After all, this stuff, while a bit disgusting, wasn't easy to find, especially a ten-year-old rooster, and it wasn't cheap.
Long-term supply wouldn't be easy for an ordinary family.
In my previous life, I would have done everything I could to stop my mother from feeding my nephew these nonsensical things.