Tang San: My Dad Couldn't Possibly Be This Good to Me!

"Clang!"

In the adjacent bedroom, Tang Hao was dozing against the wall, the fumes of alcohol still lingering in his system.

But the sound of Tang San's stifled groan of pain, followed by the clatter of the iron pot being knocked, pierced through his stupor like a needle.

"San?"

Tang Hao's eyes snapped open, his heart tightening for no reason. He stumbled out of the bedroom, and the moment he turned into the kitchen, he saw a sight that made his soul fly out of his body.

"Damn it!"

A curse erupted from his throat, and Tang Hao's drunken haze vanished in an instant.

He lunged forward like a madman, his large hands snatching Tang San out of the pot.

Half of the child's face was already inflamed to a deep purple; the skin had shriveled from the heat, and dense blisters were popping up one after another. Even his forehead was covered in scalds, with thick, boiling rice porridge clinging to his face and hair.

"San! San!" Tang Hao's voice trembled uncontrollably as he frantically used his sleeve to wipe the rice soup from his son's face.

But the moment he touched those blisters, he heard Tang San let out a painful gasp in his unconscious state, and he recoiled in terror, afraid to touch him again.

"Dad is here... Dad is here..." Tang Hao's hands shook violently.

He scooped Tang San up, feeling the child in his arms as light as a feather, yet burning like a branding iron.

He stumbled toward the water vat, scooped up a ladle of cold water, and poured it over Tang San's face.

The icy water washed away the rice grains stuck to his skin, but it could not dissipate the scorching heat; Tang San's small face remained alarmingly red.

"A doctor! Yes! A doctor!" Tang Hao finally regained a shred of reason.

He grabbed a clean piece of coarse cloth as quickly as he could, wrapped it haphazardly around Tang San, and bolted out the door with the boy in his arms.

Tang San was his hope now; nothing could happen to Tang San.

The rough fabric brushed against a blister, causing Tang San's eyelashes to flutter in pain, though he could not open his eyes, only letting out a faint whimper.

Before long, Tang Hao arrived in front of the Nuoding City Clinic with Tang San in his arms.

The wooden door of the Nuoding City Clinic was kicked open with a bang by Tang Hao. The old physician, who was weighing herbs at the counter, jumped in fright, causing his scale to clatter to the floor.

The old physician looked up to see a burly man reeking of alcohol rushing in with a child. The boy's face was a mass of red and purple, covered in dense blisters—a truly shocking sight.

"Doctor! Quick! Save my son!" Tang Hao's voice was as raspy as if it had been scrubbed with sandpaper.

Tang San's face was deathly pale, save for the half scorched a terrifying, inflamed red, his breathing as weak as a candle in the wind.

The old physician didn't even bother to pick up his scale; he hurriedly pulled back the curtain behind the counter. "Quick, put him on the bed in the back room!"

Tang Hao carefully placed Tang San on the wooden bed covered with a white sheet, his fingers hovering in mid-air, wanting to touch him but afraid to do so.

The old physician nimbly opened his medicine chest, took out a bottle of dark green ointment and a roll of gauze, and first used a cotton cloth dipped in cooling medicinal water to gently wipe the wounds on Tang San's face.

"Hiss—" Tang San, still unconscious, drew a sharp breath of pain, his small hand clutching tightly at the corner of Tang Hao's clothes.

"Gently! Be gentle!" Tang Hao's heart felt as if it were being squeezed; he stared fixedly at the physician's movements, his knuckles turning white from clenching his fists.

The old physician didn't look up. "Bear with it! If we don't clean it properly now, an infection will be even more troublesome!"

He worked with great speed, using the cotton cloth to wipe away the remaining rice soup bit by bit. The scalded blisters oozed a clear, bright liquid.

Once the area was clean, the old physician used a bamboo spatula to scoop up a bit of the dark green ointment, carefully applying it to the burns.

As soon as the ointment touched his skin, Tang San's body gave a slight tremor, then seemed to relax, his brow gradually smoothing out.

"This is a special burn ointment; it relieves pain and reduces inflammation," the old physician said while applying the medicine. "The child was scalded quite badly; half his face is injured, but fortunately, his eyes and throat were spared. Don't let the area touch water for the next few days, and avoid eating any 'trigger' foods. I will prescribe some oral medicine for you to decoct and have him drink."

Tang Hao nodded repeatedly, his gaze never leaving Tang San's face.

After the ointment was applied, the redness and swelling seemed less jarring, yet those dense clusters of blisters still pierced his heart like needles.

"How much?" Tang Hao felt his pockets.

He still had a few Gold Soul Coins in his pocket, money he had intended to spend on wine.

Now that Tang San was the source of his hope for revenge, this money would certainly be spent on him.

The moment Tang Hao pulled out the Gold Soul Coins, the old physician paused.

Ordinary residents usually only paid a few Silver Soul Coins for a visit. Although this burly man reeked of alcohol, his spending was so lavish that it was clear he valued this child above all else.

It was easy to see that Tang Hao was a good man who loved his family.

"2 Silver Soul Coins will be enough." The old physician took one Gold Soul Coin and gave Tang Hao 8 Silver Soul Coins in change.

Tang Hao took the eight Silver Soul Coins, his fingertips brushing the cold metal, but he had no heart to count them, simply stuffing them haphazardly into his tunic.

He watched as the old physician put the Gold Soul Coin into the drawer and handed over the wrapped medicine, his gaze remaining glued to Tang San's face.

"Many thanks," Tang Hao said in a low voice, his tone still carrying a lingering rasp.

When he bent down to pick up Tang San, he specifically used his palm to shield the child's cheek, terrified of bumping the wounds.

As he passed the liquor store on the corner, the owner called out habitually, "Tang Hao, want a jug of strong spirits?"

Tang Hao didn't stop, didn't even turn his head; he merely waved his hand, his voice muffled. "Not today."

The owner stood stunned, scratching his head as he watched the man's back disappear into the distance, carrying the child in a hurry.

Is this still that Tang Hao who was obsessed with alcohol?

Tang Hao had no mind to care what others thought; his head was entirely filled with how to decoct medicine for Tang San and how to take care of changing his dressings.

On the way back, Tang Hao calculated that the remaining money was enough to buy some grain for Little San, and perhaps an old hen to stew into soup to nourish his body.

Thinking of this, Tang Hao bought quite a few things for Tang San.

"My face hurts so much, what happened?"

He did not know how much time had passed before Tang San slowly woke up.

The moment he regained consciousness, he smelled a fragrance—a scent of meat he had not smelled in a very, very long time.

"Gurgle, gurgle..."

Tang San's uncooperative stomach let out a hungry growl.

Just then, the bedroom door opened and Tang Hao walked in; seeing that Tang San had woken up, he couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief.

Tang Hao said to Tang San, "Little San, I've stewed a pot of chicken for you; it will be ready soon."

Tang San nodded subconsciously, not yet reacting to what Tang Hao had said.

It was only when Tang Hao left the bedroom that Tang San finally realized.

No, there is a problem with my father!

Tang San felt that something was extremely wrong; there must be something wrong with his father.

Because it was impossible for his father to be this good to him!

One had to know that in the past, whenever he fell ill, his father had never cared for him; he had always relied on himself to survive.

It was impossible for his father to take him for treatment after he was injured, let alone stew chicken soup for him.

Could it be that someone is impersonating my father?