From pawning things, to selling the house, and now even the burial plot, Old Man is becoming more and more of a prodigal, absolutely reaching god-level! While William Turner was still in a daze, Mr. Turner suddenly threw caution to the wind, scrambled up, and plunged his head into the water vat...

Chapter 2: Eating for Free

William Turner sat at the bedside. Old Man's head was still inside the water vat, eyes tightly shut, holding his breath, just waiting to suffocate to death. This unfilial son didn't even try to save him.

“Dad, didn’t you notice? There’s no water in the vat,” William Turner said lazily.

“No water? No wonder I don’t feel uncomfortable at all!” Mr. Turner sheepishly lifted his head and foolishly asked, “Where’s the water?”

“It was used to wash bones for soup.”

“Hmph, I’ve got other tricks!” Mr. Turner took a few steps to the window, grabbed the frame with both hands, and was about to jump down. That annoying voice sounded behind him again.

“This is the second floor. I guarantee you won’t die, but you might get hurt. Then our family will have two invalids!”

Mr. Turner slowly put down the leg he had already lifted, thinking to himself that he didn’t believe he couldn’t die. Suddenly, he turned around and rushed to the rice jar, where there happened to be a kitchen knife. Might as well slit his throat!

“Are you sure about this? That kitchen knife is full of nicks. What’s that saying? To truly vent your hatred, use a dull knife on your enemy. Are you really that hard on yourself?”

“Nonsense! Even the burial plot is sold. Henry Turner is the sinner of the family!” Mr. Turner said through gritted teeth, but after looking at the kitchen knife, which was as jagged as a saw, he lost his courage.

Clang—the kitchen knife fell to the ground in defeat.

After being interrupted by his son’s jokes, Mr. Turner lost the mood to die. Suddenly, his expression changed, and he glared fiercely at William Turner, shouting, “You brat! Your father’s about to die and you don’t even try to stop him. Is there any son in the world as unfilial as you?”

Facing Old Man’s curses, William Turner instead smiled, got up from the bed, and helped the fuming Mr. Turner to sit in a chair.

“You’re right, Dad. I’m the most unfilial son in the world. That’s why I’m not thinking of dying—so why are you making things hard for yourself?”

Mr. Turner was stunned, his nose tingling with emotion. He looked up at his sensible child, and tears once again blurred his eyes. His big hand gripped William Turner’s arm, shaking it repeatedly.

“You brat, are you setting your father up?” Mr. Turner sighed, “Girl, you’re a good child. It’s all your father’s fault. I’ve let down your late grandfather, let down the Tang family!”

He’d already told him not to call him “girl,” but he still hadn’t learned. Forget it, in this situation, saying anything wouldn’t help.

“The Tang family is just the two of us. I don’t think it’s a big deal. It’s just a piece of land. Grandpa bought it back then; we’ll just buy it back again.”

Buy it back?

Mr. Turner’s eyes lit up, but then he shook his head with a bitter smile.

“When your mother was dying, she told me to just buy a thin coffin and bury her. But your father is stubborn, a fool, deep in debt but still wanting to put on a show. I borrowed money from loan sharks, and in less than a year, a hundred taels turned into three hundred. Luckily, we still had an ancestral grave, or else they would have broken my arms and legs and thrown me into the Yangtze River…”

Mr. Turner stared blankly at the ceiling, tears streaming down one after another. His fists clenched tightly, veins bulging on his forehead. Grief, self-blame, shame, helplessness—every emotion was written on his face.

William Turner could clearly feel every bit of Old Man’s emotion. This man actually had a lovable side…

“Dad.”

A pair of small hands covered the big ones. William Turner’s eyes were slightly red as he said with feeling, “You’re not a fool, Dad. You just loved Mom deeply. She’ll be comforted in heaven. If you’d really made it shabby, I’d have looked down on you!”

Mr. Turner stared at his child in disbelief and asked, “You mean I did the right thing?”

“Of course!” William Turner nodded without hesitation.

“Then, now that we have nothing left, w-what should we do?”

“What else? Figure something out!” William Turner laughed. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m almost recovered. I’ll find a way to make money. Not just the burial plot, but even our old house—we’ll get it all back!”

Mr. Turner stared dumbfounded at his confident child. The little one who used to be so quiet had suddenly grown up, even more ambitious than his father!

After a long moment of shock, Mr. Turner reached out and patted his child’s shoulder, feeling even more ashamed inside.

“Good child, your father’s thought it through. Come on, isn’t there mutton soup? You’ve been hungry all day—eat more!”

Still not quite used to Old Man’s sudden change of face, but it looked like he wouldn’t be seeking death anymore.

While William Turner was still in a daze, Old Man had already started tearing the meat off the bones and dumped it all into William Turner’s bowl. He gnawed on the bones himself, sucking out the marrow with gusto.

“It’s not that I don’t want to share, but your stomach is weak right now, so you should eat more meat,” Mr. Turner said proudly, as if he’d gotten a great deal.

Facing Old Man’s clumsy acting, William Turner didn’t expose him. He quietly finished all the meat in front of him. Nothing was more important than recovering quickly, so that he—and Old Man—could climb out of the pit...

Cock-a-doodle-doo!