“Dave, quickly help your father into the house, I’ll go get a doctor!”

“No need to get one, I’m fine…” Brian Thompson said weakly.

David Thompson hurried forward to support his father, only to see his father’s eyes bloodshot, his chest covered in bloodstains, blood at the corners of his mouth, and his face deathly pale.

“Uncle, what’s wrong with my father?”

“Let’s get him inside first, then talk.”

The three of them, fumbling and stumbling, helped Brian Thompson into the house and laid him on the kang. Brian Thompson let out a long breath, “Luckily, I wasn’t beaten to death. I, Brian Thompson, am still alive.”

“Heavens, he was beaten so badly he coughed up blood! Who could be so vicious?” Mrs. Harris asked her son angrily.

“It was Head Steward Brooks who brought people to beat him. I don’t know why. I heard they even took away Daqi’s money.”

A rush of hot blood surged to David Thompson’s head. Without a word, he turned and dashed outside.

Brian Thompson panicked at once and said with difficulty, “Dalang, stop him, he’s still a child!”

John Harris hurried out of the room, just in time to see David Thompson rushing out of the woodshed, a sharp hatchet in his hand. He stepped forward and grabbed David Thompson around the waist, “Are you crazy? Put the knife down!”

David Thompson struggled desperately, “Let me go! Let me kill that bastard!”

John Harris was incredibly strong, able to wrestle a bull to the ground, unmatched within a hundred miles, but now he felt he could barely hold onto this child. This kid had never been this strong before! He couldn’t help but feel secretly alarmed.

But after all, David Thompson was still young. The hatchet in his hand was forcibly taken away by John Harris, who pressed down hard on his shoulder and stared into his eyes, “A gentleman takes his revenge, even if it takes ten years. A real man never acts on impulse. Do you understand?”

The hot blood surging in David Thompson’s head gradually subsided, but the hatred in his eyes only deepened. He nodded silently, then turned to Mrs. Harris and said, “Auntie, take Grace home first. She’s still little.”

Grace stood to the side, frozen in fear. When she heard her silly second brother telling her to go home, she pouted, “I’m not going home!”

Mrs. Harris suddenly remembered something and slapped her forehead, “Look at my memory! We have medicine for wounds at home! I actually forgot. Grace, come with grandma to get the medicine.”

Little Grace, unwilling as could be, was taken home by her grandmother. After a moment of calm, David Thompson said to John Harris, “No matter what, I have to get the money back. That’s what father saved up bit by bit. We can’t let them take it.”

“Don’t go after it!”

Brian Thompson struggled to the doorway, holding onto the doorframe and gasping for breath, “Dahei bit his son, so that’s compensation for his medical expenses.”

“He’s lying!”

David Thompson grew angry again, “When did Dahei ever bite anyone? He never bit his son.”

“I gave it to him willingly. Just… don’t go after it.”

Brian Thompson was swaying, barely able to stand. John Harris hurried to support him, “You have internal injuries, you mustn’t move. Get back in bed and rest. Don’t worry about Billy, he may be young, but he’s very sensible.”

“Dalang, don’t teach him to seek revenge. Too much hatred will ruin him in the future.”

John Harris smiled, “I understand. You just lie down and don’t talk.”

In the courtyard, David Thompson stared blankly at the sky. The warm sunlight shone on him, but in his heart he felt a deep chill.

Chapter 0004: The Li Clan Ancestral Hall

Before dawn, David Thompson used a camphorwood box as a desk, hunched over under the flickering light of a bean oil lamp, writing furiously. He was writing the story of Sun Wukong’s great battle with Red Boy, a story he had already told Grace twice and knew by heart, able to write it out without hesitation.

The grain jar was nearly empty, the money pouch had only two holes left, and their family was destitute. Counting on his father to earn money was impossible, so he could only rely on himself.

The story of Tang Monk’s journey for scriptures had many versions circulating among the people during the Song and Yuan dynasties. Wu Cheng’en’s Journey to the West was merely the most comprehensive. David Thompson also extracted some classic plot points from later generations and blended them into his writing, making this story of Sun Wukong’s battle with Red Boy even more imaginative and thrilling, with twists and turns and constant suspense, making it impossible for readers to put down.

He had been writing this vernacular supernatural novel for ten days, nearly fifty thousand words, and was about to finish. He needed to leave a big cliffhanger to make the bookshop owner come looking for him.

At that moment, his father coughed from the kang. The medicine Mrs. Harris had brought was very effective; in just three days, his father’s injuries had gradually improved, though his body was still very weak. Mrs. Harris had also stewed an old hen to help his father recover. Great kindness needs no words; David Thompson silently remembered this favor in his heart.

“David, what time is it now?” Brian Thompson asked weakly from the kang.

“It’s still early!”

David Thompson finished the last line, his work complete. He put down his brush, carefully stored the manuscript, then ladled a bowl of chicken soup from the pot and brought it to his father, helping him sit up with a smile, “Father, have some chicken soup and then rest.”

Brian Thompson took a few sips of chicken soup, turned to look outside—the sky was still pitch black. He frowned, “David, why are you up so early?”

“I was practicing my calligraphy!” David Thompson made up an excuse.