Half a Lifetime Serving Porridge at the Village Gate, Only for My Son to Tear Down My Stall After Joining the Tax Bureau
Language: en
When Ben came charging into the porridge stand with his audit team. I was pouring hot water. “Everybody stop moving.” Ben’s voice came in from outside the tent, cold and unlike him. The thermos in my hand tilted, and hot water splashed onto the back of my hand, burning it bright red. Old Sam quickly pulled up his sleeve and wiped it for me, muttering, “Mick, your son’s here, in uniform. He looks so impressive.” Yeah, impressive. Ben was wearing a dark blue tax uniform, and his peaked cap sat low over his brows. Five or six others in the same uniform followed behind him. Some of them were…