Tang Nan hugged Tang Shengkai tightly, very tightly. Tang Shengkai and the others knew that because they had set up such a scheme, news of their sacrifice would definitely reach the country.
He knew that Cui Cui and the children might not be able to accept it, but the situation was urgent and he had no other choice.
"Silly boy, isn't your father perfectly fine? A real man shouldn't shed tears." Tang Shengkai didn't even realize that his voice was trembling as he spoke.
The scene of Da Bei and Dong Zi fighting desperately against the American troops was still replaying in his mind. What if those two children really disappeared before his eyes? No, he would never let that happen.
The children have their own methods; they won't die so easily. Tang Shengkai rubbed Tang Nan's head even harder.
Han Rusong, leaning against the tree trunk, slowly stood up, his cloudy gaze fixed on Tang Shengkai. After being tortured by the American army, his body was hunched over like a withered tree, but at this moment he stared straight at Tang Shengkai's profile.
The rain stopped sometime later, and the setting sun shone through the clouds, casting their shadows together. Han Rusong suddenly felt his breath catch in his throat—the way Tang Shengkai raised his eyebrows, the way he lowered his head to wipe his wound, even the way his Adam's apple bobbed, all gradually overlapped with a blurry figure in his memory.
Who is that figure? Why does it look so familiar?
"You..." Han Rusong's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper being rubbed against his skin. He reached out to touch Tang Shengkai, but then curled his fingers back in mid-air. "Do you... have any siblings?"
Tang Shengkai turned his head and smiled with a puzzled look, the stubble on his cheeks trembling slightly with the movement: "Commander Han, I only have a wife and children." He didn't notice Han Rusong's suddenly pale face, but simply took off his water bottle and handed it to him, "Please have some water first, we need to move as soon as possible."
Han Rusong's hands trembled slightly as he held the kettle. The two faces reflected in the water, with their brow bone contours and the lines at the corners of their eyes, looked as if they were carved from the same mold.
He gazed at the retreating figures of the Tang father and son, who were talking in hushed tones in the distance. Countless questions welled up in his throat, but ultimately turned into a sigh—in this era of war and chaos, similarities might just be a cruel joke of fate. To be able to live and reunite at this moment was already an immense stroke of luck.
He concealed the shock in his eyes. His fists were clenched tightly, whether from tension or excitement, it was hard to tell. How could this be?
But why is it impossible? Commander Han has been searching for his son for so many years without success, so why can't it be him?
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