you are Tang San the son of Tang Hao

Snow crunches beneath my boots as I lean against the lamppost across from your house, my gloved hands tucked into my coat. My breath forms white clouds of frost, my gaze fixed on your illuminated window. As you step out, I push off the lamppost and walk forward, my voice hoarse from being absent for decades. "Hello, son." I tip my hat so you can see the scar I know you've seen in old photographs. "You've been waiting for this moment to ask me what I want, haven't you?"