Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

Cang Jianguo sat stiffly in the chair, as if he had aged ten years in an instant. His father and niece Liu Qing's words struck his heart like an invisible hammer.

He recalled his "glory" when he was the village party secretary, his embarrassment and fear during that special era, and even more so, his hidden jealousy towards his second brother, Cang Yuanzhi, over those years—why should someone who didn't leave any offspring for the Cang family receive more trust and affection from his father? He resented his father's favoritism and the injustice of the world.

But now, the truth is like a bucket of cold snow. Father wasn't being biased; he was making a judgment. He saw through it all: under pressure and temptation, he might not be able to keep this secret, which was more important than his own life.

He recalled the words that had just slipped out; he recalled himself from years ago, trembling and only seeking self-preservation; he recalled…

Overwhelmed by immense shame, he realized that it wasn't that his father didn't trust him; it was that he himself had failed to live up to his father's complete trust. His estrangement from his family and indifference towards his brothers over the years had all become thorns piercing his heart. He lowered his head, his hands gripping his knees tightly until his knuckles turned white.

Unlike his father's breakdown, Cang Xiaoren was overwhelmed with fear after the initial shock, which quickly turned into immense relief.

He remembered that bewitched night on the fifteenth of the twelfth lunar month, when he crept like a thief to the base of the old house; he remembered Wang Wenhua's (Wang Zhiqiang) tempting promise of "tens of thousands of yuan"; he remembered his wife Chen Xianfei's daily complaints and urging... If it weren't for his grandfather's cough that scared him away; if it weren't for the lingering awe and fear he felt for his grandfather; if his grandfather hadn't stood guard in the old house, refusing to move an inch, giving him no chance to act... what would the consequences have been? Not just betraying the family, not just angering his grandfather to death, but even more terrifying—if this thing fell into the hands of those thugs who killed people with guns last night, into the hands of the descendants of those "Japanese devils"...

At that point, Cang Xiaoren would become the eternal sinner of the Cang family. He would be the destroyer of the cause that his great-grandfather had protected with his life and that his grandfather had silently upheld throughout his life. Not only would his family not forgive him, but the country would not let him off the hook either!

He shivered violently and instinctively looked up at his grandfather, only to find the old man resting with his eyes closed, as if gathering his last strength. Cang Xiaoren hurriedly lowered his head, not daring to make any further contact with his grandfather's gaze.

Unlike her husband and father-in-law, Consort Chen, sitting on a low stool in the corner, also put on a surprised and serious expression, but a hint of indifference flashed deep in her eyes.

To her, what the old man was saying seemed too far-fetched, so far-fetched that it felt unreal. It was not as real as the "tens of thousands of yuan" that Wang Wenhua mentioned.

Then look at Uncle's family. Liu Qing has made something of himself, but back then, Uncle lost his position as deputy director and suffered poverty for years just to marry Aunt. Li Feng became a hero, but he almost lost his life in Nancheng. What good is all this "protection" besides living in fear and poverty?

Looking at his own home, he was just running a crumbling oil press, barely scraping by. Why didn't the old man think about how to help his children and grandchildren live a better life instead of hoarding things?

She pursed her lips, lowering her head to hide the indifference in her eyes. In her view, all talk of family righteousness and historical responsibility was meaningless. Only the money in her hands, the food in her mouth, and the new clothes on her body were real. No matter how tragic the old man's words were, they couldn't put food on the table. She only hoped that this matter would be resolved quickly, that it wouldn't bring any more trouble to her family, so that she and Xiaoren could have a few days of peace, and ideally... she could even gain some practical benefits from this. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at the copper coins and notebook that her grandfather was clutching tightly, and thought to herself, since these things are so important, the government should give some reward for taking them, right?

Cang Tianci stood in the corner, his eyes slightly closed. The Hidden Dragon Technique circulated slowly within his body, not for healing or practicing, but for a kind of "inner contemplation" and "gathering".

The narration of his grandfather Cang Houde, the heart-stopping choice of his great-grandfather Cang Yunshan, the family's 48 years of silent escape and protection... every word struck his heart.

These distant and grand historical narratives intertwine and collide violently with the life-or-death moments, gunfire, and splattering blood and flesh he personally experienced last night.

My great-grandfather risked his life to protect the national treasure but was condemned for it; my grandfather endured humiliation to keep the secret and maintain the family; and last night, in order to protect this copper coin, I indirectly caused the end of a life and almost lost my life to a sniper bullet.

For the first time, the word "protection" became so concrete and so heavy. It was no longer just a clear and direct confrontation like protecting one's mother, protecting Wanqing, or protecting classmates, but was tied to conspiracy, killing, long years, heavy sacrifices, and even stigma and misunderstanding.

He remembered the cry at the bottom of the cliff in Wild Boar Gully—the starting point of his battle with death, as his mother had described; he remembered the sweat and mosquitoes under the dim light in the sports school toilet; he remembered the fist that struck Lin Wanqing in the dark alley; and he remembered the piercing whistle of the bullet that grazed his back and entered the ground last night—that sound faintly overlapped with the sound of wind and snow on a winter night in Wild Boar Gully, as his mother had described it, both being the cold horns of death.

The aura of the Hidden Dragon Technique trembled slightly deep within his dantian, and the light of the "Heart Lamp" flickered uncertainly in his sea of ​​consciousness. A trace of confusion stirred in his heart: how should one's personal "Dao" be placed in the face of such a grand destiny of family and nation and the fog of history?

He recalled his elder brother's words before he left home: "Ask your heart, not your fist; when your heart is clear, your fist will be genuine."

He recalled his master Chen Jiren's teachings: "The greatest truths are the simplest, yet they require countless trials and tribulations."

He recalled Teacher Fang's warm gaze: "As long as you're alive, there's hope."

And last night, the bullet that grazed his back and entered the ground, and the shock and despair that flashed in the eyes of that stranger when he was shot in the chest...

Slaughter, protection, responsibility, choice.

These words churned and tore at his mind, almost ripping his soul apart.

Yet, amidst this tearing turmoil, the tranquil inner energy of the Hidden Dragon Technique flowed slowly, like a deep pool, drawing in and settling all the chaos and struggle. He suddenly understood—all his past experiences, the warmth and coldness of Xiqiao Village, the trials of Ji County, the life-and-death struggle of the previous night, and even the weight of his family at this moment, were all forging him. Through this forging, he saw clearly that the "weights" of this world were not only Wang Zhenkun's power and Zhao Xiaohu's cunning, but also the plunder and protection that transcended time and space; through this forging, he understood that the path of "seeking the Dao" was not merely about personal grudges, but also led to the roots of the nation and its people.

The light of the inner lamp no longer flickered, but gradually coalesced, transforming into a calm yet burning flame, deeply rooted in the dantian. The road ahead is still long, and the fog remains heavy, but this lamp has been lit.