Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The twilight, heavy as iron, pressed down on the windows of the Nancheng University Library. The cold, white light shone on the table, casting a frosty sheen on the open "Introduction to Economics" and Professor Li Zhenhua's lecture notes.

Lu Wenyuan adjusted his glasses, pointed his finger at the words "opportunity cost," and said:

"Brother Cang, look at this word. Professor Li explained it in an abstract way in class, but let me put it another way—every minute you sit here right now means you can't be working on the construction site at the same time. That's your 'opportunity cost'."

Cang Lifeng stared at those four words, his brows furrowed. His fingertips unconsciously traced the edges of the pages, which were already frayed from being turned so many times.

"How do I know if this 'cost' is worthwhile?"

"Good question." Lu Wenyuan's eyes lit up. This was one of the few times he could see a genuine spark of interest in Cang Lifeng's eyes. "This is what economics is trying to help you figure out—you have to compare what you learn sitting here with the money you can earn and the problems you can solve on the construction site. Which is more important and has a longer-term impact on you and your brothers?"

Cang Lifeng fell silent. He recalled the cigarette Old Li had smoked by the entrance of the workers' shed before he left tonight—the red glow of the cigarette butt flickered in the deepening night, the smoke rising like a silent sigh. Old Li's eyes were empty, so empty it made one's heart pound with unease.

"Brother Wenyuan, if you had dozens of people under you, whose wives and children were waiting to eat, and whose elderly relatives were waiting to see a doctor, would you still be sitting here calculating this 'cost'?" Cang Lifeng looked up and suddenly asked.

Lu Wenyuan was stunned. This question wasn't in any textbook, yet it was like a blunt knife, unexpectedly cleaving open the invisible chasm between theory and reality. He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing a few times, before finally speaking in a hoarse voice:

"I...I haven't experienced it. But I think that precisely because so many people are pointing the finger at you, you need to think things through even more. Brute force can provide temporary relief, but it won't solve the problem. If you want to truly lead everyone to settle down and live a good life, courage and loyalty alone are not enough."

Cang Lifeng nodded and said nothing more. He suddenly remembered the reckless energy Old Li had shown when he was carrying cement that afternoon. It wasn't about making money; it was like he was risking his life—using today's life to earn tomorrow's rice. How should this be accounted for? The sycamore leaves outside the window rustled in the night wind, a distant and lingering sound, like the collective sigh of countless struggling lives on this land.

The tutoring session continued until the library closed. As Lu Wenyuan packed his bag, he pulled out a worn-out hardcover notebook from a hidden compartment and solemnly handed it to Cang Lifeng.

"This is what I memorized during my freshman year of college; it's the most basic stuff. Take a look at it first, and draw out the parts you don't understand. We'll focus on those next time."

Cang Lifeng took the notebook. The cover was dark blue, worn and faded, but the handwriting inside was as neat as if it had been printed, the charts were meticulously drawn, and key points were marked in red. He ran his fingers over the writing, then suddenly looked up and said gratefully:

"Brother Wenyuan, I am deeply grateful. We are about the same age. If you don't mind, how about we become brothers from now on?"

Lu Wenyuan was taken aback for a moment, then laughed heartily, "Great! How old are you this year, elder brother?"

"Just turned twenty-four."

"Hey, you really didn't get it wrong, Big Brother is half a year older than me."

Night had fallen, and the night bus back to the construction site was nearly empty. Cang Lifeng sat by the window, opening Lu Wenyuan's notebook. On the first page, a line of bold, lifelike words caught his eye: "Economics studies the optimal allocation of scarce resources—because human desires are limitless, while resources are finite."

His gaze lingered on the word "scarcity" for a long time. The street scenes outside the car window rushed past, the neon lights casting long, hazy streaks of color on the glass. He thought of the row of low shacks beside the construction site, of his brothers' cracked hands and the occasional glint of longing for a better life in their eyes. Resources were scarce, opportunities were scarce, and even "choice" itself was a luxury for many. Old Li's empty eyes flashed through his mind again—had life long since eroded even the right to "choose" within them?

In the western part of the southern city, behind a dilapidated video arcade with sparsely decorated neon signs, lies a rusty iron door. Pushing it open and descending the steep concrete steps, one enters another world—a smoky, choking haze, a mingled mix of cheap perfume and sweat, the clatter of chips hitting green velvet tablecloths, shouts of excitement or despair, and the clatter of slot machines spitting out coins, all blending into a morbid cacophony.

Li Xiaojun stood on the edge of this noisy scene, his legs weak and his palms icy cold. The blond-haired man who had brought him, a cigarette dangling from his lips, grinned and put his arm around Li Xiaojun's shoulder, blowing smoke rings as he said:

"What are you afraid of? I'll show you the world. If you win money, I'll buy your dad a good pack of cigarettes, and you can have some fun too."

Xiao Jun swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. He'd been in Nancheng for three months, carrying cement bags at another construction site, and by the end of the day, he was exhausted, his bones aching. He'd met Huang Mao about two weeks ago at a night market stall while eating fried noodles. This guy always managed to get him cheap cigarettes and could take him to those illegal video arcades where they didn't need to check his temporary residence permit to watch Hong Kong movies, always talking about ways to "make big money easily." Tonight, he'd just received half a month's wages, barely warming the pocket of his pocket, when Huang Mao came over, mysteriously saying he'd take him to "open his eyes."

At first, it was truly eye-opening. The slot machines spit out handfuls of tokens, which, though not worth much, were thrilling enough to make his heart race. At the poker table, his luck was unbelievable; after two hours, he had over eight hundred yuan piled up in front of him—more than half a month's wages. Xiao Jun's eyes reddened, his breathing became heavy, and his mind buzzed, with only one thought swirling in his head: more, more wins. This was far better than carrying cement all day under the scorching sun; he didn't even have to get his fingers dirty, and the money just came. No wonder city people looked down on manual laborers like them—they had no idea how to truly make a living.

"Brother, when luck comes, you can't stop it!" The blond-haired guy leaned close to his ear and whispered, "There's another game going on inside, bigger stakes, faster money. Want to try?"

The inner room was darker and even sparser. The air was thicker with the smell of smoke and an inexplicable tension. Xiao Jun didn't recognize the cards on the table; he'd heard they were "Pai Gow." The dealer was bald, shirtless, with a menacing blue dragon tattoo on one arm. When Xiao Jun sat down, his palms were icy sweat.

He won the first three rounds. The pile of banknotes in front of him grew even higher. The bald dealer looked up at him, grinned, revealing a gold tooth: "Young man, you're on a winning streak. Want to go even higher?"

"How...how big?"

"Five thousand per game."

Xiao Jun's head buzzed, as if he'd been hit by a heavy hammer. All his savings, including what he'd won tonight, amounted to less than three thousand. He tried to stand up and say, "I'm done playing," but the blond-haired man's hand pressed down on his shoulder like an iron clamp.

"What are you afraid of? I'll lend it to you. If you win, pay me back right away. If you lose... pay me back slowly. We're brothers, it's easy to talk."

When the thick stack of banknotes, still smelling of ink, was slapped in front of him, Xiao Jun's hands trembled violently. He bet, and lost. He borrowed again, and lost again. On the third round, the bald man threw the dominoes onto the table, making a crisp clattering sound.

"That's 25,000. Young man, your luck's about to change."

Xiao Jun slumped in his chair, his cheap synthetic vest instantly soaked with cold sweat. Twenty-five thousand? His father, Old Li, couldn't save that much even if he worked himself to the bone on the construction site for a year without eating or drinking.

"I...I have no money left...I really have none..."

The bald man stood up; his 1.9-meter frame was like a wall, casting a shadow that completely enveloped Xiao Jun. He grabbed Xiao Jun by the collar and lifted him up like a chick.

"No money? Did you borrow the money for this place for nothing?"

Only then did Xiao Jun realize with horror that Huang Mao had disappeared without a trace.

He was dragged into a small, dark room further inside, without windows. Punches and kicks rained down, not aimed at vital points, but specifically at areas that hurt. He curled up on the floor, protecting his head and face, letting out suppressed whimpers. Through his fingers, he saw the bald man take out his phone, press a few keys, and then speak into the microphone:

"Fourth Master, he caught a small fish... Yes, his father is that old Li who hangs out with Cang Lifeng."

On the other end of the phone, "Fourth Master" was reclining in a massage chair in his villa, resting with his eyes closed. After listening to the report, a cold smile curled at the corner of his lips.

"Take good care of him, don't kill him. Wait for his father to come and ransom him. Remember, I want his father to come in person."

Almost simultaneously, in the construction site shed, Old Li's pager rang sharply. He ran to the convenience store to call back, hearing his son's tearful and pained cries for help, along with the astronomical debt. He collapsed onto the dusty ground, the world instantly losing its color.