Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The next day, Old Li took Xiao Jun back to his hometown. He said his daughter was taking the college entrance exam and he had to go back to be with her. Before leaving, he tidied up his belongings in the work shed and cleaned the empty shed again. He asked someone to pass on a message to Cang Lifeng: he would come back after things were settled.

That morning, Lin Wei came again. She placed an envelope on the bedside table and said softly, "This is what I saved up. It's not much, but you can use it for now." Then she turned and left.

"Lin Wei—" Cang Lifeng called out to her.

She stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Thanks."

She didn't answer, and pushed the door open and went out.

Cang Lifeng opened the envelope; inside was eight thousand yuan. He knew she had only been working for two years and her family wasn't well-off; this eight thousand yuan was probably all her savings.

Shen Moyuan arrived in the afternoon. The old man rushed over from Nancheng University and shoved a thick envelope into his hand: "Take it." Cang Lifeng opened it; inside was 30,000 yuan. He was stunned. These days, for a retired professor to pull out 30,000 yuan, he'd probably emptied his savings for his funeral. "Grandpa Shen, this…" Shen Moyuan pressed his hand, preventing him from pushing it back: "What your great-grandfather risked his life to protect back then, now it's your turn to protect. This little bit of money of mine is nothing." The old man paused, then added, "Don't shoulder the burden of money alone. The Cang family's affairs are my affairs."

Zhou Qingfeng sent 10,000 yuan through someone, along with a note: "Lifeng, your master can't be of much help, so please use this money first. Hang in there."

After discussing it with Su Yumei, Cang Zhenye decided to return to Xiqiao Village to raise money.

The news spread, and the first to arrive was Cang Houde. The old man called Cang Zhenye to the old house and rummaged through an old box under the bed, pulling out several items—an ancient inkstone, a small blue-and-white porcelain vase, and a yellowed scroll. He wrapped them up and handed them to Cang Zhenye: "Take these to Nancheng, find Shen Moyuan, and ask him to help sell them for a good price." Cang Zhenye recognized the ancient inkstone; it was his father's lifelong possession. His hand trembled slightly: "Father, this is your…" "Take it." Cang Houde's voice was soft but steady. "Things are inanimate, but people are alive. Tianci, that child, is more precious than anything else."

His three uncles also arrived. Cang Yuanzhi handed him an old envelope containing his savings from frugal living; Cang Shouzhen and Cang Jianguo also stuffed money into his hands, saying nothing more than, "Tianci's matter is of utmost importance."

What Cang Zhenye didn't expect was the villagers. Grandma Liu came leaning on her cane, Aunt Li came, and Uncle Wang came too. They stuffed money into his hand—hundred-yuan notes, ten-yuan notes, and five-yuan and one-yuan notes. Each note was crumpled, stained with sweat, and warm from their palms.

Cang Zhenye stood before the table, his eyes reddening as he looked at the money. He recalled the scorn his family had suffered in the village, the oppression from Wang Zhenkun, and the days when they could never hold their heads high. He never imagined that in his family's most difficult time, it would be these very villagers, who had once been just as poor as they were, who would extend a helping hand.

He counted out each bill carefully, wrapped them in paper, and wrote down each name on the paper. He added all the money together; it was enough for Tianci to stay in the ICU for half a month. He didn't know if Tianci would wake up after half a month, but he knew he wasn't alone.

Lin Wei's manuscript is finished.

She stayed up for three nights, writing down word by word the story of Cang Lifeng saving people at the bank, Cang Tianci's transformation from a stutterer to a champion, Lao Li being threatened, and the truth behind the construction site accident. She didn't write any conclusions, only the facts.

The manuscript was handed to the editor-in-chief. The editor-in-chief looked at it for a long time, then pushed it back: "Lin Wei, are you sure you want to publish it?"

"Sure."

The editor-in-chief didn't say anything more, he just signed the manuscript.

The article was published the next day. But the response was different from what Lin Wei had expected.

"Is this an attempt to whitewash Cang Lifeng?"

"All you do now is cry to reporters after something goes wrong. Where were you before?"

"What truth? Isn't this just an attempt to shirk responsibility?"

The reader letters were overwhelming, mostly filled with insults. Some said she "took money from Cang Lifeng," some said she was "blinded by the halo of heroism," and others said she was "morally corrupt and a traitor."

Lin Wei sat in her office, her hands trembling as she looked at the letters. Telling the truth was easy; making people believe it was difficult. She remembered the old journalist's words—"The truth can sometimes harm you, but not telling the truth will harm you for life." She thought that simply writing down the truth would be enough, but faced with the truth, not everyone was willing to open their eyes.

After learning about Lin Wei's situation, Cang Lifeng gave her a phone call.

"Lin Wei, stop writing. You can't shut those people up."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone before someone said:

"Lifeng, do you know, when my dad was wrongly accused, everyone said he deserved to die. Only one old journalist was willing to write it. When that report came out, some people said he had taken bribes, some said he wanted to be famous. But he didn't stop. He wrote for three months and finally wrote the truth."

"I became a journalist because I wanted to be someone who 'speaks the truth.' Now, I can't stop."

Cang Lifeng held the receiver, remained silent for a moment, and then said firmly, "Okay, you write it! I support you!"

When Cang Lifeng returned to the ward, it was already dark.

Su Yumei was still sitting by the bed, holding Tianci's hand. Cang Zhenye stood by the window, looking at the lights outside. Cang Xiangyang and Cang Xiaohua sat on the bench in the corridor, waiting.

"Dad, Mom, you go and rest. I'll stay here," Cang Lifeng said.

Su Yumei refused to leave. She held Tianci's hand and whispered, "Tianci, can you hear that? Your grandfather has brought out everything he's kept hidden all his life. Your second uncle, third uncle, eldest uncle, and all the villagers are thinking of you. Wake up quickly, don't keep everyone waiting too long."

The monitor continued its regular beeping. Su Yumei held Tianci's hand and suddenly felt her son's fingers twitch. She lowered her head and stared at that hand for a long time. It lay there quietly, motionless. She wasn't sure if it was just her imagination.

Late at night.

Cang Lifeng sat alone in the hospital room, taking the piece of paper covered with names out of his pocket and reading it word by word. Grandma Liu, twenty yuan. Aunt Li, fifty yuan. Uncle Wang, one hundred yuan. Brother Zhang, thirty yuan… Each name was a lamp.

He looked at the sliver of light streaming in through the window and whispered, "Tianci, can you hear that? Everyone is waiting for you."

Cang Tianci, lying on the bed, did not respond; only the regular beeping of the monitor could be heard.

He folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. Then he stood up and walked to the window. The night in the southern part of the city was sparsely lit, but every single one of them was on.

At this moment, Cang Lifeng was unaware that Tianci, lying on the bed, was having a dream.

There was nothing in the dream. No light, no sound, no color. Only an endless, deep darkness. He walked in this darkness for a long time, not knowing where he was going or how far he had gone. His legs felt soft, like he was walking on cotton, and he couldn't muster any strength. He wanted to shout, but no sound came out. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't.

Then he saw the light.

Very far. Very weak. Like the kerosene lamp on the stove in my old home, it flickers in the wind, but it never goes out.

He walked towards the light. He walked slowly, each step heavy. He felt as if he had walked for a long time, yet it also felt like only a moment. The light flickered, sometimes bright, sometimes dim, as if waiting for someone. He reached out, trying to grasp it. Just as his fingertips were about to touch it, the light flickered and receded. He reached out again, and it receded again. He panicked, running desperately forward, but the light was always just a little bit short, out of reach.

He stopped, panting, and looked at the light. The light was still flickering, but it hadn't gone out.

Suddenly, he was no longer in a hurry. He stood there, looking at the light. He knew that the light was waiting for him. Waiting for him to grow up, waiting for him to get hurt, waiting for him to find his way, waiting for him to return. He didn't need to rush. The light would not go out.

Tianci's fingers twitched. Cang Lifeng didn't see it. He was standing by the window, looking at the night in the southern city.

Outside the window, the sliver of light on the horizon is still shining.