Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

That evening, Cang Tianci sat in the storage room, not in a hurry to read or practice as usual. He took his pocket watch off his chest and placed it on the table.

He didn't look at it. He closed his eyes and listened to it.

Tick, tick, tick.

The sound was neither urgent nor continuous.

He listened for a while. Suddenly, he realized that the sound never cared what he was doing. It ticked when he was reading; it ticked when he was daydreaming; it ticked even when he was asleep. It didn't speed up even a second because he was in a hurry, nor did it pause because he was slow.

It just keeps moving, moving forward in every moment.

He recalled his master's words: "A sacred place in the mortal world."

He didn't fully understand before. Now he suddenly understands:

The Tao is not far away, nor is it in the moment of "attaining the Tao" someday in the future. The Tao is in this ticking sound. In every breath, in everything we are doing. When we are preparing for a lesson, preparation is the Tao; when we are practicing standing meditation, standing meditation is the Tao; when we are listening to lectures, reviewing, practicing martial arts, meditating... when we do everything, we are fully engaged, without being impatient or agitated, following the natural course of things, and that is cultivating the Tao.

It's not about waiting until you "understand" before you start walking; it's about walking and then you understand.

He hung the pocket watch back on his chest.

His behavior changed starting the next day.

He woke up ten minutes earlier than usual that morning. Not to do more practice problems, but to be at ease. He calmly washed up and calmly walked to the training field.

He used to be always rushing. Rushing to get up, rushing to training, rushing to eat, rushing to the classroom, rushing to sit down at the last second before the bell rang. When he was rushing, he was panicked, and when he was panicked, his mind was in chaos. Now he doesn't rush anymore.

When he arrived at the classroom, there was still fifteen minutes before class. He took out his textbook and began to preview the material.

Previewing isn't just a cursory glance. He reads through the day's lessons from beginning to end, marking any parts he doesn't understand with a question mark and making notes on the important points. It's not about memorizing the knowledge, but about getting his brain on track in advance. Like a train slowing down before entering a station, it can smoothly board when the doors open at the platform.

He used to study in advance to "be faster than others." Now he studies in advance to "make himself more stable."

During class, he listened very attentively. Not in a tense, anxious way, afraid of missing a single word, but in a relaxed, absorbed way. He went through every point the teacher made in his mind—how does this relate to what we learned yesterday? How does this connect to the previous chapter? He wrote down anything he didn't understand and asked about it after class.

Before, his listening in class was passive. He would write down whatever the teacher said, like stuffing things into a pocket. The more he stuffed, the fuller the pocket became, and then he panicked. Now, he listens to lectures like he's weaving a net. Each new piece of knowledge is a thread, and he connects this thread to the parts he's already woven. The bigger the net, the more it can catch, and the more it catches, the less likely it is to fall out.

He used to memorize things by brute force. If once wasn't enough, he'd do it twice; if twice wasn't enough, he'd do it ten times until it was ingrained in his mind. But what he memorized would be forgotten after a few days, like sand slipping through his fingers.

He remembered his master's words: "Knowledge may be forgotten, but skills will never be lost."

He began to ponder: What is skill? Attention is skill, memory is skill, thinking ability is skill, imagination is skill, creativity is skill. Knowledge is the result of "practicing" these skills, not the skills themselves. Just like boxing, hitting the punching bag is not the goal, but the strength developed. Memorizing texts and vocabulary is not the goal, but the memory and focus developed.

Having figured this out, his method of memorizing changed. Instead of rote memorization, he memorized while thinking—What is the structure of this passage? What is the relationship between these concepts? If I were to rephrase it in my own words, how would I say it?

Memorizing like this is slow. But there's a reason for it. After one round, your brain has processed it, and if you remember it, you truly remember it. If you can't remember it, you know it's because your brain hasn't processed it yet, not because you're stupid.

During breaks, he no longer napped at his desk like before, nor did he read. He went to the corridor, leaned against the railing, and looked at the trees on the playground. The trees swayed in the wind, their leaves turning over one by one, revealing their silvery-white undersides. As he watched, he felt his breathing rise and fall in rhythm with the trees.

He wouldn't have done this before. He used to think every minute had to be used to "learn something," otherwise it was a waste. Now he knows that letting the brain rest is also part of learning. Just like standing still in a stance, that's also a form of practice.

After school in the afternoon, he went to the training hall.

Chen Xuhua was leading the other students in practicing routines. Seeing Cang Tianci enter, he nodded to him. Cang Tianci changed his clothes but didn't join the others. He walked to a corner of the training area and began practicing stances.

Three-body pose.

He stepped out with his left foot, then pulled back with his right heel, shifting his weight 30% forward and 70% backward. His arms hung naturally at his sides, his right hand resting on the inside of his left wrist, then he raised them and held them in front of his chest. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.

The aura of the Hidden Dragon Technique flowed slowly within his body. The drop of water in his dantian remained. It neither grew larger nor disappeared; it simply stood there, like a quiet sign, reminding him—you are on the right path.

He stood there for an unknown amount of time, and felt the "lines" in his body become clearer.

Chen Xuhua walked over and stood beside him without saying a word. Only after Cang Tianci finished his practice and opened his eyes did Chen Xuhua speak.

"Things have changed," he said.

Cang Tianci nodded.

"Before, when you practiced standing meditation, you were 'seeking'—seeking connection, seeking the feeling of Qi, seeking that line. Are you not seeking it anymore today?" Chen Xuhua asked.

Cang Tianci thought for a moment and said, "I won't ask anymore. I asked before because I didn't know if it would come. Now that I know it will come when it's time, there's no need to ask."

Chen Xuhua looked at him without saying a word. After a few seconds, he turned and walked to the center of the area. After taking a few steps, he stopped, turned back, and instructed, "After you finish standing in the stance, practice the forms a few times. Bring the feeling from your stance into the routine."

Cangtianci responded.

He closed his eyes again, stood for a while, then finished his practice, walked to the center of the area, and began to practice the Thirteen Postures of Tai Chi.

The initial movement. Lazily tying the clothes. Grasping the sparrow's tail.

His movements were so slow that even the trainees nearby couldn't help but glance at him a couple of times, but he didn't care. What he cared about wasn't what others thought, but whether the "thread" within his body was moving in sync. When rising, the Qi rose from the soles of his feet; when falling, the Qi sank back to his Dantian. When opening, the energy flowed to the extremities; when closing, the energy returned to his waist.

After finishing a round of punches, he was covered in a thin layer of sweat and felt completely refreshed. It was like a window that had been closed for a long time had finally been opened, and the wind blew in from outside, carrying away all the stale air from the room.

Chen Xuhua stood at the edge of the field, watching him without commenting. But Cang Tianci knew that Chen Xuhua had seen him.

From that day on, his routine began to change. The same lunge punch, which before made a crisp "snap" sound—fast, accurate, and powerful—now didn't make as crisp a sound, but at the end of the punch, there was still a subtle, forward-moving "intention." It wasn't about force, but intention. When the intention arrived, the power followed.

Chen Xuhua once called him aside and said, "Do you know how your boxing is different now compared to before?"

Cang Tianci thought for a moment and said, "Before, we fought from the outside; now we fight from the inside."

Chen Xuhua nodded: "Your previous methods were 'made'. Now your methods are 'grown'."

"Grown" out. Cang Tianci pondered these three words, feeling that Chen Xuhua had hit the nail on the head. Before, his routines were pieced together move by move, like building blocks. Each piece was correct, but when put together, it was still just building blocks. Now, his routines grew from within him, like a tree. Branches were branches, leaves were leaves, but the branches and leaves were connected. The roots were in the soil, and none could exist without the others.

The students watching him box couldn't pinpoint exactly what had changed about him, but they all felt his boxing was "more visually appealing." Not that the movements were more elegant, but rather that they were more comfortable to watch. It was like watching a stream flow down a mountain, unhurried and graceful, turning when it needed to turn, and cascading down when it needed to cascade—so natural and effortless.

Liu Xiaohai once asked him, "Brother Tianci, why is your boxing style different from ours?"

Cang Tianci thought for a moment and said, "You guys use a set of techniques, and so do I. But your techniques are 'practiced' into practice, while mine are 'cultivated' into something."

Liu Xiaohai didn't understand, scratched his head, and left.

Cang Tianci didn't explain. Some things can't be understood just by being told. He himself had stood there for so long before slowly beginning to understand a little.

Days passed. His grades were still among the worst, but his ranking was gradually improving.

He stopped staring at the rankings, not because he didn't care, but because he no longer considered the rankings as "himself." The ranking numbers were guests; the drop of water within him was the true master. Guests come and go, but the master remains always there.

Xu Wenyuan didn't speak to him again. But every time Cang Tianci walked past him, his gaze would linger on Cang Tianci for a moment longer. In that gaze were scrutiny, curiosity, and perhaps even a hint of... something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Until one day, Cang Tianci himself knocked on his office door.

"Teacher Xu, I'd like to talk to you."

Xu Wenyuan put down his pen and pointed to the chair opposite him. Cang Tianci sat down, his back very straight.

"What did you say?" Xu Wenyuan asked.

Cang Tianci was silent for a few seconds before speaking.

"Teacher Xu, I've figured it out. It's not about figuring out 'which path to choose,' but about figuring out 'how to walk it.'"

"I used to study academic subjects to get high scores. Now I study them to develop skills. For example, I consciously train my attention, memory, thinking, and imagination while learning. I believe these are the foundation of learning. Once you have these skills, you can never lose them."

"I used to practice martial arts to win medals. Now I practice martial arts to train my body and mind. My body obeys me, and my mind obeys me. For me, literature and martial arts are not burdens, but two legs. I use literature to understand principles and martial arts to experience them. Only by walking on two legs can I walk steadily."

Xu Wenyuan leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on his face. It wasn't the look of a teacher listening to a student's report; it was the look of someone listening to another person speak.

"When did you start having these ideas?"

"I've been thinking about this ever since we talked that day. Then one night I suddenly understood," Cang Tianci said.

Xu Wenyuan nodded, staring intently into Cang Tianci's eyes for a long time before saying, "Tianci, your grades are still at the bottom. Aren't you worried?"

"I'm anxious. But being anxious won't help. I've been anxious before, so anxious that I pushed myself into the ring, coughed up blood, and almost didn't wake up. Now I know that you have to take things one step at a time. If you take too big a step, you'll fall."

Xu Wenyuan fell silent. Sunlight streamed in from the window, falling on the table between the two of them.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Xu Wenyuan asked.

Cang Tianci thought for a moment and said, "Because you are my homeroom teacher. I know you are good to me. I can't let you feel that I didn't listen to what you said. I did listen, but I chose a different path from your advice. I want you to know that I didn't choose this path randomly."

Xu Wenyuan lowered his head, looking at the exercise book spread out on the table. His pen was still on the pen rest; the ink had dried, and a small black lump had formed at the nib. He stared at it for a few seconds, then looked up and said solemnly:

"Tianci, do you know that what you just said doesn't sound like something a fourteen-year-old child would say?"

Cang Tianci was stunned for a moment.

"What you're thinking about is something many people never even consider in their entire lives. I used to think 'success' meant getting into a good university and finding a good job. You've made me start to think that maybe there are other kinds of 'success.' Thank you, God!"

Cang Tianci lowered his head, somewhat embarrassed.

"I don't fully understand your path. But I believe you chose it seriously. I won't rush you about your grades. Just do it at your own pace. If you encounter any difficulties, come to me."

Cang Tianci stood up, bowed deeply, and said, "Thank you, Teacher Xu!"

Then he turned and walked out of the office.

Xu Wenyuan sat down in the chair, picked up the fountain pen with its dry nib, unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped it in, and made a stroke on the paper. The ink flowed smoothly, leaving a black mark on the paper.

He put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, stared at the ceiling, and muttered to himself, "Perhaps there are other kinds of 'success'."

Outside the window, the setting sun was peeking through the clouds, bathing the entire teaching building in a warm golden light. The sounds of students playing and laughing echoed from the playground, near and far, rising and falling.

He lowered his head and continued grading assignments. The pen tip scratched on the paper.

Some things are indeed different now.