Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

On December 31, 1994, Jixian Middle School was dressed in festive attire.

A large red poster was pasted on the bulletin board at the school gate, with the words "Celebrating the 50th Anniversary of Jixian Middle School and New Year's Day Gala" written in vigorous calligraphy. Red banners with white characters were stretched on both sides, and colorful flags fluttered in the winter wind from the top of the teaching building all the way to the school gate. A red carpet was laid from the school gate all the way to the entrance of the auditorium.

At 2 PM, the auditorium was packed. All 1,200 seats were occupied by teachers and students, with plastic benches even added to the aisles. A huge banner hung above the stage, and congratulatory flower baskets from various organizations lined both sides. Leaders from the county education bureau, representatives from various township middle schools, and alumni were seated in the front row. Several video cameras were set up at the back and sides of the auditorium, and reporters from the county television station moved through the crowd with their equipment.

Xu Wenyuan sat in the second row of the teachers' section, looking down at the program. The two performances by the gifted youth class were scheduled for the second half of the show—Lin Ruoxi and Song Wei's zither dance was the fifth, and Cang Tianci's swordsmanship was the grand finale.

The stage lights dimmed, and a single spotlight shone on the center of the stage. Zheng Tao, dressed in a well-tailored dark blue suit, white shirt, and dark red tie, his hair meticulously combed, a perfectly measured smile playing on his lips, held the microphone, his voice clear and resonant:

"Distinguished leaders, honored guests, teachers, and students, good afternoon."

"Fifty years of trials and tribulations, fifty years of nurturing talents. Today, we gather together to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Jixian Middle School."

He paused for a moment, his gaze swept across the entire room, and he nodded slightly towards the teachers' section before continuing, "I am the host, Zheng Tao."

Applause erupted. His gaze subtly swept over Lin Ruoxi beside him. She wore an elegant pale yellow dress, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, and held another microphone in her hand. She began to speak:

"I am the host, Lin Ruoxi."

"Fifty years is a long period of time, and also a glorious chapter. Generations of people from Jizhong have sown ideals and reaped hope here..."

Zheng Tao took over the conversation, and the two of them worked together quite well, one after the other.

The program proceeded one after another. The first-year high school students' chorus of "Tomorrow Will Be Better" won a standing ovation; the second-year junior high school students' skit "Exam Turmoil" drew continuous laughter from the audience; and the school dance team's performance of "Spring River Flower Moon Night" brought tears to the eyes of several alumni.

The fifth program featured Lin Ruoxi and Song Wei.

A piano was placed on the left side of the stage, and Song Wei stood in the center. A deep red curtain served as the backdrop, and two beams of light shone on the two of them.

Lin Ruoxi sat gracefully before the piano, her fingertips falling to the strings. Debussy's "Clair de Lune" flowed like mercury across the floor, its clear sound filling the grand hall. Song Wei moved with the melody, her light blue dress shimmering under the lights. Her movements were gentle and precise, her arms rising like willow branches brushing water, her turns like swirling leaves.

There was no deliberate coordination between the music and the dance, yet there was a wonderful tacit understanding. Like two streams flowing separately, they converged at the foot of the mountain to form a clear pool.

The applause from the audience was thunderous and prolonged. Zheng Tao walked out from the side of the stage and took over the conversation:

"Thank you Lin Ruoxi and Song Wei for their wonderful performances, which allowed us to appreciate the charm of art. Next up is..."

The program proceeded one after another. Dance, solo singing, crosstalk, instrumental ensemble... The applause in the auditorium rose and fell intermittently. Some people watched with fascination, while others looked down at the name of the final act on the program.

After the thirteenth performance, the stage lights dimmed. Zheng Tao walked to the front of the stage, glanced at the program, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

"Next up is the last program of the day – a wonderful martial arts performance by Cang Tianci, a student from the Class of '93 Junior Class."

A buzz of discussion arose from the audience. Cang Tianci's name had faded from most people's conversations over the past few months, but now that it was being brought up again, some were curious, some were expectant, and some sneered dismissively.

Cang Tianci walked out from backstage. He was dressed in a pure white practice uniform with a black belt around his waist. In his right hand, he held a performance knife upside down; the blade was slender, and the hilt was adorned with bright red slashes. The slashes swayed gently with his steps, like a dancing flame.

Instead of walking to the center of the stage, he stood to the side of the stage, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

The Hidden Dragon Technique circulated within his body, and the drop of water in his dantian remained. He didn't need to "beg" for anything; he simply stood there, waiting.

His eyes suddenly snapped open, and with a powerful running start, he sprinted to the front of the stage, launching himself into the air—a flying kick. His body rose straight up, his right leg springing forward, his left hand slapping the instep with a crisp, clean "snap." The moment his feet touched the ground, his hips twisted violently, his body spinning laterally—a side somersault! The blade followed his movement, tracing a perfect arc in the air, its blade gleaming like a rainbow, leaving a trail of red light. Upon landing, he stood firmly on his feet, the blade sheathed at his sides, its gleam hanging motionless.

The audience gasped in surprise, then erupted in thunderous applause. The county television cameraman quickly zoomed in, capturing the white-clad figure frozen in the center of the stage.

Cang Tianci stood up straight, held the knife vertically at his side with his right hand, placed his left palm on his right fist, and bowed slightly—a salute.

Then he stood still, like a statue. As the music of "A Man Should Be Self-Reliant" began to play, he moved—

The blade moved with him, its arc tracing a crimson line through the air. He stepped, turned, swung the blade, and slashed—his movements fluid and graceful. The blade reflected the light, each strike carrying a chilling glint. The blade danced around him like a red dragon.

The blade flashed like a bolt of lightning, wrapped in red silk, swirling and dancing in the air. His body leaped, spun, did splits, and thrust his bayonet—every movement was perfectly timed. It wasn't something he "did," but something he "grew" into existence. The blade seemed like an extension of his arm; each strike carried the full power of his body.

The audience was completely silent. Then, someone broke the silence with applause. Following them, some stood up to clap, some whistled, and some pounded on the backs of their seats. The entire audience erupted in cheers.

Amid applause, Cang Tianci turned around to leave.

"Cang Tianci, please wait a moment." Lin Ruoxi's voice came from the side of the stage.

Cang Tianci stopped and turned around.

Lin Ruoxi walked out from her position as the host and went to the center of the stage to stand beside him. The lights shone on the two of them—one in a snow-white dress, the other in a pale yellow gown.

She gripped the microphone, raising it to her chest before lowering it half an inch. While watching the swordplay performance from the sidelines, a thought had flashed through her mind—she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but felt that letting him walk off the stage like that would be missing something. After hesitating for two seconds, she raised the microphone again, glanced sideways at Cang Tianci, and then turned to the audience, saying:

"Classmates, I believe you all saw Cang Tianci's swordsmanship performance just now. To be honest, it was the most spectacular martial arts performance I've ever seen. His swordsmanship and movements were truly eye-opening for me and all of you. The boundless charm of Chinese martial arts was fully displayed under Cang Tianci's sword."

"However, I'm curious, how do you manage to keep up with your studies and still develop such excellent martial arts skills?"

The auditorium fell completely silent. More than a thousand pairs of eyes were fixed on the young man in white in the center of the stage.

Cang Tianci pondered for a few seconds, then spoke into the microphone Lin Ruoxi handed him: "Actually, there's nothing special about it. I used to practice martial arts because I didn't want to be bullied anymore; I used to study because I didn't want to disappoint my mother. I'm still practicing and studying now because I want to. I want to fully master this body and internalize those principles."

He paused, then emphasized, "It's not about proving anything to others, it's about becoming yourself."

The auditorium was extremely quiet.

Lin Ruoxi looked at his profile. Under the light, his features were clearly outlined. She remembered this time last year, when he sat next to her, and the two of them discussed math problems. He could find auxiliary lines that others couldn't see. At that time, she thought that this person was born to pursue a career in academics. Now she realized that the "auxiliary lines" he found were far more than just in geometry problems.

She looked at him for two seconds. Then she nodded, turned to the audience, and said:

"Thank you, Cang Tianci. I think his answer is something we should all think about carefully."

She turned to Cang Tianci, smiled, and said, "Tianci, congratulations!"

Cang Tianci nodded slightly to Lin Ruoxi, then turned to leave the stage.

Just then, a gruff voice rang out from the back of the audience: "Cang Tianci, what you're practicing is just fancy footwork, all show and no substance!"

The entire hall fell silent. All eyes turned to the source of the sound—a tall, imposing boy stood up against the wall in the back row. He wore a black tracksuit, his arm muscles straining against the sleeves. His name was Liu Meng, a student in the fifth grade of junior high, a repeat student who had spent several summers training at the Southern Shaolin Martial Arts School and was quite renowned at Jixian Middle School. At this moment, he glanced sideways at Cang Tianci on the stage, a disdainful smirk on his lips.

An argument broke out in the audience. "Yeah, it's all show and no substance." "Let's see something real!"

Zhao Xiaohu leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smile spreading across his gloomy face.

Xu Wenyuan stood up from the teachers' section. He was about to speak to stop him when he saw Cang Tianci on the stage shake his head slightly. His eyes seemed to say, "Teacher Xu, it's alright."

Principal Luo, who was in the first row, was about to stand up while supporting himself on the table, but Director Peng gently pressed him down.

Seeing all this, Cang Tianci no longer held back. He calmly looked at Liu Meng below the stage and said, "Whether my practice is just for show or not, you'll know once you come up and try it."

Liu Meng was taken aback, not expecting the other party to be so direct. All the sarcastic remarks he had prepared were now stuck in his throat. The crowd below erupted in shouts again: "Go on!" "Let's have a go!"

This put Liu Meng in a completely awkward position. He had certainly heard of Cang Tianci's formidable reputation, but he had no way out. He could only blush and pretend to be fearless as he walked onto the stage. When he stood in front of Cang Tianci, his imposing figure made Cang Tianci appear even smaller.

Seeing this stark contrast, one of the girls in the audience let out a soft "Ah!" But most of the students watched this scene with expressions of excitement.

This obvious difference in physique restored some of Liu Meng's confidence. He said dismissively:

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you. I just want to show everyone whether your performance-based tricks are effective against those of us who practice real combat."

After he finished speaking, he stretched his neck, and his joints made a cracking sound.

Cang Tianci didn't reply. He placed the knife on the floor at the edge of the stage, then turned to Liu Meng and said, "You throw the punch."

Liu Meng took a deep breath and assumed a fighting stance. His first punch was a probe—not fast, holding back seven-tenths of his strength, wanting to see his opponent's reaction. Cang Tianci didn't dodge; his right hand met the punch, brushing against Liu Meng's forearm, sliding from his wrist to his elbow, while his body slightly retreated. Liu Meng's fist missed, like hitting cotton; his body involuntarily lurched forward, staggering two steps before regaining his balance.

He turned around, his eyes changing. The previous contempt had lessened, replaced by wariness. He lowered his center of gravity, slowly approaching like a boxer—suddenly, a right hook slammed into Cang Tianci's head. This punch was much faster and harder than the first, filled with the rage of being mocked. Cang Tianci's palm met the blow again, pulling back along with the momentum of the punch. Liu Meng's fist stopped half a foot from Cang Tianci's cheek—not intentionally, but because his arm suddenly went weak and he lurched forward again, kneeling on one knee on the stage.

Laughter erupted from the audience, but Liu Meng couldn't hear it. He scrambled to his feet, his face burning, his chest heaving. Having knelt twice, he wasn't just challenging; he was fighting for his life. He roared and charged at Cang Tianci—a charge devoid of any skill, simply using his body as a weapon, gambling on his superior weight. Cang Tianci sidestepped, placing his hand on Liu Meng's shoulder and gently guiding his momentum. Liu Meng stumbled past him, falling four or five steps before finally stopping at the edge of the stage. One more step and he would have collapsed.

Three moves. He didn't even manage to touch his opponent's hand.

Liu Meng stood there, panting heavily, his face showing confusion, resentment, and a hint of awe that he himself was unwilling to admit.

"What kind of kung fu is that?" he asked.

"Tai Chi," Cang Tianci said.

"Tai Chi?" Liu Meng frowned. "Isn't Tai Chi something old people do?"

Cang Tianci offered no explanation. He simply looked at Liu Tiezhu.

Liu Meng's lips moved, but he didn't say anything more. He turned around, lowered his head, and walked off the stage.

Zheng Tao stood to the side of the stage, his grip on the microphone tightening slightly. He took a deep breath, put on a smile, and strode onto the stage, saying:

"Thank you to Cang Tianci for his wonderful performance, and thank you to this student for his frankness. Let's give them another round of applause."

A round of enthusiastic applause erupted once again. Cang Tianci gave a fist-and-palm salute, then walked off the stage under the watchful eyes of the crowd.

Sitting in the third row of the audience, Lin Wanqing clapped enthusiastically. Cang Tianci's words echoed repeatedly in her mind—"It's not about proving anything to others, it's about becoming yourself." She remembered that night in Xiqiao Village, when he regained his memory and called out "Mother" under the oil lamp. She was there then, watching him cry while holding his mother. She thought she was just observing. Now she knew she wasn't; she was waiting. Waiting for him to find himself, and waiting for her to find herself.

Lin Wanqing clutched the amulet to her chest tightly. A warm feeling seemed to emanate from the amulet, seeping into her heart. She closed her eyes and silently recited in her heart: It's not to prove anything to others, it's to become myself.

Outside the window, the setting sun was peeking out from behind the clouds, bathing the entire campus in a warm golden light.