Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

January 22, 1995, evening. Pingchuan Long-Distance Bus Station.

The waiting hall was packed with people returning home. Cang Xiangrong, carrying a military green canvas bag, stood beside the bus bound for Nancheng.

The bus arrived, and he squeezed on, finding a window seat. Outside, the sky was darkening, and the figures of people on the platform swayed in the twilight.

The bus departed. It pulled out of the station and merged into the sparse traffic on the national highway. Cang Xiangrong leaned against the window, watching the bare poplar trees rushing past outside. He remembered that autumn three years ago. He had just turned eighteen then, had been learning boxing from Brother Lifeng for a year, and was full of youthful vigor. At the temple fair, he charged into the ring with a red-tasseled spear, thinking that his fighting prowess made him a real man. Later, seeing Brother Lifeng forced to leave for the southern part of the city, he realized that true "strength" wasn't just about having hard fists, but also about being able to carry heavy loads. At that time, he deeply regretted not studying harder in high school.

That autumn, as soon as the conscription information was released, he immediately realized it was an opportunity. He eagerly signed up and passed the physical examination smoothly. On the day he left to join the army, the whole village saw him off with gongs and drums. He saw his father, Cang Shouzheng, who had always been hunched over and dejected, straighten his back for the first time, and the glory on his face was as bright as the sunshine that day.

At that moment, he knew that he had chosen the right path.

Three years.

He looked down at his hands. His knuckles had thickened, calluses covered the area between his thumb and forefinger, and there were scars on the back of his hands from training that had been worn down and healed. They were different from the hands he had held three years ago when he wielded the red-tasseled spear. Back then, his palms were sweaty when he held the spear—a mixture of tension and excitement. Now, he held the spear steadily. It wasn't just that he was stronger; it was that his mind was more composed.

During basic training, he was the most hardworking one. Men of the Cang family must have backbone. That's what his grandfather said, a truth his father never truly understood until the very end.

He thought of his father. The man who had been wronged and drowned his sorrows in alcohol, who had turned his ambition into utter despair, was the first man to act like a real father on the day he put on his uniform, putting his hand on his shoulder and saying, "Xiang Rong, do well in the army, don't bring shame to the Cang family."

He remembered those words for three years.

In the army, he was a training pacesetter; at military academy, he was a model student. His squad leader called him a "born soldier," and the military academy instructors praised him as "born to be a soldier." He just smiled when he heard this. There was nothing innate about him; it was just that whenever he was about to give up, he would think of Brother Lifeng standing alone in front of more than twenty thugs at the temple fair, covered in blood but not backing down an inch; he would think of Sister Liu Qing's straight spine when she spoke up for the Cang family in front of the CCTV cameras; he would think of Tianci's younger brother, who was called "stutterer" since childhood, but is now a provincial martial arts champion, a top student in the gifted youth program, a boy lying unconscious in a hospital bed, still struggling against fate.

Everyone in the Cang family is fighting desperately.

The car jolted, and he snapped back to reality. The poplar trees outside the window continued to rush past, one after another, seemingly endless. Looking at their bare branches, he suddenly remembered the Cang family motto: "Have strong bones and an upright heart."

He smiled.

The smile was gentle, but warm in the thin winter sunlight.

It was late at night when the car stopped at a roadside rest stop. The driver told everyone to get off to rest, use the restroom, and buy food. Cang Xiangrong didn't get off; he simply closed his eyes to rest.

In a daze, he heard movement at the front of the carriage. He opened his eyes. He saw four men boarding through the front door; one stood next to the driver, and the other three walked towards the back. The one at the front was the oldest, about thirty years old, the tallest, and most menacing. He wore a filthy military overcoat, his hair was greasy, and his eyes scanned the surroundings like a hawk. The three behind him were younger, but their eyes were equally sinister.

These four people don't look like passengers on the bus. What are they doing on the bus?

Cang Xiangrong rested his hand on his briefcase, observing silently. He had taken a course at military academy—reconnaissance and counter-reconnaissance. One of the criteria for judgment was behavioral patterns. Ordinary passengers would find a seat, put down their luggage, and then either close their eyes or look out the window. These four people had no luggage, and after sitting down, they all simultaneously began to scan the area. They scanned the other passengers' clothing, luggage, and…

Cang Xiangrong's fingers tightened slightly. He wanted to warn everyone, but what could he say? Could he tell them that he suspected these four people were bad guys? He could only wait and see.

Around 6 a.m., the bus was traveling on a relatively secluded road. Most of the passengers were asleep, slumped over in various positions.

"Don't move, it's a robbery!"

The shout jolted the passengers awake. Terrified faces lifted from their seats, turning to face the source of the noise. The four men who had boarded earlier were brandishing gleaming knives. The assailant standing next to the driver was pointing a dagger at his neck, forcing him to pull over.

Cang Xiangrong sighed, "As expected..." How he wished his judgment was wrong!

He quickly made a mental assessment. It was based on countless emergency response drills he had undergone at military school. The instructors had said that in the event of sudden danger, assess the situation first, then act. He assessed the balance of power—he was alone, while the enemy had four, all armed with weapons. The terrain was narrow, with passageways only wide enough for one person to pass through; if he were blocked from both sides, it would be a dead end.

"Life is more important than money. Let's spend money to avoid disaster!" he concluded.

"Bring out all your valuables. Money, gold, watches. Anyone who dares to keep anything will have one hand crippled!" roared the "military overcoat."

He then led two accomplices to the back of the car. The one in the middle was carrying a cloth bag.

Cang Xiangrong sat in the third row at the back of the car. It was soon his turn.

Cang Xiangrong felt his pocket. There were three hundred yuan there, money he had saved up at military school, which he planned to take home to his father. He thought for a moment, then took the money out of his pocket and handed it over. The man in the military overcoat glanced at Cang Xiangrong's coat, a hint of wariness flashing in his eyes. But seeing Cang Xiangrong obediently hand over the money, his wariness subsided. He grabbed the money and put it into his accomplice's bag. Then they moved on to the next person. Some they suspected of having hidden money, they would search them.

They quickly found the second row from the front. A young girl was sitting there. She was wearing a white sweater and had a scarf wrapped around her neck several times. A backpack with the words "Hirakawa Medical University" written on it was on her lap.

Cang Xiangrong saw her take the money out of her pocket and hand it to "the man in the military coat." "The man in the military coat" grabbed the girl's fair hand, snatched the money, and handed it to his accomplice behind her. His lecherous gaze swept over the girl, moving from her face to her chest, then from her chest to her legs. The girl glared at "the man in the military coat," struggled to pull her hand away, and then slapped him across the face.

The man in the military coat was caught off guard by the girl's fierce spirit and received a resounding slap across the face.

The man in the military overcoat paused for a moment, touched his slapped face, and said with a lewd grin, "Little girl, you've got personality! But I like your kind of personality."

He tucked the switchblade into his waistband, freeing his hands to lunge at Shen Jingyi. Shen Jingyi struggled desperately, but she was no match for the strength of a grown man, and he grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

"Let go! Help!" Shen Jingyi's shrill voice pierced everyone's eardrums like needles.

Seeing this, the people in the carriage reacted in various ways: some were angry but dared not speak out; some couldn't bear to watch any longer and turned their heads away; some closed their eyes and pretended to sleep, as if it were none of their business...

Cang Xiangrong felt a surge of anger and his blood boiled. He was a soldier. In the army, his squad leader had said—a soldier's duty is to protect the people. At military academy, his instructors repeatedly emphasized—never to turn a blind eye to the plight of the masses.

His first instinct was to rush forward. But he couldn't. His military academy instructors had said: "When two armies meet on a narrow path, it's not about who's more fearless, it's about who survives and eliminates the enemy." If he recklessly charged forward, he'd most likely fall halfway. If he died, who would save the girl?

He forced himself to calm down and quickly assessed the situation. In the front row, the thug who had taken the driver hostage had his back to him; towards the front of the car, the man in the overcoat and another thug were dragging the girl toward the front door; a third thug, holding a dagger, was vigilantly scanning the carriage, and was at the back.

He only has one chance to strike unexpectedly. He must defeat the enemy in one blow, and then use the confined terrain to pick them off one by one.

Cang Xiangrong took a deep breath, stood up from his seat, and strode towards the front of the car.

"What are you doing? Sit down!" The thugs who were holding the rear shouted at him, brandishing the dagger in their hands.

Cang Xiangrong didn't stop. Holding her stomach, she quickly walked up to him and said, "Master, I really need to pee. Please make an exception and let me get off the bus to relieve myself."

The thug paused for a moment, glanced at his slightly flushed face, and impatiently cursed, "Got to pee? Hold it in! We'll talk about it after you're done!"

Cang Xiangrong didn't back down; instead, he took half a step forward, his voice pleading, "I really can't hold it in anymore, big brother. I'll just go down for a bit, I'll be right back. You watch me, I can't run away."

The thugs hesitated.

"Let go!" Shen Jingyi's sharp voice came again, "You bunch of bastards!" She struggled, her fingernails scratching several bloody marks on the back of "Military Coat's" hand.

The bloodstains on the back of her hand seemed to further fuel the "military coat" man's ferocity. He dragged Shen Jingyi more viciously toward the car door.

Shen Jingyi's feet were firmly planted on the car door frame, her nails digging into the plastic of the handrail, but how could she possibly match the strength of two adult men? It looked like she was about to be dragged out of the car.

Cang Xiangrong knew he couldn't wait any longer. He wasn't fighting alone. Wearing this military overcoat, he represented millions of people like him. If he retreated today, it wouldn't just be the Cang family that lost face, but the face of the Chinese military.

His expression suddenly changed. He abruptly flipped his hands upwards, his left hand grabbing the assailant's wrist holding the knife and twisting it outwards, while his right hand slammed into the assailant's elbow joint. A cracking sound rang out, and the dagger clattered to the ground. The assailant opened his mouth to scream, but Cang Xiangrong's elbow had already struck his temple. The assailant went limp, slamming against the armrest of the chair.

All of this happened in two seconds. The three thugs in the front of the car were all stunned for a moment, a hint of panic flashing in their eyes, before they became even more ruthless.

The man in the military overcoat yelled at his two accomplices, "Go up there and kill him!"

Two thugs rushed towards Cang Xiangrong, one after the other. The one in front, who had originally held the driver hostage, was in his forties with a burly face. He put the driver down, gripped the dagger in reverse, blade pointing downwards, clearly a seasoned criminal. The younger thug behind him was carrying a canvas bag full of stolen goods, the bag bulging and clanging with metal.

Cang Xiangrong did not retreat. His military academy instructors had said: "When two armies meet on a narrow path, whoever retreats will die."

He charged forward at the thug, then suddenly crouched down. The thug's dagger grazed his head, shaving off several strands of hair. Cang Xiangrong grabbed the thug's knife-wielding wrist with his left hand, twisted it outwards, and punched the thug in the armpit with his right fist. The thug cried out in pain, the dagger falling to the ground, but he didn't fall. Instead, he slammed his knee into Cang Xiangrong's abdomen.

Cang Xiangrong was forced to bend over, his stomach churning. Taking advantage of the moment, the thugs behind him rushed forward, raising their canvas bags to smash them against the back of Cang Xiangrong's head. Hearing the whoosh of the bag, Cang Xiangrong turned his head to dodge, the bag hitting the back of the seat with a dull thud.

The assailant broke free of Cang Xiangrong's grasp and bent down to pick up the dagger from the ground. Before Cang Xiangrong could get up, he stepped on the dagger, simultaneously bracing himself with his right hand, spinning his body, and sweeping his left leg towards the assailant's knee. The assailant screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in pain while clutching his knee.

But the thugs behind him pounced on him again. He had already thrown away the bag, gripped a dagger in both hands, and stabbed at Cang Xiangrong's chest.

Cang Xiangrong dodged to the side, the blade grazing his ribs, tearing his cotton-padded coat and skin, but not penetrating. He seized the opportunity to grab the assailant's wrist holding the knife and twisted it outwards. The assailant cried out in pain, dropping the dagger, but his other hand pulled out a folding knife from his waist, snapped it open, and stabbed at Cang Xiangrong's chest again.

Cang Xiangrong only had time to turn his body slightly before the knife tip pierced his left rib. His cotton-padded coat was pierced, the blade sinking into his flesh, and a warm liquid gushed from the wound, quickly soaking through his underwear. A sharp pain exploded like an electric shock.

He gritted his teeth, grabbed the assailant's wrist holding the knife with his right hand, and kicked the assailant hard in the groin with his right foot. The assailant screamed and doubled over, but his hand still gripped the knife.

Cang Xiangrong gave him no chance to catch his breath, grabbing the assailant's wrists holding the knife with both hands and pressing down hard—the assailant's wrists were twisted at an awkward angle, and his elbows made a cracking sound. A sharp pain shot through the assailant's back like an electric current, and he screamed, his fingers instinctively spreading open, and the knife handle slipped from his hand.

Cang Xiangrong was panting heavily. The exertion he had just exerted had intensified the pain in his chest, and the blood was flowing even more freely, staining his military overcoat red.

The assailant, kicked in the knee, reached for the knife on the ground, but a young man sitting nearby picked it up first.

The young man gripped the knife, his hand trembling. He glanced at the knife, then at Cang Xiangrong, who was covered in blood, and then at the girl who was still struggling.

Cang Xiangrong's blood dripped onto the floor, drop by drop. The red color stung the young man's eyes.

He remembered how he had been curled up in his seat, pretending to be asleep, and suddenly felt a burning sensation on his face.

"They're out of knives!" the young man shouted bravely. "Everyone, attack together! We can't let this soldier carry the load alone!"

After saying that, he grabbed the knife and charged forward first.

Seeing the young man rushing towards him with a knife, the thug quickly turned and fled towards the car door, shouting to the man in the military coat as he ran, "Brother, help!"

Seeing this, "Military Coat" cursed "useless", released Shen Jingyi's arm, took out the knife from his waist and turned around to provide support.

This was the moment the girl had been waiting for. As the man in the overcoat turned to face her, she suddenly bent her knee and slammed it into the man's groin. The man in the overcoat let out a distorted scream, his body arching like a shrimp, his hands covering his groin. The girl didn't stop; instead, she extended two fingers and jabbed them hard into the man's eyes. Tears streamed down the man's face as he was jabbed in the eye; he couldn't see anything and crouched on the ground, flailing his arms wildly.

Before the assailant could even see what was happening, he was tripped by a leg that appeared out of nowhere and fell heavily into the aisle. He was then subdued by the young man who arrived shortly afterward.

A middle-aged man sitting in the front row rushed forward and kicked the man in the overcoat in the chest. The man in the overcoat fell backward, his head hitting the armrest of the seat. Two more men rushed up and tied his hands behind his back with belts.

The other men in the car also sprang into action and subdued all four thugs.

The carriage fell silent, save for the groans of the perpetrators and the gasps of the passengers.

Cang Xiangrong leaned back in his seat. His chest was covered in blood, and his face was as white as paper. He shifted his body, trying to sit down. But his legs felt weak, and his head felt black; he seemed about to collapse at any moment.

The girl rushed over, ran to his side, and supported him, saying urgently, "Don't move. My name is Shen Jingyi, I'm from medical school, listen to me."

She turned to the driver and shouted, "Driver, to the South City Military General Hospital! Quickly!"

The driver slammed on the gas pedal, and the bus shot off like an arrow.

The girl helped Cang Xiangrong sit down, letting him lean against the back of the chair. She took a clean white scarf from her bag, folded it into a square, and pressed it firmly around his wound.

"What...what's your name?" Her voice trembled.

"Cang Xiangrong," he said.

"Cang Xiangrong," she repeated, as if trying to memorize it, "you must hold on. The hospital isn't far from here. You'll be alright!"

Cang Xiangrong leaned back in his chair, looking at her. She was beautiful. An oval face, long, black hair, a white sweater, and clear, bright eyes. Tears seemed to glisten in her eyes.

He wanted to say "Don't be afraid," but his head was spinning terribly.

He remembered his father. The way his father straightened his back for the first time, the hand his father placed on his shoulder when he said, "Don't bring shame to the Cang family."

He hadn't embarrassed himself. He thought.

The car sped along the national highway. Shen Jingyi's hand remained pressed against his chest; her white scarf was soaked with blood, but she did not let go.

The poplar trees outside the window rushed past, one after another. On the horizon, a line of gray-white was splitting open—that was dawn.