Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The following afternoon, the provincial newspaper reprinted Lin Wei's report in its evening edition, adding a sentence to the lead: "At this time last year, this reporter wrote a series of reports on the Cang Lifeng bank robbery; a year later, from the same family, another young man, made the same choice in another narrow alley." The report concluded: "The reporter asked Cang Xiangrong if he was afraid when facing four knives. He said he was. The reporter then asked, 'If you were afraid, why did you still go?' He said: 'Some things, even if you're afraid, you still have to do them.'"

This statement was quoted as a headline by several media outlets. The provincial television station broadcast the news in its morning news the following day, cutting to images of Cang Xiangrong's ID photo, shuttle bus information photos, and interview materials from last year's bank robbery. When the images of the two brothers were superimposed on the screen, the editor in the control room fell silent.

Cang Xiangrong leaned against the rocking hospital bed, looking at the flower baskets, unsure of what to do. He had spent three years in the army, accustomed to a simple, almost austere environment—white walls, iron bunk beds, and blankets folded into neat squares. Now, lying amidst a pile of flowers, he felt like a sapling transplanted into a greenhouse, completely uncomfortable.

"Feeling unwell?" Cang Lifeng sat on the edge of the bed, peeling an apple. He wasn't very good at peeling apples; the peel broke in several places, and the apple had already shrunk considerably by the time he was halfway through peeling it.

"A little," Cang Xiangrong said.

"You'll get used to it." Cang Lifeng handed him the peeled apple. "Back when I was lying here, there were more flowers than you."

Cang Xiangrong took the apple and took a bite. He remembered what happened after Lifeng's bank robbery—he saw a newspaper in the army, cut it out, and put it under his pillow. At that time, he felt that Lifeng was very distant from him, as distant as someone in a movie. Now he knew it wasn't. He was just an ordinary person who, at a certain moment, chose not to back down.

The ward door was pushed open. Master Chen walked in carrying a thermos, followed by Da Zhou and Lao Zhang. The three of them stood in the doorway, staring at Cang Xiangrong on the bed.

"This is..." Cang Xiangrong looked at Brother Lifeng.

"My brothers from the construction site." Cang Lifeng stood up, took the thermos, and said, "Chicken soup stewed by Chef Chen, with red dates and ginseng."

Master Chen rubbed his hands together, a rare shy look appearing on his dark face: "Xiang Rong, your brother treats us like family. You are his brother, and also our brother."

Cang Xiangrong looked at Cang Lifeng, who was clumsily peeling a second apple for him, and couldn't help but feel a surge of sincere admiration. Why did Brother Lifeng earn so much respect and support? Because he was open-minded and generous, and because he treated those who followed him as family.

"Thank you for coming to see me!" Cang Xiangrong said.

Da Zhou waved his hand and said, "No need to thank me. Your actions have brought us honor. You don't know, I tell everyone that the hero who bravely fought off four thugs is my brother."

"Yes, someone asked him, why is your brother's surname Cang, while yours is Zhou? Do you know what he said?" Old Zhang asked with a smile.

"What did you say?" a clear female voice asked.

Everyone looked in the direction of the sound and saw a twenty-year-old girl in a light blue sweater, her hair tied in a low ponytail, holding a canvas bag, standing at the door smiling at Old Zhang. She entered the ward and placed the bag on the bedside table. She then took out a thermos and a book from it. The book was to enrich Cang Xiangrong's mind, and the thermos was to fill his stomach.

When asked a question by such a well-dressed and poised young woman, Old Zhang felt a little awkward. He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

Cang Lifeng slapped Lao Zhang on the shoulder and scolded him with a laugh, "Lao Zhang, you let us down at the crucial moment."

Old Zhang paused for a moment, then continued, "He actually retorted without batting an eye, 'Who said my brother can't have the surname Cang?' The person who asked the question was left speechless."

The thought of the person who asked the question being rendered speechless by Da Zhou's counter-question made everyone burst into laughter.

Cang Lifeng and the others talked for a while longer before leaving with the three of them. Zhongzhi still had a lot of things waiting for him to deal with.

The ward fell silent.

"How are you feeling today?" Shen Jingyi asked.

"Much better, I should be able to sit up and eat now," Cang Xiangrong said.

"Okay, I'll raise the bed higher for you."

She shook it while asking, "Is this height okay?"

"A little higher."

She swayed half a circle again.

"Is it ready?"

"Alright."

Shen Jingyi took two more pillows and stuffed them behind his back. As she leaned forward, her hair slipped down her shoulders, a few strands brushing against Cang Xiangrong's arm. His hand twitched slightly.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It's nothing," Cang Xiangrong said, his ears turning slightly red.

Shen Jingyi straightened up and opened the thermos she had brought.

The insulated container has two layers. The upper layer is like a small dish that can be taken out and contains three side dishes: meat, fish, and vegetables. The lower layer contains white rice.

Cang Xiangrong pointed to the thermos on the other side and said, "Jingyi, can you open this thermos for me? It's the soup that Chef Chen made for me. I'll have some first."

Shen Jingyi opened the thermos, and a delicious aroma wafted out. She couldn't help but exclaim, "It smells so good! I didn't expect a grown man to be so thoughtful. Your brother's coworkers are really good to you."

"Of course. Because my older brother treats them well and considers them family, they also treat me like a younger brother," Cang Xiangrong said with some pride.

Shen Jingyi didn't reply. She looked down at the thermos in her hand. She had already unscrewed the thermos, and wisps of hot steam, carrying a rich aroma, were rising and entering her nostrils.

She remembered the people from her father's workplace who came to visit during the New Year. They would bring gifts, but none of them ever brought a thermos.

"Has your brother always been like this?" she suddenly asked.

"What?"

"So kind to people."

Cang Xiangrong thought for a moment and said, "He's been like this ever since I can remember."

Shen Jingyi brought out the dishes, placing three small dishes on the bedside table—braised pork, stir-fried bok choy, and a small piece of golden-brown pan-fried cod. She also scooped out half a bowl of rice from the bottom of the thermos, the steam rising gently in the winter hospital room.

She sat down by the bed with a bowl in her hand, scooped up a spoonful of rice, blew on it, and brought it to Cang Xiangrong's lips.

Cang Xiangrong didn't speak. He stared at the spoonful of rice, his ears turning red again.

"I'll do it myself."

"Your wound is in your chest; raising your hand will aggravate it."

"My right hand is fine."

"Your right hand is connected to your right shoulder, and your right shoulder is connected to your left chest. If you lift it three times, the wound will hurt. This is the transmission of traction force, which we learned in the first semester of our sophomore year." Shen Jingyi's tone was very calm, as if she were reciting a textbook.

Cang Xiangrong looked at her and asked playfully, "Have you ever learned how to persuade a disobedient patient?"

"I've learned that. The teacher said there's no need to persuade him; just wait for him to figure it out himself."

Cang Xiangrong paused for a moment, then smiled. The smile was so faint it made his chest ache slightly, and he quickly stopped himself. Then, he obediently opened his mouth.

Shen Jingyi placed the spoon in the rice. The rice was at the perfect temperature, neither too hot nor too cold. She watched him swallow before scooping a second spoonful, this time with a piece of braised pork. Cang Xiangrong chewed, unsure where to look. Looking at her face was too close; looking out the window seemed too deliberate. Finally, his gaze settled on her hand holding the spoon. It was a very white hand, with long, slender fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

"Is it good?" she asked.

"tasty."

"My mom made it. She worked the night shift yesterday, and when she got home this morning, she didn't sleep in. She cooked these dishes and asked me to bring them over."

Cang Xiangrong chewed his food without saying a word. He thought of his mother at home. He thought that all parents in the world are probably the same; they all use their most skillful methods to put their feelings into a thermos and send them out spoonful by spoonful.

Shen Jingyi scooped up another spoonful, this time of bok choy hearts. Cang Xiangrong opened his mouth to catch it, chewed a couple of times, and then suddenly stopped.

"What's wrong?" Shen Jingyi asked.

"It's nothing. I just suddenly remembered that, besides my mom, you're the second person to have ever fed me since I was little. It feels pretty good."

Shen Jingyi lowered her head, her ears turning a subtle red. She raised the next spoonful, pausing it in mid-air: "So, do you still want to eat it yourself?"

Cang Xiangrong thought for a moment and said seriously, "I don't want to think about it anymore."

Shen Jingyi put a spoon into his mouth, this time with a small piece of cod.

The ward was quiet. Only the regular beeping of the monitor and the occasional soft sound of a spoon hitting the rim of a bowl could be heard. Cang Xiangrong watched Shen Jingyi intently portioning the food and preparing the rice, each spoonful perfectly balanced with meat and vegetables. He suddenly said, "You'll definitely be a good doctor someday."

Shen Jingyi paused for a moment. She didn't look up, but simply hummed softly, then fed him the next spoonful of rice.

Spoon after spoonful, time quietly slips away in this tender warmth.

The meal was finished. Shen Jingyi put the empty bowl into the thermos and gently screwed the lid on. Her movements were slow and careful, as if she were doing something worth taking seriously. Outside the window, the winter sun peeked through the clouds, falling on the few lilies on the bedside table. The flowers were newly replaced by Li Xiuzhi yesterday, and they were in full bloom.

Looking at her profile, Cang Xiangrong suddenly remembered what Sister Lin had said.

Bloodshed is so that the living can live well.

Two days ago, when he heard those words, he only thought it was Sister Lin's concern for them. But now, watching Shen Jingyi quietly tightening the lid of the thermos, he suddenly understood. He had bled on the bus, and only now could she sit here, quietly tightening the lid of a thermos. This was "living well." He saw what he had been protecting.

But what if he hadn't made it through that day?

He'll become a name in the newspapers. Shen Jingyi will remember him, remember him for the rest of her life. But what about his mother?

His mother would take his old clothes out from the bottom of the trunk, fold them neatly, and put them back. She would take them out again, fold them neatly again. She would go to the fields, cook, and feed the chickens as usual, telling the neighbors, "It's nothing." But she would add an extra set of chopsticks and a bowl of porridge to the main room, placing it in the spot where he used to sit. She might not cry anymore, but she would never be well again.

And his father.

His father, Cang Shouzhen, a man who had spent half his life huddled in the shadows, straightened his back for the first time on the day his son joined the army. If he were gone, would his father's back bend again? Would he crouch back in the shadows, picking up the wine bottle again?

He dared not think.

It's not to make the living live in fear.

He now understood the second half of that sentence. But he didn't know what he could do. If he had to do it all over again, he would still stand up. Because he was a soldier, because he was a man of the Cang family. But if he stood up, his parents would have to live in fear. How could he achieve both? He frowned and clenched his fists.

"What's wrong?" Shen Jingyi looked up, noticed his unusual expression, and asked softly.

Cang Xiangrong loosened his clenched fingers and said:

"I remembered what Sister Lin said. I was thinking, what would have happened to my parents if I hadn't made it that day?"

Shen Jingyi's hand stopped on the lid of the thermos. She didn't speak.

"I want them to be proud of me. I don't want them to worry about me. But when others' lives are threatened, if I don't step forward, I don't deserve to be a soldier, I don't deserve to shed the blood of the Cang family!"

Shen Jingyi looked at him. His brows were furrowed, and his fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the bed sheet. At this moment, he was not like the soldier who faced four knives on the bus without backing down; he was like a child who had walked into a dead end, where both paths were correct, but he could only take one.

She remained silent for a long while before cautiously saying, "Xiang Rong, you said the men of the Cang family should have strong backbone. But does having strong backbone mean not only being able to withstand a knife, but also being able to survive?"

"Make sure you come back alive. As long as you're strong enough to protect others and yourself, then you won't have to lose either of the two things you want to protect, right?"

Cang Xiangrong's eyes lit up, and he said, "Yes, if my fighting skills were a step better, my reaction time a second faster, and my strikes a fraction more accurate, wouldn't it be perfect if I could take on four people and escape unscathed?"

He suddenly remembered something his instructor had said at military school: "Every movement you practice now could cost you a life someday. Your own, or someone else's."

He lowered his head, looked at his chest wrapped in bandages, and whispered, "Once I'm healed, I'll practice for an extra hour every day."

Seeing Cang Xiangrong's determined gaze and relaxed brows, Shen Jingyi smiled, tightened the lid of the thermos, stood up and said, "Yes, don't just think about training, protecting your body is the most important thing. I'll make you some pork rib soup tomorrow."

As she reached the door, Cang Xiangrong called out to her.

"Shen Jingyi".

She turned around and looked at him.

"Thank you!"

"What are you thanking me for?"

"What you just said was more effective than what my instructor said."

Shen Jingyi laughed and said, "Stop being so glib. I'm not talking to you anymore, I'm leaving." With that, she opened the door and went out.

Cang Xiangrong leaned against the headboard, looking out the window. The sunlight was still there. The lilies were in bloom.

He clenched his fist. This movement no longer aggravated the wound in his left chest. He could feel his hands gradually gathering strength. Once he recovered, he would make them even stronger. Not to defeat anyone, but to ensure his own well-being and to relieve the fear of those waiting for him to return home.