Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The cold wind swept away the last trace of noise from Jixian No. 1 Primary School, leaving only the mournful sound of bare tree branches scraping against the windowpanes in the empty corridor. The final report card, like a stone soaked in ice, weighed heavily on the hands of Cang Tianci and Lin Wanqing.

Cang Tianci stared at the numbers on the paper: Chinese 83, Math 76, his total score had dropped by more than ten points compared to the midterm. 83…76…it felt like two blunt blows to his heart. Teacher Fang's expectant gaze, Wan Qing's serious profile as she solved problems, and his older brother's words, "Seeking the truth is the root," all became blurred under these glaring scores. He gripped the report card tightly, his knuckles turning white, his throat tightening, and a bitter feeling mixed with shame and panic welled up in his eyes.

Lin Wanqing's fingertips traced her report card: Chinese 89, Math 83. Her once consistently high score of 90 had finally been breached by the barrage of rumors and the smoke of domestic violence. She subconsciously tugged at her sleeve, trying to conceal the still-fading pale blue bruise above her wrist.

"Cang Tianci, Lin Wanqing, stay after school." After handing out the report cards, Zhang Zhengping specifically instructed them.

After all the students had left, only the three of them remained in the empty classroom. Outside the window, withered branches whistled in the wind. Zhang Zhengping stepped down from the podium and approached them. He took off his glasses, rubbed his temples vigorously, and when he put them back on, his eyes betrayed an undisguised weariness and struggle. His gaze swept over the two of them with complex emotions, finally settling on the unintentionally visible bruise on Lin Wanqing's wrist. His eyes behind his glasses narrowed sharply, as if burned by something.

He remained silent for a long while before finally speaking with difficulty:

"The results are all there. This slip-up, the teacher... bears an undeniable responsibility." He paused, his fingers unconsciously curling and relaxing before finally gripping the side seam of his trousers tightly. "In the past, I overemphasized the order on the surface, neglecting the living, breathing people beneath that order. My 'rules' almost became the stone that crushed him..."

He couldn't continue. He suddenly remembered the look in Lin Wanqing's eyes when she looked back as she was being dragged away that day—the last glimmer of light in those eyes was one that he had extinguished with his own hands.

His gaze swept over Lin Wanqing's pale face again, and his voice was hoarse: "I...I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, but it's too late."

As he spoke, his usually straight back showed a slight hunch. This apology, because of its difficulty and its belated arrival, was like molten lead, pouring into the already wounded hearts of the two children, stirring not relief, but a turbulent sea of ​​sorrow.

The winter break wind swept across the empty playground of Jixian Sports School like a knife. Inside the training hall, Cang Tianci gritted his teeth, channeling all his resentment and anxiety into fierce determination. With each push off the ground, a piercing pain shot through his right knee, yet he refused to give up. Finally, after a powerful leap, a tearing pain shot through his right knee. He couldn't help but let out a roar of pain. His supporting leg felt as if its bones had been ripped out instantly, and he lurched to the side, crashing heavily to the ground like a felled tree stump.

In the instant he fell, he vaguely saw that invisible line at the temple fair again. But this time, it wasn't taut; instead, it hung limply in the darkness, as if it had broken.

He was curled up, his hands gripping his right knee tightly, his face pale, and large beads of cold sweat instantly soaked through his vest.

"Tianci!" Zhou Zhenhua's expression changed drastically. He rushed to his side, squatted down, and placed his large hand on his knee. "Don't move, you've broken a bone!"

In the orthopedic clinic of the county hospital, the senior doctor adjusted his glasses and pointed to a blurry shadow on the X-ray: "The knee cartilage is severely worn, and the ligaments are nearing their limit. Young man, you've been pushing your leg to its limits! At least three months of absolute rest! If you continue training like this, your leg will be ruined!"

"Three months?"

The old doctor's words were like an ice gate, crashing down and instantly severing all his images of the provincial competition—the ring lights, the cheers of the audience, the glitter of the gold medal… leaving only a deathly silence. He felt a chill creep in from between his cast-covered leg bones, quickly freezing his entire body. Too much rigidity leads to breakage, forcing growth… these words, carrying a bloody lesson, struck him hard in the heart.

Zhou Zhenhua stood to the side, his towering figure unusually slumped. He looked at the boy's deathly pale face and the light in his eyes extinguished in an instant. His heart felt like it was stuffed with a tattered cotton ball soaked in ice water—cold, heavy, and suffocating. He regretted it, regretted it to the core. He had seen Tianci's reckless, ruthless spirit; he knew that such a brutal training method might harm his body. But what about him? He always thought of pushing him a little harder, forcing him a little more, hoping that perhaps this tough nut could truly yield a shining gold medal, bringing him prestige and giving this poor boy a visible path forward.

This unspoken selfishness, this greed for grades, ultimately became the final force that pushed the child off the cliff. He sighed heavily, turned and walked to the end of the hospital corridor, using a public phone to send the message back to Xiqiao Village.

A few hours later, the ward door creaked open, and a gust of wind carrying the earthy smell of the fields and the chill of deep winter rushed in. Cang Zhenye's hunched figure appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a thick cotton-padded coat covered in patches, the elbows worn shiny, and carrying a heavy coarse cloth bundle on his shoulder.

He froze in the doorway, his wide eyes fixed on the glaring plaster cast on his son's leg, his face drained of color. A muffled groan escaped his throat: "God...God! This...this leg..."

He staggered to the bedside, his large, calloused hands trembling as he reached for the plaster cast, but pulled back abruptly just before touching it, instead gripping the iron railing of the bed tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Zhou Zhenhua stood to the side, his voice low and full of apology: "Tianci's father, I'm sorry... I didn't watch the child properly, he trained too hard... and injured his bones. The doctor said he needs to rest for three months." He handed the diagnosis to Cang Zhenye.

Looking at the diagnosis, Cang Zhenye felt the words "three months," "rest," and "ruined" piercing his heart like ice picks. He sighed heavily, silently put down his bundle, and took out two still-warm boiled eggs carefully wrapped in an old towel. He also took out a glass jar of pickled vegetables and placed it on the bedside table. He pulled up a stool, sat down close to the bed, and gently tucked the blanket around his son, whispering, "...Don't be afraid, Dad's here. When you feel better...we'll...we'll go home and rest."

In the shadows of a corner of the training hall, Lin Wanqing, who had secretly come to watch Tianci train, watched from afar as he writhed in agony on the ground. Seeing his deathly pale face and limp legs as Coach Zhou carried him, her heart felt like it was being gripped and twisted by an icy hand, the pain almost suffocating her. Tears streamed down her face, salty and bitter, dripping onto the ground. She wanted to rush over, but her feet seemed nailed to the spot. What was she to him? Just a burden who would only bring him endless trouble. If it weren't for her, perhaps he wouldn't have been distracted, wouldn't have trained so hard, wouldn't have gotten injured. A wave of immense self-reproach gripped her like vines.

She returned home distraught, her mind filled with the image of Tianci collapsing in agony. The thought of visiting him in the hospital was quickly suppressed by a deeper fear—she was afraid her presence would only cause him more trouble.

Just as she was tormented by self-blame and worry, Fang Wenhui's familiar voice rang out from outside the door: "Wanqing, your teacher has come to see you."

The door opened, and Teacher Fang immediately noticed the girl's swollen, peach-pit-like eyes and the tear stains on her face. "What's wrong, child?" she asked anxiously, quickly stepping forward and tightly embracing Wanqing's frail body.

That warm, firm embrace instantly shattered Lin Wanqing's carefully constructed defenses. She buried her face in Teacher Fang's shoulder, her thin shoulders trembling violently, her suppressed sobs breaking into broken chokes: "Teacher Fang... Tianci... Tianci... during training... his leg... fell... it hurts so much... he was taken to the hospital... if... if he... because of me... like... like me... it's all my fault... it's all my fault..."

Fang Wenhui's heart tightened suddenly, as if pierced by the despair in the crying: "Don't talk nonsense, let's go see him!"

As she was leading her out the door, Teacher Fang suddenly stopped and looked at her:

"Wanqing, do you remember what your teacher told you? 'As long as you live, there is hope.' Tianci is still alive, and you must live too. Neither of you can fall."

In the county hospital ward, Cang Tianci leaned against the headboard, his right leg, thickly cast, lying stiffly like a heavy piece of wood that didn't belong to him. His face was ashen, his eyes vacant as he stared at the bare branches struggling in the cold wind outside the window, the countdown to the provincial competition swirling in his mind like a ghost. His father, Cang Zhenye, sat hunched over on a small stool beside the bed, silent as a weathered stone.

"A gift from heaven!" Teacher Fang's voice pulled him back to reality.

He snapped back to reality, seeing Teacher Fang and the timid figure peeking out from behind her. A flicker of emotion finally appeared in his dim eyes. But when he saw Lin Wanqing's swollen eyes, that flicker was quickly overwhelmed by a deeper worry for her situation. Seeing her red, swollen eyes, he suddenly remembered the day she had slipped him that note. She had said, "Take care of yourself; that's the starting point." Had he done that? No.

He looked down at his leg in a cast—this "heavy piece of wood that didn't belong to him" was the answer.

"Teacher Fang... Wanqing..."

"Wanqing is fine, you don't need to worry. She was worried about you when she saw you were injured. But you..." Fang Wenhui sat down on the edge of the bed, gently placing her hand on his leg wrapped in a cast, and asked with tenderness.

When Cang Zhenye saw his teacher, he stood up awkwardly, rubbing his hands together, and forced a bitter smile on his wrinkled face: "Hello, Teacher Fang! I am Tianci's father. I have often heard Tianci mention you."

"Oh, Mr. Tianci, hello!" Teacher Fang stood up and politely extended her right hand.

Cang Zhenye appeared even more flustered, rubbing his hands on his body repeatedly before extending both hands to shake hands with Teacher Fang's right hand, then quickly withdrawing them.

"Thank you... thank you, Teacher Fang, for visiting Tianci! We are always grateful for your care for Tianci." Cang Zhenye's voice was tinged with nervousness and genuine emotion.

"Tianci's father, you're too kind. This is all we should do. Tianci is a very good child, and we all love him. By the way, how is Tianci doing now? What did the doctor say?"

Upon hearing Teacher Fang's question, Cang Zhenye's face darkened again: "The doctor said Tianci needs to suspend training for three months to recuperate. I plan to take him back to the countryside to recuperate once his injury has stabilized."

Lin Wanqing stood at a distance, her fingers twisting the hem of her dress so tightly they almost tore it apart. She dared not look into Tianci's eyes, those eyes that had once burned with anger for her, and those eyes that had once been filled with worry for her, now dimmed with pain. This made her heart ache so much she could hardly breathe.

Taking advantage of the adults' silence, she moved like a silent shadow to the bedside. Quickly, she slipped a small peach wood amulet tied with a red string into Tianci's hand, which was outstretched outside the blanket. The movement felt as heavy as if she were entrusting her entire life to it.

"...I...I begged...you...to get better..." Her voice was weak, tinged with sobs.

Tianci felt the sudden touch of that tiny object, warm from her body, in his palm. He was startled at first, then a surge of bittersweet heat rushed to his nose. He remembered the tube of ointment. The broken one. He had kept it hidden, bringing it back from the alley, from the hospital, from the brink of collapse.

She never managed to give him the box of ointment. But she did manage to get him this amulet.

He looked at her pale face, a thousand words stuck in his throat. He simply gripped the amulet tightly, tightly in his palm, as if he were holding the thread of fate.

He didn't know that this line had been taut since the day of the temple fair. It had broken, been repaired, and stretched to its limit.

This time, it didn't break. But he didn't know where it would take him.

All he knew was that his hand, gripping the amulet, never let go.

He had no idea that the hand that grasped it at that moment would grasp the longing of his entire life.

Unbeknownst to him, as his father carried him out of the hospital room, someone stood by the window at the end of the corridor, watching his figure disappear into the street. In that person's hand, clutched another amulet.

Two amulets, obtained from the same temple. The same red string, the same wish.