Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

In the days that followed, Eagle Cliff became Cang Tianci's temporary home and training ground, as well as the initial stage of "seeking the Way" tailored for him by Chen Jiren to hone his character and skills. But this "seeking the Way" was not a secluded cultivation from the beginning, but a battlefield where he was constantly torn apart by the storm in his heart and the shadows of the outside world.

Every day at the crack of dawn, when frost settles on the tiles, Chen Jiren wakes Tianci and sits facing the faint morning light in the east.

"Close your eyes, concentrate your mind, and let all distracting thoughts vanish like dust. Press your tongue against the roof of your mouth and focus your attention on the dantian. This is the foundation of the 'Foundation Building and Breath Regulation' in the 'Hibernating Dragon Breathing Technique.' Inhale—like a silkworm spinning silk, gently and continuously, drawing in the pure and clear air of heaven and earth, entering through the nose, passing through the throat, and sinking to the dantian three inches below the navel..."

Chen Jiren's voice was deep and soothing, with a peculiar rhythm. As he dictated, he gently pressed acupoints such as the Tanzhong and Qihai points on Tianci's body with his withered fingers, guiding the flow of Qi.

Tianci closed his eyes, trying to catch that faint, lingering breath. But the darkness was instantly torn apart—Lin Wanqing's lifeless eyes as she was dragged away, Zhao Xiaohu's mocking grin, the bulging veins on his father's neck as he carried him. Even the steel pipe that Hei Pi slammed down with a whoosh, striking the back of his head! He instinctively reached for his pocket—where Lin Wanqing had given him the amulet. But his hand stopped just as he raised it. His breathing suddenly became erratic, his chest felt like it had been hit by a heavy hammer, and he coughed violently.

"When distracting thoughts arise and the fire in your heart is not quelled, how can you guide your Qi back to its source?" Chen Jiren's withered fingers gently pressed on his Tanzhong acupoint, and a sharp, tingling sensation pierced through. "Hatred is like stagnant blood, blocking this spot. If you can guide your Qi down three inches today, it will dissolve a trace of the stagnation. Acupuncture can clear blockages in the meridians, and mental techniques can resolve emotional stagnation. If you cannot let go, even if you get acupuncture every day, you will not be able to cure the root of this liver fire burning your tendons."

Tianci gritted his teeth and took a deep breath—this time, it was as if he was forcibly pressing those shattered images and burning hatred into his dantian along with the cold air, trying to refine them into a silent, controllable piece of charcoal.

"Inhale like a silkworm spinning silk, continuous and gentle..." He silently recited the mantra, struggling to maintain the rhythm of his breathing. At first, he only felt short of breath, as if a stone was blocking his chest, and the feeling of "continuous and gentle" was elusive and hard to find.

"The thought of the provincial competition burns like a raging fire in my heart; worries about others entwine like vines binding my body. Let's put them aside for now, focus on this one breath, but 'putting down' is not 'forgetting.' Like treating an injury, you must first identify the blockage before you can insert the needle. You have many burdens in your heart, but today, focus only on this 'anxiety,' and try to dissolve it with your breath."

Chen Jiren's voice was like a calming stone, gradually calming Tianci's heart.

After morning lessons, Tianci noticed that the row of tiles under the eaves, which used to be covered with foot-long icicles, had now shrunk considerably, with only water droplets hanging precariously from their tips. Time was quietly melting away along with the accumulated snow.

In the afternoon, the father, Cang Zhenye, came upstairs carrying half a bag of grains and a few clean old clothes. While Chen Jiren was inspecting the medicinal herbs, he squatted down beside his son's bed, his rough hands unconsciously rubbing his knees, a smile he couldn't hide on his face: "Your eldest brother sent a message back. He said the construction site is rushing to finish work, and he'll be able to rest on the 20th of the twelfth lunar month, so he can come home early for the New Year this year. He also sent some money in advance so the family can buy some New Year's goods."

Cang Zhenye's wrinkles around his eyes smoothed out, and he continued, "Xiangyang's foot is much better now, and Xiaohua's cooking skills have improved a lot in the kitchen. Even the foreman praises her dishes for being so delicious with rice..."

Tianci listened, his heart warming. He seemed to see his eldest brother, weary from his journey, pushing open the door; he saw his second brother no longer limping; he saw his third sister's smile when praised. This was a rare sweetness in their hard times, easing the tension in his heart.

Seeing the brief glimmer of light on his son's face, Cang Zhenye felt a little more at ease, and then added in a low voice, "Also, your third uncle's son, Xiangrong, seems to be doing well in the army. He wrote to say he received an award. Your grandfather has been talking about it several times." He paused, as if wanting to emphasize the "good news," "In short, the whole family is hoping you take good care of yourself, and once your leg is healed, we can all have a family reunion for the New Year."

After his father's passing, the initial "joy" was like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, creating complex ripples in Tianci's heart. He leaned against the headboard, gazing at the snow-laden bamboo outside the window. The "good news" his older siblings had risked their lives to bring only highlighted his own helplessness, trapped in this place. Reunion? Could his leg keep him there in time for reunion? The twentieth of the twelfth lunar month… only twelve days left. If he missed the opportunity Master Chen had imparted all his knowledge to him because of his leg injury, how would he face it? Behind that "joy" lay a heavy expectation, which quickly cooled the warmth that had just arisen in his heart from the good news from his family, fermenting into a deeper anxiety—he had to be faster and better to live up to all of this.

Chen Jiren had returned to the room sometime earlier, placing a newly prepared packet of medicine on the table. His gaze swept over Tianci's unconsciously furrowed brow, then across the shortening icicles outside the window, and he said knowingly, "What's wrong? Did you get distracted by the good news from home? Do you think only fear and anger are inner demons? Joy, sorrow, and worry, when taken to extremes, are harmful. Your current agitation is due to the conflict between 'joy' and 'worry,' which has disrupted your balance."

Tianci was startled and suddenly looked up.

"The wind and snow outside won't stop just because you close your eyes and ears. Your current 'stillness' is either for the sake of walking more steadily into the wind and snow in the future, or it's just self-deception and cowardice." Chen Jiren walked to the table and unfolded the yellowed meridian chart. "But 'stillness' is not sitting idly. Especially for someone like you who is so concerned, true 'stillness' is to find that calming needle amidst all the emotional storms."

"Then...then what...what should I do?" Tianci asked anxiously.

Chen Jiren turned around and pressed his finger heavily on the line representing the liver meridian on the diagram: "You need to 'accumulate,' but even more importantly, you need to 'refine.' Right now, you are like the meridians in this diagram, blocked by all sorts of emotions. When qi and blood don't flow smoothly, the limbs wither and a hundred diseases arise. The way to heal the body is to 'unblock.' To unblock the meridians, you need to know the meridians; to unblock emotions, you need to understand your mind. Do you think I'm teaching you to recognize these acupoints and meridians just to heal your legs? It's more about making you recognize the acupoints of your own 'thoughts,' to know where 'joy' comes from, and where 'worry' arises, so that you can insert needles to guide them and not be countered by them."

His thin fingers moved across the diagram, touching acupoints such as "Knee Eye," "Calf Nose," and "Yanglingquan": "Here, the Knee Eye acupoint treats knee pain and muscle spasms; here, Yanglingquan, is the meeting point of the tendons. The root of your leg injury lies in the wear and tear of the tendons and the blockage of qi and blood. To relieve the pain, you must first understand its location and clear its pathways. The anxiety in your heart caused by the 'good news' is the same. You must first discern whether this anxiety stems from guilt towards your family, anxiety about yourself, or fear of the future. If you cannot identify the root cause and merely suppress it, you will only exacerbate the blockage. The same principle applies to everything. Blindly throwing punches or blindly rejoicing is like hitting empty air or even injuring yourself."

This is the beginning of the first stage of "Ling Shu Zhi Xuan Shou" - "Touching Bones to Find the Path". Chen Jiren asked Tianci to extend his left arm, while he rolled up his sleeve to reveal his slender but muscular arm.

"Close your eyes!" he commanded.

Tianci closed his eyes as instructed, focusing intently on the sensation in his fingertips. Chen Jiren held his fingers, guiding him to repeatedly explore, press, and feel the bones, muscles, and hollows in his arm.

"This is the lateral epicondyle of the humerus. The depression below it is Shousanli (LI10). Probe down along this muscle gap, and when you feel a slight depression here, you will find Quchi (LI11). Your fingers must be steady, your force even, and your mind calm. Beneath the skin and flesh, the bone is the mountain, the tendons are the river, and the acupoint is the pool. If you do not know the mountains and rivers, how can you find the pool and draw water? The same principle applies to recognizing people and discerning things. You must touch the real thing, not imagine it."

Tianci's fingers were covered with calluses from years of martial arts practice, making them rough and dull to the touch. At first, he was able to concentrate, but when his fingertips brushed against the "Quchi" acupoint, the words "reunion year" suddenly popped into his mind. His wrist trembled slightly, and his fingertips slid onto the periosteum.

Chen Jiren immediately realized: "My fingers are in disarray. Where did my mind wander just now?"

"I...I was thinking...about the New Year..." Tianci said shyly.

"The joy of attachment is also a mental obstacle. You should think of it as an 'acupoint' that needs to be identified. Where is it in your heart right now? Is it warm, swollen, or tight? Feel it, identify it, rather than being led astray by it and losing your composure."

Tianci froze, then followed his instructions and introspected. The thought of "reunion" did indeed linger in the left side of his chest, a slightly swollen, warm feeling, yet also tinged with tension. He closed his eyes again, his fingertips returning to his master's arm. This time, he treated that "warm swelling" as an object to be perceived, placing it alongside the bone and muscle beneath his fingertips. Surprisingly, his mind became even more focused.

Under his master's patient guidance, Tianci practiced again and again, his fingertips repeatedly rubbing, pressing, and memorizing on his master's and his own arms, continuing even as his skin turned red and hot. The fierceness and focus he had honed on the training field were now being guided towards a completely opposite, extremely delicate introspective exploration.

He looked down at his fingers. The touch of his master's arm still lingered on his fingertips. Lying down at night, with his eyes closed, he repeatedly traced the points in his mind until he drifted off to sleep. In his dream, the acupoints he had learned during the day were all jumbled up. Shousanli became Quchi, and Quchi slid towards an unknown place. He wanted to stop, but his fingers wouldn't stop, as if pulled by something, touching deeper and faster. Suddenly, he touched a depression he had never seen before—icy cold, like a hole in bone. He tried to pull his hand away, but his fingers sank in.

In my dream, someone was speaking; it was his own voice: "I touched it... I touched it..."

But the dent kept sinking deeper. He looked down and realized he wasn't touching his master's arm, but his own leg. The cast had broken at some point, the skin and flesh were torn open, and there was no blood inside, only a dark vein leading to an unseen place.