Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The dormitory building of Jixian Sports School was shrouded in an unusual gloom at dusk. The usual clamor and banter that followed training sessions were almost entirely absent; the air was so heavy it seemed you could wring water out of it, filled only with the lingering smell of sweat. The setting sun struggled to penetrate the dusty glass, cutting pale streaks of light across the concrete floor, within which dust particles danced wildly, as if disturbed by something unseen.

Cang Tianci had just finished showering, his wet hair still dripping, and was sitting on the edge of the bed tidying up his training clothes. The dormitory door was suddenly pushed open with a loud bang, startling the people inside who all looked up.

Sun Peng appeared at the door. He wasn't wearing his sports school training uniform, but had changed into a brand-new black tracksuit. A large duffel bag was slung across his body, and his hair was slicked back with hair gel. His face didn't show the listlessness one would expect after a week of inactivity; instead, it exuded a deliberately arrogant and fierce aura. He stood at the door, his gaze sweeping over every familiar face in the dormitory like a knife, finally fixing on Cang Tianci, a mocking sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, everyone's here? Perfect, saves me the trouble of notifying them one by one."

He strode to his bed, yanked off the bedding, and began haphazardly stuffing his clothes and toiletries into his bag, his movements rough and forceful. It wasn't like packing luggage; it was more like tearing apart and trampling on something from the past. His gaze swept over the worn-out boxing gloves on the bedside table, and he abruptly stopped. He reached out and poked the hard leather, the familiar rough texture returning to his fingertips. In that instant, countless images flashed before his eyes of wearing them, hitting the punching bag, sparring with others. But the next second, as if burned by that memory, he grabbed the gloves and slammed them against the corner of the wall with all his might!

A muffled thud. The boxing glove bounced to the ground, rolled twice, and came to rest at Chen Gang's feet.

Chen Gang bent down to pick up the boxing gloves, patted off the dust, and his face was so dark it could drip water: "Sun Peng, what's wrong with you? The suspension is to make you reflect on your actions, not to make you tear down the dorms."

"Reflect?" Sun Peng abruptly turned his head, his eyes bloodshot with agitation. "Reflect on what? Reflect on why I didn't completely cripple some people's legs? Or reflect on why I didn't realize sooner that this place is a cesspool where people are treated differently based on their status?" His voice suddenly rose as he pointed at Cang Tianci. "In Zhou Yanwang's eyes, only those who can win him gold medals! What am I? A whetstone that's been used for three years and is almost worn smooth? Now that a faster knife has come, should I, this stone, be thrown away?"

"What nonsense are you spouting!" Chen Gang shouted angrily. "Don't you know how the coach treats you? When has he ever missed an extra training session? When have you ever been injured, hasn't he been the first to find medicine?"

"That was before!" Sun Peng retorted, his face contorted with rage. "Everything changed after that stutterer came! Last time during sparring, he pounced on me like a mad dog and bit my neck. Did you see that? Did Zhou Yanwang do anything about it? He just gave me a light punishment. If it were me, I would have been fired eight times over."

Wu Bin couldn't help but interject, "Sun Peng, you can't say that. You were the one who started it that time..."

"Shut up!" Sun Peng pointed at Wu Bin, his eyes fierce. "Who do you think you are to speak here? You're all in cahoots. I'm not playing with you anymore. Someone outside is interested in me. Do you know how much they're offering me?" He held up three fingers and waved them forcefully in the air. "One month's salary is equivalent to half a year's living expenses for you. Might makes right, and that's a hundred times better than being a grandson here."

Seeing Sun Peng's unyielding attitude, Chen Gang knew that forceful persuasion would be useless, so he could only try to calm him down with words: "Sun Peng, calm down, don't be fooled by those thugs outside. They only care about your fighting ability, not about you as a person. You've trained for so many years, and the provincial competition is just around the corner..."

As he spoke, he made a subtle gesture to Wu Bin, who was standing by the door, with his hand behind his back.

Wu Bin understood immediately. Taking advantage of Sun Peng's back to the door and his heightened emotions, Wu Bin slipped out of the dormitory silently like a nimble cat and ran towards the coach's office.

"Provincial competition? Gold medal?" Sun Peng scoffed, interrupting Chen Gang, zipped up his backpack, and dramatically slung it over his shoulder. "I don't care. Can that stuff feed me? Can it be exchanged for real money? Can it make people call me 'Brother Peng'?"

His gaze fell on Cang Tianci, and he said sarcastically, "Cang Tianci, you should practice your skills properly and try to get more plaques for Zhou Yanwang. But let me tell you, in this world, just knowing how to fight is useless. No matter how strong your fists are, someone still needs to build a platform for you and give you money."

After saying that, he patted the bag again, then stood tall and turned to walk out.

"Stop!" A deep, thunderous shout rang out.

Zhou Zhenhua's tall figure appeared at the dormitory entrance, blocking the way. He had clearly rushed over; his breathing was still uneven, but his eyes were sharp as knives, piercing straight at Sun Peng.

"You're leaving?" Zhou Zhenhua's voice was low, yet carried immense weight.

Sun Peng paused, and upon seeing Zhou Zhenhua, the deliberately crafted "coolness" on his face instantly froze. A flicker of instinctive guilt and fear flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly overshadowed by an even stronger rebellious streak. He stiffened his neck, meeting the coach's gaze without flinching: "Yes, I'm quitting! I'm leaving the sports school!"

"You bastard!" Zhou Zhenhua roared, his voice shaking the rooftops. He stepped forward, his finger almost touching Sun Peng's nose. "I'm scolding and punishing you because I think you're stupid, because after all these years of training, your kung fu has improved, but your brain is still useless! Do you think those gangsters out there respect you? They only care about your bones that can still be used for a few more years, and your reckless, suicidal spirit to use as pawns! Once you're crippled, disabled, or you mess with the wrong people, who will care about you then? Do you think you've done right by your parents working tirelessly to support you? Do you think you've done right by all the sweat you've shed and the injuries you've suffered?"

Sun Peng's ears were ringing from the barrage of insults, and his face flushed red, but his stubbornness flared up: "Don't give me that! Scold me? Punish me? Last time I only kicked that stutterer once, and you were ready to eat me alive. What about when he bit my neck? Isn't that why you didn't say anything? Is it because he looks like he can get the medal now? I don't want to be your gold-medal tool anymore, is that not allowed?"

"You..." Zhou Zhenhua's fingers trembled with anger. Looking at Sun Peng, who was completely blinded by jealousy and unyielding, a huge sense of powerlessness and sorrow welled up in his heart. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "Fine. Everyone has their own ambitions. I won't stop you."

A hint of surprise flashed in Sun Peng's eyes.

"However," Zhou Zhenhua changed the subject, "you are a minor. If you leave the sports school, you must notify your parents and obtain their consent. This is the rule, and it's also for your own good. Call your family now and have them come over. Otherwise, you won't be leaving this house today."

Sun Peng's expression changed instantly. His lips moved a few times, as if he wanted to retort, but under Zhou Zhenhua's piercing gaze, he ultimately didn't dare to argue. He took out a phone card, walked to the public phone at the end of the corridor, and roughly inserted the card and dialed.

As soon as the call connected, he impatiently growled, "Dad, come to the sports school right now. I want to drop out, right now." He could vaguely hear his father's anxious voice through the receiver, "Hey? Pengzi? What did you say...?" He frowned and interrupted him roughly, "Come when I tell you to, stop nagging! If you don't come, I'm leaving right now, and don't even think about looking for me again!" Before he finished speaking, his thumb had already pressed the hang-up button hard.

Less than twenty minutes later, the roar of a motorcycle approached from afar and abruptly stopped in front of the dormitory building. A slightly overweight middle-aged man wearing an apron stained with oil rushed up, panting heavily. It was Sun Peng's father, Sun Fugui. He had obviously come directly from the stove of his family's small restaurant, his face still flushed from the fire and covered in anxious sweat.

"Pengzi, what are you up to!" As soon as Sun Fugui entered the door, he saw his son's glaring outfit and bulging backpack, and then saw Zhou Zhenhua's livid face. His temper flared up instantly, and he raised his large, fan-like hand to slap him as usual.

Sun Peng raised his hand, precisely blocking the slap his father was about to deliver. He stared at Sun Fugui, a cold smile playing on his lips: "Hitting me again? What else can you do besides hitting? My mother passed away early, and you've been busy with your run-down restaurant. When have you ever cared about me? When I got into a fight at school, you didn't even ask, just started beating me up. After that, you said, 'Your mother died early, and this family is all on my shoulders. You not only don't understand, but you keep causing me trouble'—I've heard that for ten years, my ears are calloused!"

The dormitory was quiet for a moment.

Sun Fugui's hand froze in mid-air, his angry expression shattered by his son's words, his lips trembled, and he was speechless for a moment.

"You sent me to this sports school just because you thought I was a nuisance and wanted to get rid of this burden, didn't you?" Sun Peng's voice grew louder, his eyes reddening, but he stubbornly refused to let the tears fall. "Now it's all right, I don't need your help anymore, I've found my own way. Don't try to stop me, you can't!"

Sun Fugui's shoulders slumped, his hands, roughened by cooking fumes, hanging limply at his sides. He looked at his son, a son both strange and familiar, his lips moving for a long time before he finally managed to utter a few words: "Pengzi… Dad didn't mean that… Dad was trying to…"

"For what?" Sun Peng sneered. "For your shabby restaurant? For your little bit of face?"

Zhou Zhenhua stood by, watching this scene, and finally understood where Sun Peng's prickly temper came from. He was silent for a few seconds, then stepped forward, placed his hand on Sun Peng's shoulder, and said in a low voice, "Sun Peng, your father was wrong in how he treated you. But tell me honestly, in the three years you've been at the sports school, have I ever hit you even once?"

Sun Peng's body stiffened.

"You made a mistake, I punished you, but have I ever hit you?" Zhou Zhenhua's gaze went straight into his eyes. "Your mother passed away early, your father is incompetent, I know all of that. But now that you've come to the sports school, I'm your mentor. What is a mentor? Someone who teaches you skills, and also teaches you how to be a person. Ask yourself, in these three years, have I looked down on you? Have I given up on you because you're not as good as Chen Gang?"

Sun Peng's lips moved, but he didn't speak. But he remembered the first time he came to the sports school three years ago, when Zhou Zhenhua personally picked him up. At that time, Zhou Zhenhua patted him on the shoulder and said, "Good prospect, train hard." That image flashed through his mind, but he suppressed it fiercely.

"I..." Sun Peng opened his mouth, and the scene of Hei Pi patting him on the shoulder and saying, "Brother, follow me, I guarantee you'll have a good time," instantly flashed before his eyes, intertwined with the embarrassing images of being suspended from training for three months, writing a 10,000-word self-criticism, and being reprimanded in public. The feeling of being recognized by the "big brother" and immediately having money, enjoyment, and dignity completely overwhelmed the "hope" and "opportunity" that Coach Zhou had mentioned for the proper path.

He suddenly raised his head, a look of triumphant smugness on his face: "I've thought this through. You're just making empty promises, talking about hope and opportunities. You're kidding me! My path now is tangible and real. I have money, enjoyment, and respect. I'm determined to leave this wretched place. I don't want to stay here another day."

The last glimmer of hope in Zhou Zhenhua's eyes vanished. He turned to Sun Fugui, sighed heavily, and said, "Master Sun, the child is grown up, his heart is wild, and he has his own ideas. You can't force a child to stay. If he insists on leaving, I can't stop him. But as his guardian, I need your approval before I can complete the formalities."

Looking at his son's unyielding and resolute expression, and then at Zhou Zhenhua's serious and exhausted face, Sun Fugui felt as if his spine had been ripped out, his shoulders slumping. His lips trembled, and tears welled in his cloudy eyes. He wanted to say, "Pengzi, I'm begging you," he wanted to say that he knew he was sorry for his son, that he was afraid his son would end up like him, stuck at the stove for the rest of his life. But these words stuck in his throat, and he couldn't utter a single one. In the end, he only managed to squeeze out, "Coach Zhou, thank you for your trouble... This child... I can't handle him anymore..."

He looked at Sun Peng, his voice filled with a final plea: "Pengzi, let's quit the sports school, let's go home, Dad will support you, and we'll find a way to learn a trade, okay? Don't hang out with those people..."

"Go home?" Sun Peng scoffed as if he'd heard a joke. "Go home and be like you, spending your whole life running that smoky, run-down restaurant? I've had enough!" He saw the light in his father's eyes dim instantly, and a pang of pain shot through his heart, but he immediately masked it with an even harsher tone: "Stop arguing. Either agree to let me leave, or I'm leaving now, and don't ever look for me again!"

Sun Fugui shuddered at his son's words, his last line of defense crumbling. He seemed to age ten years in an instant, his back hunched, as he stammered to Zhou Zhenhua, "Coach Zhou... he... he insists on leaving, so... let him go... I... I agree..." He paused, as if grasping at a last straw, "How about this, Coach Zhou, I... I'll rent him a place in the county town to stay, let him calm down... after a while, maybe... maybe he'll realize the truth..."

Zhou Zhenhua looked at Sun Fugui silently for a few seconds, then nodded, his voice low and serious: "Alright. Mr. Sun, you are the father, so it's good that you've made your decision." He paused, his tone returning to a businesslike seriousness, "But rules are rules. He is a minor, and to leave the sports school, he must have a formal application signed by his guardian, complete all the departure procedures, and settle all matters before he can leave. This isn't me making things difficult for you; it's about giving him and the school an explanation."

Sun Fugui nodded quickly: "Of course, of course, Coach Zhou, we'll follow the rules..."

Sun Peng clicked his tongue in annoyance: "What a fucking nuisance!"

Zhou Zhenhua ignored him, tore a blank page from his coach's notebook, took out a pen, and walked to the desk in the dormitory: "Come here, Coach Sun. I'll tell you what to do, you write it down, and then you and Sun Peng both put your fingerprints on it. It's too late today, and no one's in the office. Come to the school again early tomorrow morning to fill out the official forms and return what you owe before we can settle the matter."

The process was brief yet oppressive. Sun Fugui slumped over the table, scrawling the words "Withdrawal Application" and a simple reason. Then, under Zhou Zhenhua's instructions, he and a reluctant Sun Peng pressed their bright red fingerprints onto their names. That piece of paper, like a small talisman, severed Sun Peng's last formal connection with this place.

After finishing all this, Zhou Zhenhua carefully folded the paper, put it in his pocket, and then turned to Sun Peng, his gaze complex, ultimately settling into a cold indifference. He remembered how Sun Peng had looked when he first arrived—thin and small, with a defiant spirit in his eyes. Three years had passed, the spirit was still there, but the direction had gone astray. He wanted to say something, opened his mouth, then closed it again. Some words, once spoken, were useless.

"Sun Peng, you can leave now. Our master-disciple relationship has ended. From now on, your honor or disgrace, your life or death, are none of the sports school's business, nor mine, Zhou Zhenhua's. I only hope you remember one thing: don't say you're my student. I can't bear that shame."

Those last words struck Sun Peng like an invisible hammer blow, leaving a dull ache in his chest. His throat felt like it was blocked with scalding sand; he wanted to shout, but no sound came out. His deliberately straight back slumped almost imperceptibly, then immediately straightened again. He turned to his father and urged, "Dad, hurry up!" With that, he picked up his bag, turned, and walked out.

Sun Fugui picked up another package and staggered after his son. The father and son disappeared completely at the end of the corridor, one after the other.

The door was closed with a soft "click" as the draft from the corridor closed.

As the last rays of dawn faded, the dormitory sank into a heavy, gloomy darkness. The faint shouts and sounds of equipment from the training hall in the distance seemed to be filtered through the thick walls, becoming blurred and distant, making the silence inside the room all the more unsettling.

No one spoke. Chen Gang stared at the old boxing gloves in his hands, his knuckles turning white from gripping them so tightly. Wu Bin and Li Qiang hung their heads, staring at a crack in the concrete floor.

Cang Tianci remained standing in the same spot, not having moved an inch since Sun Peng smashed the boxing gloves. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and icy water droplets slid down his neck, but he was completely unaware. It wasn't until a sharp pain shot through his palm that he realized with a start that his right hand had been clenched into a fist so tightly that his nails had dug deep into his flesh, leaving four crescent-shaped bloody marks.

He slowly loosened his fingers. The stinging pain in his palm was vivid and tangible, as if silently confirming that what had just happened was not an illusion.

Outside the window, the night swallowed up the figures of Sun Peng and his father.

Cang Tianci looked down at the bloodstains on his palm and suddenly remembered something Sun Peng had said: "In this world, just knowing how to fight is useless. No matter how strong your fists are, someone still needs to build a platform for you and give you money."

He didn't know if anyone was there to support him.