Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The shouts on the threshing ground grew increasingly powerful, and the boys' bodies, drenched in sweat, became ever more upright. The name Cang Lifeng, along with the dancing lion head and the cracking of whips, spread throughout the villages along the banks of the Fu River. Whenever the drums and gongs resounded and the crowds thronged around that vibrant procession, Wang Zhenkun sat in his cool, stifling main room, listening to the distant cheers, his heart feeling as if it were soaked in poison, both bitter and swollen.

The pool of glaring blood at the bottom of Wild Boar Gully, and Su Yumei's deathly pale face, uncontrollably flashed before his eyes… How could the Cang family, which he should have utterly crushed and never be able to rise again, have managed to rise again thanks to a mere brat? The dust on the threshing ground seemed to mock him, pelting his face. The icy gaze Cang Lifeng had given him that day, and the acupoints on his body that still throbbed faintly but left no trace, reminded him like a nightmare of the humiliation he had suffered that day.

"Glory? I'll make you glorious!" Wang Zhenkun slammed the purple clay teapot to the ground, shards flying everywhere, the warm tea soaking the blue bricks. His chest heaved violently, his cloudy, triangular eyes churning with deep-seated jealousy. For the first time, he clearly felt that the Cang family, which he had once manipulated at will, was growing a sharp thorn that could pierce his authority. This thorn had to be pulled out, at any cost!

"A direct confrontation? The young men in the village are clearly intimidated. Report it? The Cang family is now behaving themselves, running a 'martial arts team,' and has even gained some fame. They can't find fault with them." A sense of helplessness and frustration gripped him like vines, almost suffocating him. "I must get rid of Cang Lifeng, but what will be the 'price'?" He paced anxiously in the main room like a trapped beast.

Wang Youfu hunched over and slipped in, his small eyes gleaming with cunning: "Brother, a direct confrontation won't work; we need to borrow a knife."

"Whose knife should I borrow?"

"Liu Tietou," Wang Youfu said in a low voice, "Cang Lifeng has taken over his territory in the surrounding villages. Cutting off someone's livelihood is like killing their parents. As long as someone passes on a word, saying that kid is going to set up a flag at the temple fair and step on Liu Tietou to get to the top—"

A fierce glint flashed in Wang Zhenkun's eyes, then his expression turned serious: "Liu Tietou is a ruthless man who eats people alive. Borrowing his knife is like inviting trouble, isn't it?"

"Our ancestors had a distant, indirect connection with the Liu family. You're going to deliver a message, not a knife. How the fire is set is Liu Tietou's business."

Wang Zhenkun fell silent. He looked at the tooth mark on his hand, which had already begun to scab over—the child's bite was still there.

"Prepare gifts. Choose the best."

A few days later, Wang Zhenkun, under the pretext of attending a meeting in the township, stepped into a secluded but heavily guarded compound on the outskirts of Futian Township, carrying carefully prepared gifts. The compound appeared ordinary on the outside, but inside it was a different world altogether, filled with the strong smell of smoke and sweat.

Liu Tietou sat in the center of a large armchair, his bald head gleaming, a hideous scar running diagonally from his brow to the corner of his mouth. His shirt was open, revealing his hairy chest, and his thick fingers twirled two dark purple iron walnuts, producing a dull grinding sound.

Wang Zhenkun bowed and scraped as he explained his purpose, while Liu Tietou listened without his face showing any sign of weakness.

After Wang Zhenkun finished speaking, Liu Tietou suddenly asked, "How old is that Cang Lifeng?"

Wang Zhenkun was taken aback: "Twenty... in your early twenties."

"In his early twenties," Liu Tietou repeated, pausing for a moment as he held the walnut in his hand. No one saw something flicker deep in his eyes.

Twenty years ago, he was also in his early twenties. Back then, he also thought that fists could conquer the world.

"Go back and tell him," Liu Tietou gripped the walnut tightly, "that I'll go and 'support' him at the temple fair."

Wang Zhenkun was overjoyed, but on the surface he feigned extreme fear, repeatedly bowing and pleading, "Brother Tietou, please calm down! Please calm down! I just couldn't stand it and came to give you a heads-up. Please be magnanimous and don't..."

"Get out!" Liu Tietou spat out the word coldly through gritted teeth, as if shooing away an eyesore. Wang Zhenkun, feeling as if granted a pardon, bowed and scraped as he retreated from the oppressive "Hall of Righteousness." The moment he stepped out of that heavy door, away from that suffocating gaze, a smug, undisguised grin of triumph spread across his face, as if he could already see Cang Lifeng's bloodied and mangled end.

The news that Liu Tietou was going to personally "show his support" at the temple fair spread like wildfire, carrying with it a chilling fear that quickly swept through Xiqiao Village. It wasn't Wang Zhenkun's "kind" notification; rather, Liu Tietou had openly declared his intention to "meet" Cang Lifeng at the fair. The entire village was instantly enveloped in a heavy, suffocating panic. Villagers shut their doors, their whispers filled with fear and worry. Those who had previously enthusiastically invited the martial arts team to perform now avoided the Cang family, some even secretly pulling Cang Lifeng aside, whispering urging him to "soften his stance" and "pay to avoid further trouble." Who didn't know Liu Tietou? He was a true living devil. His men were all ruthless thugs; no matter how skilled Cang Lifeng was, could he withstand dozens of machetes? This time, the Cang family was likely doomed.

In the low, mud-brick house of the Cang family, the oil lamp flickered weakly, its dim yellow light leaping laboriously in the oppressive air, unable to dispel the thick, impenetrable despair. Cang Zhenye, hunched over, squatted on the cold threshold, puffing on his pipe, his brow furrowed in a deep frown, the smoke from the cheap tobacco swirling around his deeply lined, sorrowful face. The flickering flame in the pipe illuminated his slightly trembling, calloused hand.

Su Yumei sat on a low stool, mending a tattered jacket. The needle and thread repeatedly pricked her fingers, drawing bright red blood that stained the greyish-white fabric. Oblivious, she stared blankly at the uneven, muddy ground beneath her feet, as if her soul had left her. Cang Xiaohua clung tightly to her mother, her face deathly pale. Cang Xiangyang and Cang Tianci stood ramrod straight in a dark corner.

Cang Lifeng stood in the center of the room, his back straight, the dim light outlining his sharply defined features. His sharp eyes swept over the despair on his family's faces, his voice steady yet carrying a desperate resolve: "Father, Mother, don't be afraid. What's meant to be will be. It's definitely that old dog Wang Zhenkun behind this. He wants to use Liu Tietou as a tool to completely sever the backbone of our Cang family. That's a vicious and ruthless plan! But so what? When the knife comes, we have to stand tall and face it!"

Cang Zhenye abruptly raised his head, slamming his pipe heavily against the threshold with a clang. Sparks flew out, and his voice was hoarse: "Go to meet him? What will you use to meet him? That's Liu Tietou, a ruthless monster who eats people without spitting out bones. He has dozens of men under his command, all of them bloodthirsty and ruthless desperados. You alone, empty-handed, what will you use to fight against dozens of knives? Are you going to take these kids with you to your deaths? Listen to your father, taking a step back will open up a whole new world. We're not going to the temple fair this time, and the martial arts team... let's disband it!" The last few words seemed to have exhausted all his strength, carrying endless sorrow.

"Lifeng, listen to your father!" Su Yumei seemed to be awakened, suddenly raising her head, throwing down the needle and thread in her hand, rushing over to grab her eldest son's arm, her voice filled with sobs and extreme fear, "We can't afford to offend him! We'll hide! We'll accept our fate! Doesn't Wang Zhenkun just want to see our family suffer? Let him see! Let him be smug! As long as you siblings can be safe and sound... our family... our family has suffered enough over the years, hasn't it? Mother... Mother can't watch you all suffer anymore..." She sobbed uncontrollably, her thin shoulders trembling violently.

"Hide? Where can we hide?" Cang Lifeng's voice suddenly rose. He grabbed his mother's hand and knelt on one knee before her. "Father, Mother, we've hidden our whole lives, bent our bones our whole lives, and what have we gotten in return? Wang Zhenkun pushing us to the brink of death! What is the martial arts team? It's the upright backbone of our children, it's telling everyone that the Cang family's backbone is made of iron! To break it is to break our children's spines with our own hands!"

"Those kids are poor, looked down upon, and they've finally found hope in them. What will happen to them if I disband the group? I'm performing openly and honestly at the temple fair. No matter how arrogant Liu Tietou is, would he dare to kill a group of kids in front of everyone? Even if he dares to resort to underhanded tactics—" Cang Lifeng's eyes sharpened, "I'm not the naive boy I used to be! Dad, Mom, you have to believe in me, and you have to believe that the Cang family shouldn't live on their knees forever!"

Cang Zhenye fell silent. His head was bowed, the embers in his pipe extinguished, yet he didn't relight it. No one saw the glint in his eye, across the threshold, into the pitch-black night outside. That direction was the direction of the village.

Cang Tianci's body jolted violently. His elder brother's words were like thunderclaps, cleaving through the years of humiliation and anger that had accumulated in his heart. Images flashed before his eyes: Wang Yaowu's ferocious smile, the icy depths of the pond, his mother's gentle yet firm gaze as she taught him to write the character "勇" (yong, meaning courage) under the oil lamp, his elder brother's javelin-like figure standing tall on the threshing floor… These images surged within him like boiling magma. He stepped out of the shadows and stood beside his brother. Though speaking was still difficult, each word was forceful, like sparks bursting from the depths of his soul, striking the ground with crystal clarity:

"Big...Big Brother! You're...you're right! No...we can't hide! No...we can't scatter! We...we must be strong! I...I...I'll...follow you! We'll fight...fight to the end!"

Cang Lifeng looked into his younger brother's eyes and saw an unprecedented, unwavering light burning like wildfire, and his heart warmed. He patted Tianci's now thick and strong shoulder forcefully, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, determination, and a resolute spirit fighting for the fate of the family. Under the dim light of the oil lamp, the two brothers seemed to have formed a silent and unshakeable statue.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered uneasily in the heavy air. Su Yumei subconsciously gripped the hem of her clothes, a motherly sense of foreboding filling her with unease.

That night, Cang Shouzheng woke up again.

He hadn't drunk any alcohol for three days. It wasn't that he didn't want to drink; it was that every time he picked up a wine jar, he would think of Cang Lifeng's straight spine on the threshing ground, and the way Cang Xiangrong looked at him—there was a glimmer of light in those eyes.

He put the wine jar back in its place.

The moonlight shone through the window, illuminating his face. His face was still old and haggard, but something was different.

"Father," came Cang Yongqiang's voice from behind, "Aren't you... going to drink anymore?"

Cang Shouzheng didn't turn around. He just looked out the window, towards the direction of the threshing ground. It was pitch black there, and he couldn't see anything.

"I'm not drinking anymore," he said.

Cang Yongqiang was stunned. He stood there, motionless for a long time.

Finally, he gave a soft "hmm" and left.

The door closed very softly, but Cang Shouzheng heard it. He suddenly felt that the sound was more beautiful than any other sound he had heard in all these years.

The days that followed were agonizing. The date of the temple fair drew ever closer.

But no one knew that Liu Tietou returned home that night and sat alone in the yard for half the night.

He placed the two iron walnuts on the stone table and stared at them for a long time.

Under the moonlight, a thin crack appeared on the walnut.

He wrote it himself.

He suddenly remembered his master's dying words: "Iron Head, remember this: hard fists don't count, hard bones do."

He looked down at his hands. Those hands hadn't practiced boxing for many years.

He tried clenching his fist. His knuckles cracked a few times, but it was just a habitual sound, not the sound of his youth.