Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

On the night of the eleventh day of the twelfth lunar month, Cang Xiaoren squatted at the entrance of the oil press, looking at the "Notice for the Collection of Folk Items" that Wang Zhenkun had given him during the day. Eight hundred yuan would cover the cost of the sewing machine; if there were anything valuable, two thousand, three thousand, or even tens of thousands.

Chen Xianfei came out of the house and, seeing her husband's expression, lowered her voice: "What are you still thinking about? The old man's old boxes have been hoarded for eighty years. Can they bring us a single penny? Lifeng is a hero in Nancheng, and Tianci is the top scholar. When they rise to prominence, who will remember our poor relatives? It's the right thing to do is to exchange them for money as soon as possible!"

Cang Xiaoren didn't speak, but simply folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. But his heart was in turmoil: on one hand, there was his reverence for his grandfather; on the other, his wife's daily complaints and the family's predicament. The "tens of thousands of yuan" was like a fire, burning his heart, but his fear of his grandfather was like a bucket of ice water, poured down on him from time to time.

On the morning of the twelfth day of the twelfth lunar month, Wang Zhiqiang and Imai Ichiro (at this time using the pseudonyms "Wang Wenhua" and "Li Diaocha"), accompanied by Wang Zhenkun, arrived at Cangjian's oil pressing workshop.

The oil press was a small outbuilding next to the old Cang family house, filled with the strong smell of rapeseed oil and the roar of machinery. Cang Jianguo was squatting in a corner repairing the machine, while Cang Xiaoren and his wife Chen Xianfei greeted the guests.

After exchanging pleasantries, Wang Zhiqiang got straight to the point: "Comrade Cang, our Cultural Bureau is currently working on a project to preserve the cultural heritage of a Jiangnan immigrant family. Your Cang family comes from the north, so you must have retained many northern customs and old objects, right?"

Cang Jianguo remained silent, engrossed in repairing the machine. Cang Xiaoren rubbed his hands together, saying, "Nothing special, just some everyday stuff..."

Chen Xianfei's eyes lit up, and she interjected, "Comrade Wang, what kind of old items do you collect? How are the prices calculated?"

Wang Zhiqiang smiled and said, "We're interested in anything from before the liberation. Especially... special old coins, metal badges, and items with special symbols. These might record the history of family migrations and are of great research value."

He took out several photos from his briefcase, showing various old copper coins and badges: "Something like this. Ordinary ones, ranging from tens to hundreds. If they are particularly rare or have special significance, they could cost thousands or even tens of thousands."

"Tens of thousands?" Consort Chen gasped, her eyes widening in astonishment.

Cang Xiaoren's heart also raced. He remembered the old boxes in his grandfather's room, and the times he'd been punished as a child for mischievously trying to rummage through them...

"However," Wang Zhiqiang changed the subject, putting away the photos, "these things are often kept by the older generation as family heirlooms, and they are unwilling to take them out easily. We understand, but we also feel it's a pity. Instead of letting them gather dust at home, it's better to let the country collect and study them, and we can even get some compensation to improve our lives."

He paused, then added, "We've visited many families and often found a phenomenon—some descendants become successful and have higher standards, looking down on these 'pieces of junk,' but they also won't let their brothers touch them, calling it 'preserving family memories,' but actually wanting to monopolize them. Once the older generation passes away, it's hard to say who will end up with these things."

These words were like a needle, precisely piercing the most sensitive spot in the hearts of Cang Xiaoren and his wife.

Chen Xianfei's face immediately darkened. She glanced at the silent Cang Jianguo and said, "Did you hear that? Dad, listen to this. What they said makes sense. Those old fogies in our family, Grandpa keeps them so tightly under his thumb, but in the future they'll all be left to…"

She didn't finish her sentence, but the meaning was crystal clear—for whom? It was undoubtedly for the prosperous fourth son's family. Cang Lifeng, from the fourth son Cang Zhenye's family, was the most favored, and now, as a hero who saved lives, he was even more so…

Cang Jianguo stopped what he was doing, looked up, and his expression was complicated. He thought of the grievances he had suffered over the years, the glory of his second and fourth younger brothers' families, Cang Zhenye, and the subtle distance his father, Cang Houde, had shown towards his branch of the family…

"Dad," Cang Xiaoren squatted down beside his father, his voice filled with resentment, "Think about it, Li Feng from our eldest brother's family has become a hero, Tianci is a top scholar in both civil and military affairs, Liu Qing is a great lawyer, and even Cang Xiangrong from our third uncle's family is now doing well in the army. Do they think they'll even care about this piece of junk? We should turn it into money as soon as possible, expand the oil press, and buy new machines. That's the right way."

Cang Jianguo fell silent. The machines were still roaring, and the smell of oil fumes made him dizzy. He recalled the glory days of his years as Party Secretary. Since that political movement, he had become cautious in everything he did, afraid to take initiative. He had barely managed to keep the oil press, inherited from his father, a mere scrap he could keep afloat. Although his son and daughter-in-law's words were harsh, they weren't entirely without merit…

"You guys... figure it out." He finally sighed.

Wang Zhiqiang took it all in. He said nothing more, left his business card and notice, and then got up to take his leave.

Before leaving, he said to Cang Xiaoren, "Comrade Cang, think it over carefully. Keeping these things is a burden. Converting them into money is a real benefit. If you discover anything, contact me anytime. The price... will definitely satisfy you."

After the guests left, the oil press fell silent.

Late that night, Cang Xiaoren tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The "tens of thousands of yuan" and the brand-new sewing machine flashed before his eyes, but his grandfather Cang Houde's eyes, which seemed to see through everything, haunted him like a ghost. As if possessed, he quietly got up and groped his way to the outside of the old house. The moonlight was cold and clear, and the old house was eerily quiet. He pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding, trying to peek through the crack in the window, but he couldn't see anything. Just as he tremblingly reached out to touch the windowpane, he suddenly heard his grandfather cough from inside, as if it were right behind the window!

Cang Xiaoren was terrified and scrambled back home. That night, he dreamed that his grandfather was standing in front of his bed, leaning on his cane, looking at him with cold eyes, holding a dark gold copper coin in his hand.

The next day, he told Consort Chen about the dream and what had happened the night before.

Consort Chen spat, "You're acting like a thief with a guilty conscience! The old man is over eighty and hard of hearing. How could he know you're outside? I think you're just scaring yourself! If you don't dare, I'll go myself!"

"How dare you!" Cang Xiaoren roared. "Those are all Grandpa's treasures. What if something happens if you cause this trouble?"

"Grandpa's treasures? How old is he? Won't they be divided among our various branches in the future? If we don't take them now, they'll be gone by the time Grandpa closes his eyes. Who knows who will have them then?" Consort Chen persisted, then softened her voice, "Xiaoren, even if we don't think about ourselves, we have to think about the children. What future does this dilapidated family have?"

Cang Xiaoren fell silent. He walked to the oil press, listening to the machine's feeble hum, looking at the cracks on his hands, soaked in oil and impossible to wash off, and recalling Wang Wenhua's confident smile and his promise of "absolutely satisfying you." Dissatisfaction with reality, fear of the future, and the greed constantly provoked by his wife finally coalesced into a vicious rage. He gritted his teeth, suppressing any remaining reverence and affection for his grandfather into the darkest corner of his heart. He decided to wait for the "right" opportunity.