Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

On the fifteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, when Cang Tianci went to the old house to deliver cotton shoes to his grandfather, he found Cang Houde sitting by the charcoal brazier, holding a thin twig in his hand, staring blankly at the warm charcoal ash in the brazier. On the charcoal ash, there were some repeated, messy lines, vaguely resembling a circle, with something else in the middle, but it had been blurred and indistinct.

Tianci put down his things and squatted down next to his grandfather: "Grandpa, what are you looking at?"

Cang Houde seemed to be startled awake. He paused with the branch in his hand, then slowly wiped away all traces of charcoal ash. He turned his head to look at his grandson, his dim eyes holding something that Tianci couldn't understand.

The old man stretched out his withered hand and gently patted Tianci's knee, saying:

"Tianci, you've grown up. You've learned kung fu, read books, and seen a lot. Grandpa only wants to tell you one thing: From now on, no matter what you see or hear, even if the sky falls, your bones must not be weak and your heart must not be crooked. Some things and some people are worth protecting with your life, and some things are more important than life itself."

These words, abrupt and unexpected, sent a chill down Tianci's spine like a cold wind. Did his grandfather know something? Or wanted to tell him something? He recalled the two strangers he encountered on his return, both exuding an aura of "turbidity," and the strangers with similar auras he'd occasionally encountered while wandering the village these past few days. He had a vague sense of foreboding. This was also why he hadn't immediately gone to Eagle Cliff to see his master after returning.

On the eighteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, in an abandoned brick kiln outside the village, the cold wind howled through the broken holes.

Wang Zhiqiang stood with his back to the kiln entrance, holding a palm-sized black communicator. A rapidly flashing string of numbers appeared on the screen. He pressed the decode button, and a few seconds later, a line of Japanese text appeared on the screen:

"How's it going? Time is running out. The Cang family's protective perimeter will be in place soon."

Wang Zhiqiang's face was grim. He quickly replied, "Contact has been made. There are cracks within the target family, but the key figure (Cang Houde) is extremely vigilant. I suggest activating Plan B."

A few minutes later, the reply came: "Approved. December 23rd, the eve of the Lunar New Year. Create chaos and seize items amidst the confusion. Remove obstacles if necessary."

Clear the obstacles. Wang Zhiqiang stared at those four words, his fingers tightening slightly. He knew what that meant—if Cang Houde resisted, or if anyone else tried to obstruct him, he could kill him.

He recalled Nakamura Hiroshi's promises: millions in cash, a vice president position at a foreign company, Japanese immigration status for his entire family, and the honor of being accepted as a "core partner" by the Fujiwara family. Faced with such enormous benefits, the risk was worthwhile. Besides, he had no way back.

He put away the communicator and turned to look at Wang Zhenkun, who was huddled to the side.

"Director Wang, as you instructed, I have given Cang Xiaoren some pointers, and he has indeed been interested, even sneaking over to the old house to investigate. But..." He swallowed hard, "The old man has been keeping a close watch on things these past few days, never leaving the house, so we haven't been able to find a suitable opportunity."

"Useless." Wang Zhiqiang coldly uttered two words.

Wang Zhenkun remained silent, trembling with fear.

Wang Zhiqiang put away his mobile phone, turned around, and in the dim light, his eyes were like ice. "Looks like we'll have to get them moving on their own. Isn't Cang Lifeng a 'hero' now? A hero's house should be a bit 'lively'."

Wang Zhenkun was puzzled.

Wang Zhiqiang didn't explain, but simply took out his phone and dialed a number. The call was quickly answered. He walked deep into the brick kiln and whispered a few words, the gist of which was, "The time has come. Proceed according to plan. Be 'natural' and 'reasonable'."

After hanging up the phone, he walked back and said to Wang Zhenkun, "On the 23rd of the twelfth lunar month, the eve of the Lunar New Year, some of Liu Tietou's men who have just been released from prison will go to the Cang family to seek revenge. Their target, of course, is Cang Lifeng, whom they want to bring to their honor. It will be quite a scene. As the village party secretary, you should rush to mediate when you hear the news. Make sure to keep the commotion within the front yard and drag it out as long as possible."

Upon hearing that it was one of Liu Tietou's men, Wang Zhenkun's legs went weak: "Liu Tietou? Director Wang, that...that's a real desperado! How could he listen to..."

"He doesn't need to listen to you," Wang Zhiqiang interrupted him. "He listens to the people behind him. You just need to do what you're supposed to do—keep the Cang family 'reasonably' tied up in the front yard." He looked at Wang Zhenkun's pale face and added, "This has nothing to do with you taking money; it's an order from above. If you do as you're told, it will only benefit you. If you don't cooperate, or if word gets out..." He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning couldn't be clearer.

Wang Zhenkun felt a chill run down his spine. He realized then that he was nothing more than a small, helpless pawn in this game of chess. The real players and the more ruthless pawns had already been deployed. He had accepted the 50,000 yuan and provided the information that had already bound him to this boat; now he didn't even have the right to jump ship.

"I...I understand." He could only nod.

"Remember, your task is to 'mediate' and 'delay,' not to take action. If the situation gets out of control, it won't do you any good." After saying this, Wang Zhiqiang walked straight out of the brick kiln and disappeared into the twilight.

IV. Thunder in the Snowy Night

The 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month is the Little New Year.

In Xiqiao Village, smoke curls from every household's chimney, and the air is filled with the sweet aroma of candied melons offered for the Kitchen God and the rich smell of stewed meat.

Inside the Cang family's old house, Cang Houde sat alone by the charcoal brazier in the main room, warming himself by the fire. He held a thin bamboo stick in his hand, repeatedly drawing the same pattern on the charcoal ash—a circle with a square hole and strange engravings along the edges. He drew it, then erased it, then drew it again.

As evening approached, Tianci came to call his grandfather to come over for dinner. Cang Houde waved his hand, "You guys eat first, I'll come over later."

Tianci hadn't left. He squatted beside his grandfather, looking at the recurring lines on the charcoal ash, and suddenly asked, "Grandpa, that thing... is it inside the east wall?"

Cang Houde's hand suddenly stopped, the bamboo branch halting in mid-air. He turned his head, looking at his grandson with astonishment, and asked, "How...how did you know?"

"I 'felt' it. When I was a child, I was very sensitive to the aura around me. After I started practicing the Hidden Dragon Technique taught by the old doctor, this sensitivity became even more acute and clear. Every time I came to the old house to see you, I could sense a heavy, oppressive, and indignant aura there. This aura is very similar to the one emanating from my grandfather."

The old man stared at Cang Tianci for a long, long time, and finally sighed, "It is fate... fate has given you, my child, a pair of different eyes."

He put down the bamboo stick, stretched out his withered hand, and tremblingly pulled an old brass key from his pocket, placing it in Tianci's hand: "This key can open the hidden compartment under the third brick on the east wall. There are two keys in total, the other one is with your second uncle. There's an iron box inside the wall. If... if something happens to me, take this to your sister Liu Qing. Remember, it's better to destroy it than let it fall into the hands of outsiders."

Tianci gripped the key tightly, his palms icy cold: "Grandpa, what exactly...?"

"Don't ask anymore. The more you know, the more dangerous it is. Go back and be with your parents."

Seeing his grandfather's resolute expression, Tianci knew that asking any further questions would be useless. He carefully hid the key on his body, gave his grandfather a deep look, and turned to leave.

Meanwhile, a hundred meters away, the second floor of an abandoned old mill in Xiqiao Village.

This was a long-abandoned corner, the wooden frame groaning under the weight of wind and snow. A broken window on the second floor, missing its frame, faced the courtyard and main hall of the Cang family's old house. The cold wind poured in from here, stirring up years of accumulated dust and rotten wood chips.

A figure clad in camouflage that blended almost seamlessly into the gray, dilapidated walls lay silently in the shadows behind the breach. This was Ichiro Imai, one of the most elite special agents at the Fujiwara Ancient Art Research Institute. A sniper rifle, fitted with a high-powered scope and a silencer, rested steadily on a pre-placed pad, completely still.

His gaze, through the scope, was like that of the most patient spider, weaving an invisible web that firmly locked the old house's doors and windows, the courtyard entrance, and even any possible approaching paths into the center of his cross-shaped field of vision. A faint static hum came through the headphones, mixed with the indistinct noise from the front yard—the "background music" created by Black Bear and his men. His mission was clear: ensure Wang Zhiqiang achieved his target undisturbed, and, if necessary, eliminate any unexpected obstacles.