Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

On the seventeenth day of the first lunar month in the southern part of the city, the early spring wind was still biting, but it couldn't dispel the dust and sweat rising from the construction site. Several tower cranes moved slowly under the leaden sky, like the skeletons of a giant beast. The mixer emitted a dull and continuous roar, accompanied by the ear-piercing sound of shovels scraping against gravel, the creaking of wheelbarrow wheels pressing against the gangplank, and the "clang clang" of bricklayers precisely striking bricks with trowels in the distance, all mixing together the vitality of this land.

Cang Lifeng stood on the scaffolding dozens of meters high, the cold wind whipping up sand and dust that lashed his face. He subconsciously touched the area under his left shoulder blade—where a bullet had once been embedded, earning him a medal for "Advanced Individual in Righteous and Courageous Acts" and a bonus of 50,000 yuan.

The award was jointly presented by the county government and the Nancheng City Righteous and Courageous Deeds Foundation, and the amount was considerable. At the commendation ceremony, the leaders shook his hand and said many words about "role model of the times" and "promoting righteousness." But he knew in his heart that the weight of this money was not in the number, but in what it carried—the reputation of his great-grandfather who was exonerated, his grandfather's lifelong silent perseverance, and the "hero" title he himself had almost risked his life in the bank.

He hasn't touched the money yet. It's not that he's afraid to spend it, but he hasn't figured out how to spend it.

He recalled his master Chen Jiren's words on Eagle Cliff: "Medicine and martial arts are ultimately techniques, but saving the world is the true path." Saving the world... how easy is that? Images flashed before his eyes of his fellow workers' cracked hands, Xiaohua's slightly limping steps, and the lamplight burning late into the night at the sports school...

"If only... there were a place where people like us could learn skills to make a living and still hold our heads high..."

This idea, like a spark, had been buried deep in his heart for a long time. Martial arts school—he had dreamed of it more than once. Not the kind of place that teaches people to fight and be fierce, but a place where children from poor families could learn real skills, build strong bodies, and, more importantly, learn how to be good people. Just as his master taught him, the ultimate goal of martial arts is "seeking the Way."

But dreams need bricks and tiles, steel and cement, and money, lots and lots of money. Fifty thousand yuan is a huge sum in Xiqiao Village, but in Nancheng, it's not even enough for a down payment on a small shop.

He looked down at the concrete foundation being poured beneath his feet. The city was growing taller every day, but how many people were truly taking root in this growth? His brothers were building skyscrapers with their blood and sweat, while he himself lived in makeshift sheds that were freezing in winter and scorching in summer.

"Make money...I have to make money," he said to himself silently. Not for his own enjoyment, but so that one day he could truly provide them with a roof over their heads so they wouldn't have to depend on others.

How to make money? He recalled Tianci burying himself in his books, and the sharp glint in Liu Qing's eyes when she talked about the law. This world seemed to have a set of "rules" he didn't fully understand yet. Maybe... he should read some books too? Maybe he should ask those "successful" people how they built their businesses? This thought both surprised and excited him, like suddenly discovering a previously unnoticed path on a familiar construction site.

The sound of the crane's horn pulled him back to reality. He took a deep breath and carefully suppressed the budding thought—right now, he had to make sure that the building in front of him wouldn't crush any of his brothers.

Cang Lifeng arrived three days earlier than most of his fellow workers. As the foreman, he had to get all the work that had been put on hold before the full resumption of work. He inspected each layer of the swaying scaffolding made of bamboo and planks. Below him, dozens of meters were suspended in mid-air, empty and desolate, with only the howling cold wind. His fellow workers would soon be building the exterior walls in this unprotected "high altitude." He subconsciously touched the old wound under his left shoulder blade. The deep part of the healed gunshot wound seemed to resonate with the cold, dangerous steel frame, surging with a heavy, aching sensation. This was not just a reaction to the old wound, but more like an invisible weight—the lives and safety of dozens of his brothers depended on his daily meticulous checks.

Looking at the construction site that was about to fully awaken, his thoughts were instantly pulled back to the absolute silence of Eagle Cliff more than ten days ago. It was in that tranquility, isolated from the world, that his master, Chen Jiren, entrusted the profound meaning of life's destiny and inheritance to Tianci.

On the cliff, spiritual inheritance is condensed; in the mortal world, there is the clamor of the struggle for survival. These two seemingly disparate worlds have achieved a wondrous balance in Cang Lifeng's heart. He suddenly understood: what his master was honing on the cliff was a "sword of wisdom" that could penetrate the world's illusions; what Tianci had inherited was a "heart needle" that could diagnose ailments and temper one's character; and what he himself was to walk was a different path—in this most real, most scorching dust and sweat, to use his shoulders to support the brothers who had entrusted their lives to him.

"Boss!"

"Lifeng!"

His coworkers gradually arrived and swarmed around him upon seeing him. Their rough hands, with a familiar force, patted his arms, but paused almost imperceptibly just before touching his left shoulder, then pounded harder on his back and right arm. Amidst the laughter and chatter, there was a complex, unfamiliar feeling—admiration, a sense of pride, and a subtle distance about how to naturally interact with this "hero of the newspaper."

"Lifeng, you're a celebrity now, and you're still doing this rough work with us?" Old Li rubbed his hands, his tone filled with happiness for him, but also with a hint of uncertainty and detachment.

This thin barrier wasn't broken until Cang Lifeng walked towards the material yard. His back slumped slightly, and with a single arm's effort, he steadily hoisted a hundred-pound bag of cement onto his shoulder. The movement was without hesitation, as if his shoulder carried not a heavy load, but a responsibility that was rightfully his. The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted in boisterous laughter, "Hey! It's still our boss!" The solid weight of the cement on his shoulder, mixed with the smell of dust, declared more powerfully than any words: Cang Lifeng's roots were still here. In his own way, he had re-established the name "Cang Lifeng" on this land he depended on for survival and was willing to fight for.

As the whistle blew to signal the end of the workday, Cang Lifeng straightened up, wiped the sweat mixed with dust from his brow, and said heartily, "Tonight at 'Yuebinlou,' it's my treat. We've done a good job, so we should drink our fill. Brothers, let's not leave until we're drunk!"

The journey from the dusty construction site to the neon-lit streets felt like a transition between two worlds. The workers chatted and laughed, adjusting each other's specially chosen "good clothes"—mostly faded but clean shirts or jackets—trying to erase the marks of the construction site. Several younger workers even helped each other brush unseen dust from their backs, their expressions a mixture of excitement and trepidation. But the grime that wouldn't wash off their fingernails, the calluses on their hands, and their innate simplicity couldn't be concealed by a change of clothes.

The three gilded characters of "Yuebinlou" stood out prominently in the twilight. The shimmering glass lamps gleamed, and the marble floor, so smooth it reflected almost perfectly. For these men, who usually spent their days shouting and yelling at the roadside food stalls near the construction site, always smelling of sweat and sunshine, the warm light emanating from the revolving door and the subtle fragrance in the air created a silent world, clearly defined by its boundaries.

When they finally stood before this dazzling display of lights, the initial excitement of setting off suddenly froze. The group unconsciously slowed their pace, exchanged glances, and then, led by Cang Lifeng, cautiously pushed open the heavy glass door.

A warm breeze, carrying the aroma of food and the faint strains of piano music, wafted towards him. In this dazzling display of light, Lin Wei's image inexplicably surfaced in Cang Lifeng's mind. That woman, as radiant as a neon light, perhaps belonged to this world. And he and his fellow workers were merely occasional passersby in this world.

Just as they were heading towards their reserved private room, an untimely voice rang out. Everyone turned to see a well-dressed, arrogant young man harshly berating a young waitress who had accidentally spilled some soup on his shoes. His words were cutting, drawing stares from the surrounding diners. The waitress was a young woman who looked like she had only recently arrived in the city. She was terrified, her face pale, and she repeatedly bowed and apologized, her voice choked with emotion. The manager rushed over upon hearing the commotion. After understanding the situation, he bowed and smiled obsequiously at the man while forcefully pulling the young woman's arm aside, his voice low but stern: "Where are your eyes? Three days' pay deducted! Another mistake like this and you're fired!"

The workers watched that familiar scene, their faces filled with indignation. Such things were commonplace for them in this city!

Cang Lifeng's gaze darkened. He pushed through the crowd, walked up to the man, and calmly said, "Sir, it was just an accident. A dirty shoe can be easily cleaned up. Why make things difficult for a young girl trying to make a living?"

The man was about to lash out, but his gaze swept over Cang Lifeng's tall, imposing figure and calm yet sharp eyes. He then noticed the group of silent, glaring, and muscular coworkers behind him, and saw the disgruntled looks from several other tables of customers. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed the harsh words that were on the tip of his tongue. He grabbed the wet wipe the foreman had conveniently handed him, glared at Cang Lifeng, muttered "Damn it!" under his breath, and turned to leave quickly.

Cang Lifeng didn't look at the man, but turned to the little girl who was being pulled by the foreman and was still trembling, and said gently, "Little girl, it's alright, just be careful next time."

The young girl looked up, tears still streaming down her face. She glanced at Cang Lifeng, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but the foreman pulled her forcefully. She could only hastily bow to Cang Lifeng, choking out "Thank you, big brother!" before being half-pushed and half-pulled towards the backstage area.

Cang Lifeng stood there, watching the girl's slender figure disappear around the corner of the corridor. The words "Be careful next time" rolled in his throat, but he swallowed them silently. He knew that he had just relieved her of her immediate predicament, but he couldn't change the difficulties she might face tomorrow or the day after, nor could he erase the cold punishment of "deducting three days' wages." This sobering sense of powerlessness, like a fine thorn, pierced his heart, more oppressive than the man's disdainful gaze.

Seeing this, the workers felt a surge of pent-up anger finally find an outlet. One whispered to his colleague, "See that? That's our boss! He always protects his own people."

Another person chimed in, "Yeah, just now, I was tempted to go up and give that bastard a good beating. The boss shut him up with just one sentence."

Standing next to Lao Li, Da Zhou, who was usually the most taciturn, suddenly added in a muffled voice, "That foreman is no good either. He bows and scrapes to that man, but then he bullies his own people."

Old Li sighed, "Our boss is the best; he's always treated us like brothers."

The workers shared the same sentiment and echoed it.