Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

Lin Wei should leave. She glanced at her watch, then at Cang Lifeng.

"I'll see you out," he said.

The two walked out of the workers' quarters side by side. The streetlights cast long shadows of them, sometimes separating, sometimes overlapping. Neither spoke, but something quietly grew in the silence—deeper than friendship, heavier than love, like two trees growing side by side, their roots intertwined in the darkness.

When she reached the street corner, Lin Wei stopped.

"Just leave it here," she said.

Cang Lifeng stopped and looked at her: "Be careful on the road."

"You too." Lin Wei paused, then said, "I'll ask a friend to find out more about Fourth Master."

"No need to trouble yourself," Cang Lifeng said. "I can handle it."

"I know you can," Lin Wei smiled, "but more eyes mean more paths."

They both understood the meaning behind those words. It wasn't a lack of trust, but rather a sense of solidarity.

Cang Lifeng didn't refuse again, but gave her a deep look and said, "Then... see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Lin Wei turned and walked towards the bus stop. After taking a few steps, she couldn't help but look back.

Cang Lifeng remained standing, the streetlights casting his silhouette as a silent yet solid line from behind. Seeing her turn around, he raised his hand and waved gently.

Lin Wei waved, then turned around and quickened her pace.

A breeze brushed her cheeks, carrying the slight chill of early spring, but her heart was warm. The notebook in her bag was heavy, containing not only news, but also a story unfolding, and a person she was willing to witness with her pen and her heart.

The bus arrived. Lin Wei boarded and sat down in a window seat.

The car started and slowly drove away. Through the car window, she looked towards the construction site area. The lights there flickered in the night, like stars deep in the earth.

But she knew in her heart that there was a star there, shining stubbornly and clearly in its own way.

After seeing Lin Wei off, Cang Lifeng returned to the work shed and eagerly pulled a letter from Ji County from his coat pocket. It was from Tianci. He had just received it that afternoon and hadn't even had a chance to read it. Under the dim light of the bulb, he opened the envelope. The letter paper was thin, but the handwriting was strong and clear.

Dear elder brother:

Hello there!

I am doing well at the sports school. My training and studies are progressing according to plan. Although time is tight, I can still manage. Don't worry about me.

I am writing to inform you of something: the provincial games' Wushu Sanda (Chinese kickboxing) selection competition is scheduled to be held in Nancheng on May 15th. This competition is crucial for qualifying for the national competition. I will participate.

If my eldest brother, second brother, and third sister have free time, they are welcome to come and watch the game.

Brother Tianci

The letter was short and extremely concise. Upon seeing the words "I am well," a complex smile involuntarily appeared on Cang Lifeng's lips, a smile that carried the sentiments only those who have been through it could understand, and a hint of heartache.

"This kid... he's really grown up. He's learned to be like his brother back then, bottling up all the pressure himself and only telling the family he's safe." He could almost picture his brother writing those words—lips pursed, eyes focused and determined, yet deliberately making his handwriting steady. A surge of burning pride rushed to his chest. His brother, that stuttering boy who had struggled through the storms of Xiqiao Village, was now standing on the stage to compete for a spot in the national competition. This was more honorable and more glorious than his own life-or-death struggle in the bank back then.

Holding the letter, he strode toward the open space where his coworkers gathered after dinner to smoke and chat.

Soon, sharp-eyed Old Li noticed his unusual behavior. "Hey! Boss, you found a gold ingot? You're so happy."

This time, Cang Lifeng didn't laugh or scold. Instead, he waved the letter in his hand and said loudly, "More precious than gold ingots. My younger brother, Tianci, is coming to Nancheng next month to compete in the National Games qualifiers. If he wins, he'll be the provincial representative and go to compete in the national competition."

The workers were taken aback at first, then burst into enthusiastic cheers.

"The National Games! My God, Tianci is going to become a national athlete!"

"Like father, like son; the eldest is a hero, and Tianci is definitely champion material."

"When's the match? Let's go together! Let's give our brothers a shout-out and boost morale."

Looking at the faces of his fellow workers, who were even more excited than he was, Cang Lifeng felt a surge of warmth fill his heart.

"Good!" Cang Lifeng waved his hand, his voice booming, "When the time comes, everyone should go as long as the construction site can spare the time! Let the people of Nancheng see how awesome our brothers are!"

As night deepened, the workers' quarters were filled with the sounds of snoring. Cang Lifeng lay on the hard wooden bed, his younger brother's letter carefully folded and pressed against his chest. The thin letter felt like a branding iron, searing his heart, yet also like a dim lamp, illuminating the blurry but necessary path ahead.

He silently counted the days; mid-May was fast approaching. He had to go, to witness his younger brother overcome that hurdle and embark on a broader journey. This conviction weighed heavily on his heart, carrying more weight than any grand pronouncements.

Just as Cang Lifeng drifted off to sleep, filled with anticipation for his brother's reunion, on the other side of the southern city, in a private, upscale teahouse, the lights were soft and the aroma of tea wafted through the air.

Zheng Yaoxian slowly put down the latest issue of the Nancheng Daily, which contained another profile of Cang Lifeng by Lin Wei. His gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses was devoid of warmth as his fingertips lightly traced the headline "Heroic Foreman," as if examining a flaw that urgently needed to be removed.

Opposite him sat a middle-aged man dressed in a silk Tang suit and wearing a jade ring on his finger. He had a prosperous appearance, but his eyes were shrewd and cunning. He was Song Jinrong, the cousin of "Fourth Master" Song Jiawen, who ran several building materials companies and earthwork businesses.

Zheng Yaoxian put down his newspaper, glanced at him, and a faint smile appeared on his lips: "Uncle, that 'Fourth Master' under you isn't very tactful. He made too much of a fuss and gave others something to talk about."

Song Jinrong's face twitched slightly. He sat down opposite Zheng Yaoxian, forcing a smile, but there was a hint of reluctance in it: "Yaoxian, Song Jiawen is just a boorish man, he doesn't know his place. I've already taught him a lesson. The main problem is that I didn't expect there to be a reporter supporting him."

"A reporter?" Zheng Yaoxian scoffed, tossing the newspaper onto the table. "What kind of trouble can a little girl like her cause with a few articles?"

He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and looked through the steam onto Song Jinrong's face: "Uncle, Cang Lifeng is really in the spotlight right now. He's all over the newspapers, and the guys at the construction site are making a fuss about him too."

Song Jinrong didn't reply. He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then slowly asked, "Yaoxian, what do you want me to do by telling me all this?"

Zheng Yaoxian's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly—he disliked this "elderly" tone. But he quickly regained his composure, put down his teacup, and spoke in a calm yet undeniably authoritative voice:

"Uncle, you've been in business for so many years, you should know better than me—some things don't need me to spell them out. His construction site is almost finished and ready for inspection, isn't it? What a perfect opportunity."

He paused, his gaze falling on Song Jinrong's face, the smile fading from his lips: "Let him get busy, let him get chaotic, let him lose focus on one thing and neglect another. As for how to make him busy, how to make him chaotic..." He picked up his teacup and gently blew on it, "Uncle, you have plenty of people under you, you don't need me to teach you."

Song Jinrong stared at him for a few seconds. A fleeting complexity crossed his gaze—a mixture of resentment at being ordered around by a junior, and something deeper. But he quickly lowered his eyes and nodded.

"Understood. Don't worry."