Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The competition began at 9:10.

His opponent was the previous provincial champion, a tall and strong man with a fierce punching style. As soon as he stepped onto the stage, a cheer erupted from the audience.

Cang Tianci calmly walked onto the stage. Cang Xiangyang and the others clapped enthusiastically, but their numbers were too few, and no matter how hard they clapped, their voices were sparse in the spacious and bustling stadium. Cang Tianci stood on the stage and waved to the audience in Anshi. Although he felt a dull ache in his dantian with every breath, he still tried to put on a confident smile for his friends and family in the audience.

The whistle blows. The game begins.

In the audience, Cang Xiangyang and Cang Xiaohua stood close together, their palms sweaty. Every time Cang Xiangyang saw Tianci get hit, his body would tremble; Cang Xiaohua covered her mouth tightly, afraid to make a sound.

Zhou Zhenhua sat beside them, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper. As their coach, he knew better than anyone that something was wrong with Tianci—his movements were slow, his reactions were sluggish; this wasn't the Tianci he knew.

"What's wrong with him today?" Zhou Zhenhua muttered to himself, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white.

Chen Gang whispered from the side, "Principal, Tianci seems a bit off today. He's not usually this slow to react."

Zhou Zhenhua didn't speak, but stared intently at the ring. He saw Tianci dodge a heavy punch, but stumble. He saw Tianci counterattack, but when he exerted force with his fist, he swayed.

Something's not right. Something's really not right.

Lin Wei held up her camera, the lens always locked on that slender figure. But she pressed the shutter less and less frequently—she noticed that with each punch Tianci threw, his steps became somewhat unsteady. It wasn't fatigue, it was… she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she instinctively felt something was wrong.

Shen Moyuan sat beside her, saying nothing. His gaze remained fixed on the young man; his pale face reminded him of Cang Lifeng, and his master from many years ago. This was the true essence of the Cang family.

Zhou Qingfeng crossed his arms, his expression grave. He occasionally muttered, "This power generation is wrong," or "His footwork isn't keeping up." As an expert, he could tell at a glance that Tianci's problem wasn't technique, but physical.

The first round ended. Cang Tianci returned to his corner, panting heavily. Sweat streamed down his face, dripping onto the floor. He wiped his face with a towel, on which were faint traces of blood. His gums were bleeding, but he hadn't noticed.

Zhou Zhenhua wanted to shout something, but the distance was too great, and no one could hear him. He could only sit there, watching his most prized disciple walk step by step toward the cliff.

The second round begins.

His opponent clearly sensed Tianci's condition and intensified his attacks. A heavy punch struck Tianci in the ribs, causing him to stagger backward, his vision blurring. Another roundhouse kick came, which he barely dodged, but he had already lost his balance.

From below the stage, Cang Xiangyang suddenly stood up: "Tianci!"

Cang Xiaohua finally couldn't hold back her tears and burst into sobs. She covered her mouth tightly, tears streaming down her face through her fingers.

Zhou Zhenhua couldn't sit still any longer and shouted towards the ring, "Tianci! Hold on! Don't fight head-on!"

Chen Gang, standing nearby, was so anxious he kept stamping his feet: "Stop hitting him! Stop hitting him!"

But Tianci couldn't hear their shouts. The ring was too noisy—the cheers of the audience, the panting of their opponents, the referee's whistle… all of these mixed together like a pot of boiling water.

Lin Wei's hand trembled, and she almost couldn't press the shutter. She put down the camera and looked with her naked eye. The boy was leaning against the ropes, panting heavily. His face was frighteningly pale.

Shen Moyuan gripped the armrest tightly, his knuckles turning white. He gazed at the young man on the stage, and in a daze, he saw the man who had protected him with his life, the man who had protected the cultural heritage of his motherland.

Zhou Qingfeng muttered something under his breath, his fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the second round.

Cang Tianci returned to the corner and slumped onto the stool. He closed his eyes and gasped for breath. Sweat mixed with something else flowed into his mouth, tasting sweet and metallic.

He opened his eyes and instinctively looked towards the audience.

There were many people there. He saw Cang Xiangyang standing there, shouting something. He saw Cang Xiaohua crying. He saw Zhou Zhenhua's face turn ashen. He saw Lin Wei, Shen Moyuan, Zhou Qingfeng... everyone was looking at him.

But he didn't see his older brother.

He remembered what Xiangyang had said that morning: "Brother, there's an urgent matter at the construction site. I'll come over as soon as I'm done."

I'll be there as soon as I'm done.

But the game was almost over.

He suddenly remembered his older brother's voice on the phone last night: "Tianci, I will definitely come tomorrow."

He remembered many years ago, in the snowstorm of Xiqiao Village, his older brother carried him step by step. That back was so broad and so warm.

He recalled what his master had said on Eagle Cliff: "Your legs have suffered in place of your heart."

Is his heart being tortured now?

he does not know.

All he knew was that he had to win.

He had to get that ticket to the national competition. Then, he would go to his older brother and tell him: I didn't let you down.

He closed his eyes.

At that moment, he was no longer fighting to "prove himself," but fighting to "stand next to his elder brother as soon as possible."

He drew out the last bit of remaining power from his dantian. At that moment, he heard his master's voice: "True Yin depletion, incurable."

But he couldn't stop.

The third round begins.

Cang Tianci attacked like a madman. His fists rained down on his opponent, and his leg techniques were so fierce they were dazzling. His opponent was forced to retreat repeatedly by his relentless fighting style and could only passively defend.

A gasp erupted from the audience. Some stood up and applauded, while others shouted "Well done!"

But Zhou Zhenhua's face grew paler and paler.

He was all too familiar with this "desperate" fighting style. This wasn't technique; it was risking his life. Every punch he threw was an overexertion. Every kick he delivered was a burning flame.

Chen Gang's eyes reddened, and he whispered, "Principal, Tianci... he's courting death..."

Zhou Zhenhua suddenly stood up. He wanted to call a stop, he wanted to rush onto the ring, he wanted to pull that foolish boy down. But the rules wouldn't allow it. The referee wouldn't listen to him. He could only stand there, watching his most prized disciple walk step by step toward the cliff.

Lin Wei's finger froze on the shutter button. She forgot to press it, she just watched. The boy's figure flashed and moved on the ring, too fast to see clearly. But she saw his face—on that face, there was no fervor of victory, only a heartbreaking determination.

Shen Moyuan closed his eyes. He dared not look.

Zhou Qingfeng stood up. His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails almost dug into his flesh.

The final blow.

A divinely granted whip kick landed squarely on the opponent's head.

The opponent collapsed to the ground with a thud.

The referee lunged forward to count the seconds. One, two, three…

Cang Tianci stood still. He had won.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth—a very faint, light smile, like someone finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. Then, his body swayed.

He saw the light on the ceiling. The light was so bright that he couldn't see anything. He only heard someone calling his name, very far away and indistinct, as if through a thick layer of water. Then, a mouthful of blood gushed out, staining the arena floor red.

In that instant, time seemed to stand still.

The boy stood in the center of the ring, the lights shining down from behind him, casting a blinding white glow on his silhouette. Then, he collapsed. Bright red blood gushed from his mouth, slowly spreading across the white ring floor like a horrifying flower in full bloom.

Everything around him seemed distant. The gasps of the audience, the referee's whistle, the screams of relatives and friends... all sounds seemed to have been ripped away, leaving only that pool of blood, silently expanding.

In that hazy consciousness, what did Tianci see—perhaps the snow on Eagle Cliff, perhaps his mother's face under the lamplight, perhaps his older brother's back as he carried him away step by step in the wind and snow. Those images flashed by, and then, returned to darkness.

"A gift from heaven!"

Zhou Zhenhua's roar tore through the entire stadium. He was the first to rush towards the ring, nearly falling as he jumped over the fence, staggering to Tianci's side and kneeling on the ground.

His hands trembled as he reached out to check Tianci's breath. He was still breathing, but very weakly and shallowly, like a thread that might break at any moment.

"Tianci! Tianci, wake up!" Zhou Zhenhua's voice had completely changed; he was no longer the stern principal, but simply a father watching his child collapse. His eyes were red-rimmed, his lips trembled, and he kept saying, "You can't be hurt...you can't be hurt...do you hear me...?"

Cang Xiangyang charged towards the stage like a madman, but was held back by the staff. He struggled, shouting, "That's my brother! Let me through! Let me through!"

Cang Xiaohua slumped into a chair, sobbing uncontrollably. Her whole body was trembling, like a leaf in the wind.

Chen Gang stood frozen for a few seconds, then rushed over and helped Zhou Zhenhua lay Tianci down. His hands were trembling, but he gritted his teeth to keep the tears from falling.

Sitting in the chair, Shen Moyuan's hands trembled, and his whole body shook. He stared at the boy lying in a pool of blood, at the rapidly spreading crimson stain, and in a daze, he saw his master lying in the same pool. At that moment, he couldn't tell if he was in Beiping in 1945 or in Nancheng in 1994. Forty-nine years—he thought he had moved on, but it turned out he had only temporarily sealed that image away.

He stood up and staggered down the stairs. As he went down the stairs, he missed a step and fell forward. At the last second, Zhou Qingfeng rushed up from behind and grabbed his arm.

Lin Wei lowered her hand that was holding the camera. She didn't take any more pictures. She just stood there, looking at the boy who had just called her "Sister Lin Wei," now lying motionless in a pool of blood.

She suddenly remembered the light in Lifeng's eyes when he talked about his younger brother—it was pride, tenderness, something more important than himself. If Lifeng knew… she dared not think further.

The sharp siren of the ambulance grew louder as it approached.

Medical staff rushed in, quickly put an oxygen mask on Tianci, stabilized his neck, and lifted him onto a stretcher.

Zhou Zhenhua ran alongside the stretcher, with Chen Gang following behind. Cang Xiangyang finally broke free from the staff, rushed over, grabbed the edge of the stretcher, and ran after it.

"Tianci! Tianci, can you hear me?" he shouted as he ran, his voice hoarse and unlike his own.

Cang Tianci did not respond. His eyes were closed, and his face was deathly pale.

The stretcher was pushed into the ambulance. The door slammed shut.

The ambulance sped away from the stadium, its lights flashing, and disappeared around the street corner.