Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

On the morning of May 19th, Wang Lide stood in the corridor of the inpatient department. He was still holding that bag of oranges.

He didn't sleep a wink last night. The smiling faces of his wife, Ayun, and Nianfeng, and the pale face of Cang Lifeng, kept flashing through his mind, tearing him apart all night.

He looked towards room 302, hesitating to take a step. He recalled the conversation from that night—"Let him keep busy, let him get chaotic, let him lose sight of what he's doing."

Is this the "chaos" they want? "They're taking the life of my savior!" He remembered the blood-soaked figure in the bank, remembered A-Yun crying as she was being carried into the ambulance, saying, "That young man... he took a bullet for me..." He remembered Nianfeng's name—the "Nian" in his name signifies the kindness of Cang Lifeng. The two lives that man gave his own, now they want to exchange his silence for that man's brother's life?

But he could only watch helplessly. He could have saved him. But he hesitated because of his family… The thought flashed through his mind, and he froze. Family? Was it really for his family? Or for himself? Because he couldn't afford to go to jail, because he couldn't afford to lose everything he had?

If Ayun finds out, what will she choose? Will she ask me to turn myself in?

He didn't know the answer.

He looked at the oranges he was carrying and offered them "good fortune, luck, and a bountiful harvest"—how ridiculous, how ironic! He suddenly felt that he was so ugly at that moment, so ugly that just thinking about himself made him feel nauseous.

Suddenly, his stomach churned violently. He leaned against the wall of the corridor, bent over, and dry-heaved a few times, but nothing came out.

He left the oranges at the nurses' station and quickly left the hospital without saying a word.

As he reached the hospital entrance, he suddenly stopped and glanced back at the glass door. He knew that if he turned back now, went back to that ward, there was still a chance to salvage the situation. But he didn't turn back. He continued walking. At that moment, he knew which path he had chosen.

At the same moment, in the shadows outside the inpatient building, Old Li was huddled up.

He hadn't slept all night either. He was afraid to go up, yet he didn't want to leave.

Two days ago, he came with his coworkers and caught a glimpse of the boy from afar—his pale face and Cang Lifeng's temples that had turned white overnight. His heart ached.

He wanted to rush forward, kneel before them, and tell them everything. But he didn't dare.

He thought of his daughter's college entrance exam, and his son's smiling face—that smiling face, now held in the hands of those people. If he dared to move, that smiling face would turn into weeping, into… He dared not think any further. He remembered that the weeds on his wife's grave needed to be cleared. He also remembered the phone call last night: "Your son is good, just be good, he'll always be this good."

He saw a figure in the distance, pause briefly in front of the nurses' station, put something down, and then quickly leave. He recognized the figure—it was Accountant Wang. He came too, but didn't dare approach. He lowered his head, looking at his empty hands. He didn't even dare leave behind a bag of oranges.

He huddled in the corner, asking himself over and over: Should he continue to rot, or...?

He didn't know the answer. He only knew that the gates of hell were right in front of him, and he had already stepped one foot inside. The other foot was still outside. He didn't know how much longer it would take before it stepped inside as well.

---

Deep in the Zhongnan Mountains, thousands of miles away, in a hidden cave.

Chen Jiren sat cross-legged, his face as calm as a still well. He had been in seclusion in this cave for over two months, quietly awaiting the arrival of that perfect moment. His aura was almost imperceptible, as if he had already merged with the mountains, the cave, and the world around him. This was the state of Nirvana he was about to enter—a state without sorrow or joy, without desire or want, peaceful and joyful, perfectly complete.

However, this is ultimately "soon".

He knew very well that he wasn't quite there yet. He still had a lingering attachment.

That lingering concern was so light, as light as a drop of dew clinging to a spiderweb in late autumn, trembling at the slightest breeze, yet never quite falling.

He knew what it was; it was that boy.

It was those eyes that stubbornly remained open despite the excruciating pain; it was that voice that swallowed its screams as the ointment burned its bones; it was that stammered yet resounding "Disciple...will remember Master's teachings."

He thought he had let go.

During his long period of seclusion, he repeatedly introspected and cleansed his heart. He took out all the grudges, honors, disgraces, joys, and sorrows of his life, and then put them back down. He saw the green bricks and gray tiles of the Chen family in Jiangnan, the mountains of corpses and seas of blood on the Battle of Shanghai, the innocent smile of the child named "Nian'en," the tragic sight of his wife and children lying in pools of blood, the shadowy figure of the ninja who entered through the window on a rainy night, and the solitary lamp in the thatched hut on the cliff for decades...

He has let go of everything.

These days slipped through his mind like mercury spilling onto the ground, leaving no trace.

He thought he had achieved his goal.

But at this moment, just as the boundless silence was about to completely engulf his consciousness, a trace of longing emerged like a wisp of silk—not something "remembered," but rather like moonlight naturally illuminating all things. That longing had always existed; he simply hadn't seen it before.

He "saw" the boy.

It is not about using your eyes or your heart, but about using a kind of "awareness" that transcends perception and is one with all things in the universe.

He saw the boy standing on the ring, pale-faced and drenched in sweat. He saw the boy throw punch after punch, each strike seemingly draining his life force. He saw the boy's gaze towards the audience—the person he wanted to see wasn't there, but he was still searching.

He saw that deep within the boy's dantian, the lamp was already as faint as a candle flickering in the wind, yet it was still stubbornly burning.

Then, he saw the boy fall. A mouthful of blood stained the ground of the arena.

Chen Jiren's eyelids twitched slightly. He didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to. He "saw" more clearly than ever before.

He saw the boy being carried onto the ambulance, saw the red light in the emergency room stay on for a very long time, saw the man named Cang Lifeng kneeling by the bed holding his younger brother's hand, and saw the woman named Su Yumei's hair turn white overnight.

He also saw two souls struggling in the darkness. One lingered at the doorway, the other teetered on the edge of the abyss. He knew that their "moment of despair" weighed as heavily as his own.

……

He saw all of this, and there was nothing he could do.

Thousands of miles apart, he was merely an old man nearing the end of his life. He could not reach out to help the fallen boy, nor could he transfer a single wisp of his true energy to keep the dying lamp burning.

He can only "see".

As this thought arose, Chen Jiren suddenly smiled.

The smile was extremely faint, as faint as the first snowflakes falling on the water and melting instantly. But in that smile, there was a clarity he had never experienced during his two months of seclusion.

He suddenly understood.

His idea of ​​"perfection" was to sever everything and be completely empty. So he spent these days repeatedly "letting go" and repeatedly "purifying" himself.

But true fulfillment is never emptiness.

It is "tolerance".

It is to let everything return to its proper place, without being bound by it; it is to let concerns exist naturally, without being troubled by them.

The boy was his disciple. This master-disciple relationship was a real event that actually happened in the world. It was not "karma" or "bond," but simply a cause and effect, a real and authentic existence.

What he seeks enlightenment for is not to transform "existence" into "non-existence," but to attain great freedom within "existence."

Just like now, as he "saw" the boy suffering, a sense of compassion naturally arose in his heart. This compassion was not attachment, nor pain, but rather like the bright moon reflecting on the mountains and rivers—where there are mountains and rivers, there is the moon's reflection; where the mountains and rivers are at ease, the moon's reflection is also at ease. He didn't need to sever this compassion. He only needed not to be led astray by it.

Like this cave, it embraces wind and rain, and is unperturbed by dust. The wind and rain pass without leaving a trace, and the dust settles and cleanses itself. It contains everything, yet is not confined by anything.

Having figured this out, Chen Jiren felt as if the last thin layer of cloud in his heart had suddenly dissipated, like morning mist meeting the sun.

That lingering attachment remains. It is no longer an "obstacle," but has become a part of his fulfillment.

He lowered his head and looked at his hands. Those hands had once pressed the boy's pressure points, handed him silver needles and a pocket watch, and gently patted his shoulder.

"Foolish child," he murmured softly.

There was no sadness or anxiety in that voice, only a profound compassion born of all-knowing wisdom.

"Only when the lamp goes out do you realize its meaning; only through death and rebirth do you see the true nature of reality. I have taught you everything I could. The rest is up to you."

He paused, his gaze seemingly piercing through the cave walls and across mountains and rivers, landing on the unconscious boy.

"Misfortune and fortune are intertwined, foolish child, may you wake up soon."

After saying this, he slowly closed his eyes.

In that instant, his breath merged completely with the silence of the cave, with the breath of the mountains and rivers, and with the rhythm of the universe.

An indescribable peace, transcending joy and sorrow, appeared on his face.

That lingering attachment remains, but it is no longer just a "thread." It has become part of this tranquility itself, like a drop of water in a vast ocean. It was once independent, but now it is one with the sea, inseparable from it.

Outside the cave, a mountain breeze rustled through the pines.

Inside the cave, there was eternal silence.

Chen Jiren is gone, gone cleanly and clearly. That last trace of attachment has been integrated into his fulfillment.