Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

On May 19, 1994, the curtains were drawn in the office of the deputy editor-in-chief of the Nancheng Daily.

Zheng Yaoxian sat behind his large desk, with two documents spread out in front of him. One was the draft of tomorrow's front page, "The Shadow of the Heroic Construction Site," which had just been delivered from the printing factory; the other was news from the hospital: Cang Tianci was still in a coma, and the doctor had diagnosed him with "five strains and seven injuries, and depletion of true yin."

He picked up his teacup, gently blew away the foam, but his gaze fell on another unopened letter on the table. The envelope was printed with a line of elegant Japanese characters, signed "Zheng Yonghe".

That was a relative of his family who had studied in Japan, and also his "liaison" with Japanese right-wing forces.

He recalled the message Zheng Yonghe had sent through encrypted channels three days earlier: "The lead on box number 23 has been intercepted by Chinese state security. The Cang family is a key factor. You must use your influence to find a way to strike."

Zheng Yaoxian put the letter into the deepest part of the drawer, a cold smile appearing on his lips.

Cang family...

He recalled the past his father, Zheng Guozhong, occasionally mentioned—a man named Cang Shouzheng, whom his father had persecuted so severely that he could never recover. A carpenter, daring to fight the Zheng family? Now the Cang family had become a "family of heroes," appearing in the newspapers every day. He looked at Cang Lifeng's photo in the newspaper, his gaze dark and gloomy.

What alarmed him even more was Cang Liuqing, who worked within the national security system. If she followed the clues from box number 23, would she uncover his family's ties to Japan?

This family must be brought down. Not only brought down, but their reputations must be ruined so they can never recover.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

It was Old Zhou, the director of the newspaper's political and cultural department, who came in, holding a stack of manuscripts: "Editor-in-Chief Zheng, what do you think we should do regarding the follow-up reports on that teenage champion? Several other media outlets are asking if we should do in-depth reporting?"

Zheng Yaoxian took the manuscript and glanced at it. It contained Cang Tianci's information: 14 years old, provincial Wushu Sanda champion, ranked first in the county in elementary school graduation exam, excelling in both academics and martial arts... There was also a photo of him on the podium, the boy standing tall and with piercing eyes.

He placed the manuscript on the table and tapped his fingers lightly: "Old Zhou, where do you think the focus of this article should be?"

Old Zhou was taken aback: "The key point? This child is indeed remarkable, excelling in both academics and martial arts, it's a pity..."

"What's a pity?" Zheng Yaoxian interrupted him, his tone as gentle as if discussing the weather. "It's a pity he vomited blood and fainted? It's a pity he might never wake up again? Old Zhou, have you thought about it? A 14-year-old boy, practicing martial arts to the point of vomiting blood and falling into a coma, what does that say?"

Old Zhou was stunned.

Zheng Yaoxian stood up, walked to the window, his back to Lao Zhou, and said calmly, "I'm not saying we're trying to smear anyone, but rather that we need to do some deep thinking. This child is the brother of a hero, and his story deserves our attention. But as media professionals, we can't just stay on the surface of being moved; we need to dig deeper into its social significance."

He turned around, his face showing a sincere and patriotic expression: "Old Zhou, our generation has a responsibility to guide the public to examine those deified 'traditions' with a more scientific and rational attitude. This is not only being responsible to Heaven, but also being responsible to the whole society."

Old Zhou nodded thoughtfully: "Editor-in-Chief Zheng's insight is excellent. I'll go and reorganize the manuscript right away."

"No rush." ​​Zheng Yao handed him the draft. "We'll publish this construction site article first tomorrow. The martial arts article will be published the day after tomorrow. We need to let it ferment a bit, let the readers raise their own questions—'Why did that martial arts champion vomit blood?' Then we can pose more thought-provoking questions; that will be more effective."

Old Zhou took the draft and left.

After closing the door, Zheng Yaoxian sat back down in his chair and took out the preparatory plan for the "Dongxue Cultural Exchange Center" from his drawer. This was a cultural institution he had established privately, ostensibly to promote Sino-Japanese cultural exchange, but in reality, it was a tool he used to cultivate and fund cultural figures and media moguls who could be bought off. Through this platform, he could legally and continuously transmit selected "academic viewpoints" to China—such as questioning traditional martial arts, discussing the scientific validity of traditional Chinese medicine, and "rational reflections" on historical issues.

He wrote a few words on the proposal: "Focus on: education, sports, and culture. A series of 'in-depth discussions' can be planned, incorporating the Cang Tianci case."

Then he picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Uncle, it's me. We can close the net at the construction site now. Old Li, one of your men, his son is still in our hands. He won't say anything out of line."

Song Jinrong's voice came from the other end of the phone: "Don't worry, everything's arranged. That foreman, Cang Lifeng, can't escape responsibility."

Zheng Yaoxian hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair, and looked out the window. The sky over Nancheng was overcast, as if it were about to rain.

He recalled his father Zheng Guozhong's words: "For those involved in culture, the most powerful weapon is not swords or guns, but the pen. An article can make someone famous, or it can destroy someone. And it kills without shedding blood."

He recalled Zheng Yonghe's words; that old fox never spoke his mind explicitly, but the meaning was clear: the Zheng family needed Japan's support, and Japan also needed the Zheng family as a pawn. He didn't respond at the time, but he knew in his heart—once you get on this ship, you can't get off.

Sitting in the darkness, he murmured to himself, "The Cang family? You're guarding the dead, I'm guarding the living. When the next generation forgets their roots, who will remember you?"

The corridor of the inpatient department of the First People's Hospital of Nancheng City.

Cang Lifeng leaned against the wall, his eyes bloodshot. He hadn't slept for two days and two nights. His younger brother was still in the ICU, and Xiao Zhang from the construction site had just been rescued; his leg was badly injured, but he had survived.

Lin Wei came out of the doctor's office, walked to his side, and gently shook his hand.

Hurried footsteps echoed from the other end of the corridor. Cang Xiangyang and Cang Xiaohua approached quickly. Cang Xiangyang held a newspaper in his hand, his face grim.

"Brother, look at today's Nancheng Daily," Cang Xiangyang said loudly.

Cang Lifeng took the newspaper, and the headline on the front page was striking:

The Shadow of the Heroic Construction Site

He quickly scanned the contents, and his expression instantly turned extremely ugly.

"What's wrong?" Lin Wei asked.

Cang Lifeng didn't say anything, but handed her the newspaper.

Lin Wei looked down at the newspaper. Below the headline was a photo of Cang Lifeng—the one of him lying in a hospital bed after last year's bank robbery. Next to the photo was an excerpt from the investigation report: "Expert testing showed that the concrete mix proportions were normal, with no signs of shoddy workmanship. The cause of the accident should be attributed to improper operation during construction."

The article concludes: "This former hero now faces charges of mismanagement and causing serious injury. How much longer can his heroic aura illuminate his path?"

"This matter is probably not simple," Lin Wei said thoughtfully.

Cang Lifeng remained silent. He stared at the words "Investigation Report" on the newspaper, and several images flashed through his mind—Old Li's unusual silence, Wang Lide's hesitant gaze, and that day at Yuebinlou, Zheng Yaoxian's cold stare behind his glasses. He remembered a term from the economics he was studying: "systemic risk." At that moment, he suddenly understood that he was not facing the malice of one person, but the crushing power of a "system."

He looked up at Lin Wei and said, "Lin Wei, you're right. This isn't a simple frame-up. Look at the pace of the newspapers, the speed of the investigation report—this isn't something one person could do. Someone is playing a game of chess, and the construction site and Tianci are just two pieces on their board."

Lin Wei looked at him, her heart skipped a beat. This man, despite the enormous blow, did not collapse or become angry. Instead, he was using the "economic thinking" he had just learned to try to see the underlying reasons.

"Who in our newspaper has that kind of power? Besides our editor-in-chief, it's Zheng Yaoxian. This guy is no ordinary person. He has a powerful background. But why is he targeting you? Is it just because you offended him at Yuebinlou last time?" Lin Wei analyzed.

Cang Lifeng nodded and fell into deep thought.