Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The night in the southern part of the city is like a piece of cloth soaked in ink, pressing heavily on the sky.

Cang Lifeng stood at the construction site entrance, clutching the document Lin Wei had just delivered. He had already visited the site during the day, searching every possible hiding place of Old Li, but found nothing. Now he was back. He had a feeling Old Li would come here.

The construction site lights were long gone, with only the light from the distant streetlights filtering in, casting a pale, white patch on the ground. He stood there, waiting.

He folded the documents and put them in his inner pocket. They were materials Lin Wei had copied from internal channels of the newspaper—a preparatory plan for Zheng Yaoxian's privately established "Dongxue Cultural Exchange Center," as well as records of his correspondence with several media executives in the provincial capital. While these materials couldn't directly prove anything, they were enough to make it clear that someone was playing a grand game, and the construction site accident was merely a pawn in that game.

Cang Lifeng raised his head and looked at the building in the distance that was still under construction. He remembered his younger brother lying in the hospital bed, Xiao Zhang's mangled leg when he was pulled from the rubble, and the headlines in the newspapers about "heartless contractors".

Everything was crammed together, like a tangled mess, making it hard for him to breathe.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Cang Lifeng didn't turn around; he knew who it was.

"Boss." Old Li's voice came from behind, hoarse and deep.

Cang Lifeng turned around. Old Li stood in the shadows, his hair disheveled, his clothes covered in construction dust, and his eyes red, as if he hadn't slept for days. He held an unlit cigarette in his hand, the filter bitten to pieces.

"Uncle Li," Cang Lifeng called out.

Old Li emerged from the shadows, walked up to Cang Lifeng, and stopped.

Cang Lifeng looked at him. From the very first construction site, Old Li was the first person to guide him. Back then, he knew nothing; he couldn't distinguish cement grades or recognize steel bar specifications. Old Li grabbed a handful of sand, rubbed it in his hands, and said, "Coarse sand for bricklaying, fine sand for plastering; if you mix the wrong kind, the wall will crack." He then picked up a steel bar, weighed it in his hand, and said, "Threaded steel, 12mm, for beams. Round steel, 10mm, for stirrups." From then on, he learned to identify materials and also learned how to be a person—Old Li taught him not only skills, but also a sense of duty.

Not content with that, he apprenticed with other tradesmen, learning masonry, carpentry, steel reinforcement, plumbing, and electrical work—one by one. After several years, there wasn't a single job on the construction site he couldn't do. People respected him, not because he was a fighter, but because he was knowledgeable, because he was always at the forefront, because he was fair, responsible, and treated his brothers like human beings.

But he never considered himself superior. He treated everyone like brothers and those who taught him skills like mentors. Old Li was the first person to mentor him, and he remembered that kindness, calling him "Uncle Li" all these years—not as a polite formality, but out of respect.

"Uncle Li, come in and sit down." Cang Lifeng pushed open the door of an empty shed next door.

Old Li hesitated for a moment, then followed him inside.

The lights in the shed were off, only the streetlights from outside shone through the windows, casting a pale, white patch on the ground. The two men stood facing each other, neither speaking.

Silent for a long time.

Cang Lifeng spoke first: "Uncle Li, how is Xiaojun?"

Old Li's hand trembled suddenly, and the cigarette fell to the ground.

"Where did he go?" Cang Lifeng asked, his tone somewhat somber.

"He...he went back to his hometown." Old Li's voice trembled.

"Going back to your hometown?" Cang Lifeng looked at him. "Uncle Li, your daughter called the construction site last month looking for you, saying she couldn't contact Xiaojun and asked if something had happened to him. I covered for you and said Xiaojun was fine at the construction site."

Old Li's legs went weak for a moment, and he had to hold onto the wall to steady himself.

"Uncle Li, where is Xiaojun?" Cang Lifeng's voice was low, but every word was like a hammer blow.

Old Li didn't answer. He kept his head down, his shoulders trembling. The streetlights outside the window shone on his face, making it look ashen like an old newspaper, with sunken eyes and chapped lips, as if he had aged ten years.

Cang Lifeng didn't urge him. He just stood there, watching him.

After a long silence, Old Li suddenly spoke up: "Boss, tell me, if someone does something bad, can they ever turn back?"

Cang Lifeng's heart sank. He had heard those words before. Old Li had said them once, at the entrance of the workers' shed, that night when he was squatting on a cement pipe smoking, and asked him, "When you're alive, is it true that no matter what you choose, it's wrong?"

"Yes," Cang Lifeng said. "It's never too late to turn back."

Old Li's body trembled violently. He raised his head and looked at Cang Lifeng. In his eyes, there were tears, fear, despair, and something about to be crushed, like someone on the verge of death.

"Boss, I'm so sorry!" His voice trembled, like a withered leaf in the wind.

Then he knelt down.

With a loud "bang," his knee slammed into the ground, the sound particularly jarring in the quiet shed.

Cang Lifeng reached out to help him, but Old Li clung tightly to the ground, refusing to get up. His forehead was pressed against the cold floor, his shoulders heaving violently, and he sobbed:

"It was...it was me...boss...it was me...that batch of ingredients...I poured it in...that packet of powdered sugar...I poured it in myself..."

His voice was broken and intermittent, as if it were being forced out of his throat.

Cang Lifeng's hand froze in mid-air. For a moment, his mind went blank. Then, everything rushed to his mind—Xiao Zhang's mangled leg when he was carried out, his brother's pale face, the glaring headlines in the newspaper… His fist clenched tightly, his knuckles cracking. He wanted to pull the man kneeling on the ground up, wanted to ask him why he did this, wanted to punch him.

But then he noticed Old Li's gray hair. It was a mess, streaked with white strands, glaringly bright under the streetlight. He remembered Old Li's patience when teaching him to identify materials; he remembered the hardship Old Li endured raising two children alone after his wife's early death…

His fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Finally, his hand slowly relaxed.

"Xiao Jun... Xiao Jun was arrested by them... They set him up to gamble, and he lost... 25,000... They held a knife to his neck and took pictures to show me... They said... if I didn't do as they said, they would... they would chop off his fingers... They gave me a bag of powdered sugar, and I... I poured it into the blender."

Old Li's cries grew louder and louder, until he could no longer suppress them. He banged his forehead against the ground with a thud, each thud feeling like a blow to Cang Lifeng's heart.

"Boss... I'm sorry... I'm sorry Zhang... I'm sorry Tianci... I'm not human... I'm an animal..."

Cang Lifeng stood there, motionless. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. Then he squatted down and helped Old Li up from the ground.

"Uncle Li, where's Xiaojun?"

Old Li looked up, his face covered in tears: "I...I don't know either..."

"Uncle Li," Cang Lifeng pressed his shoulder, looked into his eyes, and asked, "Do you trust me?"

Old Li stood there, stunned.

"Trust me, and tell me everything. Who told you to do it? When? Where did you meet them? What did you say? Tell me everything."

Old Li looked into his eyes. There was no anger, no contempt in those eyes, only something that made you want to rely on him.

He nodded. Then he began to talk—about the night Xiaojun disappeared, about the phone call, about the meeting at the teahouse, about the photos Song Jiawen showed him, about the rusty pair of pliers.

When Lao Li said, "They said that if there's a problem with the concrete, Cang Lifeng is finished," Cang Lifeng's hand clenched tightly. He was right—this wasn't aimed at Xiao Zhang, nor at the construction site, but at him. It was meant to destroy him, to destroy the Cang family.

"Uncle Li, what we need to do now is to report the case to the police immediately."

Old Li's face turned pale: "Boss, Xiao Jun is still in their hands..."

"Don't be afraid, Xiaojun's life isn't in danger. They're just using him to blackmail you into doing things. If this gets exposed, it'll just be a kidnapping and extortion case for them. But if they kill Xiaojun, it'll be a life-or-death case, a completely different matter. They wouldn't dare."

Old Li's lips trembled; he wanted to say something, but couldn't utter a single word.

"Uncle Li," Cang Lifeng squatted down, looking into his eyes, "Think about it, what do they want? They want to ruin my reputation, not take anyone's life. Xiao Jun is a card in their hand, and they won't tear it up before it's played. Now that you've turned back, this card is useless to them. They won't take a life for a useless card."

Old Li stood there, tears still on his face, but the fear in his eyes seemed to have faded a little.

He paused, then said solemnly, "Uncle Li, trust me. This time, we're on the right path."

Old Li stared at him for a long time. Then he stood up, wiped the tears from his face, and nodded: "Okay. Boss, I'll listen to you."

"I'll report this case. If you go to the police station, they might have someone watching you, which could make things worse. If I go, they won't be able to see you."

Cang Lifeng escorted him to the entrance of the workers' shed. Old Li took a few steps, then stopped and turned back. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only bowed deeply, turned around, and with his back hunched, walked step by step into the night.

Cang Lifeng stood there, watching the figure disappear. Then he turned around and strode towards the public phone at the construction site entrance.

He picked up the receiver and dialed the police station's number first.