Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

June 28, 1994, Nancheng First People's Hospital.

Su Yumei has been sitting by the bedside for a month.

Tianci's fingers were still cold.

She held it every day, trying to warm it up. Sometimes she felt it was a little warm, sometimes she felt it was just her body heat transferring heat, an illusion. But she still held it. She didn't know what else she could do besides hold it.

This day was no different from the past thirty-odd days.

Su Yumei held Tianci's hand, her thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. That hand was much bigger than she remembered—no longer the thin little hand from Xiqiao Village, with dirt always under its fingernails. It had become bony and with thin calluses on its fingertips; it was a hand that had practiced martial arts, a hand that had held a pen, a hand that had grown up.

But it's cold.

"Tianci, let me tell you a story," she said softly.

She talked every day. She talked about the old locust tree in Xiqiao Village, the bottom of the cliff in Yezhugou, the kerosene lamp, and the character "人" (person) on the newspaper. She didn't know if he could hear her, but she still talked. Because she didn't know what else to do but talk.

"When you were three years old, you couldn't say 'daddy' or 'mommy' yet. Everyone in the village said that the Cang family had given birth to a mute boy." Her voice was very soft, as if she was afraid of waking him, or as if she was afraid of not waking him. "I didn't believe it. Every night I lit the oil lamp, spread the newspaper on the table, held your little hand, and taught you one word at a time."

Her fingers gently traced lines on the back of Tianci's hand, a left-falling stroke and a right-falling stroke.

"The Chinese character for 'person' is composed of two strokes, one upright and the other straight, representing standing tall and firm. To be a good person, one must have strong bones and a righteous heart."

She drew it again and again. Those nights, the oil lamp light shone on your face, flickering. You learned slowly; you wrote the character for "person" hundreds of times before you could write it correctly. But you wouldn't stop. Your eyes were so bright, as if you knew you would spend a lifetime writing this character.

She paused, her finger still resting on the end of the stroke.

"Later you learned to call me 'Mother.' Later you learned 'Heaven,' 'Earth,' 'Courage,' and 'Righteousness.' But what I remember most is the word 'person.' That was the first word you learned."

Her voice was very soft, as if she was afraid of waking him, or as if she was afraid of not waking him at all.

The monitor beeped regularly. It was the only stable thing in this ward.

Suddenly, the hand moved.

It was so light, so very light, like a feather falling to the ground. So light that Su Yumei thought it was her imagination.

She froze. She dared not move, dared not breathe, dared not even look down. She was afraid that if she looked, the feeling would vanish, and it would truly become an illusion.

Then that hand moved again.

This time it was even more obvious. Her fingers were slightly curled, as if searching for something, or as if trying to grasp something.

"A gift from heaven?" Her voice trembled.

Tianci opened his eyes.

Those were very dark, very deep eyes. Su Yumei had seen those eyes many times—in the pool of blood at the bottom of Wild Boar Gully, in front of old newspapers under the oil lamp, on the fighting stage at the temple fair, and every time he looked at her. She thought she knew everything about those eyes.

But she has never seen what it looks like now.

empty.

Like a dried-up well, like an empty house, like a shattered mirror—the fragments are still there, but they can no longer reflect a complete image.

"Heaven-sent... Heaven-sent!" Su Yumei grabbed his hand and pressed it against her face. "Look at your mother, look at your mother!"

Tianci looked at her. He was looking, but the way he looked at her was like looking at a stranger. He didn't recognize her, he didn't react, there was nothing about "Cang Tianci" about her.

His lips moved.

Su Yumei leaned down, put her ear close to his mouth, and held her breath.

He made a sound.

It was very light and hoarse, as if it had been squeezed up from a very deep place, bit by bit, with great difficulty.

"……who?"

That one word is like a knife.

Su Yumei stood frozen in place, her bent-over posture unchanged. The monitor continued to beep, one beep after another. Birds chirped outside the window, distant, as if from another world.

Her hand was still holding Tianci's hand. That hand was cold. It had moved just now. After moving, it asked a single word.

She slowly straightened up. The movement was slow, as if something unseen was pressing down on her. Tears were still streaming down her face, but she didn't wipe them away. She turned and walked towards the old suitcase in the corner. After a few steps, her legs buckled, and she grabbed the edge of the bed for support, standing there for a moment before continuing.

It was something Tianci had brought from Ji County; the zipper was broken and it was held together with a thin string. She squatted down and tried to untie the string. Her hands were trembling, and it took her several tries to finally get it open. She pulled out two items from inside.

A peach wood amulet for good luck. An old pocket watch.

She knew how important these two things were to Tianci.

She placed the amulet into Tianci's right palm and closed his fingers. The peach wood was cool, and the edges had been smoothed by touching it. She then placed the pocket watch into his left hand and pressed it against his ear.

Tick, tick, tick.

Tianci lowered his head, looking at the things in his palm. Two characters were engraved on the amulet, characters he didn't recognize. He turned it over; characters were engraved on the back as well. He didn't recognize those either. He didn't know why these two things were in his hands. He only knew that they were the only things he held in this unfamiliar room.

A ticking sound came from his palm, very light and steady, like someone's heartbeat. That sound made him feel... he couldn't quite describe the feeling. He just didn't loosen his grip.

Su Yumei looked at him. His eyes were empty and blank, as if he were looking at two things he had never seen before. But he was clenching his fists tightly.

"These two things are your most precious possessions." Her voice was soft. "I don't know if they will remind you of anything. But I think that if I put them in your hands, you might feel... less empty."

Tianci didn't answer. He just lay there, clutching the amulet and his pocket watch, listening to the ticking.

When the doctor arrived, he was still clutching those two items in his hand. The old doctor opened his eyelids, shone a flashlight on them, and had him do a few simple movements—raise his left hand, raise his right hand, and wiggle his toes. Tianci did them all, though slowly and with great effort.

After the examination, the old doctor straightened up and looked at Su Yumei.

"It's a good thing that he's awake. But just because he's awake doesn't mean he can remember anything."

Su Yumei's voice was very soft: "When will he remember?"

"It could be tomorrow, it could be a month from now, it could be a year from now, or it could be—" the old doctor didn't finish his sentence.

"He might never remember," Su Yumei said for him.

The old doctor didn't deny it. He glanced at the amulet and pocket watch in Tianci's hand and said, "Show him these things more often, talk to him more. The memory is gone, but the feelings are still there. As long as the feelings are there, there is hope."

After the doctor left, the ward fell silent. Tianci was awake, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. There was a lamp on the ceiling, but it wasn't lit. The amulet was in his right hand, and the pocket watch in his left. He didn't let go of them.

Su Yumei sat down by the bed and took one of his hands in her palm. His hand was still cold. But it had been moved. That was enough.

As evening fell, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. The door was pushed open, and Cang Xiangyang and Cang Xiaohua rushed in.

Cang Xiangyang received the call at the factory. He dropped what he was doing, didn't even change out of his work clothes, and ran all the way there. His hands were still covered in machine oil, his face was covered in sweat, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Cang Xiaohua followed behind him, running with a limp. Her leg was still the same; she would limp if she walked fast, but she ran faster than ever before.

Cang Xiangyang rushed to the bedside. He looked into his brother's eyes. Those eyes looked back at him, empty. Cang Xiangyang didn't speak. He turned around, walked to the window, his back to the bed, his shoulders trembling.

Cang Xiaohua knelt down beside the bed and gently took her younger brother's hand in hers. She didn't say anything. She just held it.

Tianci looked at her. He didn't know who she was. But he didn't pull his hand away.

Cang Lifeng arrived an hour later.

For that hour, Su Yumei sat by the bed, holding Tianci's other hand. Cang Xiangyang remained standing by the window, without turning around. Cang Xiaohua squatted by the bed; her legs went numb, so she shifted her position and squatted down again.

For that hour, Da Zhou and Lao Zhang stood at the entrance of the workers' shed on the construction site, smoking one cigarette after another. No one spoke. They only knew that Tianci had woken up; they knew nothing else. Lin Wei sat at her desk at the newspaper office, an unfinished manuscript spread out before her. She had already rewritten the first paragraph three times. Wang Lide sat at home, holding Nianfeng. Nianfeng was asleep; he hadn't put him in the cradle. He wanted to wait for a phone call.

During that hour, Cang Lifeng was on his way.

He had run all the way from the construction site. Sweat soaked the back of his shirt, his hair was a mess, and one shoelace was loose, swinging wildly at his feet as he ran. He ran across three streets, past the market, past the bus stop where he and Lin Wei had waited for the bus together. He didn't know how long he had run. He only knew that Tianci had woken up.

He bumped into the door frame as he rushed into the ward, but he didn't realize it.

"A gift from heaven."

He walked to the bedside, knelt down on one knee, and held his younger brother's hands in his own. The hand was much bigger and stronger than he remembered, but it was cold. He pressed the hand against his face, trying to warm it, just like when he was a child in Xiqiao Village, in the wind and snow, he would tuck his brother's hand into his bosom.

"Brother's here."

Tianci looked at him.

Cang Lifeng looked into his younger brother's eyes. He knew those eyes all too well—he'd seen them since childhood, from the muddy grounds of Xiqiao Village to the arena in Nancheng. He'd seen stubbornness, resentment, anger, determination, and light within them. Now, there was nothing in them.

"Tianci," his voice was hoarse and unlike his own, "I'm the eldest brother. Do you remember? When we were little, I carried you on my back, walking back step by step. You were clinging to my back, gasping for breath in pain, but you didn't cry once."

Tianci looked at him.

"Do you remember? At the temple fair, you were so small, rushing up with a stool leg in your hand. I told you to leave, but you wouldn't. You gritted your teeth and stood with me."

Tianci looked at him.

"Do you remember? The Nancheng Sports School didn't want you, saying your physique wasn't good enough. You didn't cry. You just clenched your fists and came with me to Jixian. In front of Master Zhou, you firmly said, 'Disciple remembers.'"

Tianci looked at him.

Cang Lifeng finished speaking.

It's quiet now.

Tianci looked at him. His eyes were still empty.

A very long time passed. So long that the light outside the window began to dim. So long that the beeping of the monitor sounded like a countdown. So long that Cang Xiaohua's legs, numb from squatting, had lost all feeling, but she didn't stand up. So long that Cang Xiangyang's shoulders stopped trembling, but he still didn't turn around.

Then Tianci's lips moved.

The sound was very soft and indistinct, like bubbles rising from the bottom of the water. No one could make out what it was.

Cang Lifeng lowered his head and brought his ear close to his mouth.

"……elder brother?"

The word was indistinct, like stones being moved piece by piece from a dried-up riverbed. But it was "brother".

Cang Lifeng didn't move. He remained in that position, head bowed, ear close to his younger brother's lips, as if waiting for the next word. But nothing came. Only that one word.

He slowly straightened up. He looked into his brother's eyes. Those eyes were still empty, no different from before. Tianci called out "Brother," but the way he looked at Cang Lifeng, just like the way he looked at Su Yumei, was empty. He merely uttered the sound. He didn't know what that sound meant.

Cang Lifeng held his younger brother's hand tightly. He pressed that hand against his forehead and lowered his head.

He didn't cry.

Tears welled up in Su Yumei's eyes. She covered her mouth to stop herself from crying out loud.

Cang Xiangyang suddenly turned around and rushed over from the window. Cang Xiaohua gripped Tianci's hand tightly, her nails almost digging into her palm.

"Brother's here." Cang Lifeng finally spoke, his voice hoarse and broken, as if forced out from his chest, but he didn't look up. He remained in that position, his forehead pressed against his younger brother's hand, as if waiting for that hand to warm up.

Tianci looked at him. Those eyes were still empty, devoid of anything. But he uttered that word.

He didn't know who the man kneeling by the bed was.

He didn't know who the woman holding his hand was.

He didn't know that the pocket watch had once been pressed against an old man's heart, lasting for decades. That old man, on Eagle Cliff, drank a cup of melted snow water, watched the retreating figure of a young boy, and waited for a very, very long time.

He didn't know that this woman, under the oil lamp, had once held his small hand and painstakingly written the character for "person." She wrote night after night, until calluses formed on her fingers, until the oil lamp was replenished again and again, until he finally uttered that cry—

"daughter."

He didn't know. He knew nothing. But he called out "Brother."

The pocket watch is still ticking. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.