Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

At nine o'clock in the evening, Su Yumei went to help Cang Tianci go to bed. Cang Zhenye and his son Cang Xiangyang sat facing each other in the main room.

"Xiangyang, your grandfather talked to me the other day. He hopes you will inherit the Cang family's ancestral craft of cultural relic appraisal and restoration. He said that among your generation, you are the most suitable," Cang Zhenye said.

"Your grandfather told you about your great-grandfather's affairs at Cangyun Mountain last year on the eve of the Lunar New Year. He appraised cultural relics for the Japanese, secretly wrote down the list, and fled south with his whole family... You know all of this, right?"

Cang Xiangyang nodded.

Cang Zhenye paused for a moment and said, "But what you don't know is that your great-grandfather passed down more than just that copper coin. He also passed down a craft."

"Back then, we were labeled as 'traitors' and dared not expose the craftsmanship of the Cang family. So your grandfather buried that package underground for forty-eight years. He dared not open it, dared not let anyone know. During those years, Wang Zhenkun was watching our family, and your grandfather was afraid of being exposed, so he didn't even dare to mention it."

"But he passed on his skills to your second uncle in other ways. Not in the complete appraisal and restoration, but in the essence of wood carving. Your second uncle's steady hand, accurate eyes, and calm mind when carving all came from your grandfather. Your second uncle himself didn't know it. He always thought he was learning wood carving. It wasn't until last year on the eve of the Lunar New Year that those two bullets pierced our family's secret. Your grandfather dug out that package, and that's when he found out."

Cang Zhenye tapped the tobacco pipe on the sole of his shoe. Ashes fell to the ground, a dark red ember flickered briefly, and then went out.

"The things your great-grandfather passed down are in that box: manuscripts, tools, seals. Your second uncle learned them. Now his eyesight is failing. This craft must be passed down."

He paused for a moment, looked at Xiangyang, and said, "Your grandfather said you're suitable."

Cang Xiangyang remained silent.

He remembered what his older brother had told him in Nancheng: "Xiangyang, once you've finished your work there, come work for our company, and we brothers will work together."

However, the cause of Zhongzhi Construction is the eldest brother's. He cannot live in the eldest brother's shadow forever. He also wants to live his own life.

But where is his life? In the noise of factory machines? In the cement dust of construction sites? He knew he could never do the kind of spectacular things his older brother did. He didn't like noisy places. He preferred quiet. He loved to draw since he was a child. As a child, he would lie on the doorstep, drawing on the ground with charcoal. He would draw the jujube tree in the yard, the foxtail grass on the wall, and the string of red peppers under the eaves. Later, his studies became more demanding, and he had more work in the fields, so he stopped drawing. He thought he had forgotten. But sometimes, when his hands were idle, his fingers would draw on the ground.

He looked down at his hands.

Cang Zhenye stood up, walked to the corner, and took out a stack of things from the old box. He walked back and placed them in front of Cang Xiangyang.

"Yunshan Appraisal, Twelve Volumes". The pages are yellowed, the edges are worn, and it has been rebound with thread.

A bronze seal. It is square, with a crouching beast as the knob, and the inscription reads "Quiet observation brings contentment".

Cang Zhenye said, "This is a copy made by your second uncle. The original manuscript was so brittle that it couldn't be turned. Your second uncle spent three months copying it. He wrote a line on the title page."

Cang Xiangyang turned to the first page.

"Cang Huaibi passed it on to Cang Bingwen, Cang Bingwen passed it on to Cang Yunshan, Cang Yunshan passed it on to Cang Houde, and Cang Houde passed it on to Cang Yuanzhi. Five generations, one hundred and forty years. This art has never been lost."

He read it word by word. When he finished, he closed the box and held the seal in his palm. It was cool.

He remembered his childhood, how his grandfather's room was always locked. He would peek through the crack in the door and see jars and pots on the shelves. Once, his grandfather forgot to lock it, and he sneaked in, taking a bronze lion with a coin in its mouth. His grandfather discovered him, grabbed him by the ear, dragged him out, and scolded him for the entire duration of a meal. At that time, he didn't understand why his grandfather guarded that room more closely than his own life.

He found out later.

Copper coins. Eagle Cliff. The two bullets on the eve of the Lunar New Year.

He gripped the seal even tighter.

He thought of his elder brother's invitation again. He knew his brother meant it. He didn't want to disappoint him. He would definitely explain things to his brother when he returned. He knew his brother wouldn't stop him.

He looked up and recounted what his older brother had told him, finally saying, "Dad, I'll go back and explain to my brother. I believe he'll support me. I'll come back after I finish this month's work at the factory and get my wages."

Cang Zhenye nodded and said emotionally, "Xiangyang, you finally learned a skill in the big city and established yourself. Now you have to go back to this poor village. It's really unfair to you!"

"Dad, it's nothing, it was my choice too," Cang Xiangyang comforted him.

The next morning, Cang Xiangyang was to return to Nancheng.

He stood at the courtyard gate, carrying his bag. Tianci sat on the wood-splitting stool in the yard, head down, pocket watch pressed to his ear. Cang Xiangyang walked over, squatted down, and looked at his younger brother's face.

"Tianci, I'm leaving."

Tianci raised his head. His gaze fell on his face, lingered for a few moments, and then moved away.

Cang Xiangyang squatted there, not standing up immediately. He looked at the pocket watch in Tianci's hand—the watch chain dangled from between his fingers, swaying back and forth. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. He reached out and picked a blade of grass off his younger brother's collar.

Then he stood up, turned around, and walked towards the courtyard gate.

"Xiangyang." Su Yumei's voice came from behind.

He stopped. Su Yumei chased after him from the kitchen, holding a cloth bag in her hand, and stuffed it into his. The bag was warm.

"Eat on the way."

Cang Xiangyang took the cloth bag, nodded, and stepped out of the courtyard gate.

The rice paddies on both sides of the dirt road had just been planted, the water reflecting the morning light, shimmering brightly. He walked past the pond. The pond was still the same pond, its surface calm, reflecting the sky. He remembered that summer when Wang Yaowu pushed Tianci into the water, and it was Wang Xiuzhu who pulled him out with a bamboo rake. Back then, Tianci was still small, as thin as a bean sprout. Now he was grown up, lying on the fighting platform and then standing up again, walking back to Xiqiao Village, sitting on the wood-splitting block listening to his pocket watch. He didn't remember that pond anymore.

Cang Xiangyang stood by the pond for a while, then continued walking.

As he reached the village entrance, he looked back.

The old locust tree is still there. The door to Grandpa's room is still locked.

He turned and walked along the dirt road. The morning light stretched his shadow long, trailing it into the dust.

He waited by the roadside for a while. The shuttle bus arrived.

The carriage wasn't crowded, so he found a window seat and sat down. He placed his bag on his lap. The train started moving, and the rice paddies, hills, and villages outside the window rushed past. He reached into his bag and touched the bronze seal. It was cool. He took it out and held it in his palm. The inscription, "Quiet Observation Brings Contentment," pressed against his hand.

He thought of his grandfather's locked room, the veins on his second uncle's hands as he carved, and the words on the title page: "Five generations, one hundred and forty years." He was nineteen years old this year. When he returned, he would be the sixth generation.

The bus stopped in Futian Township. Some people got on, some got off. He saw an old man leading a child past the window. The child pointed to a tree by the roadside and said something, and the old man bent down to listen. He thought of his grandfather. His grandfather had brought this craft from Beiping to Xiqiao Village, buried it for forty-eight years, and then passed it on to his second uncle. Now it was his turn. He didn't know if he could learn it. But the copper seal in his palm had already warmed up.

It was already afternoon when the bus arrived in Nancheng. He got off, and a crowd surged towards him at the station. Carrying his bag, he walked into the throng. He needed to find his older brother to explain things first, and then return to the factory to finish his work for the month.