Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

August 31st, early morning.

The morning mist hadn't yet dissipated over Xiqiao Village. Cang Tianci stood at the courtyard gate, carrying his luggage. Su Yumei straightened his collar, her fingers pausing on his shoulder as if she wanted to say something, but ultimately only patted him lightly twice. Cang Zhenye stood inside the threshold, gazing intently at his youngest son, whose fate had been so tumultuous, and simply said, "Call me when you arrive."

Cang Tianci nodded. He turned and strode towards the village entrance. There, he could find a bus bound for Futian. Soon, he arrived in Futian and boarded a bus heading towards Yoshino Prefecture.

The bus was packed with people, mostly young faces. School was about to start, and these people, like him, were probably going to study in Ji County.

Cang Tianci managed to snag a window seat this time. He liked window seats because he could enjoy the scenery outside. And the constantly flashing scenery outside the window would make his thoughts exceptionally active.

The car started, and Cang Tianci tried to block out the surrounding noise, channeling the Hidden Dragon Technique to sense the people around him. However, he found he could no longer quickly enter a meditative state in such a noisy environment. His perception had also significantly decreased. Previously, simply channeling the Hidden Dragon Technique allowed him to quickly enter a meditative state and sense the aura of living beings within ten meters. Now, however, he could only vaguely sense the aura of the person sitting next to him. Since regaining his memories, he had been diligently cultivating the Hidden Dragon Technique and the Finger Profound Hand, but with little progress. The talent his master had once praised seemed to have left his body.

He sighed inwardly, forced to abandon the cultivation of the Hidden Dragon Technique, and began to let his mind wander.

He couldn't help but think of Lin Wanqing, the sweet time they had spent together day and night for the past month, and the scene of escorting Lin Wanqing home from Xiqiao Village three days ago.

That day, he took Lin Wanqing home. Lin Wanqing's father, Lin Jianmin, happened to be home. In his imagination, Lin Jianmin was still that slovenly, drunken man with a scruffy beard. However, the reality was a huge surprise. The Lin Jianmin he saw that day was neatly dressed, very friendly, and earnestly invited him to stay for lunch. He even said that not eating lunch would be disrespectful. Not wanting to leave the impression of looking down on him, Cang Tianci agreed to stay for lunch.

During the meal, he learned that Lin Jianmin's transformation was mainly due to the influence of teacher Fang Wenhui.

Since Teacher Fang recognized Lin Wanqing as her goddaughter, she has visited Lin Wanqing's home more often, and naturally, she has met and talked with Lin Jianmin more frequently as well.

Days passed. Lin Jianmin gradually changed. He drank less and talked more. He started learning to cook and tidy up the house, and occasionally he would ask Wanqing about school.

With Teacher Fang's repeated guidance, Lin Wanqing gradually let go of her resentment towards her father. The relationship between father and daughter improved day by day.

The meal lasted a long time. Lin Jianmin, unusually, didn't drink, but kept piling food into Tianci's bowl. When Tianci left, Lin Jianmin saw him to the door, held his hand, and said, "Tianci, please take care of Wanqing at school." Tianci nodded. He turned to look at Lin Wanqing; she stood in the doorway, sunlight streaming in from behind, bathing her in a pale golden glow. She didn't speak, but simply smiled slightly at him.

The bus jolted, pulling him back to reality. The fields outside the window had transformed into the streets of the county town. The bus stopped, and he slung his bag over his shoulder and got off.

He arrived at the entrance of the sports school. Grandpa Geng was sitting at the gate reading a newspaper, his reading glasses perched on his nose. Hearing footsteps, he looked up, paused for a moment, then jumped up and exclaimed, "Tianci!"

He strode out of the gatehouse, grabbed Tianci's arm, and looked him up and down, his voice trembling slightly: "You've lost weight, you've lost weight. I've heard about what happened to you, it really scared me."

Seeing Grandpa Geng like this, he recalled the beam of light from the flashlight in the dark alley, and the plaster Grandpa Geng had placed in his hand. His eyes welled up with tears, and he said, "Grandpa Geng, thank you!"

"Son, don't thank me. Just be careful next time, don't push yourself like that. Your health is the most important thing."

After saying goodbye to Grandpa Geng, Tianci first went to his dormitory to put away his luggage, and then went to Zhou Zhenhua's office.

Zhou Zhenhua was standing by the window making a phone call when he saw him. He laughed into the phone and said, "Lifeng, speak of the devil and he appears. Your brother is here. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him this time." Then he hung up the phone.

He walked over, stared at Tianci for a few seconds, then reached out and patted him hard on the shoulder, saying, "Good lad, you're finally done. You scared us to death."

"Principal Zhou, I'm sorry to have worried you."

Zhou Zhenhua waved his hand, gesturing for him to sit down. He himself sat behind the desk, carefully examined Cang Tianci again, and asked, "Tianci, tell me, how's your recovery going?"

Cang Tianci gave a brief account of his physical condition.

After listening, Zhou Zhenhua remained silent for a few seconds, then tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.

"So, your internal injuries haven't fully healed, and your memory isn't what it used to be?"

"Hmm." Cang Tianci nodded. "I remember things much slower than before, and I forget them quickly too. My progress in the Hidden Dragon Technique is also very slow, and my perception is not as good as before."

Zhou Zhenhua leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if deep in thought. After a while, he straightened up, took a folded piece of paper from the drawer, unfolded it, and pushed it in front of Tianci.

It was a special recruitment brochure for a provincial sports school, with several lines circled in red: minimum score for academic subjects, professional test subjects, and application deadline.

"Tianci, let me tell you the truth," Zhou Zhenhua lowered his voice, "Given your current physical condition, continuing to fight in Sanda is too risky. Every punch and kick in the ring is no joke. If you take a few more serious blows to your internal injuries, the consequences will be unimaginable."

Cang Tianci remained silent, his gaze fixed on the document.

"A new coach has arrived at the sports school, surnamed Chen, Chen Xuhua. He graduated from the provincial sports academy, and he's very good at routines. He won a bronze medal in the National Wushu Routine Competition." Zhou Zhenhua paused. "You learned from your older brother when you were young, so you have a good foundation. Your physique and appearance are suitable for practicing routines. Wushu is not only about fighting, but also about looking good. Sanda is Sanda, and routines are routines. Both paths are paths."

Cang Tianci didn't speak. He lowered his head, looking at his hands. Calluses from his Sanda (Chinese kickboxing) training lingered on them, and his right ring finger was slightly crooked. He remembered those days in the ring—the blinding lights, the roars of the audience like a tidal wave, his fists striking his opponents, and the blows he received. He had once thought he would keep fighting, until the national championships, until the national team, until he stood on the highest podium. But when he coughed up that mouthful of blood, he knew that some paths were no longer viable. It wasn't that he didn't want to continue, but his body wouldn't allow it.

He recalled his master's guidance in his dream. Those ropes were ones he himself had tied himself. Wasn't his attachment to the past also another rope? Loosening it wasn't forgetting, it was letting go.

"The Way follows nature." He murmured these four words to himself.

"Okay," he said.

Zhou Zhenhua looked at him, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes—gratification, heartache, and a hint of inexplicable guilt. He stood up, walked to Tianci, and gently patted Tianci's shoulder, saying, "Okay. Come on, I'll take you to see Coach Chen."

Chen Xuhua's office was on the first floor of the teaching building, and the door was open. He was standing by the window stretching his legs, one leg resting on the windowsill, his body leaning forward, his posture as perfect as a textbook example. Hearing a knock, he pulled his leg back and turned around. It was a young man in his late twenties, wearing a black tracksuit, with short hair, a handsome face, but a sharp look in his eyes.

"Coach Chen, this is a gift from heaven. I'll be training with you from now on."

Chen Xuhua extended his hand, and Cang Tianci also extended his hand. It was a pair of hands softer than he had imagined, with thin knuckles and no calluses on the palms—the hands of someone who practiced martial arts routines.

"Cang Tianci, I've heard so much about you. Provincial Sanda champion, you're skilled in both martial arts and academics. Principal Zhou speaks highly of you. I hope you can strive for first place in your future routines practice as well."

Tianci's heart skipped a beat when he heard this.

Zhou Zhenhua chimed in, "Xiao Chen, Tianci has only recently recovered, so don't put too much pressure on him. Let him develop naturally. This child doesn't need anyone to push him."

Chen Xuhua quickly corrected himself, "Yes, Principal Zhou, I understand."

After leaving Chen Xuhua's office, Zhou Zhenhua accompanied him to the edge of the playground. The setting sun was shining from the west, turning the entire playground golden.

"Principal Zhou," Tianci suddenly spoke up, "Where did Senior Brother Chen Gang and the others go? I haven't seen them."

Zhou Zhenhua glanced at him, took out a photo from his pocket, and handed it over. The photo showed a construction site fence with a rendering printed on it—several school buildings, a playground, and a sign at the entrance that read "Southern Shaolin Martial Arts School".

"I opened this business with a disciple from Shaolin Temple, and we'll be recruiting students in September. Chen Gang went to a martial arts school to help me manage it and is also the head coach of Sanda (Chinese kickboxing). Wu Bin got into the provincial sports school. Li Qiang missed the cutoff by a few points and also went to a martial arts school to become a coach."

Tianci took the photo, looked at the words, and felt a warmth in his heart, followed by a sinking feeling. Senior Chen Gang finally had a place to go, Wu Bin had been admitted to the provincial sports school, and Li Qiang also had a place to stay. Those who had parted ways had each found new paths.

He handed the photo back without saying a word.

"Tianci, after you won the provincial championship, you were selected for the provincial training team. But after your injury, you were replaced on the list. However, I've inquired with the provincial sports school, and your academic score is high enough. If you apply for special admission, your score can be lowered. As long as you recover and pass the professional test, you'll have no problem taking the provincial sports school entrance exam next year."

Cang Tianci nodded and hummed in agreement.

He stood there, watching the freshmen running on the playground, their shadows stretched long by the setting sun. His pocket watch ticked on his chest. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

He recalled his master's words: "Act without acting, and nothing will be left undone." It doesn't mean doing nothing, but rather refraining from forcing or acting recklessly. Sanda (Chinese kickboxing) is about breaking down, while forms are about establishing. His early career was all about "breaking down"—breaking Wang Yaowu's bullying, breaking Zhang Jingsong's prejudice, breaking Zhao Xiaohu's framing, and pushing his own limits. In those years, he was like a knife, its blade pointed at the world, and also at himself. Now, it's time to "establish."

He turned and walked towards the dormitory. His steps were neither hurried nor halting.