Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The midterm exam report card has been posted on the back wall of the classroom for three days now, and Cang Tianci's name is still at the very bottom.

When he came in last place in the first monthly exam, his classmates thought it was just a temporary slip-up. The second and third times, everyone's attitudes gradually changed. By the midterm exam, when the name "Cang Tianci" was still next to last place, no one was as surprised as they had the first time. When classmates walked past Cang Tianci, their eyes no longer lingered. Last place, after seeing it so many times, you get used to it. Habit is something more terrifying than indifference. Indifference at least has an attitude; habit is nothing, like air, like non-existence.

After class, Xu Wenyuan called him to his office.

"Tianci, sit down." Xu Wenyuan pointed to the chair opposite him and looked calmly at Cang Tianci. "In this midterm exam, your total score improved by more than ten points compared to the monthly exam, but you are still ranked last."

He put his glasses back on and looked at Cang Tianci.

Do you know why?

"Others are progressing faster than me," Cang Tianci said.

Xu Wenyuan nodded, then shook his head. "Yes and no. You've missed a month and a half of classes and are still slowly catching up. But others haven't missed any classes, and they're also moving forward. You're chasing, and they're running too. To catch up with them, you'll have to spend more time and learn faster than them. And yet, you're still spending a lot of time on martial arts training."

He paused for a moment, as if considering his words.

"Tianci, have you ever considered that some paths aren't because you haven't tried hard enough, but because the path itself isn't right for you?"

Cang Tianci listened with his head down, without saying a word.

"There are countless paths in life, but only one is truly right for you. Only by choosing the right one does your effort have meaning. Your previous injury and coma were a lesson. I thought you would learn from it, but I never expected..."

He paused, then tapped his fingers lightly on the table twice, very slowly, as if he were weighing whether he should say what he was about to say.

"Tianci, facts have proven that the path of wanting to be number one in both academics and martial arts is a dead end. A person's energy is limited; if you split it in two, neither half will be enough. The development prospects of martial arts are limited. No matter how well you train, what can you do in the future? Become a coach? Become an actor? Open a martial arts school? These paths are not impossible, but compared to the paths you can take by studying academics, they are too narrow."

"If you excel in academics, you can go to university, pursue graduate studies, study abroad, do scientific research, enter politics, or go into business. Your future holds countless possibilities; the world is vast. But martial arts? How long can a gold medal on the ring remain?"

He stopped. The office suddenly became very quiet. So quiet that you could hear the sound of reading aloud coming from a classroom at the other end of the corridor.

Xu Wenyuan took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his sleeve. The movement was slow, as if he were giving himself something to do. He put his glasses back on, looked at Tianci, and said in a heavy tone, "Tianci, I'll give you one last piece of advice: the path that suits you isn't martial arts, it's culture. You need to make the right choice."

Cang Tianci remained silent for a long time. The office window was open, and the wind blew in, rustling the exam papers spread out on the desk. In the distance, the whistle of a physical education class blew from the playground, sharp and distant.

"Teacher Xu, let me think about it," he said.

Xu Wenyuan looked at him and sighed.

Cang Tianci walked out of the office. He didn't go back to the classroom, but suddenly felt a strong urge to go to the rooftop. He walked to the end of the corridor, went up the stairs, and came to the iron door leading to the rooftop. He pushed the iron door open. The iron door was rusty, making a harsh creaking sound.

The rooftop was deserted. The wind was strong, whipping his collar into the air. He walked to the railing and looked out at the distant playground, the school building, and the hazy skyline of the county town.

Teacher Xu's words still echoed in my ears.

"The path that suits you is not martial arts, but culture."

"It's a dead end if both the civil and military officials want to be number one."

"You need to make the right choice."

He closed his eyes. The wind whistled past his ears, carrying a faint scent of grass and trees. This wind reminded him of the wind on Eagle Cliff, and of his master.

The master said, "The roads you've been on are all roads drawn for you by others."

The master said, "Have you ever asked yourself—where are you going?"

He opened his eyes, gazed into the distance, and murmured, "Where am I going?"

He suddenly realized that he still had no answer to his master's question in the dream.

"Where exactly is my path?" he asked himself.

"The subjects in school—Chinese, math, English, physics, and chemistry—were paths drawn for him by others. He studied every subject desperately, whether he liked it or not, whether he was good at it or not, he forced himself to learn them all. Why? Because everyone else was walking this path. Because everyone told him: this path is right, you must take it. But no one ever asked him—do you want to take it? Does this path lead to the place you want to go?"

He recalled his initial motivation for learning martial arts. It wasn't to win gold medals, to become a coach, or to get ahead; it was to avoid being bullied, to protect—to protect his mother, his father, Xiaohua, and all those he cherished. Later, the Cang family rose from the ashes, becoming a family of heroes. Those who had bullied them fell one by one.

The Cang family no longer needs his protection. So what is he still fighting for?

He lowered his head and looked at his hands. Calluses from practicing martial arts were still on those hands. These hands had fought in the arena, held a pen, helped Lin Wanqing, and received his master's pocket watch.

He suddenly asked himself: If I set aside everyone's expectations, set aside all the "shoulds" and "musts", what kind of person do I want to become?

This question was like a pebble thrown into the chaotic lake in his heart.

Ripples spread out.

He thought of his master. His master had a life full of hardships, burdened with a blood feud, yet he was not consumed by hatred. For twenty years, he sat in his thatched hut at Eagle Cliff, waiting for a young man to kneel before him. His master passed on all his knowledge to him, and then said, "Your worldly ties are severed." His master did not walk the path of "success," but the path of "enlightenment."

He thought of the Tao Te Ching. Those words he had recited countless times, yet never truly understood.

"The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao."

"The highest good is like water, which benefits all things without striving."

"By acting without acting, nothing will be left ungoverned."

He used to memorize these things for his master, because his master said they would be very useful. But at the time, he didn't understand what their use was. Now he understands them somewhat.

The Way is not knowledge. The Way is the path. It is your own path. It is not drawn by others, but walked by yourself. The Hidden Dragon Technique that his master taught him is the Way; the Three-Body Stance that Coach Chen taught him is the Way; the way his mother taught him to write the character "人" (person) under the oil lamp is also the Way. The Way is not in books, but in every breath, in every standing posture, and in every choice.

He studied literature not for high scores, rankings, or getting into a good university, but to internalize the "Tao" his master spoke of and to truly understand the words of the *Tao Te Ching*. He studied martial arts not to win fights or medals, but to internalize the stances and cultivate inner strength. Literature and martial arts are not two separate paths, but two legs of the same path. Literature illuminates reason, while martial arts embodies the Tao. With clear reason, the mind is not confused; with proper conduct, the Tao is not in vain. Walking on two legs allows one to walk steadily and go far.

All those years of hard study, rigorous training, injuries, comas, amnesia, and finishing last... these weren't punishments for "choosing the wrong path." They were tempering, the "worldly training ground" his master spoke of. In this training ground, he gradually saw himself clearly, peeling away the labels others had attached to him—"stutterer," "poor student," "top scholar in both literature and martial arts," "brother of a hero"... peeling them off one by one until, in the end, what remained was his true self.

He suddenly felt a weight lift from his heart.

It's not giving up, it's letting go.

I've grasped the principle, but the path is right under my feet. How exactly should I walk it?

He leaned against the railing, watching the group of boys running on the playground in the distance. They chased a ball from one end to the other, cheering in waves. He remembered that he had once been like that too—chasing scores, chasing rankings, chasing the approval of others. Running until he was breathless, running until he forgot why he was running at all.

"Last place." He murmured those four words.

Strangely, this time when I read it aloud, I didn't feel much pain. It was more like reading a nickname, a nickname that belonged to someone else and had nothing to do with me.

He recalled his master's words: "Name is the guest of reality." Name is the guest, reality is the host. Grades are names, rankings are names, and even being called "last place" by others is a name. He used to care too much about these guests, treating them as hosts. Now he knew—his true self could not be defined by these names. His "reality" was in his dantian, in the ticking of his pocket watch, and in the heat that rose from the soles of his feet every time he practiced standing meditation.

So what if we're last?

It's not that I don't care. It's that I no longer measure myself by other people's standards. Teacher Xu used the "college entrance exam" standard to measure him, saying that the path of martial arts was too narrow. But his master used the "enlightenment" standard to measure him, saying that the mortal world is a place of enlightenment. Different standards result in different measurements.

Whose ruler should he use?

A gust of wind blew from afar, making his collar flutter. He suddenly smiled. The answer was clear—his own.

So what's the next step?

There are two paths ahead.

One suggestion, as Teacher Xu said, is: put aside martial arts and focus on academics. Take the high school entrance exam, the university entrance exam, and walk the path that countless people have walked and proven to be "bright." On this path, he no longer needs to juggle two things, no longer needs to sleep only four or five hours a day, and no longer needs to stand in class to avoid falling asleep. He can slowly catch up on his studies and gradually regain his former position.

The other path was his own: to continue practicing martial arts while not giving up on his studies. He wouldn't go to a regular high school; instead, he would try to get into the provincial sports school. Once he entered the provincial sports school, he could have more time to read the books he liked and do the things he enjoyed.

Which of these two paths is "correct"?

Teacher Xu is right. Taking the high school and university entrance exams does indeed open up broader career paths. Becoming a coach or an actor does indeed narrower career options.

However, his memory hasn't returned. In his current state, how far could he rank among the top students in a regular high school? Even if he did get in and entered a good university, then what? Just for a good job in the future?

That's not what he wanted.

What he wanted was a life like his master's. He wanted to master the Hidden Dragon Technique to its deepest level, refine the Finger Mystery Hand to its finest, and live every word of the Tao Te Ching as his own breath. He wanted to enter the Tao through martial arts and the Tao through literature, with both walking the same path.

This path wasn't in Teacher Xu's blueprint, but it was in his heart.

He recalled what Zhou Zhenhua had said: "The provincial sports school has lower academic requirements, but with your foundation, it shouldn't be a problem. As long as you recover physically and pass the professional test, you should have no problem taking the provincial sports school entrance exam next year."

That's a viable path.

It's not settling for second best; it's making a proactive choice. It's choosing to invest time and energy in what you truly love and want to delve into.

He didn't want to be the model of someone who was "both scholarly and martial," placed on a pedestal for people to admire. He wanted to be a practitioner who was "both scholarly and martial."

But what will others think of him if he takes this path?

He knew that giving up on high school and university to choose the provincial sports school would disappoint some people. Teacher Xu would be disappointed, feeling he had "wasted" his academic talent. His classmates wouldn't understand, thinking he had "fallen from grace," dropping from first in the county to last, and now not even wanting to take the high school entrance exam. Wang Yaowu would laugh, Zhao Xiaohu would be sarcastic. Even the villagers would say he was "a pity."

He could hear all of these sounds.

But he was no longer afraid.

Because he knows that what others think is their business. How he lives is his own business.

He recalled what his senior brother Chen Gang had said that day—"Some things aren't simply black and white." He hadn't fully understood then. Now he did. Principal Zhou's collaboration with Zhao Dabiao was Principal Zhou's choice. Senior brother Chen Gang's decision to stay at the martial arts school was Senior Brother Chen Gang's choice. They had their own difficulties, their own paths. He didn't need to make choices for them, nor did he need to negate them simply because they chose a different path. Similarly, he didn't need anyone else's approval to choose his own path.

He recalled the words from the Tao Te Ching: "He who is content is rich; he who perseveres is determined." Contentment is not about giving up; it's about knowing what you truly want. Perseverance is not about reckless action; it's about moving step by step in that direction, without looking back or stopping.

……

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The wind blew from afar, carrying the smell of dust from the playground and the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms. He let himself sink into that long-lost tranquility, and the Hidden Dragon Technique slowly circulated within his body.

He had assumed that his dantian was still dry.

But as he calmed down, he sensed something.

It wasn't air. It wasn't heat. It was something deeper—like a drop of water seeping from the very bottom of a dry well. It wasn't drawn out by him; it seeped out on its own. It was as if the well knew he was no longer driving it with a whip. It willingly let a drop emerge.

That drop of water, cool and light, landed on the cracked bottom of the well and was instantly absorbed. But the bottom of the well was no longer completely dry. The trace left by that drop of water was damp and faint, like the first footprints on snow.

He knew the drop of water would disappear. It might dry up again tomorrow. But there was no rush. It had come. It would come again.

He opened his eyes and looked into the distance. On the horizon, a crack appeared in the clouds, and sunlight streamed through, falling briefly on a rooftop somewhere in the county town, then dimming again. But he saw that light.

He turned around, pushed open the iron gate to the rooftop, and walked down the stairs.

Footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, one after another, neither hurried nor stopping.