Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

He woke up in the middle of the night.

From that dream.

He couldn't see anything in the darkness, but he knew the dream was still there—the cold indentation, the dark vein, and his own fingers sinking into it. He subconsciously looked at his hand; there was nothing on his fingertips. But the feeling of sinking was still there, as if something was pulling him, dragging him into the bones.

He closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep again, but couldn't. The acupoints he recognized swirled in his mind: Shousanli, Quchi, Yanglingquan... As they swirled, they transformed into the depression in his dream. He didn't know what that depression was, but he knew it was there.

As dawn broke, the snow on the distant mountain peaks was just beginning to turn white. He sat up, put on his coat, and sat alone on the bamboo chair. Since he couldn't sleep, he might as well practice his martial arts.

He closed his eyes and began to practice the "Hibernating Dragon Breathing Technique".

At first, it was alright. His breath slowly descended, as his master had said, "lingering and subtle." But after a few breaths, the depression returned—not in his dream, but right before his eyes. It was there in the darkness, coldly waiting for him. He tried to avoid it, but found himself reaching for it again. His fingers wouldn't obey him, nor would his breathing. A surge of heat rose from his chest, and he abruptly opened his eyes, drenched in sweat, his breath rapid as if he had just finished a fight.

Chen Jiren was already standing behind him. His withered fingers pressed against his back, a warm and steady force penetrating him, carrying his disordered breath, and slowly, it began to move downwards again.

"Close your eyes." Chen Jiren's voice was low, yet it was like a reassuring stone.

Tianci closed his eyes and, following the force, sank his breath back into his dantian. The indentation was still there, but it was far away, as if separated by a layer of mist.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he opened his eyes; it was already broad daylight. Chen Jiren sat opposite him, looking at him calmly.

"Master...I..."

"What you dream about comes out with you during the day. The Hidden Dragon Technique is fast-acting, but everything has its ups and downs. The greater the gain, the greater the risk. This technique is no exception."

Tianci was stunned.

"It is suitable for people with pure hearts to practice," Chen Jiren continued. "Especially at the beginning of practice, a wise teacher is needed to guide you. Without guidance, if your mind is off-center, your breath will be off-center. If you are off-center, you will become a demon in your heart."

Tianci looked down at his hands. Those hands had just been reaching into that indentation.

"What did you touch just now?" Chen Jiren asked.

"...I don't know. But I know it's there."

Chen Jiren didn't ask any more questions. He stood up, walked to the door, and said with his back to Tianci, "Knowing it's there is enough. From now on, when practicing, first understand what's in your heart. If you can't understand it, don't continue."

Tianci sat there, watching his master's figure disappear into the morning light outside the door. His palms were sweaty. He looked down at his fingers; the indentation was still vivid in his mind. But he remembered his master's words: "If you can't recognize it, don't go any further."

But he had a vague feeling that some roads were not ones he could stop on whenever he wanted.

It was still pitch black outside the window, with only a faint starlight reflecting off the snow-capped peaks in the distance. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let his breath settle slowly. After a moment, Chen Jiren's voice came from behind him: "When the mind is calm, the breath naturally regulates; when the breath is regulated, the spirit naturally concentrates. You have entered the first stage."

The morning lesson continued. Chen Jiren instructed him to close his eyes and touch the acupoints on his arm. This time, the requirement was no longer just about locating them. "Discern the Qi." Tianci focused his fingertips, repeatedly comparing healthy acupoints with simulated diseased areas under his master's guidance. The subtle differences gradually became clear—healthy acupoints were supple and slightly "pulsating," while diseased areas were stiff and sluggish, as if something was blocked. But it wasn't always smooth sailing. After closing his eyes for a long time, the sensation in his fingertips would become dull; even when pressing on the acupoints, he couldn't feel anything. Once, he felt a slightly pulsating "Qi sensation," and his heart leaped with joy, his fingertips sliding away. Chen Jiren said calmly, "When the heart is joyful, the Qi floats; when the Qi floats, the fingers become disordered. Try again."

Tianci took a deep breath, suppressing his smugness, and closed his eyes again. This time, he treated that "joy" as an emotion that needed to be identified, letting it sink deeper and deeper. His fingertips returned to his master's arm, and that slightly bulging "qi sensation" reappeared—like a spring gently surging beneath his fingertips. He suddenly realized that this "surging" was different from a heartbeat, different from a pulse; it was something else entirely.

"Got it?" Chen Jiren asked.

"I...I've got it."

"What you remember isn't the location, it's the feeling." Chen Jiren withdrew his arm. "If the feeling is right, the location will naturally be accurate."

The time for changing the dressing had arrived again. This time, Tianci activated the "Hibernating Dragon Technique" ahead of time to stabilize his mind. When the scalding ointment was applied to his knee, and the familiar, excruciating pain exploded, he did not resist. Instead, he tried to "guide" it with his lingering breath. The pain was like a wild horse galloping, and his breath was the reins. He no longer tried to "endure" or "fight" it. Instead, relying on the faint sense of control he had gained from days of meditation, he painstakingly adjusted his breathing, forcing his mind to focus on the area "three inches below the navel," imagining the pain as a runaway horse, and the "Hibernating Dragon Technique" he was circulating as the gradually tightening reins. The burning sensation was initially still raging wildly, but after a few breaths, it actually began to tame itself. Although still scalding, it seemed to be guided by an invisible channel, slowly descending along a blurred path. Wherever it passed, the stiff tendons seemed to have been scalded open with a barely perceptible crack. Chen Jiren's voice rang out at the right moment: "Pain is also a mechanism of Qi. If you can guide it, you will not be devoured by it."

Sweat soaked his back, but Tianci's eyes, amidst the excruciating pain, focused with an almost cold intensity. In a daze, the searing pain ceased to be mere torment; it transformed into a raging energy that could be "observed." He suddenly realized that compared to this tangible pain, his anxieties about the future and his self-criticism seemed illusory and distant. The intense pain, like a wildfire, burned away the chaotic weeds of emotion, leaving only the most primal will to survive.

After the medicine was applied, Tianci leaned weakly against the headboard, but his breathing had returned to normal. Chen Jiren looked at him, a hint of admiration flashing in his eyes. He turned and took a thin notebook from the depths of the medicine cabinet, stroked the yellowed and frayed cover, and put it back. There seemed to be some blurry ink stains on the cover.

In the stillness of the night, Tianci pulled the peach wood amulet from under his pillow, the rough grain of the wood digging into his palm. Wanqing's pale face seemed to be watching him from the darkness. That longing, like an invisible thread, had always tugged at his heart. Now, that thread was no longer just suffocating him, but had become a reason for him to become stronger.

He closed his eyes and activated the "Dragon Hibernation Technique" once more. In his mind, the lines on the meridian chart intertwined with memories of people and events: Wang Zhenkun's cold laughter resembled a chilling acupoint? The Zhao family's power was like a blocked meridian? Teacher Fang's warm gaze was like a nourishing life force? "Yin and Yang in balance, excess is as bad as deficiency"—his master's words echoed repeatedly. Was his past "rigidity" an excess? And was his constant forbearance a deficiency? Where, then, did true balance lie?

Outside the window, the mountain wind swept through the snow-laden bamboo forest, making a mournful sound. Today, the sound of the wind no longer sounded merely desolate; it was more like the deep breaths of heaven and earth. Tianci slowly closed his eyes, his breaths long and subtle. The flame in his heart remained, but it seemed to have been incorporated into a grander rhythm, becoming a dormant source of heat that propelled his inner workings.

After an unknown amount of time, Chen Jiren walked to the bedside and placed a small package wrapped in oilcloth beside his pillow. "These needles have been with me for over thirty years. I am passing them on to you today not for medical practice, but so that you may remember—holding the needles is holding your heart. When faced with difficulties, think of today's pain, today's enlightenment."

Tianci was stunned. He carefully opened the oilcloth, revealing a fine needle as thin as a cow's hair, gleaming faintly in the darkness.

"Holding this needle means holding onto the original intention of 'seeing clearly' and 'correcting wrongs'." After saying this, Chen Jiren turned and walked to his bed, saying nothing more.

Tianci held the needle in his hand, the icy touch on his fingertips creating a strange contrast with the rough wood grain of the amulet on his chest. A needle, a amulet—both so small, yet both carrying a heavy weight. The patterns on the peach wood amulet in his palm, with his gradually steadying breaths, seemed to become another "meridian chart" of protection, waiting to be explored. He stared at those patterns for a long time. Some patterns were clear, like the area around the hand; some were blurry, like the cold indentation in his dream.

He tried to trace the lines with his fingers, just like he had done during the day when he felt for acupoints on his master's arm. When he reached an intersection, his fingertip suddenly stopped—there was a tiny crack there. When had this crack appeared? He didn't know. The crack was shallow, but it still felt a little rough to the touch.

He activated the "Dragon's Hidden Breath Technique," quietly entering a meditative state. Outside the window, the sound of the wind and the turmoil in his heart gradually merged into a single rhythm with his long, drawn-out breaths. He didn't know where this needle would be used in the future. But he had a vague feeling that the real test was yet to come.