Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

The news of Qin Siyuan's sudden illness spread like wildfire, like cold water thrown into boiling oil. The Cang family practically rushed over. Supported by Cang Shouzheng, Cang Houde, leaning on a cane, shakily made his way to the courtyard gate. Cang Jianguo, Cang Xiaoren, and Chen Xianfei followed closely behind, their faces filled with astonishment. The small courtyard gate was quickly surrounded by the Cang family members who had rushed to the scene.

Almost simultaneously, Wang Zhenkun arrived with Wang Youfu and several other village officials. Upon hearing that Cang Liuqing's family was leaving, he immediately realized this was their last chance to "show their worth" and to send off this "big shot." He quickly ordered his men to summon the village's tractor as fast as possible. At that moment, the tractor's loud, churning roar violently shattered the tranquility of Xiqiao Village, coming to a steady stop under the crooked old locust tree at the village entrance.

Cang Yuanzhi and Liu Wenxiu had already packed their simplest belongings. Liu Wenxiu's eyes were red, and she was tightly clutching a bulging blue cloth bundle in her hand, with a military water bottle tucked under her arm. Ignoring Qin Hao's polite refusal, she almost stubbornly stuffed the bundle and the water bottle into the corner of the tractor's trailer.

Qin Hao carried Qin Siyuan, who was wrapped tightly in a thick blanket with only his feverish, flushed face showing, and hurried towards the tractor. The child's body slumped limply in his father's arms, his brows furrowed in pain, occasionally letting out a muffled groan.

"Dad! Mom!" Cang Liuqing's voice ripped through the cold wind. She loosened her luggage, turned abruptly, and hugged Cang Yuanzhi tightly. Her father's thin body trembled violently in her arms, his empty trouser leg wrapping around her legs in the wind like a tattered yet stubbornly waving flag. She could feel her father hugging her back with all his might, the force so strong it hurt, then releasing her as if electrocuted, as if a moment's more indulgence would cause his carefully maintained defenses to crumble completely.

She clung tightly to her mother, Liu Wenxiu. Liu Wenxiu could no longer hold back; the grief that had been building up all night erupted like a torrent. She wept uncontrollably, her fingers almost digging into her daughter's back: "My Qing'er... my darling... you must take good care of the child! You must! Don't worry about us..."

"Mom... I will... I'm sorry..." Cang Liuqing's tears flowed freely, mingling with her mother's hot tears.

"Enough! Get in the car!" Cang Yuanzhi's cane slammed into the ground like thunder, his hoarse roar cleaving through the cries. The veins on his hand gripping the cane bulged, his knuckles were pale, and the muscles of his one leg were taut, trembling slightly, like a bow stretched to its limit, humming and creaking.

Wang Zhenkun squeezed forward at the opportune moment, his face filled with empathetic worry: "Comrade Liu Qing, Comrade Qin Hao, the car is ready, get in quickly! This child's illness can't be delayed! Driver Li, drive steadily, but keep up the speed, get him directly to the county hospital's emergency department! If anything happens on the way, just let us know!" As he spoke, he waved to signal the crowd to make way.

Cang Liuqing took one last, deep look at her parents. Her father, leaning on a cane, stood like a weathered stone sculpture; her mother, tightly supported by her fourth aunt, Su Yumei, had her face buried in her scarf, curled up in a ball, only her shoulders heaving uncontrollably. A tremendous, almost desperate grief overwhelmed her. She turned abruptly, almost throwing herself into the tractor's back, pressing her burning cheeks against her son's feverish forehead, tears instantly soaking his hair and collar. The cold metal of the back pressed against her knees, and in the distance, the bare branches of the old locust tree, illuminated by the headlights, resembled outstretched, withered arms, or countless black cracks ripped through the night sky.

Qin Hao carefully settled his son in a corner of the cart, which was lined with bedding, and then straddled himself. Seeing his wife's silent, intense sobs and his mother-in-law's breakdown, a pang of guilt for insisting on his own way quietly grew within him. But when he touched his son's still-warm skin and heard his weak moans, all other emotions were overwhelmed by a stronger sense of responsibility—a father's duty. He had to take his son to the safest place. This thought was as firm as iron.

Just then, Mr. Li, the driver, slammed on the accelerator.

"Put, put, put—" The tractor engine roared even louder, like a beast awakening...

"Everyone move aside! The car is leaving! Be careful!" Wang Zhenkun shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Qing'er—be careful on the road—"

"Sister—brother-in-law, have a safe journey—"

"Siyuan—baby, get well soon—"

"Liu Qing—send a message home once you've settled in—"

The tearful, chaotic cries of relatives were instantly swallowed up by the violent roar of the tractor starting up.

Cang Tianci stood at the very front of the crowd, his small body ramrod straight, like a young pine tree stubbornly taking root in the cold winter. His gaze followed the tractor bouncing along the dirt road until it became a blurry black dot, disappearing into the dust billowing around the bend at the village entrance. The chaotic and sorrowful scene he had just witnessed was like a red-hot iron, deeply branded into his heart.

He saw his cousin Qin Siyuan's sallow face and tightly closed eyes, and heard his painful groans—the vulnerability of illness, the bitterness of being powerless to change his fate. He remembered the excruciating pain and the frustration of being unable to move when he was injured during training. It turned out that whether one was a pampered young master from the city or a wild boy rolling in the mud in the countryside, everyone was equally helpless when illness struck. His master was right, "Illness is like a bandit, breaking down the door and indiscriminately entering, regardless of status."

He also witnessed the heart-wrenching farewell between Sister Liu Qing and Uncle Yuanzhi and Aunt Wenxiu. The tears in Sister Liu Qing's eyes, Uncle Yuanzhi's hunched back and trembling empty trouser legs, Aunt Wenxiu crying until she almost fainted... It was the excruciating pain of being separated from loved ones, the helplessness of knowing that they cared for each other but having to be separated by death.

He recalled the image of his father squatting on the threshold, smoking a pipe silently all night when his elder brother Lifeng left home for Nancheng; he recalled how his mother would always chase him to the village entrance every time he left home for the sports school, and would not return until she could no longer see him... It turns out that life is about coming together and parting ways, and no matter how reluctant you are, you can't stop fate from pushing you forward.

A vast and primal sense of desolation, like a bone-chilling winter night, instantly engulfed him, almost making him unsteady on his feet. His past thoughts of "becoming stronger," "avenging," and "protecting" seemed so thin, insignificant, even childish, before this immense, silent, yet omnipresent cycle of birth, aging, sickness, and death, of gathering and parting. What could becoming stronger possibly change? Could it stop the march of disease? Could it defy the hand of fate that pushes us apart?

The dust kicked up by the tractor gradually settled. Under the old locust tree at the village entrance, only the lonely figures of those seeing them off remained, and the lingering sorrow in the air. Cang Yuanzhi, leaning on his cane, gazed for a long time at the end of the road; his empty trouser leg fluttered slightly in the cold wind, like a silent flag. Liu Wenxiu leaned against Su Yumei, sobbing silently, her shoulders shaking slightly. Wang Zhenkun, along with a group of village officials, stood silently by the roadside, a faint, obsequious smile still lingering on their faces.

Cang Tianci silently observed all of this, as if for the first time he had so clearly and cruelly "seen" certain cold undertones in the vast canvas of life. Unconsciously, he fell into deeper contemplation, and all the sounds around him seemed to fade away.

Suddenly, a biting gust of cold wind swirled past the old locust tree, which seemed to let out a low groan, as if recounting the joys and sorrows it had witnessed over the centuries. A locust leaf, long since withered and yellow, yet stubbornly clinging to the highest branch, was finally torn away by the wind, swirling and fluttering, before finally landing precisely in the slightly open palm of the heavens.

He lowered his head, gazing at the withered leaf in his palm, its edges curled, veins clearly visible, yet lifeless. Then, he slowly raised his head, his gaze moving up and down the rough, cracked trunk of the old locust tree, scarred by time. He saw its roots, deeply embedded in the frozen earth, intertwined and tangled; he saw its robust branches, struggling upwards despite wind, frost, and lightning strikes; he saw the outline of its canopy, stretching out even in the dead of winter, sheltering the land it protected…

He gazed at the gray winter sky, at the familiar land beneath his feet. The desolation in his heart slowly subsided, replaced by an unprecedented clarity.

He understood that people cannot resist birth, aging, sickness, and death, nor can they control the coming together and parting. Just like this locust leaf, it will eventually leave the branch and return to dust.

But the tree is still there. Its roots are still deeply embedded, striving to draw nutrients from the soil; its trunk is still thickening year by year, enduring wind, frost, rain, and snow; its branches are still stretching towards the sky, vying for sunlight and rain. It may not be able to keep every leaf, but it provides a starting point and nourishment for every leaf that once grew here; it may not be able to move to chase after migrating birds, but it spreads its canopy, providing shade for all living things resting beneath it.

Uncle Yuanzhi lost his leg, but with his crutch and back, he provided a sky for Sister Liuqing to soar high; Aunt Wenxiu shed countless tears, but with her calloused hands, she prepared provisions for her daughter's journey; Sister Liuqing flew away, flew far and high, but as her wings grew stronger, her return was enough to make people like Wang Zhenkun wary, giving this family an invisible barrier in the village.

The meaning of becoming stronger may never be about breaking the eternal iron law, but rather, after clearly recognizing the vastness and impermanence of this world, choosing to be like that old locust tree—deeply rooted, striving to grow, and then doing one's best to spread out one's branches and leaves.

It's not to resist falling leaves, but to allow the leaves to stretch more freely on the branches; it's not to stop birds from leaving, but to provide a branch for them to lean on when they are tired or return.

Protecting someone doesn't necessarily mean being constantly embracing and inseparable. It can also mean becoming a solid "root" in each other's lives, a reliable "branch," and a "shade" that brings warmth and peace no matter how far away you are. It means enabling those you cherish to live more calmly and with more dignity amidst the inevitable suffering and separation, to feel less fear when parting, and to have more strength when watching over them.

Perhaps this is the profound meaning behind Master's instruction to "observe" nature and "examine" oneself? Perhaps this is the "path" that the eldest brother pioneered with his blood and sweat and that Sister Liu Qing defended with her wisdom, the path that belongs to the Cang family and that they have been struggling to find in this vast world—the path they have been searching for.

Cang Tianci stood quietly in the dim light of dawn, the withered leaves in his palm warmed by his body heat. With an almost awe-inspiring solemnity, he looked once more deeply at the silent old locust tree, as if having a final conversation with a wordless sage.

Then, he turned around and silently walked to his grandfather, Cang Houde's, side. The old man was still gazing into the distance, his body trembling slightly in the morning breeze. Tianci said nothing, but simply reached out his arm and steadily and gently supported the old man's trembling arm.

"Grandpa, let's... let's go home." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a calmness and certainty that didn't match his age.

Cang Houde seemed to snap out of his reverie, looking down at his youngest grandson. A complex mix of emotions flickered in his cloudy old eyes—sorrow, relief, and a deeper expectation. He asked nothing, but gently patted the back of Tianci's hand that was supporting him with his other, aged hand.

An old man and a young man, supporting each other, turned around and walked steadily back towards the old house, their steps treading on the dirt path slightly damp with morning frost. The young man's figure, silhouetted against the empty village entrance and the gradually brightening sky, still appeared slender, yet something seemed to be quietly gathering and growing within his spine, displaying a tranquility that transcended time and an unbreakable resilience.

The road ahead remained arduous, and the fog leading to the future was still thick. But at this moment, Cang Tianci felt as if he had vaguely discerned a faint path in the endless vastness, yet it pointed towards the distance. He gripped his grandfather's cold and withered hand, the withered leaf from the old locust tree in his palm, and even more tightly, the newly sprouted understanding in his heart.