Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

I was awakened by excruciating pain.

The gunshot wound on his left shoulder felt like a red-hot iron; each heartbeat seemed to grind against the wound, causing him excruciating pain that made his vision blur. His throat was parched, and swallowing felt like swallowing a knife.

He tried to move his fingers, but found his body was as heavy as lead and he couldn't move them at all.

"water……"

A hoarse voice squeezed out from his throat.

The warm straw immediately touched my chapped lips, and the cool water soothed my burning throat, clearing away the haze of memories.

The ticking of the monitor, the pungent smell of disinfectant, the rough sheets beneath me... The distinctive beige walls, old-fashioned iron-framed beds, and enamel mugs with red lettering on the bedside table of the VIP ward of Nancheng People's Hospital in 1993 gradually came into view.

Fragments of memory churned amidst the excruciating pain: a waterfall of backlighting shattered glass, the scorching heat of a shotgun blast, the pregnant woman's deathly pale face, that strangely familiar copper coin...

He jolted violently, trying to sit up, when a tearing pain shot through his left shoulder wound, and the monitor emitted a sharp alarm.

"Son, how is that woman?" he asked the doctor urgently.

"Don't worry, mother and child are both safe. It's a boy, premature, but his vital signs are stable." A steady male voice rang out.

"……good……"

The boulder that had been hanging there crashed to the ground, and his tense body instantly relaxed, only to be met with an even more intense surge of pain. His face contorted in agony, yet a relieved smile crept onto his lips.

On the morning of the fourth day, as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the blinds, there was a knock on the ward door. Two middle-aged men in navy blue Zhongshan suits entered, followed by hospital leaders and police officers. The deputy director in the lead shook his hand warmly and said, "Comrade Cang Lifeng, you are a hero of Nancheng! You are an outstanding representative of courage and righteousness among young people in the new era!"

The word "hero" ignited like dry tinder, instantly setting the most genuine emotions deep within the blood of this twenty-five-year-old. He thought of his second uncle, Cang Yuanzhi, a nationally recognized hero. Now, he too had become a hero. Two generations of the Cang family had become heroes—this was the glory of the Cang family. Thinking of this, a flush rose to his pale cheeks.

Less than half an hour after the deputy director and his entourage left, the door to the ward was knocked on again.

The bank's leaders arrived, deeply grateful, and repeatedly assured that they would cover all medical and rehabilitation expenses.

The workers crowded at the doorway, their dark faces a mixture of fear, gratitude, and excitement. Old Li's eyes were red, and his lips trembled as he stammered, "Boss...you...you didn't even get the money, and someone almost..." He choked up, unable to finish. The workers left behind warm change and fruit, awkwardly expressing their gratitude.

However, beneath this dazzling halo, Cang Lifeng keenly noticed a subtle restraint in Old Li's eyes, beyond gratitude, as if he didn't know how to naturally interact with this "hero" featured in the newspaper. This invisible barrier mixed a faint, realistic sense of melancholy into his initial excitement at receiving the honor. Lying in his hospital bed, facing the tidal wave of praise, he initially felt a surge of excitement, but this was quickly followed by immense exhaustion and a touch of bewilderment. He was more concerned about whether his wages would ultimately be paid smoothly, and whether his parents at home would worry upon hearing the news.

However, what stirred Cang Lifeng's emotions the most was another group of people who arrived later.

An elderly woman with gray hair led a little girl into the ward. Behind her followed Zhang Ma, carrying a swaddled baby. Next came a young woman in labor, pale-faced and wheeled in by a nurse. Finally, a man in a gray suit, looking utterly distracted, entered – Wang Lide.

The room fell silent instantly.

The old woman's gaze fell upon Cang Lifeng on the hospital bed, and tears streamed down her face before she could speak. She walked shakily to the bedside, and before Cang Lifeng could react, the old woman had already bent her knees—

"You mustn't!" Cang Lifeng exclaimed. He wanted to get up but was afraid of aggravating his wound. Fortunately, Old Li and the nurse quickly supported her, preventing the old woman from kneeling down.

"My benefactor, thank you for saving my daughter-in-law and my grandson! If it weren't for you, our family would have... would have collapsed!" The old lady sobbed uncontrollably.

Ayun had her husband push her to Cang Lifeng's bedside, and said in a trembling voice, "Master Cang, it's me, Ayun. Thank you... thank you for saving me and my child. Aunt Zhang said the doctor said that if we had been five minutes later, my child and I might not have survived... You gave us a second life." She looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms, and tears silently streamed down her face.

At this moment, Wang Lide suddenly knelt down with a thud, his forehead hitting the ground hard.

"Brother Cang, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry to all the brothers! I'm not human... You saved my wife and kids! I withheld my wages, I made excuses, I'm a fucking beast!"

He raised his reddened forehead, tears streaming down his face, his gaze shifting between his wife, mother, and Cang Lifeng: "Ayun is eight months pregnant, and I'm still holding onto your hard-earned money for a little kickback... Brother Cang, you can hit me, scold me, even kill me!"

Ayun looked at her husband, tears welling in her eyes, but she gently placed her hand on his trembling shoulder. The old lady turned her face away to wipe her tears.

Zhang Ma also began to sob softly beside her.

Cang Lifeng's gaze fell on the baby's face in A Yun's arms. That wrinkled little face, that peaceful sleeping expression, suddenly reminded him of Tianci's birth. Tianci was even smaller then, nearly dying in the cold night of Wild Boar Gully. His mother said that when he was born, his cry sounded like a kitten's meow, yet he stubbornly survived a high fever and convulsions, and endured the lack of medical care.

Wang Lide suddenly turned to Old Li, who was standing guard beside him, and tremblingly pulled out a bulging file folder and a bankbook from his pocket, then pulled out a thick envelope and shoved them all at him: "Brother Li, your wages, not a penny less, are all in the bankbook. This envelope contains a small token of my family's appreciation, to help Brother Cang recover..."

Holding those things, Old Li looked at Wang Lide, who was kneeling on the ground, and then at Cang Lifeng on the bed. Tears welled up in the eyes of this honest and simple man.

The ward was silent except for suppressed sobs.

Ayun gently patted the baby in her arms, looked up at Cang Lifeng and said, "Brother Cang, we've given the child a nickname, 'Nianfeng.' Lide and I have discussed it, and we want the child to remember for the rest of his life that his life was given to him by a benefactor named Cang Lifeng."

"Nianfeng..." he repeated the name softly, his voice hoarse. He suddenly understood the feelings his father, Cang Zhenye, had when he named his younger brother "Tianci"—it was not an honor, but the heaviest gratitude of a survivor to his fate.

He looked at the sleeping baby, his throat tightening as if something was blocking it. The only sound in the ward was the ticking of the medical equipment.

A few seconds later, he spoke in a hoarse voice:

"……good."

The word was spoken with great force, as if it were squeezed out from the bones.

Then he added:

"Raise him well."

With just those words, he closed his eyes, a fine layer of cold sweat beading on his forehead. The emotional turmoil he had just experienced aggravated his wound, and the pain in his left shoulder surged up again, causing his fingers to tremble slightly.

Wang Lide, still kneeling on the ground, trembled with sobs upon hearing these words: "Brother Cang... I swear, I will never do such a despicable thing again in my life..."

Faced with this most direct and pure gratitude for life, Cang Lifeng seemed somewhat at a loss. He could remain calm under the official commendation, but the old man's scalding tears, Wang Lide's sincere repentance, and the newborn named after him were like the softest yet most powerful arrows, striking the deepest part of his heart.

His throat tightened, and he wanted to say something, but only felt a lump in his throat. He composed himself and said, "Accountant Wang, it's all over now. Get up, don't keep kneeling."

Seeing that Accountant Wang was still kneeling and refused to get up, he said to Old Li beside him, "Old Li, go and help Accountant Wang up."

With Lao Li's forceful help, Accountant Wang stood up. He wrote down his pager number and handed it to Cang Lifeng, saying, "Brother Cang, this is my contact number. If you need anything in the future, be sure to call me. I will do my best to help you in any way I can."

As this touching scene unfolded, a pretty and capable female reporter stood quietly at the door of the hospital room. Her gaze pierced through the crack, fixed intently on the man on the bed.

When she received the assignment to interview Cang Lifeng, a huge wave of emotion surged within her. Now, witnessing firsthand his helplessness and gratitude towards those he had helped, a stark contrast to the fierce and resolute image presented in his profile, Lin Wei felt her heart gripped by an indescribable feeling. She instinctively reached for the camera hanging around her neck, but hesitated to raise it. At that moment, professional instinct gave way to inner reverence—she didn't want to disturb this profound gratitude stemming from life itself with a flash. She simply shook her head slightly at the photographer, gesturing with her eyes for him to remain silent. She herself, silently and deeply, gazed into the man's eyes, as if trying to imprint this scene directly into her heart.

As the crowd gradually dispersed, Lin Wei took a deep breath, gently tidied her slightly curled hair and the collar of her coat, and then stepped into the ward.

From the moment she stepped into the room, her gaze was fixed on the pale but resolute man on the hospital bed.

"Comrade Cang Lifeng, hello!" Her voice was gentle, with a slight tremor. "I'm Lin Wei, a reporter from the Nancheng Daily. We...we met at the Nancheng Bus Station."

Cang Lifeng turned his head at the sound of her voice, meeting her gaze. Those were eyes he vaguely remembered—clear and brave. He paused, his expression one of surprise.

"...It's you, Reporter Lin. What a coincidence!"

“It’s not a coincidence,” Lin Wei immediately replied, sitting down in the chair beside his bed and leaning forward unconsciously. “I think it was destined. Destined for me… to meet you again and hear you tell those stories that couldn’t be written in the newspapers.”

She took out a voice recorder, her gaze fixed intently on Cang Lifeng's face, as if trying to see into his soul: "Brother Cang, if it's convenient... could we start from that time at the train station? I still remember that day. I've been thinking, what makes a person... so unwavering in the face of danger, time and time again, risking everything for strangers they don't even know..."

Her voice was filled with curiosity and admiration. She was no longer a cold interviewing machine, but a listener eager to understand the hero's heart.

The interview unfolded in a subtle yet tacit atmosphere. Cang Lifeng still spoke with difficulty, his pace slow and his voice low. He didn't embellish or exaggerate; he simply used the most plain language to state his facts. Just as he slightly adjusted his posture, wanting to describe more clearly how he "couldn't just watch that lady get into trouble at the bank, otherwise what kind of martial artist would I be?", a sharp, throbbing pain suddenly shot through his left shoulder blade, causing him to gasp instantly, his words abruptly stopping, and a fine layer of cold sweat quickly forming on his forehead.

Lin Wei almost immediately stopped the recording.

"Does it hurt a lot?" She leaned forward, her voice filled with undisguised worry, having already forgotten the next question she had prepared. She saw his clenched teeth and slightly pale lips as he endured the pain, and a feeling of wanting to share his burden but being powerless to do so made her frown slightly.

Lin Wei's pen had stopped moving at some point. As a journalist, she had seen too many meticulously crafted heroic stories, but this man before her, momentarily speechless from the pain yet still trying to finish his sentence, showed no trace of acting. His simple conviction, "I can't just watch that woman get hurt, otherwise what kind of martial artist am I?" was more penetrating than any grand pronouncement.

It felt as if something had gently bumped into her chest. The professional curiosity she had felt earlier had quietly subsided, transforming into a more complex emotion—admiration, heartache, and a natural touch when faced with pure humanity. She looked at Cang Lifeng, a hint of tenderness in her eyes that she herself hadn't even noticed.

The interview ended prematurely in a tacit silence. She didn't ask any further questions.

Touched by these emotions, she returned to the newspaper office and began writing with almost reverent seriousness. She abandoned all flowery language and used only the simplest and most restrained strokes to restore his words, his persistence, and the weight behind his silence.

A few days later, the article "An Ordinary Body, Extraordinary Courage - Getting Closer to Cang Lifeng, the Bank Rescuer" appeared in the newspaper. The photo that truly showed his resolute side while he was ill, and the words that were full of respect, were like a stone thrown into the center of a lake, causing a resonance in the southern city.

The title of "hero," along with the enormous wave of praise, enveloped Cang Lifeng, who was lying in his hospital bed, simply wanting to "be true to his conscience."