Yin Yang Diviner

In the early summer in the north, the stuffiness isn't just from the heat, it's from the stifling atmosphere.

It felt like being shoved into a sealed earthenware jar, where even the wind carried a sticky, damp air, making it hard to breathe. The Chinese scholar trees in the old town had grown wildly, their dense green leaves forming an impenetrable green wall that chopped the sunlight into tiny golden spots, yet even the fallen leaves couldn't warm the ground. The fallen locust blossoms covered the ground in a soft, white carpet, like unmelted snow, but they offered no coolness whatsoever; instead, they exuded a stagnant, oppressive, and lifeless atmosphere.

I nestled in the creaking old sofa, my sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to my back, leaving a disheveled, damp stain. The air conditioner had been broken for three days, and my parents' nagging had been relentless for just as long. I let it go in one ear and out the other, my heart heavy with an inexplicable unease mixed with utter confusion, like a tangled mess stuck in my throat, impossible to spit out or swallow.

At 22, after graduating with a degree in marketing, I didn't submit a single proper resume or even leave my home more than three kilometers away for six whole months.

My mom always sighs and says that I'm "a freeloader from my parents as soon as I graduate, and I'll be lying down forever." I laugh it off, but I know better than anyone else that I'm not lazy, I'm just afraid.

I fear the cutthroat world of office buildings, the monotonous routine of a nine-to-five job, and the fact that my wild, outspoken, and fearless nature will eventually be molded into a conventional, ordinary person. Born into an ordinary working-class family, I had no resources to take risks, no direction to explore, so I simply gave up and confined myself to my small world, using apathy to mask my inner turmoil and cynicism to suppress my restless rebellion.

"Qin Yiheng, how long do you intend to stay in this line of work?"

A weary sigh came from the kitchen, the clanging of the iron pots paused, and a hint of disappointment crept in. My father grunted in response, his tone of exasperation sinking my heart: "Your second grandfather sent word that you should go stay with him for a while; it's better than staying home and wasting your life."

Second Grandfather.

These three words were like an ice needle, piercing the most hidden corner of my heart unexpectedly, instantly stirring up memories that had been sealed for more than a decade, making the hairs on my body stand on end.

He was my grandfather's younger brother, the second oldest in his family. His real name was Qin Tianyang, and he lived alone in an old courtyard on the outskirts of the city. He never married and never had a proper job. The neighbors secretly called him a "mystical feng shui master"—his house was filled with compasses, talismans, and peach wood swords. He spent his days helping people with feng shui and exorcising evil spirits, and the air was always filled with the scent of sandalwood mixed with mugwort.

When I was little, my parents took me to see him a few times. The courtyard was gloomy, with yellowed talismans pasted on the walls. The compass on the table was dark and gleaming coldly. My second grandfather was always smiling. He was thin and had his gray hair neatly combed. But his eyes were frighteningly bright. When they swept over me, I always felt that he could see through all my little thoughts and fears, and even expose all the nightmares hidden in my heart.

What I deliberately tried to forget was that I was born on the 15th day of the seventh lunar month in a yin year, yin month, and yin day. My soul was inherently unstable, and as a child, I was always haunted by strange dreams that would wake me up in terror every night. Each time, my second grandfather would come to my rescue, using methods I couldn't understand. He would pinch a piece of cinnabar talisman on my forehead, and only then would those persistent nightmares disappear. As I grew up, I desperately told myself that it was just a child's imagination, a psychological effect. But now, hearing the words "second grandfather" still sends a chill down my spine, making my fingertips numb.

"I'm not going." I pouted, pretending to be nonchalant, but my voice betrayed a hint of fear. "That place is kind of scary. I don't want to learn those supernatural tricks. It would be so embarrassing if word got out."

I was secretly planning: it's just a few days of peace and quiet, a free meal, and once my parents calm down, I'll find an excuse to sneak back. Why bother going to that gloomy place to suffer?

"You have no choice!" My dad came out of the kitchen, his face as dark as a storm cloud. "Your second grandfather said that only he can control your wild nature. I'll take you there first thing tomorrow morning."

I wanted to argue back, but when I saw the weariness and disappointment in my parents' eyes, I swallowed the words that were on the tip of my tongue.

Fine, I'll go. It's just passing the time anyway, but it's better than staying home and listening to nagging.

But the inexplicable unease in my heart grew wildly like vines, suffocating me—I always felt that things wouldn't be as simple as I thought once I went there.

The next morning, my dad took me to the outskirts of the city on his electric scooter.

The dirt road was full of potholes, and the bumpy ride made my bones feel like they were about to fall apart. The locust trees on both sides grew denser and denser, their branches and leaves intertwining to form a dome, blocking out all the sunlight. Even the noisy cicadas stopped chirping. The humid heat in the air instantly turned into a bone-chilling cold, which seeped into my bones through my collar and trouser legs, making me shiver.

This isn't the cold of the weather, but a chill that's deep underground, tinged with a sense of yin energy, exactly the same feeling I had when I visited my great-uncle's house as a child.

I clutched the hem of my clothes, my panic growing stronger. Memories of being haunted by nightmares from my childhood surged up, making me instinctively shrink back and want to turn around—but I knew there was no turning back now, I had already come this far.

We've arrived at my second grandfather's courtyard.

Black tiles and white walls, an old wooden door slightly ajar, a small Bagua mirror hanging above the door, its copper patterns mottled, the sunlight reflecting off it with a cold light, like an eye, coldly staring at the person who comes in.

I pushed open the door, and a strong scent of sandalwood mixed with the aroma of mugwort wafted towards me, instantly enveloping me and making me frown slightly, yet it felt strangely familiar.

The courtyard was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of the locust tree leaves in the wind, like countless people whispering in hushed tones. The door to the main house was wide open, and at a glance, the walls were covered with compasses, talismans, and peach wood swords. On the table were cinnabar, writing brushes, and various grains. In the corner stood an old bronze mirror with a dim, dull gleam, exuding an indescribable sense of antiquity and eeriness.

My second grandfather sat on a wooden chair in the main room, smoking a pipe made of old jade, which gleamed with a warm light. He looked up at me, and his seemingly cloudy eyes suddenly shone as if they were filled with cold stars, staring straight at me, from head to toe, inside and out, as if he could see through all my pretense, confusion, fear, and rebellion.

I felt extremely uncomfortable under his gaze, my limbs went weak, and the panic in my heart was almost overflowing. But I still forced a smile, scratched my head, and pretended to be relaxed: "Second Grandpa, my dad asked me to come and help you, so I can make a living."

My heart was pounding: Please don't let me touch any of that mystical stuff. I'm just here to freeload. I don't believe in anything about yin and yang or feng shui, and I don't want to learn about it.

My second grandfather didn't reply. He just slowly took a puff of his cigarette, his gaze lingering on my brow for a long time. He let out a soft "hmm" in his throat, a tone that held a profound meaning I couldn't understand. It was as if he were looking at an object he had been waiting for for many years, or as if he were predicting a storm that was destined to come.

"Wait." He tapped his pipe, the sparks falling onto the bluestone slab and instantly disappearing without a trace. His tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable power. "He's here."

live?

I stood there, stunned, my mind blank. A question flashed through my mind: What kind of work is this? Feng shui? Exorcism? Or fortune telling? I don't know any of that! I'm just here to coast along, not to be some kind of fortune teller!

Before I could ask any further questions, the wind suddenly picked up.

The locust tree branches in the courtyard swayed wildly, their shadowy forms resembling countless withered hands scratching and waving outside the window, baring their fangs and claws. The temperature in the courtyard plummeted. Even though I was standing in the sunlight, I felt a chill creep around my ankles, like an icy hand gently crawling up my trouser leg, raising goosebumps wherever it touched.

I instinctively pulled my foot back sharply, my heart pounding wildly.

Something's not right about this courtyard.

This second grandfather, whom I've always found mysterious, is even more suspicious.

The fear in my heart completely overwhelmed my perfunctory attitude, and a strong premonition surged into my heart: what I thought was just getting by was not what I imagined at all. I had stepped into not an ordinary old courtyard, but a strange world hidden behind the mundane world that I had never believed in or set foot in.

In the evening, I was forced to stay at my second grandfather's house.

The old house had no air conditioning, only a broken palm-leaf fan, yet it was unusually cold at night, like being in an ice cellar. I lay on the wooden bed in the side room, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Moonlight streamed in through the window, casting long shadows of the locust trees outside, which clung to the window paper, becoming a hunched, still figure, staring motionlessly into the room, as if spying, as if waiting.

A faint sound came from nearby, sometimes near, sometimes far.

It sounded like someone whispering in your ear, or like fingernails gently scraping against the wooden door, "creak—creak—", tickling your heart and making your scalp tingle.

I pulled the blanket tighter, curled up into a ball, and desperately tried to reassure myself: it was just the wind, the wood of the old house expanding and contracting with the temperature, I was just scaring myself! I'm an atheist, all those demons and monsters are fake!

But the fear of being overwhelmed by strange dreams and having my soul leave my body when I was a child surged up uncontrollably. My destiny of being born in the year, month, and day of the Yin makes me naturally sensitive to Yin energy. At this moment, the icy coldness that was wrapped around my ankles quietly crept up again, making my teeth chatter slightly.

I stared intently at the shadow of the locust tree swaying on the window paper, my heart pounding faster and faster, as if it would burst out of my chest.

I originally thought I was just here to escape my parents' nagging and have a few days of leisure, but now I realize that from the moment I stepped into this courtyard, my life, which had been drifting aimlessly for half a year, had completely deviated from its original course.

Some roads, once embarked upon, offer no turning back.

And I have already stepped in.

In the darkness, the shadow of the locust tree clinging to the window seemed to move slightly.