Yin Yang Diviner

The earthen bed in my rural hometown was rock hard, but I was wrapped in a thick cotton quilt that my grandmother had specially laid out. No matter how tightly I wrapped myself up, I couldn't get rid of the chill that seeped into my bones.

A dim kerosene lamp was lit in the room, its wick crackling and sparking, casting the long shadows of Grandpa and Grandma on the earthen wall, like two hunched guardian spirits.

Grandpa squatted at the doorway, smoking his pipe. The embers of the pipe flickered, and his face was so somber it seemed to drip water. Grandma sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), holding my hand tightly with one hand and stroking my head with the other, muttering incantations—auspicious words that rural elders used to pray to the gods and Buddhas—her voice trembling uncontrollably.

The night outside the window was as black as spilled ink. The wind whistled through the old locust tree in the courtyard, making a mournful sound, like a woman crying, or like something howling in the dark.

I huddled in the corner of the kang (a heated brick bed), my mind filled with images of the golden-furred weasel in the old graveyard, and the cold footsteps that followed me like a shadow. My tears had long since dried up, leaving only a trembling body and chattering teeth.

"Grandma, is it still in the house?" I clutched Grandma's clothes, my voice barely audible, my eyes scanning every corner of the house with terror—behind the door, beside the wardrobe, by the windowsill. Wherever there was shadow, I felt that the weasel was hiding, staring at me with its dark, greedy eyes.

"It's not here, it's not here anymore, my dear grandson, don't be afraid. The doors and windows are all locked tight. Your second grandpa will be here soon." Grandma hugged me and covered my eyes with her rough, warm hands. "Don't look, close your eyes and go to sleep. You won't be afraid if you fall asleep."

But how could I dare to sleep?

I'm afraid that if I close my eyes, I'll see the overgrown weeds of the old graveyard again, see that weasel, and see the eerie shadow following me. I'm even more afraid that if I fall asleep, the weasel will sneak into my dreams and lure me away.

Grandpa tapped his pipe and said in a deep voice, "This weasel has become a spirit and has taken a liking to Heng's fate. Children born in yin years, yin months, and yin days have the purest souls and the weakest yang energy, making them a great tonic for these spirits."

I don't understand anything about fate or soul; I only know that thing wants to eat me and take my life.

I'm only ten years old. I don't want to die, and I don't want my soul to be taken away by the weasel.

I snuggled closer to my grandmother, the air thick with the smells of kerosene lamp smoke, the scent of soap on her clothes, and the faint fragrance of three incense sticks under her pillow—the only things in the house that brought me peace. Even so, that faint, fishy smell would occasionally drift into my nostrils, exactly like the smell in the old cemetery, reminding me that the thing was nearby, never having left.

"When is Second Grandpa coming?" I asked, my voice trembling with tears, clinging to him as my only hope. Whenever I was sick or frightened as a child, Second Grandpa would come, pat my head, and whisper a few words I couldn't understand, and I would feel better. I firmly believed that as long as Second Grandpa came, the weasel wouldn't dare to bully me anymore.

"He'll be there soon. Your second grandfather rides his bike fast; he's already on his way." Grandma patted my back, but her tone betrayed her unconcealed worry.

I nodded, forcing myself to close my eyes, but my mind was filled with the image of that weasel—its dark eyes, golden fur, and upright body—flashing through my mind like a movie. Sleepiness washed over me like a tide. After all, I was just a child, and after tossing and turning for most of the night, my mental and physical strength were at their limit. Even though I was terrified, my eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and I finally drifted off to sleep.

That sleep plunged me back into a nightmare.

In my dream, there was no warm earthen bed, no grandparents watching over me, only boundless darkness and knee-high weeds in the old cemetery.

I returned to that place that terrified me to the extreme.

The sky was darker than at dusk, an impenetrable blackness enveloping the entire cemetery. The broken tombstones revealed their grotesque outlines in the darkness, like crawling demons. The wild grass swayed wildly in the wind, rustling incessantly, but there was no sign of life, only a bone-chilling cold and the smell of decay.

I stood in the middle of the weeds, unable to move. My feet felt like they were nailed to the ground, my whole body stiff, and fear surged from my feet to the top of my head. I wanted to shout, I wanted to run, but my throat felt blocked, my limbs felt bound, and I could only watch helplessly as I looked around at the scene before me.

Just then, a woman slowly emerged from the depths of the overgrown weeds.

A woman who was unbelievably beautiful.

She was dressed in a bright red silk dress, the hem of which trailed in the weeds without getting a speck of dirt on it. Her long, black hair was glossy and cascaded over her shoulders. Her skin was as white as snow in December. Her eyebrows were curved, her lips were painted vermilion, and a gentle smile played on her lips as she walked towards me step by step.

Her footsteps were light, treading on the wild grass without making a sound. A faint, sweet fragrance lingered around her, overpowering the decaying smell of the old graveyard. The scent was so enchanting that it made one forget their fear.

I stared at her blankly, forgetting my fear and the fact that I was in an old cemetery. I just felt that this woman was as beautiful as a fairy from heaven, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.

"Little one, why are you here all alone?" She walked up to me, squatted down, and looked at me gently. Her voice was soft and sweet, like cotton candy, reaching my heart. Her hand gently touched my cheek; it was cool, but it felt very comfortable, without any sense of rejection.

I opened my mouth, wanting to speak, but no sound came out; I could only stare at her blankly.

"Are you lost?" She smiled and gently traced her fingertip across my forehead. In that instant, I felt light as a feather, as if I were walking on clouds. All my fear, anxiety, and apprehension vanished, leaving only her gentle smile and sweet voice.

"Come with me, okay? I'll take you to a fun place with lots of candy, beautiful flowers, and no one will bully you anymore." She leaned close to my ear, her warm breath brushing against my earlobe, her voice carrying a strange magic that made me nod involuntarily.

I want to go with her, to leave this horrible old cemetery, and to follow this beautiful older sister to a place where there is candy.

Seeing me nod, she smiled even more broadly and reached out to take my hand. Her hand was still icy cold, yet soft and delicate. I was led by her, step by step, into the depths of the overgrown weeds.

The deeper I went, the dimmer the light became, and the sweet fragrance grew stronger, so strong it made me dizzy. I gradually felt something was wrong; my head was spinning, and all my strength was disappearing, as if something was being drawn from my body, leaving me feeling light and airy, as if I could fly away at any moment.

I looked down at my hands and found that they had become transparent, like smoke, and I could vaguely see the wild grass behind them.

That's my soul!

I instantly realized that I wasn't walking; my soul was being led by her while my body remained in the same spot!

Fear instantly overwhelmed me, and I abruptly looked up at the woman beside me.

Just then, the gentle smile on her face vanished without a trace.

Those once-curved almond-shaped eyes became narrow and cold, their dark pupils devoid of warmth, filled only with greedy malice. A fine layer of golden down slowly grew on her fair cheeks, exactly like the fur of the weasel in the old graveyard. Her rosy lips split open, revealing two sharp yellow teeth, her mouth stretching almost to her ears in a ferocious grin.

Her ears became pointed, her fingers grew longer, her nails turned black and curved, and her red silk clothes turned into withered yellow fur. In front of me, she gradually lost her human form, revealing her true form as a weasel spirit!

"Little brat, your soul is so sweet! Born in the year, month, and day of the Yin, it's perfect for replenishing my cultivation!" She let out a sharp, piercing laugh, no longer a gentle female voice, but a hoarse, grating, demonic tone. "Give me your seven souls obediently, and I'll spare your life. Otherwise, I'll devour your soul, ensuring you never reincarnate!"

I was terrified, my whole body trembling violently. When I finally managed to make a sound, it was only a heart-wrenching cry: "Let me go! You're a weasel! You're a monster! I want my grandma! I want my great-grandpa!"

I struggled desperately to shake off her hand, but it was like an iron clamp, tightly gripping my soul. No matter how much I struggled, I couldn't budge it. I could clearly feel my soul being pulled away little by little by her. My three souls and seven spirits surged within my body. My celestial soul, terrestrial soul, and life soul were restless. Among the seven spirits, Tianchong and Linghui had already begun to leave my body, being slowly drawn away by her fingertips.

The pain of having one's soul ripped out is ten thousand times worse than being beaten or injured. It feels as if every bone in one's body has been torn apart, as if all one's internal organs have been emptied out. One's consciousness becomes increasingly blurred, the scene before one's eyes grows darker and darker, and all one can hear is the triumphant shriek of the weasel spirit and one's own faint breathing.

I'm dying.

I'm about to have my soul devoured by the weasel spirit.

I will never see my grandparents again, never see my second grandfather again, never go out to play again, and never eat delicious food again.

Despair overwhelmed me like a tidal wave. I cried, shouted, and struggled, but it was all in vain. My body became more and more transparent, and my soul became fainter and fainter. I was about to be completely sucked away by the weasel spirit.

"Little brat, stop struggling, accept your fate!" The weasel demon's smile grew even more sinister. "Your destiny is to provide me with cultivation points; this is your fate!"

Its words were like a needle, piercing my heart. I remembered what my grandfather had said: I was born on an unlucky day, in an unlucky month, in an unlucky year; my soul was the purest, and I was most susceptible to spirits. It turned out that from birth, I was destined to be targeted by these things, destined to endure these fears.

I can not be reconciled!

I don't want to die!

With my last ounce of strength, I screamed, "Second Grandfather! Save me!"

That roar seemed to have exhausted all the power of my soul.

Just then, a clear gong sounded from outside the dream.

"Bang—!"

A deafening roar shattered the silence of the night and destroyed this eerie dream.

The weasel demon's shrill laughter abruptly stopped, its expression changing drastically to one of terror: "It's that old bastard! How did he get here so fast!"

The hand that had been gripping my soul instantly released its grip.

I felt a powerful force pulling me back, my soul quickly returned to its place, my transparent body became solid again, and my stiff limbs finally regained sensation.

The old graveyard, the overgrown weeds, and the weasel spirit before my eyes shattered like glass, turning into countless fragments that vanished without a trace.

I suddenly opened my eyes, gasping for breath. My clothes were soaked with cold sweat, clinging to my body and chilling me to the bone.

I returned to the earthen bed in my rural hometown. The kerosene lamp was still lit, and my grandparents were still by my side. And standing by the bed was a familiar figure.

It's my second grandfather.

He was wearing a dark blue Zhongshan suit, his hair was neatly combed, there was no smile on his face, his eyes were sharp as knives, and he was staring at the night outside the window. He was holding a gong in his hand, the mallet still in the air. Obviously, the sound of the gong that saved me just now was struck by him.

"Second Grandpa!" I couldn't hold back any longer, threw myself into his arms, and burst into tears. "The weasel spirit! It's stealing my soul! It's going to eat me!"

My second grandfather reached out and hugged me. His hands were warm and his grip was steady. A warm feeling emanated from him, instantly dispelling all the coldness and fear within me. He gently patted my back, his voice still slow and gentle, yet carrying an undeniable strength that reassured me: "Don't be afraid anymore. I'm here. It can't hurt you."

I nestled in my great-uncle's arms, crying my heart out, releasing all the fear, despair, and pain from my dream. I knew I was finally safe; my savior had arrived.

The wind was still blowing outside the window, but I could no longer feel the chill, nor the fishy smell. The scent of the weasel spirit had vanished without a trace.

My second grandfather looked down at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of heartache and seriousness. He touched my brow and said in a deep voice, "This weasel has been cultivating for over a hundred years, just waiting to steal your soul. If I had arrived a moment later, your seven souls would have been sucked away by it, and even a great immortal wouldn't have been able to save you."

I sobbed, clinging tightly to my second grandfather's waist, unable to utter a single word, only filled with endless fear.

I finally understand that my so-called special destiny is not a talent or a lucky encounter, but a sword hanging over my head that could take my life at any moment.

And my second grandfather was the one who always held the sword for me and protected me from disasters.

My grandparents, sitting by the kang (heated brick bed), breathed a sigh of relief when they saw I was awake. My grandmother, wiping away her tears, repeatedly thanked my second grandfather, saying, "Second son, thank you so much! Otherwise, my precious grandson would be gone!"

Second Grandfather waved his hand, his gaze turning back to the window, his eyes turning cold: "It's escaped, but it won't give up easily. Tonight, I must kill it and eliminate it forever."

After saying that, my second grandfather let go of me and took out a piece of yellow paper, a vermilion pen, and a small peach wood sword from his cloth bag.

Under the oil lamp, his fingers flew across the paper, the vermilion pen quickly sketching runes on the yellow paper, the runes sharp and righteous.

A campaign to exorcise the weasel spirit is about to begin.

And I, huddled in the corner of the kang (heated brick bed), watching my second grandfather's figure, had a thought for the first time:

I want to learn my great-uncle's skills, I want to protect myself, and never be bullied by these evil spirits again, and never live in fear again.

This thought, like a seed, was quietly planted in my ten-year-old heart.

Many years later, it took root and sprouted again in the old house on the outskirts of the city.