Yin Yang Diviner

It was six o'clock in the morning, and the sky was still not fully light.

I was startled awake by the sound of a copper bell. The bell was urgent and rapid, not the distant morning bell of a temple, but rather like someone frantically shaking a string of small bells outside the window, tinkling and clanging so loudly that the windowpane trembled slightly. I sat up abruptly in bed, my hand instinctively reaching for the compass under my pillow—the dial was icy cold, the needle pointing directly out the window, trembling like a startled grasshopper.

Second Grandfather's voice came from next door, steady and not loud, yet it clearly penetrated the wall: "Don't open the window. It's the eerie bell from the cemetery."

The Yin Bell. I read about it in my great-uncle's book, *An Outline of Yin and Yang*. In the mountains, there are extremely inauspicious places where yin energy stagnates for centuries, forming "energy pockets" within the earth's veins. On the first and fifteenth of each lunar month, or if someone disturbs the feng shui of a burial site, these energy pockets are stirred, causing yin energy to surge up from the ground, striking rocks, tree roots, and discarded coffin nails, producing a sound similar to a copper bell. The older generation called it the "Yin Bell," saying it was the sound of underworld officials patrolling the mountains and counting the souls of the dead.

If a living person hears the sound of the yin bell, they must not open the window or respond. If the window is opened, the yin energy will rush in, causing at best a serious illness, and at worst, their soul will be taken away.

I placed the compass on my lap and sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed. My purse was tucked close to my body, radiating a slight warmth through my T-shirt. The bell outside the window was still ringing, one after another, rolling down the hillside from the direction of the cemetery, as if something was walking down the mountain, ringing its bell as it went.

I closed my eyes and, following the method my second grandfather taught me, slowed my breathing and focused my mind on my dantian. I pressed the tip of my tongue against my palate and silently recited the "Heart-Clearing Mantra"—not the long and complex scriptures found in the Daoist canon, but a simplified version by my second grandfather, consisting of only eight lines and thirty-two characters, specifically designed to calm the mind disturbed by yin energy.

"The Supreme Star, ever adaptable. It expels evil and binds demons, protecting life and body. Wisdom is clear and bright, the mind is at peace. The three souls are eternal, the spirit is never lost."

By the third time I read it, the sound of the bell outside the window had gradually faded into the distance.

I opened my eyes. A sliver of dim light shone through the gap in the curtains; it was finally dawn.

We ate breakfast on the first floor of the hotel. Boss Li didn't come down; the waiter said he checked out before dawn and drove to town to pick up those young men from our clan. It was just my second grandfather and me in the restaurant. We had a simple meal of porridge, steamed buns, and pickled vegetables.

My second grandfather ate slowly and deliberately, picking up a piece of pickled vegetable with his chopsticks, taking a bite of steamed bun, chewing it a dozen times before swallowing. I sat next to him restlessly, picking up my chopsticks and putting them down again, and I couldn't drink any more porridge than half a bowl.

"Second Grandfather," I finally couldn't help but speak, "that eerie bell from last night—"

"The spirit of the cemetery has been disturbed." Second Grandfather broke a steamed bun in half, dipped it in rice porridge, and said, "Once the news of the relocation spread, the wandering ghosts in the mountains all knew that the place where corpses were raised was about to be disturbed. The sound of the yin bell means they are running away."

"Running away?"

"The corpse-raising ground is an ominous place, but it's also their 'backbone.' The heavy yin energy allows wandering ghosts to stay there without their souls being scattered. Now that the corpse-raising ground is about to be destroyed, they'll have nowhere to live and will naturally have to find another place to go." My second grandfather put down his chopsticks and looked at me. "Last night's ringing of bells must have involved at least a hundred of them."

Hundreds of them.

I recalled the indistinct silhouettes outside my window last night, half-asleep. I thought I was seeing things, but each shadow was actually a lonely soul desperately trying to escape.

"Will they harm people?"

"I wouldn't dare." Second Grandfather picked up his porridge bowl and finished the last mouthful of rice. "Last night I placed talismans around the hotel to ward off evil spirits. They were too busy avoiding it. But outside this hotel, in the village at the foot of the mountain, I'm afraid someone is going to have bad luck today."

I remained silent for a while. Not all wandering souls are content. Some, burdened by resentment and deep-seated obsession, will take desperate measures. My second grandfather could protect this hotel, but not the entire mountain. In this world's karma, he could only concern himself with the present moment.

At exactly eight o'clock, Boss Li returned.

He was driving a seven-seater van, crammed with four young men from his own clan, all in their early twenties. They looked tense, gripping shovels and crowbars, their knuckles white. Boss Li got out of the driver's seat, his eyes dark as if he'd been punched twice; clearly, he hadn't slept all night.

"Mr. Qin," he jogged up to his second grandfather, his voice low, "something has happened in the village...something has happened in the village."

Second Grandfather was packing his cloth bundle when he heard this and paused, saying, "Speak."

"Old Sun's family at the foot of the mountain woke up this morning to find all the chickens in their yard dead. More than twenty of them, lined up neatly in the middle of the yard, all facing the same direction." Old Sun's Adam's apple bobbed. "...facing the direction of the cemetery."

A chill ran down my back.

"Anything else?" Second Grandfather asked.

"And..." Boss Li's voice lowered even further, "Old Sun said he got up to use the outhouse in the middle of the night and saw a row of people squatting on the courtyard wall. They were squatting neatly, their faces facing his window, completely still. He was so scared that he didn't dare to go out, so he bolted the door and chanted Buddhist prayers all night. When he went out in the morning, he saw a row of wet marks on the courtyard wall, as if something had been squatting there all night."

Second Grandfather zipped up the cloth bag, and the copper coin clinked against the zipper head.

"Chickens are substitutes," he said. "Lost ghosts and spirits come out of the cemetery looking for a place to rest. If a living thing stands in their way, it will take their life. Twenty-odd chickens saved the Sun family from disaster. As for those on the courtyard wall—" He paused, "they're here to watch the show. They know the corpse-raising ground on the mountain is going to be destroyed today, and they're all waiting to see how the white-haired zombies will be dealt with."

The four young men from the same clan huddled around the car, their faces increasingly grim. One of them, a tall, thin man, hesitated before speaking, "Uncle Li, how about... how about we find an even more skilled master? This old gentleman seems quite capable, but he only has one apprentice. What if—"

"Shut up!" Boss Li turned around and glared at him. "I went to great lengths to invite Mr. Qin. You guys just need to do your part today and don't ask questions you shouldn't."

The tall, thin man shrank back and didn't dare to say a word.

My second grandfather acted as if he hadn't heard these words, slung the cloth bag over his shoulder, and headed straight for the path leading up the mountain. I carried the prepared bundle—containing black dog blood, cinnabar, ink, and yellow paper—it was so heavy that my shoulders ached—and quickly followed.

The road up the mountain was more difficult than I had imagined.

It's not that the road is difficult to walk, it's that the mood is wrong.

The higher you go, the heavier the air becomes. It's not the coldness of temperature, but an indescribable heaviness. Every breath feels like lead filling your lungs, sinking heavily downwards. The grass on both sides of the mountain path is covered with dewdrops, but those dewdrops aren't transparent; they're murky, with a greasy sheen, like the saliva of something.

I glanced down at the compass. The needle had stopped moving. It wasn't broken; it was being suppressed by yin energy, frozen in place, like an insect being strangled.

"Second Grandfather," I said in a low voice, "the compass isn't moving."

"It's normal." Second Grandfather continued walking. "The Yin energy in the corpse-raising ground is too heavy, and the compass needle is blocked. I have a way to deal with it when we get there."

After walking uphill for a while, the mountain road ahead suddenly opened up.

This is a mountain hollow. It is surrounded by mountains on three sides and opens on one side, shaped like a grand master's chair. The hollow is overgrown with wild grass, but the grass is the wrong color—not a normal green, but a dark, blackish green, as if something has rotted it from the roots. In the very center, there is a grave.

The grave mound was half collapsed, the tombstone was askew, and it was covered with dark green moss. A ring of water surrounded the grave; the water was murky yellow, with a layer of fine foam floating on the surface. There was no wind, but the water was trembling slightly, as if something was breathing beneath it.

The "cold smell" grew stronger. It wasn't earthy or rotten; it was a smell like the cold air mixed with the musty odor of a freezer that had been left untouched for a long time. I had smelled this smell in my dreams—an old face in a puddle, its long white hair floating like seaweed.

This smell is no longer in my dreams. It's right in front of me, rising from the graves, from the puddles, from every inch of dark green grass, filling my nostrils, and going down my throat.

Boss Li and the four young men stood ten paces away, none of them daring to approach. The tall, thin man dropped his shovel on the ground, and when he bent down to pick it up, his hands trembled so much that he had to try three times before he could finally get it.

My second grandfather walked to the grave, squatted down, and placed his palms on the ground. His eyes were half-closed, and his lips moved slightly, as if he were chanting something. After about half a minute, he stood up and patted the dirt off his hands.

"A mortuary, that's right." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clearly audible to everyone present. "There's more than one coffin down there."

Boss Li's face turned pale instantly: "No, not just one bite?"

"Your grandfather's coffin was buried later. This place used to be an old cemetery, and there are even older things buried underneath. Your uncle buried your grandfather here, which is like throwing a piece of fat meat into a pack of wolves. Your grandfather absorbed the yin energy from the ground and turned into a white-haired rice dumpling. The things underneath absorbed the corpse energy of your grandfather and also came back to life."

Second Grandfather turned around and his gaze swept across everyone's faces.

"What we're moving today isn't just your old man's coffin."

A sudden gust of wind rose in the valley. The wind swept down from the three mountain ridges, passing over the murky yellow water around the grave mound, rippling the surface and creating dark red patterns—as if something had turned over underwater.

The four young men all took a step back.

Second Grandfather took out a compass from his cloth bag and held it in his palm. Strangely enough, the compass needle, which had been suppressed by the yin energy and remained stationary, suddenly jumped up and then steadily pointed in the direction of the grave when it was in his hand.

"When the yang energy returns to its proper place, the yin energy retreats." Second Grandfather recited a sentence and stepped into the pool of water.

The water was above the tops of his cloth shoes. He didn't look down, but walked step by step to the grave and placed the compass on top of the crooked tombstone. The moment the compass settled, its surface emitted a very faint golden light—not reflected sunlight, but light emanating from the compass itself, like a piece of heated copper.

"Bring the things over here."

I carried the bundle, following in my second grandfather's footsteps, step by step. The puddles were icy cold; I could feel the chill seeping up from the ground even through my shoes. I placed the bundle on the dry ground beside the grave and opened it. The black dog's blood was in a sealed glass bottle, dark red in color, and when I shook it, it was as thick as ink that couldn't be dissolved. The cinnabar was wrapped in oiled paper; when I opened it, it was a bright red, like blood. The ink line had been newly wrapped last night and had soaked in the cinnabar all night, turning dark red. There was a stack of yellow paper, the edges neatly trimmed.

My second grandfather picked up the ink line first. He pulled out a section of the line, dipped the end in black dog blood, and handed it to me: "Walk around the grave once, and tighten the line. No matter what you feel under your feet, don't look down."

I took the line. It was slightly cool to the touch, carrying a sweet, metallic scent of cinnabar and black dog blood. As my second grandfather had instructed, I walked around the grave, holding the ink line three feet above the mound. With each step, the soil beneath my feet sank slightly, as if I were stepping on a giant, breathing sponge.

When I got to the third side, I felt something touch my ankle.

It was very light. Like a finger reaching out from the soil and gently touching my ankle bone through the shoe.

My breath hitched. My second grandfather's voice came from behind me: "Don't look down. Keep going."

I gritted my teeth and took the next step. The sensation on my ankle disappeared. I handed the end of the thread back to my second grandfather, who took it and tied it to the original end. Now the entire grave was surrounded by a circle of dark red ink line. The line trembled slightly in the windless air, emitting a very faint hum, like a taut string.

"Dig," said the second grandfather.

The four young men looked at each other, none of them daring to move. Boss Li gritted his teeth, walked over and snatched the shovel from the tall, thin man's hand, and shoveled the first spadeful of soil himself.

The moment the shovel hit the ground, everyone heard a voice.

It wasn't the sound of a shovel cutting through the soil. It was a sigh coming from the depths of the grave, from beneath the earth.

It was long and light, like someone trapped under a blanket, trying their best to exhale.

Old Li's shovel froze in mid-air. The four young men's faces were as white as paper. The copper coin on my wrist suddenly became scalding hot, the heat penetrating my skin and drilling into my bones, as if reminding me—it had sensed something.

Second Grandfather remained expressionless. He stood outside the area marked by the ink line, his hands behind his back, calmly looking at the half-collapsed grave.

"Keep digging," he said. "It's getting cloudy. The coffin must be opened before noon."

I looked up. The sky that had been a hazy, bright gray when I came was now piled high with leaden-gray clouds. The clouds gathered from all directions above the mountain valley, pressing down lower and lower, like an inverted pot lid.

A faint rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.

That wasn't thunder. That was something underground, turning over.