Yin Yang Diviner

As the car drove out of the neighboring city's territory, the sky in the rearview mirror appeared to be split in two.

Thick, leaden-gray clouds hung low over the mountain valley, like an old, forgotten quilt. Ahead, however, sunlight streamed through the gaps in the clouds, casting a damp, golden glow on the asphalt. The same sky was half overcast, half sunny, the dividing line clear as if someone had drawn a line across the heavens with a knife.

Mr. Li drove much faster than he had come. His hands were no longer shaking, his back was no longer wet, and he felt as if a stone that had been weighing him down for fifty years had been lifted off his back. The car stereo was playing his favorite old Cantonese songs at a very low volume, which, mixed with the hum of the engine, sounded like background noise coming from a distant place.

My second grandfather leaned back in the passenger seat, his clothes already changed and neatly folded on a cloth bag on his lap. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, as if he were asleep. But I knew he wasn't asleep—his right hand rested on the bag, his index and middle fingers together, the tips trembling slightly, as if writing something in the air.

I sat in the back row, spread the book "An Outline of Yin and Yang" on my lap, turned to the page about "double burial," and read the second half.

"...When the upper and lower parts devour each other, strange creatures will inevitably emerge over time. When breaking up a pile of burials, the upper part should be buried first, then the lower part; the order must not be reversed. If it is reversed, the lower part will be frightened and flee, while the upper part will rise and devour people. If it has already become a 'devouring spirit,' its seven orifices must be opened with silver needles, its soul and spirit must be suppressed with an ancient mirror, and its mouth and teeth must be sealed with copper coins. Only by using these three methods simultaneously can it be broken. If any one of them is missing, the 'devouring spirit' will regenerate after entering the earth, and after a hundred days, the calamity will extend to three generations."

Three methods were employed simultaneously. Silver needles were used to open the seven orifices, an ancient mirror was used to suppress the soul, and copper coins were used to seal the mouth and teeth. Second Grandpa used all three methods today.

I folded a corner of the book and closed it. Outside the car window, the cornfields on both sides of the road rushed past, the corn stalks gleaming a dry green in the afternoon sun. It was different from when I came—it was the same road, the same cornfield, but back then the air was thick with the smell of water and the chill, the water droplets on the corn leaves looking like someone's saliva. Now it was different; the sunlight was clean, the wind was gentle, and the cicadas in the cornfield chirped incessantly, noisy but comforting.

"Second Grandfather," I said.

"Hmm." He didn't open his eyes.

"When was that person down there—that one who swallowed yin—buried there?"

My great-uncle's fingers stopped. His eyelids twitched, but he didn't open them. "Judging from the state of decay in the coffin and the style of the clothes, he's been buried for at least a hundred years. He might have lived in the late Qing Dynasty, or even earlier. That mountain valley wasn't marked as a burial ground on the old maps; it was a mass grave. He was probably a nameless man, hastily buried in the valley after his death, without even a tombstone."

"Then why did his coffin become a burial ground?"

"It wasn't that his coffin became a burial ground." The second grandfather opened his eyes, looking at the shadows of trees flashing past the car window. "It was that the land was already a burial ground when he was buried. He was deliberately buried there."

A chill ran down my spine.

"Did someone bury him in a corpse-raising ground, turning him into a Yin-devouring being?"

"Hmm." Second Grandfather's voice was very calm, as if he were talking about something as ordinary as what to have for lunch today. "More than a hundred years ago, someone buried him in that mountain valley, not to let him rest in peace, but to let him absorb the yin energy from the earth and become a yin-devouring corpse. Once it has absorbed yin energy, any coffin buried on top of it will become a corpse-raising coffin. Your Boss Li's old man was not the first person to be buried on it, just the most recent one."

The carriage fell silent. Boss Li turned off the stereo, and the old Cantonese songs stopped abruptly, leaving only the low hum of the engine and the whooshing sound of the air conditioning vents.

"Then... what was the person who buried him in the first place thinking?" I asked.

My second grandfather didn't answer. He closed his eyes again, his right hand resting on the cloth bag, his index and middle fingers together, the tips of his fingers beginning to tremble slightly, writing words I couldn't see.

His silence was the best answer. This matter is not over yet.

It was already evening when the car entered Liuhe Town. The setting sun dyed the leaves of the old locust tree golden-red, and the three characters "Liuhe Town" engraved on the blue stone tablet under the tree were filled with the golden-red light of the evening sun, as if they had just been repainted with cinnabar. Qin Yiheng parked the car at the entrance of the alley. Boss Li thanked him profusely, stuffed a thick file folder into his second grandfather's hand, then turned the car around and drove back towards the neighboring city. The taillights gradually shrank in the twilight, finally disappearing behind the shadow of the old locust tree.

The file contained money. My second grandfather didn't even look at it before handing it to me. "Go back and count it. Keep 30% for your apprenticeship wages, and save the rest for later use," he said.

I carried the cloth bag and the file folder, following my second grandfather into the alley. The bluestone slabs in the alley were scorching hot in the setting sun; stepping on them, I could feel the lingering warmth of the day. The foxtail grass on the wall swayed in the evening breeze, casting shadows on the blue bricks like a row of little figures nodding and swaying. My second grandfather walked to the vermilion gate, looked up at the Bagua mirror on the lintel. A thin layer of dust had accumulated on the mirror; he reached out and wiped it, and the bronze mirror shone brightly again, reflecting a short, fleeting golden light in the twilight.

"Come in." He pushed open the door.

The courtyard was still the same. Blue brick floor, old stone table, bamboo in the corner, koi in the jar. Everything was exactly the same as before we left, as if we hadn't spent several days dealing with the white-haired zombies and the Yin-devouring corpses, but had simply eaten steamed buns at the breakfast stall at the alley entrance. I sat down on the stone bench, placed the cloth bag on the table, and suddenly felt like my whole body was falling apart. Not from exhaustion, but from the tension of several days suddenly releasing; my whole body felt like its bones had been removed, sinking limply into the stone bench.

My second grandfather brought out two cups of tea from the house. The tea was amber in color, with wisps of white steam rising from it. He pushed one cup towards me, took the other cup for himself, and sat down opposite me at the stone table.

"drink."

I picked up the teacup and took a sip. The bitterness spread from the tip of my tongue, slid down my throat, and turned into a warm sensation in my stomach. It tasted the same as the first time I drank it, but this time, I didn't find it bitter.

"Second Grandfather, what did the person who initially buried that unidentified corpse in the morgue intend to do?"

Grandpa held his teacup, gazing at the clump of bamboo in the courtyard. The bamboo leaves rustled in the evening breeze, mingling with the distant barking of a dog from somewhere, rising and falling like a question and answer. "The Corpse Devouring Yin is a tool," he said. "If a Corpse Devouring Yin, having absorbed enough yin energy, is buried under someone's ancestral grave, that family will be wiped out. Over a hundred years ago, someone buried him in that mountain hollow, not to harm a nameless person, but to harm all those with families and surnames who would be buried there afterward."

"Boss Li's grandfather was one of them."

"Yes. It's not just Boss Li. That mountain valley is in the west of the neighboring city. From a feng shui perspective, it's an inauspicious place called 'White Tiger Opening its Mouth,' but even inauspicious places have their uses. Over the past hundred years, people have been buried there one after another. Some were unaware of the details, while others were deliberately lured there. Every person buried there is pressed down on that old coffin. The upper coffin absorbs the yin energy of the lower coffin, and the lower coffin takes away the corpse from the upper coffin—this is not a coincidence; it's a scheme that someone set up more than a hundred years ago."

My fingers tightened. A scheme set up over a hundred years ago is still in motion today. But where is the person who orchestrated this scheme? Is he still alive?

My second grandfather seemed to read my mind and put down his teacup. "The person who set up this scheme is long dead. But the scheme remains. We've broken the Yin Devouring Technique, and now the scheme is missing its most important link. Without that link, the Yin energy of the entire earth vein has dissipated. That mountain valley will never again produce a corpse-raising ground."

The bamboo leaves rustled for a while, then fell silent. It was as if something had heard those words and finally stopped.

Second Grandfather stood up. "Go take a shower and change into clean clothes. Go to bed early tonight. You'll continue learning tomorrow. Once you've broken the 'swallowing yin' barrier, you've truly entered the door. But entering the door is only the first step. There's still a long road ahead."

I nodded. As I stood up from the stone bench, the copper coin on my wrist wobbled slightly, striking my wrist bone with a soft, crisp sound, like something returning to its place. The two cracks on the coin's surface were still there, extending from the edges towards the center, like two dried-up riverbeds. But the cracks hadn't widened. From the moment I tied it to my wrist until now, it had remained like this, like a silent guardian, never letting go.

I returned to the east wing. The four characters "澄心静气" (meaning "calm mind and tranquil spirit") on the wall gleamed dimly in the twilight. I placed the file folder and cloth bag on the table and lay down on the bed. The bamboo leaves outside the window were still rustling, but the sound was softer than before, like someone whispering in the distance. I couldn't make out the content, only the tone—a tone of relief, of finally being able to rest.

I held my left hand up to my eyes. The copper coin gleamed with a warm, dark gold in the twilight, round on the outside and square on the inside, the four characters "Tian Yuan Tong Bao" worn smooth and shiny. I stared at it for a while, then lowered my hand and closed my eyes.

We'll continue learning tomorrow. Getting started is just the first step. There's a long road ahead.