Yin Yang Diviner

I stood frozen at the doorway of the main room for half a minute. My second grandfather's casual "The work is here" hit me like a block of ice, making it hard for me to breathe.

I had thought I was just here to freeload, escape my parents' nagging, and maybe help my great-uncle sweep the yard and serve tea. I had no chance of ever touching those superstitious things. But now, standing in this old courtyard, with the lingering scent of sandalwood and mugwort around my nose, and seeing only compasses, talismans, and peach wood swords that I'd only ever seen in horror movies, my feigned nonchalance had long been devoured by the terror in my heart.

I secretly glanced at my second grandfather.

He still sat in that old, well-worn elm chair, his hand clutching the old jade pipe, wisps of smoke curling around his graying hair. He was lean, but his back was ramrod straight, unlike the hunched posture of most old men. The wrinkles on his face weren't deep, yet each one held an inexplicable depth. Only his eyes, seemingly cloudy and dim, would occasionally sweep across the room, flashing with a sharp light, like an old fox lurking in the deep mountains, capable of piercing the heart.

When I was a child, I often heard the old people in the village say that my second grandfather had traveled all over China in his youth, even venturing into Southeast Asia. He possessed unfathomable skills, but for some reason, after middle age, he returned to this old house on the outskirts of the city, staying indoors and rarely concerning himself with worldly affairs. Some neighbors respected him, some feared him, and some secretly laughed at him for being a charlatan. But when they encountered something strange, the first thing they thought of was knocking on his wooden door.

I shrank back, swallowing the words "what kind of work" that were on the tip of my tongue. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, my second grandfather would make me touch things I wouldn't even dare to look at. I, Qin Yiheng, am fearless, I dare to fight with street thugs, I dare to climb walls at night to go online, but I am terrified of these mysterious and supernatural things—it's a fear etched into my bones, stemming from childhood trauma, hidden in my subconscious, ready to explode at the slightest touch.

The wind was still blowing in the courtyard, rustling the locust leaves. The sound wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet courtyard, like countless people whispering in my ear. I subconsciously moved further into the sunlight, but even standing in the midday sun, I could still feel a faint chill creeping up from my feet, creeping along my bones, lingering there.

This house is too quiet.

It was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat, so quiet I could hear the crackling of burning tobacco, so quiet I wondered if there was something else in the courtyard besides me and my second grandfather, hiding in the shadows of the locust tree, in the dark corners of the wall, watching me without moving.

"What are you standing there for?"

Second Grandfather finally spoke, his voice still slow and hoarse, characteristic of an old smoker, yet carrying an irresistible force. He tapped his pipe, flicking the ash onto the bluestone slab; the sparks were instantly extinguished, leaving not a trace of warmth.

"Come inside."

I nodded, like a puppet on a string, and followed him into the main room.

The main room was darker and colder than the courtyard.

The four walls were covered with no fewer than twenty compasses, varying in size and material—some made of bronze, some of wood, and a few that appeared to be carved from jade. Their surfaces were intricately engraved with the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches, and the Eight Trigrams. Some compasses were yellowed and even cracked, yet they still exuded an ancient and majestic aura. In the corner stood several peach wood swords, their blades engraved with cinnabar runes, polished smooth by time, yet still radiating a dignified and righteous spirit.

On the altar directly opposite the door sat an unidentified deity statue. The statue's face was ancient and simple, neither Buddhist nor Taoist, and its body was wrapped in yellowed talismans. Three sticks of incense burned perpetually on the altar, their wisps of smoke obscuring the statue's face, making it difficult to discern clearly. Beside the altar was a blue-and-white porcelain bowl filled with various grains: millet, rice, black beans, red beans, and mung beans, neatly categorized. Next to it was a vermilion inkstone and a wolf-hair brush, its tip still stained with undried vermilion.

I stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with my hands and feet, feeling extremely uncomfortable. I had only ever seen these things online, but now that they were actually in front of me, the overwhelming sense of eeriness and mystery made the hairs on my body stand on end.

My heart pounded: This is no ordinary place! This is clearly a Taoist priest's shrine! What was my dad thinking, sending me to a place like this? Did he want me to reform, or was he trying to push me into another hellhole?

My second grandfather seemed to see through my thoughts, but he didn't point it out. He just pointed to the direction of the side room and said, "You'll live in that room from now on. Keep it clean."

I looked in the direction he pointed, and saw that the door to the side room was ajar, with a cold light shining through the crack. I instinctively shivered, feeling extremely unwilling, but I dared not object and could only grit my teeth and reply, "Understood, Second Grandfather."

"Don't even think about slacking off." Second Grandpa picked up a small compass from the table, his fingertips gently stroking its surface. "This isn't a shelter. If you come here, you have to follow my rules."

"Rules?" I paused, my heart skipping a beat. "What rules?"

I conjured up a bunch of outrageous rules in my mind: no stepping on the threshold, no whistling at night, no calling out the names of ghosts or gods, and you can't even touch anything in the house without permission. Just thinking about it makes my scalp tingle.

My second grandfather glanced at me, a barely perceptible smile in his eyes: "First, you are not allowed to touch anything on my altar; second, no matter what you hear at night, you are not allowed to go out; third, you do whatever I tell you to do, and you are not allowed to ask any questions."

Just these three?

I breathed a sigh of relief, my previously anxious heart instantly calming down. I thought it would be some kind of strict rule, but it turned out to be so simple. Don't touch anything, don't go out, just obey the rules—what's so difficult about that?

I immediately patted my chest and assured him, "Second Grandpa, don't worry, I'll definitely be obedient and won't cause any trouble!"

I secretly rejoiced: It seems I was overthinking things; my second grandfather was just trying to scare me. I can still get by. I sweep the floor during the day, sleep soundly at night, and after a while, I'll find an excuse to go home. Perfect.

But I didn't notice that when my second grandfather looked at my relaxed appearance, a complex look flashed deep in his eyes. There was helplessness, worry, and a hint of certainty that had been destined all along.

He didn't speak again, but picked up his pipe again and slowly smoked, his gaze fixed on the locust tree outside the window. His eyes darkened, as if he were looking at something distant, or as if he were waiting for something that was destined to happen.

Not daring to disturb him, I tiptoed into the side room.

The outhouse was small, containing only a wooden bed, an old table, and a chair. It was kept clean and tidy, yet it exuded a chilling atmosphere, as if it had been uninhabited for many years. The windows were old-fashioned wooden lattice windows covered with paper, allowing very little light. Even during the day, the room was dark, with only a few faint rays of light filtering through the gaps in the paper and casting long, thin shadows on the floor.

I placed my simple luggage on the table and sat on the hard wooden bed. The bed frame was so hard it hurt my bottom, but I had no mind to complain. I stared at the shadows in the room, feeling that something unseen was hiding in those dark corners, silently watching me.

I shook my head, forcing myself not to think about these random thoughts. I'm a 21st-century college student, a believer in science. Demons and monsters are just feudal dross, things we only scare ourselves with!

The more I told myself this, the stronger the panic in my heart became. My destiny of being born in the year, month, and day of the yin, the strange dreams I had as a child, my second grandfather's all-seeing eyes, and the lingering chill in this house—these were like threads binding me, making it hard for me to breathe.

I got up and closed the door to the side room, bolting it shut, trying to use the wooden door to shut out the eeriness and coldness outside. But as soon as I closed the door, I heard a soft, rustling sound coming from outside, like fingernails gently scraping against the door panel, a soft, rustling sound that sent chills down my spine.

I took a step back abruptly, leaned against the wall, and my heart was pounding.

who is it?

Is it my second grandfather? Impossible, my second grandfather is in the main room, he wouldn't do such a thing.

Is it the wind? But the sound is too clear; it's clearly the sound of fingernails scraping wood!

I held my breath, staring intently at the door, barely daring to breathe. The sound lasted for about ten seconds, then abruptly stopped, and the courtyard returned to deathly silence, save for the rustling of the locust leaves and the pounding of my own heart.

I slumped onto the bed, my back soaked with cold sweat.

I started to regret it.

I shouldn't have come here. I'd rather stay home and listen to my parents nagging, or go out and find a job I don't like, than stay in this gloomy and eerie house, living in constant fear.

But now, I can't leave. When my dad brought me here, he made it clear that I shouldn't even think about going home until I made something of myself. Even if I cry and beg to leave now, my second grandfather won't let me go, and my dad won't listen to me either.

I had no choice but to grit my teeth and stay.

I spent the entire afternoon huddled in the side room, afraid to go out or make a sound, like a frightened rabbit. My second grandfather didn't come to call me either. The courtyard was quiet, with only the occasional sound of a pipe tapping against the bluestone slabs reminding me that there was another person in the house.

As evening approached, the sky gradually darkened, and the afterglow of the setting sun shone through the locust tree leaves, casting a dark red hue into the courtyard, like congealed blood, which made people feel uneasy.

My second grandfather finally called me to dinner.

I lingered as I walked out of the side room. The light in the main room was already on; it was an old-fashioned incandescent bulb, casting a dim, yellowish light that stretched the shadows in the room long. The statue, compass, and peach wood sword looked even more eerie in the dim light.

There were only two simple dishes and a soup on the table: green vegetables, tofu, and egg drop soup—very bland. My second grandfather ate very slowly and without saying a word, and I didn't dare to speak either, just keeping my head down and shoveling rice into my mouth, unable to taste anything.

I stole a glance at my second grandfather. He ate calmly, as if all the strange things in the house had nothing to do with him. He was like a part of this ancient house, integrated with these yin-yang artifacts and the yin energy filling the courtyard, composed and undisturbed.

My curiosity and fear grew stronger. Who exactly was my second grandfather? Could he really see those unclean things? Were his abilities real or fake?

After finishing the meal, I volunteered to clear the dishes, hoping to appear diligent and put my second grandfather at ease. He didn't stop me; he just sat in his chair, watching me bustle about with a calm and unwavering expression.

By the time I finished cleaning up the dishes, it was completely dark.

The old house is more terrifying at night than during the day.

There were no neon lights of the city, no hustle and bustle of traffic, only boundless darkness, the rustling of locust leaves in the wind, and the occasional hooting of an owl, shrill and piercing, especially frightening in the quiet night.

Second Grandfather pointed to the side room: "Go back to sleep. Remember my rules: no matter what you hear at night, you are not allowed to go out."

I nodded, then practically ran back to the side room, quickly closed the door, bolted it, and then propped a chair against the door before I felt a little more at ease.

I lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the dim ceiling, wide awake.

Darkness engulfed the entire outbuilding like a tide. The temperature inside dropped lower and lower. I wrapped the blanket tighter, but I still felt cold. The chill crept up from under the bed, creeping along my skin and making me feel icy cold all over.

I silently recited my second grandfather's rule: no matter what you hear, you are not allowed to go out. Not allowed to go out, not allowed to go out…

But the more this happens, the more sensitive my ears become.

I heard the wind in the courtyard, the rustling of the locust tree leaves, the soft crackling of incense burning on the altar, and even the faint sound of footsteps coming from outside the side room.

The footsteps were slow and light, one step at a time, moving from the main room to the door of the side room, and then they stopped.

My heart jumped into my throat, and all the blood in my body seemed to freeze.

Who's outside the door?

Second Grandfather? What is he going to do?

Or... something else?

I bit my lip hard, afraid to make a sound, my eyes fixed on the door, as if I could see through it and into the room.

The footsteps stopped outside the door and never moved again.

Time passed second by second, each second feeling like an eternity.

My body stiffened, cold sweat soaked the blanket, and my mind frantically imagined the scene outside the door: Was it a hunched figure? A deathly pale face? Or a pair of pupil-less eyes, staring at me through the crack in the door?

I do not know.

All I know is that I have never been so scared in my life.

I used to think I was fearless, but in the face of this boundless darkness and the unknown, I realized that I am just a coward, fragile and vulnerable.

After an unknown amount of time, the footsteps outside the door finally disappeared.

I let out a long sigh of relief, all my strength drained away, and collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily.

I looked out the window at the pitch-black night sky, at the dappled shadows of the locust tree cast on the window paper, and only one thought occupied my mind:

That night was unbearable.

My days in this old house have only just begun.

Little did I know that the terror of that night was just the beginning. The real nightmare was yet to come, waiting to drag me into an endless, eerie abyss.