Yin Yang Diviner

As we descended the hill, the sun was already high above the canopy of the old locust tree. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, carpeting the ground with a layer of shimmering gold. I followed behind my great-uncle, my eyes still adjusting—the feeling of "looking out from the ancestral aperture" hadn't completely faded, and everything appeared to have a very faint rim of light. The foxtail grass by the roadside had a touch of green at the tips of its spikes; the moss in the cracks of the bluestone slabs was a dark green tinged with gray; even the yellow cat that darted across the alley had a pale golden arc trailing at the tip of its tail.

My second grandfather stopped in front of the vermilion gate and glanced back at me. "Stop using your aura. Aura observation is only used when performing rituals; keeping it active at other times is exhausting. Your foundation is still shallow; if you keep it active for too long, you'll get headaches at night."

I tried to pull my attention away from my brow. It was like closing a door that had been pushed open; the hinges turned slowly and unresponsively. After two attempts, the edge of the light before my eyes faded, and the world returned to its usual colors. But it wasn't the same as before—it wasn't invisible, but hidden beneath the surface. Like a veil, I knew it was there, and I could lift it again whenever I wanted.

There was something new on the stone table in the courtyard.

A bronze mirror. About the size of a palm, its surface dark and somber, its back covered with densely packed seal script characters. It was the ancient mirror my great-uncle used to ward off evil spirits in the grave yesterday. Yesterday, when I held it in my hands, I only felt its weight and its coldness; I didn't really examine its appearance closely. Now it lies quietly on the stone table, mirror facing upwards, reflecting the sky, the bamboo leaves, and the old locust tree branches that peek over the wall.

"You used this mirror to ward off evil spirits yesterday." My second grandfather sat down on the stone bench and pushed the ancient mirror towards me. "Now take another look at it. Use the method you learned today."

I sat down opposite him and picked up the ancient mirror. The mirror was icy cold, and as it touched my palm, the chill traveled up my wrist and down my forearm. I took a deep breath, focused my mind on my brow, and looked out through my ancestral aperture.

The ancient mirror has changed.

It wasn't that its shape had changed; it was that a layer of light had appeared around it. Different from the bluish mist above the town, different from the dark gray of the hills, and different from the warm light emanating from Second Grandfather—the ancient mirror's light had two layers. The outermost layer was a very pale gold, like the kind of gold that had been smothered by incense smoke for hundreds of years, warm and smooth, not dazzling. But within the gold was another layer. It was the color of rust, a dark green, deep and somber, as if emanating from the mirror's very core. The two colors didn't interfere with each other; gold on the outside, dark green on the inside, one layer enveloping the other.

"What did you see?"

"Two layers of light. The outer layer is gold, and the inner layer is dark green."

Grandpa nodded. "The outer layer is righteous energy. This mirror was once enshrined in a Taoist temple, received incense offerings, and absorbed the power of prayers, which is why it has a golden light. The inner layer is its original copper material. Copper belongs to metal, but it has been buried underground for too long, and the metal energy has mixed with earth energy. The earth energy has become stagnant and turned into a dark green."

"Is dark green considered unfashionable?"

"It's the stagnant earth energy. If a bronze mirror is buried underground and there are no evil spirits around, the earth energy will be yellow; if it has been used to suppress evil spirits, the earth energy will be tainted by the evil spirits, turning from yellow to green, and from green to black. The inner layer of this mirror is dark green, which means that it has suppressed evil spirits, but the evil spirits were not very powerful and were not able to completely blacken the bronze energy."

I stared at that dark green layer. Yesterday in the grave, this mirror hung above the Yin-devouring corpse, face down, suppressing the Yin energy surging outwards. The Yin energy accumulated by the Yin-devouring corpse over fifty years crashed against the mirror, being bounced back layer by layer. At that time, I only felt a numbness in my hand and the mirror vibrating. Now, thinking back, each vibration was the Yin energy crashing against the mirror, being worn away by a layer of righteous energy.

"Second Grandfather, is this mirror—specifically used to ward off evil spirits?"

"No." Second Grandfather took out a pipe from his sleeve, stuffed it with tobacco, and lit it with a match. Smoke rose in the morning light, mixed with the scent of tobacco and a faint herbal aroma. "This mirror wasn't originally a magical artifact. It was an ordinary bronze mirror, part of a woman's dowry. Later, I don't know what happened to it, but it ended up in a Taoist temple. The old Taoist priest there used it to reflect incense for decades, offering his prayers for decades, transforming it from an ordinary bronze mirror into a magical artifact capable of suppressing evil spirits."

"Raised?"

"Nine out of ten magical artifacts in the world are nurtured," the second grandfather exhaled, the smoke dispersing before him like a thin veil. "Naturally born magical artifacts certainly exist. Lightning-struck wood, thousand-year-old jade, copper and iron essence naturally condensed from the earth's veins—these are born with the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, needing no nurturing, they can be used immediately. But naturally born magical artifacts are extremely rare, hard to come by. Most magical artifacts used by those in the profession are 'nurtured.' Nurturing them with incense, with chanting, with the essence of the sun and moon. After a long time of nurturing, the artifact gains a spirit. With a spirit, it can suppress evil, ward off evil, and protect its owner from disaster."

He pointed to the copper coin on my wrist. "That copper coin of yours was also nurtured. I wore it for thirty years, letting it absorb my energy and spiritual power. It protected me from seven disasters, and the crack was left from those times. Now it's in your hand, and it has protected you twice—once from the dark energy in the mountain valley, and once from the sudden outward surge of negative energy. Once it has protected you seven times, its connection with me will end, and it will completely become yours."

I looked down at the copper coin on my wrist. Two cracks stretched from the edge towards the center. One was on the night of the hundred ghosts' pilgrimage, and the other was when the Yin-devouring corpse was unleashing its malevolent energy. It turned out that every burning sensation, every tremor, was it shielding me. It wasn't just a piece of copper; it was a hand protecting me.

"The most important things in nurturing a ritual implement are two words—'sincerity' and 'perseverance.'" The second grandfather tapped his pipe on the stone table, producing a small pinch of grayish-white ash. "Sincerity means you truly believe in it, not just paying lip service while doubting it. Perseverance means doing it day after day, year after year, without interruption. If you treat it as an inanimate object, it will always remain inanimate. If you treat it as alive, it will slowly come to life."

I recalled a handwritten page tucked inside the book "An Outline of Yin and Yang." The handwriting was different from my second grandfather's; it was thinner and harder, each stroke like it had been carved into bamboo slips with a knife. That page contained only two sentences: "Objects possess a soul; nurture it with sincerity. Nurture an object for thirty years, and the object will nurture three generations of people."

"How many years has this antique mirror been kept in use?"

My second grandfather put away his pipe and looked at the bamboo shadows reflected in the mirror. "I don't know. When it came to the Taoist temple, the old Taoist priest had already been worshipping it for many years. After the old Taoist priest passed away, it was placed on the altar and continued to be cared for by the Taoist priests and worshippers who came and went. Later, the Taoist temple fell into disrepair, and this mirror was lost. After changing hands several times, it ended up in my hands. Only it knows how many years it was cared for."

He took the ancient mirror from my hand and turned it over. The seal characters on the back were clearly visible in the morning light, and the character "镇" (zhen, meaning town) in the center, engraved in intaglio, had deep and sharp strokes filled with blackened cinnabar. He rubbed the character "镇" back and forth with his thumb twice, then placed the ancient mirror back on the stone table, mirror side down.

"This mirror is yours to use from now on."

I was stunned.

"It has protected more things for me than you have ever seen." Second Grandfather's voice was not loud, but every word was clear. "Swallowing Yin is the last thing it protected for me. From today onwards, it will be with you. The first thing you use it to protect, no matter what it is, will leave a mark on the mirror. After you use it for a long time, and enough marks accumulate on the mirror, it will transform from my magic tool into your magic tool."

I picked up the ancient mirror. The mirror face down, the back up, the character "镇" (zhen, meaning "to suppress") facing me. Yesterday in the grave, I held it in my hands, and it suppressed the first wave of yin energy rushing outwards. At that time, I didn't know it had been nurtured for so many years, didn't know it had suppressed so many things for my second grandfather, and didn't know it would become mine today.

But now I know.

My face wasn't reflected in the mirror—it was too old, its surface dull and dark, like a layer of fog that could never be wiped away. But deep within that dark fog, I saw two layers of light. The outer layer was golden, warm and lustrous; the inner layer was dark green, deep and somber. The two layers of light intertwined, like a heart beating extremely slowly.

"Give it a name." Second Grandfather stood up. "Only with a name will it truly be yours."

The courtyard fell silent. Bamboo leaves rustled softly in the wind. Branches from the old locust tree peeked over the wall, casting shadows on the stone table and the dark surface of the ancient mirror.

I thought about it.

"Zhenyuan," I said, "let's call it 'Zhenyuan'."

My second grandfather stood under the eaves, his back to me. His shadow stretched long in the morning light, and the gray jacket was edged with a very faint blue. He didn't turn around, but I saw him nod.

The ancient mirror lay in my palm. In the dark mirror surface, the two layers of light flickered slightly, as if something had just awakened.