Yin Yang Diviner

The copper bell lay above the mirror of Zhenyuan, suspended about two inches from the yang membrane.

The bell is made of brass, and over the years, a dark patina has formed on its surface, like the warm, oily sheen left on old furniture after being touched by countless hands.

A small red string was tied to the bell, the end of which was frayed and fuzzy, its original color faded to grayish-white.

Second Grandfather held the red rope between two fingers, keeping the copper bell steadily suspended above Zhenyuan. "Shine," he said.

I focused my mind into the ancestral aperture, and from the depths of the yang membrane of Zhenyuan, the golden light that had accumulated for forty-nine nights slowly rose up, overflowing the mirror surface and covering the copper bell.

The copper bell changed in the golden light.

It's not that the shape has changed—it's that there's an extra layer of light around the bell.

It wasn't the indigo blue of a Bagua seal; it was an extremely pale grayish-white, like the lingering mist on a river surface on a winter morning.

A grayish-white light emanated from the bronze of the bell, flowing slowly around it like an invisible stream.

"Gray," I said. "There's a layer of grayish-white light around the bell. Very faint, like mist."

Second Grandfather did not speak.

He slightly turned the fingers holding the red rope, and the copper bell slowly spun half a circle above Zhenyuan.

When the bell was turned around, I saw that the grayish-white light was not uniform—in one area, the grayish-white light had almost completely faded, revealing a small patch of warm, soft, pale gold underneath.

"One of them is pale gold," I said.

"The grayish-white color has faded, revealing the gold underneath."

Second Grandfather took the copper bell back and placed it on the stone table.

"Gray represents yin energy. The bell of the corpse-driver is not a talisman for warding off evil, but a guide."

In western Hunan, corpse-transporting involves traveling along mountain paths at night. When a bell rings, the corpse behind the person takes a step.

The bell doesn't carry evil spirits, but rather the last trace of "wanting to leave" left in the corpse by the deceased—the desire to go but not knowing the way.

This meaning is neither soul nor spirit; it is lighter than soul and spirit, so light that it weighs only a breath.

The bell carried the scent of countless corpses, each layer tainting it with a layer of lingering intent. Layer upon layer, the original gold of the bronze was obscured, turning it grayish-white.

He pointed to the area where a pale gold color was visible.

"This piece was wiped with cinnabar and chicken blood when he gave it to me."

Cinnabar belongs to Yang, and chicken blood is the energy of growth. It washes away a little of the outermost layer of energy, revealing the copper color underneath.

As he was wiping this piece, he told me that the bell had attracted too many people and its influence was too strong, so it would ring by itself at night.

Staying at the inn, the bell would ring in the middle of the night, and no one on the entire floor would dare to sleep. He wiped this piece of cloth to let the bell breathe, and it stopped ringing during the night.

I stared at that pale gold color.

The copper bell lay quietly on the stone table, its mouth facing upwards, like a small bell with its mouth open but unable to make a sound.

How many people has it attracted? I don't know.

The corpse-driver shook his bell as he walked along the mountain paths of western Hunan, followed by a row of corpses with yellow talismans pasted on their foreheads and dressed in funeral clothes. Each time the bell rang, they took a step.

The bell rang again, and they took another step. Among the corpses were elderly people who died of old age, middle-aged people who died violently in a foreign land, pregnant women who died with their unborn children, and widows and orphans who died with no one to claim their bodies.

The meanings they left on the bell, layer upon layer, dyed the brass bell the color of mist.

"Second Grandfather, have you used this bell before?"

Second Grandpa stuffed tobacco into his pipe, lit it with a match, and took a puff.

The smoke rose in the morning light. He didn't exhale it, but held it in his mouth for a while before slowly exhaling two thin plumes of smoke from his nose.

"I've used it once," he said.

"Just once."

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't answer immediately. The tobacco in his pipe flickered, and through the smoke he looked at the bronze bell on the stone table, his gaze fixed on something far away.

The courtyard quieted down, and the bamboo leaves rustled in the wind.

"More than 20 years ago, I was taking a friend home."

"friend?"

"He's in the business. His surname is Chen, he's a few years older than me, and he's spent his whole life traveling all over the country, doing feng shui consultations, relocating graves, and warding off evil spirits—he takes on all sorts of jobs."

Later, he fell seriously ill. He recovered from the illness, but his health deteriorated—not physically, but mentally.

He said that in his life he had moved countless graves for others and sent countless souls home, but if he were to die in another place, he wouldn't even have anyone to see him off. The second grandfather took a puff of his cigarette.

"I said, I'll be there when you die, I'll see you off."

"And then?"

"Later he died in western Hunan. Not from being away from home—he went there on his own. He knew his time was coming, so he took a train to western Hunan alone, rented a stilted house near Fenghuang Ancient Town, and stayed there for seven days."

On the morning of the seventh day, the landlord knocked on the door, but it was bolted from the inside. He pried the door open and found him lying on the bed, neatly dressed, wearing a pair of new cloth shoes with clean soles, not a speck of mud on them.

The second grandfather tapped his cigarette ash. "He scattered his soul himself."

I was stunned. "It's over?"

"There's a method in this industry. Knowing that your time is coming to an end, find a quiet place and let your three souls and seven spirits disperse on their own."

The celestial soul returns to heaven, the terrestrial soul returns to earth, and the life soul dissolves into the qi, leaving not a trace behind.

This way, there's no need for others to perform rituals for the deceased, no need for others to move the grave, no need for others to send off the deceased. Everything is clean and tidy, as if the deceased had never existed in this world.

"Then why did he still ask you to deliver it?"

Second Grandfather remained silent for a while.

"He scattered his soul, but left behind a trace of his will." He pointed to the bronze bell on the stone table.

"He wrote to me in advance, saying that he had rented a room in western Hunan and asked me to go there after he left."

It wasn't to retrieve the body—the locals will handle that. It was to persuade me to return.

"Can you accept someone's request?"

"Yes. The intention is not the soul, but the traces left by a living person in the world."

He scattered his soul, but gathered the memories of the roads he had walked, the things he had done, and the people he had met while he was alive into a very light wisp of thought, which he left in that stilted house.

When I arrived in western Hunan, I pushed open the door, and the lingering thought of my journey floated to the head of my bed. Like a small wisp of mist, it lingered and did not dissipate.

I took this bell with me. It has carried the wishes of countless deceased souls and knows best how to guide them.

I placed the bell by my bedside, and it rang by itself—a very soft sound.

Hearing the bell ring, the mist slowly rose from the head of the bed, circled the bell three times, and then gradually seeped into the bell.

"It seeped in?"

"It has seeped in. This bell has guided so many dead people and accumulated so many layers of meaning. One more layer wouldn't make a difference, and one less layer wouldn't make a difference either."

Brother Chen's intentions seeped in and overlapped with those of the deceased whom he had never met, making it impossible to distinguish which layer was his.

I brought the bell back and put it in this box. Sometimes when I can't sleep at night, I take the bell out and shake it, but what I hear isn't the sound of a bell—”

"What is it?"

"That's the sound of his footsteps." Second Grandfather put away his pipe and stood up.

"When a magical artifact is used for a long time, it will remember the people it accompanied. Zhenyuan remembers the Western Xia person who was suppressed by it for eight hundred years."

The Bagua seal remembers the lightning and fire calamities it suppressed.

This bell remembers the deceased on the mountain paths of western Hunan, those who followed its sound step by step home. It also remembers Brother Chen.

He took two steps into the house, stopped, and turned his head away.

"You looked at the Bagua seal and the copper bell today."

The seal tells you about "suppression"—how to suppress evil spirits and how to withstand calamities.

The bell tells you about "guidance"—how to bring lost things back, and how to give those who have lost their will to go somewhere to settle down.

When you use Zhenyuan in the future, remember these two things: some things need to be suppressed, and some things need to be guided.

Only when you can distinguish when to use a suppressing force and when to use a guiding force can you be considered to have truly understood ritual implements.

His figure disappeared through the doorway, and the courtyard fell silent.

The copper bell lay on the stone table, its mouth facing upwards, the red rope unfurled like a wisp of gray hair tousled by the wind.

I picked it up and held it in my palm. The bell was cool to the touch, its patina smooth and warm. I gently shook it.

The ringing wasn't the crisp sound I'd imagined—it was a muffled sound, as if something had enveloped it, with a long trailing tone that lingered in the air, circling back and forth for a long time.

It's like someone wearing cloth shoes, walking slowly along a distant mountain path. They walk very slowly, but they don't look back.

I put the copper bell back in the box and arranged it next to the Bagua seal.

There were seven old items in the box, and I took pictures of two of them today.

They taught me "town" in one way and "lead" in another. There are five left.

A peach wood sword, five-emperor coins, ink lines, lightning-struck wood, and that thin booklet.

Each and every one of them is waiting for me to photograph it.