Yin Yang Diviner

Lightning-struck wood is not wood.

It is the bone left after wood has been quenched by heavenly fire.

When my second grandfather took it out of the box, I felt a very slight tingling sensation from two feet away—it wasn't static electricity.

It felt like something was being pushed out of that charred piece of wood, pushing against the air, and the air was pushing against my skin.

Zhenyuan felt slightly warm in my palm. The golden light deep within the Yang membrane rose up on its own before I could even circulate my energy, spreading to the edge of the mirror like a hunting dog that pricks up its ears at the sound of movement.

"Lightning-struck wood is wary of strangers." Second Grandfather placed the charred piece of wood on the stone table. "It was struck by lightning, so it retains the temper of thunder in its bones."

Thunder doesn't discriminate; it only recognizes righteousness. If you are righteous, it will ward off evil spirits for you; if you are not righteous, it will strike you down along with them.

The piece of wood was about a hand's length and the thickness of a thumb; it was no longer possible to tell what kind of tree it originally came from.

The surface is charred black, with cracks running from top to bottom, like a solidified lightning bolt.

The cracks revealed an extremely deep, dark silver-gray luster, not the luster of metal.

It's the color of ashes after being pressed down for thousands of years—lighter than black, darker than white, like the scorching residue left in the air after thunder rolls across the sky.

"This piece of lightning-struck wood was brought back from Changbai Mountain by Grandpa Chen." The second grandfather stuffed tobacco into his pipe and lit it with a match.

"That year, he was in a village at the foot of Changbai Mountain when he encountered a thunderstorm. Lightning struck an old pine tree outside the village, splitting the pine tree in two from top to bottom. This piece of wood was exposed in the core of the tree—the rest of the parts were burned to charcoal, but this piece was charred but not broken, black with a silvery sheen."

Grandpa Chen took it out, held it in his palm, and pressed his palm against it; it wasn't hot, it was warm.

"Isn't lightning-struck wood charcoal?"

"Charcoal is dead ashes. Lightning-struck wood is living bones." Second Grandfather exhaled a puff of smoke.

"The moment the tree was struck by lightning, heavenly fire poured down from top to bottom, forcing out all the vitality of the wood in an instant and pressing it into the densest core of the wood."

The outside was burned to charcoal, but the life force within was tempered by the heavenly fire into something new—neither wood nor fire, but 'Zhen' (the trigram representing shock).

He picked up the lightning-struck wood from the stone table and held it in his palm.

The charred wood clung to the lines of his palm, and the silvery-gray deep within the cracks gleamed faintly in the morning light, as if someone had struck it from the deepest part of the wood with a hammer, sending sparks flying that extinguished before they even hit the ground.

"The Bagua seal suppresses the earthly evil, the Five Emperors Coins replenish the world's energy, the peach wood sword cuts off obsessions, and the inkstone marks life and death."

The creature struck by lightning is a 'demon'—not a ghost, not an evil spirit, but something that has cultivated itself into a spirit.

Foxes, weasels, white foxes, willows, and gray foxes; mountain spirits and tree monsters—these things are not afraid of earthly evils, worldly affairs, obsessions, or the boundary between life and death.

They fear only one thing: heavenly thunder.

"When a demon cultivates to a certain level, it must undergo a tribulation of lightning."

If you succeed, your spiritual progress will be great; if you fail, your soul will be shattered by heavenly lightning, and you won't even have the chance to be reincarnated.

Therefore, demons fear thunder the most. Lightning-struck wood, having been struck by lightning, retains the "spirit" of thunder deep within its bones.

When you shine the Zhenyuan light on it, what you see is not wood, but the last thunderclap left in the core of that storm.

I held Zhenyuan steady, and aimed the mirror at the lightning-struck wood in my second grandfather's palm.

As the golden light spread upwards, the lightning-struck wood appeared deep within the mirror—not the charred wood itself, but a silvery-white, branch-shaped streak of light that seemed to have been struck from above, as if lightning had been frozen in the instant it struck.

The main trunk of the light trail was straight, with fine branches. At the end of each branch, a small cluster of silvery-white light burst open, like the lingering echo in the air after a thunderclap.

"I saw it," I said.

"A silvery-white streak of light cleaved downwards. A halo of light appeared at the end of the branch."

That's the "momentum" of lightning. When lightning strikes, the momentum doesn't just last for that one moment. The momentum will remain in the things it strikes, lasting for decades or even centuries.

The piece of wood struck by lightning was taken from the core of that old pine tree by Old Master Chen.

The pine tree had lived for over a hundred years. The moment it was struck by lightning, its centuries of life force was reduced to a mere bone by the heavenly fire. This bone contained not the essence of wood, but the power of lightning.

He put the lightning-struck wood back on the stone table and pushed it in front of me.

"Touch it."

As I reached out, the moment my fingertips touched the charred wood, a very slight tingling sensation shot from my fingertips to my wrist.

The copper coin felt slightly warm, as if it were reminding me of something.

The numbness didn't subside; it traveled up my forearm and stopped at the Quchi acupoint, where it throbbed gently, like an invisible little insect trapped inside the acupoint.

"You felt it?"

"It feels numb. Like something inside is pushing it out."

"That's the residual power of thunder. It was struck by lightning, and the temperament of heavenly thunder remains in its bones."

If you touch it, it will recognize you. Once it recognizes you and thinks you are right, the numbness will subside.

"I think you're not upright—" Second Grandfather took the pipe out of his mouth and tapped it on the edge of the stone table.

"It won't come back."

The tingling sensation throbbed in my Quchi acupoint for about three breaths, then slowly receded from the acupoint like the receding tide.

It didn't disappear all at once, but retreated layer by layer, from the forearm to the wrist, from the wrist to the fingertips, and finally lingered for a moment at the fingertips.

It felt like something gently flicked my fingernail.

I've withdrawn from it; I acknowledged it through its process.

"From today onwards, you shall carry this piece of wood struck by lightning with you at all times."

Second Grandfather stood up, took a small piece of leather rope from the house, and threaded it through a tiny hole at the top of the lightning-struck wood—the hole was natural, a hole left when lightning struck and the branch was pierced by the heavenly fire.

He tied the leather cord into a loop and handed it to me, saying, "Wear it around your neck, close to your acupoint."

The center of the chest is where Qi gathers. The thunderous intent, close to this Qi gathering point, can help suppress the things attracted by a purely Yin destiny. Copper coins suppress fate, while lightning-struck wood subdues demons. With both close to you, you will be immune to all evil when walking at night.

I put the leather strap around my neck. The lightning-struck wood pressed against my chest, and through my T-shirt, I felt a very light and steady warmth.

It wasn't the temperature of charcoal fire, but rather the feeling of something breathing slowly inside. With each breath, warmth emanated from the wood core, seeping into the Tanzhong acupoint and traveling up and down the Ren meridian.

It ascends to Tiantu and descends to Qihai.

The copper coin trembled slightly on my wrist, as if it were greeting me.

It guarded me for two months, and now it has a companion.

My second grandfather watched as I tucked the lightning-struck wood into my collar and nodded.

He took the last thing out of the box—the thin booklet.

The cover was dark blue, the edges of the paper were frayed, it was thread-bound, and the spine thread was loose.

He placed the booklet on the stone table without opening it.

"Of the seven old items, you photographed six: the Bagua seal, the copper bell, the Five Emperors' Coins, the peach wood sword, the ink line, and the lightning-struck wood."

Suppress, guide, constant, slay, boundary, demon—six kinds of things, six kinds of objects.

This booklet isn't a ritual implement; it contains talismans I've used: talismans for warding off evil spirits, calming the mind, exorcising evil, five thunderbolts, and personal protection.

Every single talisman was drawn and used by me personally; I've collected them over decades, culminating in this book.

He pushed the booklet in front of me.

"The talisman isn't something you can see by looking at it; it's something you can draw. Starting tomorrow, I'll teach you how to draw talismans."

The bamboo leaves rustled. The shadow of the old locust tree moved from the stone table to the base of the east wall; the sun had already risen above the bamboo tips.

I put Zhenyuan away, and the golden light deep within the Yang membrane slowly receded, like an eye that had been open for a long time finally closing.

Seven old items, six special things. Only one item remains.

symbol.