Yin Yang Diviner

Old Liu's apartment is in an old residential area in the east of the city, on the sixth floor, without an elevator.

The hallway lights are voice-activated. Old Liu walked in front, his footsteps turning on the lights on each floor. The dim light illuminated the densely packed little GGs on the wall.

When I reached the corner on the fifth floor, the motion-activated light turned on briefly, then went out. When it turned on again, the color was wrong—it wasn't a dim yellow, but a bluish tinge, as if someone was looking through a light bulb covered with a layer of bluish cloth.

Second Grandfather stopped and took out a yellow talisman from his cloth bag.

It wasn't a pre-drawn talisman like those in the booklet; it was a blank piece of yellow paper. He used his vermilion pen to make a dot in the center of the paper and stuck it on the corner window frame on the fifth floor.

The moment the talisman was affixed to the window frame, the light bulb flickered with a bluish light before returning to its dim yellow glow. He said nothing and continued walking upwards.

Sixth floor, 601.

The door was an ordinary security door, and the small red couplets from the Chinese New Year were still pasted on the door frame, faded by the sun.

Old Liu's hands were shaking as he reached for his keys, and it took him several tries to insert them into the lock.

The door opened, and the air inside seemed to emanate from an ice cellar—not because the temperature was cold, but because the air itself was frigid.

The copper coin on my wrist burned, and the lightning-struck wood pressed against my chest. The lightning energy inside suddenly surged into my Tanzhong acupoint, as if it had been provoked by something.

The house was very clean. The young couple had repainted it when they moved in, and their wedding photo was hanging on the wall, with the two of them smiling at the camera.

A plate of pistachios sat on the coffee table, with the shells piled up beside it.

A woman's coat was draped over the sofa, its sleeves rolled up.

Everything was normal, as normal as if the owner was just going downstairs to buy soy sauce and would be right back.

But Zhen Yuan felt a jolt in his palm.

It wasn't heat, it was vibration, like someone knocking on the outside of a mirror from deep within.

The golden light deep within the sac rose up on its own, spreading to the edge of the mirror, eager to try, like a hunting dog that has caught the scent of its prey.

Second Grandfather stood at the bedroom door but did not go in.

The bedroom wasn't big; it contained a double bed, a wardrobe, a bedside lamp, and a half-open book.

The bed sheet was light gray. A corner was lifted, revealing pillows placed side by side, one of which had an indentation on it.

On the wall directly opposite the head of the bed—a row of handprints.

The fingerprint wasn't pressed onto the wallpaper surface; it was pressed from the inside of the wall outwards.

The wallpaper was stretched into the shape of five fingers, the knuckles, fingertips, and the curve of the palm so clearly defined it was almost unbelievable, as if someone was trapped inside the wall, pushing outwards with their palm. The height of the handprint was exactly where a person sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, would be facing.

"When we found it yesterday, it only had one hand." Old Liu's voice came from the living room; he didn't dare go into the bedroom.

"Captain Wang came to check again this morning and said there were too many handprints."

There were indeed too many; not just one, but three.

Three handprints are placed side by side on the wall above the bed, with the middle one being the largest and the two on the sides being smaller.

It's like someone trapped inside a wall, first tentatively pressing a button, then using both hands to push desperately out.

Second Grandfather placed the cloth bag on the bedside table, took out the inkwell, pulled out the ink line, dipped the end of the line in cinnabar and black dog blood, and snapped a line on the wall above the bed.

The ink line fell onto the wallpaper with a very faint hiss—like a red-hot iron wire being quenched in water.

After snapping the line, he didn't put away the ink line, but took out a talisman from his cloth bag.

It wasn't a blank yellow paper, but rather the kind of pre-drawn talismans found in booklets.

The talisman's core is a tiny triangle, used to ward off evil spirits and protect the home.

He held the talisman between his right index and middle fingers, pinched it with his fingers, and the talisman paper stretched taut between his fingers.

"The talisman wasn't pasted on, it was 'dropped'," he told me, his eyes fixed on the row of handprints on the wall.

"To 'stick' is to treat it like paper. To 'drop' is to treat it like a command." With a flick of his right hand, the talisman for warding off evil spirits flew out of his hand.

It didn't float away—it was as if someone reached out from the wall and caught it. The talisman flew out flat and landed right where the ink line had passed, with the triangular talisman core aligned with the largest handprint in the center.

The moment the talisman landed, a muffled thud came from inside the wall.

It wasn't a human voice; it sounded like something heavy had hit the wall from the inside.

The whole wall shook, and the wedding photo on the hook swayed.

The talisman paper was firmly affixed to the wallpaper, with the cinnabar strokes rising from the paper surface inside the triangular talisman core.

That small patch of empty space began to glow—not the red of cinnabar, but a very pure and bright golden light, exactly the same as the light deep within the Zhenyuan Yang membrane.

"The righteous laws of Heaven and Earth will reveal the true nature of evil spirits."

What my second grandfather was chanting wasn't a spell, but a command.

The voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail driven into the wall.

The handprints on the wallpaper began to change—the edges of the three handprints, which were originally only slightly raised, now seemed to be pushed inward by something, and the outlines of the five fingers shrank inward by an inch.

It didn't push outwards; it shrank inwards. It was afraid.

The second grandfather took out the second talisman from the cloth bag.

The talisman was a vertical, spindle-shaped object, used for exorcising evil spirits. He held the talisman between his fingers, not immediately dropping it, and turned to look at me.

"The house-protecting talisman 'suppresses' it, preventing it from escaping. The exorcising talisman 'reveals' it, causing it to show its true form. You see."

With a change of hand gesture, the exorcism talisman flew out and landed next to the house-protecting talisman.

The spindle-shaped talisman is aligned with the slightly smaller handprint on the left.

The moment the talisman settled, a very thin beam of light shone through the spindle-shaped opening, like a flashlight shining out from the talisman's core. The beam of light shone on the handprint, and the wallpaper became translucent.

Behind the semi-transparent wallpaper, I saw a hand.

It wasn't a living person's hand; it was bluish-gray, with long, black fingernails on its five fingers, pressed against the inside of the wallpaper.

The beam of light from the exorcism shone on the back of its hand, and a layer of fine bubbles rose from its bluish-gray skin, as if it had been scalded by boiling water.

The hand abruptly retracted, and the handprint on the wallpaper sank inward, forming a deep palm socket.

"The core of the exorcism talisman is a shuttle." My second grandfather's voice was steady, just like when he taught me to recognize the core of the talisman in the yard.

"The shuttle is the eye, and the eye is seeing. Once it sees, it can no longer be hidden. If it can't be hidden, it will run out."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a series of rapid scraping sounds came from inside the wall—not just one hand, but many.

The scraping sound spread from the head of the bed to the surrounding area, running up, down, left, and right along the cavities inside the wall, as if something was frantically searching for an exit inside the wall.

The living room lights began to flicker, the kitchen echoed with the clatter of dishes, and the bathroom faucet turned on by itself, water gushing into the sink.

Old Liu squatted down next to the coffee table in the living room, holding his head in his hands and chanting Amitabha Buddha.

Grandpa Er remained expressionless and took out the third talisman from the cloth bag.

The talisman's core consists of five tiny dots arranged in a plum blossom shape, known as the Five Thunder Talisman.

"The Five Thunder Talisman is not for suppressing, nor for seeing, but for 'breaking'." He held the Five Thunder Talisman between his fingers, not in a hurry to drop it.

"The Five Thunder Talisman has five dots, corresponding to the five thunder gods. Thunder is the most righteous energy in the world. Impure things are covered by the Five Thunder and cannot escape."

However, the Five Thunder Talisman cannot be used indiscriminately—it does not recognize people, only those who are righteous.

If your heart is righteous, lightning will help you. If your heart is filled with selfishness, lightning will strike you as well.

With a flick of his fingers, the Five Thunder Talisman flew out, not sticking to the wall—but hovering three inches in front of it, the talisman standing upright on its own.

The five talismanic cores lit up simultaneously, not with golden light, but with white light. Five extremely fine and bright white lights shot out from the five points and converged into one point in the air.

The point where they meet falls precisely in the palm of the middle handprint.

A scream came from inside the wall.

It wasn't a human voice, but a sharp, piercing sound, like countless fingernails scraping against glass at the same time.

The entire wall shook violently, and the wallpaper began to tear from the handprint, creating a gash more than a foot long.

The opening wasn't made of bricks or cement—it was hollow.

The wall is hollow, with things stuffed in the interlayer.

I peeked out from behind my second grandfather.

The wall's inner layer was filled with clumps of black, fluffy material, resembling hair, yet not quite.

The fluffy substance contained several thin, grayish-white things—bones.

It's not an adult's bone; it's extremely small and thin, like a baby's finger.

The number of bones was incorrect; they were densely packed, countless in number, entangled and wrapped in black, fluffy material, filling the interlayer of the entire wall.

"This is called 'wall maintenance'," the second grandfather's voice deepened.

"The old method. When building a house, seal the premature fetus inside the wall and use a talisman to suppress it, so that its soul is trapped inside the wall and cannot get out."

Over time, the fetus's resentment grows together with the wall, becoming a "wall ghost".

The ghost guards the house for its owner, but there is a price to pay—every now and then, it has to suck a breath from a living person.

The young couple moved in; the woman, being of a yin constitution, was targeted by a ghost.

"Where is she?" Old Liu stood up from beside the coffee table, his voice trembling.

Second Grandfather did not answer.

He took the Five Thunder Talisman back from the wall. The five white lights on the talisman had gone out, and the cinnabar strokes had faded to a dark gray, like a used piece of waste paper.

He folded the discarded talisman and put it back in his bag, then took out a new one.

It's for warding off evil spirits, not for exorcising evil, and it's not a talisman I've never seen before.

The talisman's core is an extremely thin arc, like a crescent moon or clasped hands, serving as a protective charm.

He held the amulet between his fingers and walked to the tear in the wall.

The black, fluffy filling inside emitted an indescribable odor—not foul, but cold, like all the frost and snow of winter pressed into a crack in a wall and sealed for who knows how many years, and then suddenly exposed to the wind.

"Enter the Way with sincerity, and follow the Law with righteousness." The second grandfather wasn't chanting a spell, but a mantra.

The voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail driven into the wall: "The three souls return to their places, and the seven spirits return to their forms."

The amulet flew out flat and landed in a crack in the wall.

The arc-shaped talisman glowed in the darkness, not with a golden or white light, but with a warm, gentle, and calming yellow, like the embers in a stove in winter.

Warm yellow light seeped out from the cracks in the wall, shining on the black, fluffy material. The material began to loosen, as if being peeled away layer by layer by an unseen hand.

When the lid was lifted to the very back, the face of the missing woman was revealed.

She was curled up in the wall's recess, her eyes closed, her face pale, but her chest was still rising and falling very faintly.

The wall ghost swallowed her whole, before it could even take its last breath.

The amulet's warm yellow light enveloped her, like a gently cupped hand, separating her from the darkness outside.

The second grandfather reached into the crack in the wall and pulled the woman out from the gap.

She was very light, like a bundle of dried straw.

Old Liu took her and laid her flat on the sofa. Her eyelids twitched, but she didn't open them. However, her breathing was noticeably stronger than before.

In the cracks of the wall, the black, fluffy things began to shrink, like moss that had been drained of its moisture, drying up, cracking, and turning to ash piece by piece.

Tiny white bones, hidden in the ash, were revealed and scattered at the bottom of the interlayer. I counted them; there were seven in total.

Seven premature fetuses have been sealed inside this wall for who knows how many years.

"Cultivating the wall is an evil art, but the person who performed it is long dead." Second Grandfather put the ink line and talisman paper back into his cloth bag one by one.

"The person dies, but the spell remains. The wall ghost is trapped inside the wall and can't get out. It can only take a breath every now and then, according to the rules set by the caster."

Those handprints were it pushing outwards—not trying to get out, but because the time for it to "feed", set by the caster, had arrived. It reached out to grab the person, and then pulled them back.

"Who sealed the seven fetuses inside?"

Second Grandfather glanced at the crack in the wall.

Before this residential area was built, this place was a cluster of old houses. We need to find out the surname of the owner of those old houses.

But the person was long gone, so finding out wouldn't help. The ghost in the wall dispersed, so the bones of these fetuses were removed and properly buried.

They've been locked up for so many years, it's time for them to be buried.

Old Liu squatted beside the sofa, watching as the woman's pale face gradually regained some color.

"Will she...will she still remember?"

"I don't remember. People who are swallowed by the wall ghost remember nothing when they wake up."

It was like having a very long dream, in which I was being pulled down by something, and I could never reach the bottom.

"I forgot as soon as I woke up." Grandpa tied the cloth bag. "Forgetting is a blessing."

I stood at the bedroom door, looking at the row of handprints on the wall above the bed.

After the Five Thunder Talisman struck, the edges of the handprint blurred, like mud washed away by rain.

Zhenyuan felt slightly warm in his palm, and the golden light deep within the Yang membrane shone steadily.

It revealed the true nature of the wall ghost—not a ghost, but seven children imprisoned within the wall who had never seen the light of day.

They can finally go out.