Yin Yang Diviner

The next day was Sunday, and Lao Liu dragged me out of bed early in the morning.

"Let's go for another stroll." He stood at the door of the second bedroom, already dressed for going out, carrying two cups of soy milk in his hand.

"The old man said he'd be setting up his stall again today, let's go take another look at that thumb ring." I took the soy milk; it was piping hot, and there was a layer of undissolved sugar pressed against the bottom of the paper cup.

Old Liu's kitchen always contains only three things: instant noodles, beer, and soy milk powder.

The soy milk was made from soy milk powder, and he added too much sugar, making it so sweet it hurt your throat.

The antique market is more crowded on Sundays than on Saturdays.

Four or five people were gathered around the walnut bracelet stall at the street corner.

The stall owner twirled two pairs of lion head sculptures in his hands, explaining in detail about their "shape, texture, and weight," and the listeners nodded frequently.

Old Liu wanted to go over and take a look, but I pulled him away.

I observed the aura of those walnuts yesterday—a very faint, thin layer of grassy and woody scent, devoid of worldly energy or spiritual power; they were simply tree seeds, and no matter how shiny they were polished, they were still just tree seeds.

Old Sun's stall is still in the same old spot.

The canvas bag had been reopened, and brass locks, mirrors, and bells were lined up on the stall, polished to a gleaming shine.

He was sitting on a small stool, twirling the pair of walnuts that had fallen onto the stall yesterday. When he saw Lao Liu and me coming over, he stopped twirling the walnuts and held them in his palm.

"What about that thumb ring?" I asked.

"It's been put away," Old Sun said in a low voice.

"After you left yesterday, I went to the City God Temple to burn incense. The old monk there told me that the item was not right and that I shouldn't keep it. I sent it away first thing this morning."

"Where was it sent?"

"Jingye Temple in the west of the city. The old monk said that there is a master in that temple who specializes in collecting old objects that have been tainted with negative karma. After collecting them, he puts them in front of the Buddha and slowly melts them with incense. After three to five years, the negative karma will dissipate."

Old Liu breathed a sigh of relief.

I know what he's thinking—if the chanting stops, the old lady won't have to stand by the box every night calling out her grandson's nickname.

But once the chanting stopped, Zhang Jinsheng really couldn't hear it anymore.

In this world, things are better when they're scattered, and more painful when they're left behind; there's no such thing as having it all.

"Old Sun, do you have anything with the right 'qi' on your stall?" I squatted down in front of the stall.

Old Sun looked me up and down, then took three things out of his canvas bag and placed them on his stall.

A copper lock, about the size of a palm, with auspicious cloud patterns engraved on the lock beam;

A bronze mirror, slightly smaller than Zhenyuan, its surface covered with a layer of green rust;

A string of copper coins, not the Five Emperors Coins, but seven coins, strung together with a dark hemp rope, as if it had been hanging on the stove for half a lifetime.

I glanced at it through my ancestral aperture.

The copper lock has a dark, earthy yellow hue—it has locked doors, people have lived inside, and the worldly air of those people seeps into the copper, coalescing into a ball. It's not thick, but it's sturdy.

The aura of the bronze mirror was grayish-white and extremely faint, as if it had been washed by something or suppressed by something.

The seven copper coins have the most mixed aura: some are yellow, some are gray, and some are very pale gold. The seven coins have seven different auras, strung together on a hemp rope, each without interfering with the others.

"The copper lock is from the late Qing Dynasty. When the old house was demolished, the door was taken down, and the lock was pried off and sold as scrap. I bought it," Old Sun said, pointing to the copper lock.

"Its aura is stable, but not substantial. The worldly aura accumulated by ordinary families over a long period of time is not enough to suppress major evils, but it is sufficient to suppress daily trivialities."

"Where's the bronze mirror?"

Old Sun paused for a moment.

"I'm not sure about this mirror. When I received it, the surface was covered with a layer of incense ash, and it took me a long time to polish it until it turned bronze. The night I received it, I had a dream about a well."

"well?"

"There's this mirror on the edge of the well. It's facing down, towards the well opening." His voice trailed off.

"In my dream, I tried to reach out and turn it over, but halfway through my hand, someone in the well sighed."

Old Liu took half a step back.

I stared at the bronze mirror, where grayish-white vapor slowly swirled around its surface.

It's not a malevolent force, but rather an extremely heavy and still "pressure." This mirror has pressed down on something.

It was pressed against the wellhead, pressed there for who knows how many years.

The person who removed it from the well smeared incense ash on the mirror, hoping to use the incense smoke to suppress the well smoke that had adhered to the mirror.

However, the well gas seeped into the copper, and the incense ash could only cover the surface.

"I want this mirror."

I picked up the bronze mirror; its surface was icy cold. As I pressed it against my palm, a calm, pressing sensation traveled up my wrist, stopping at the Quchi acupoint.

"How much?"

"Your second grandfather is Qin Tianyang. I won't make money off you. You take what you pay for. Two hundred."

I handed over the money, wrapped the bronze mirror in an old blue cloth that Old Sun had given me, and put it in my satchel.

Zhen Yuan felt a slight warmth inside his satchel, as if he were sizing up this new companion.

The bronze mirror lay quietly in the blue cloth, the grayish-white mist gathering and clinging to its surface, like a curled-up, sleeping cat.

Old Liu squatted down beside him, staring at the seven copper coins.

"What about this one?"

"This string isn't worth much. Seven coins, seven dynasties, they don't even come together. When I bought it, the hemp rope was almost broken, so I twisted a new one to replace it."

If you like it, take it.

Old Liu glanced at me.

I nodded.

Although the seven copper coins had mixed properties, each one was genuine.

There really is worldliness, and worldliness can sustain life.

He stuffed the copper coins into his pocket, and a section of hemp rope peeked out from the pocket opening. It was dark and looked like a small piece of hanging rope that had been taken off the stove.

"Old Sun, I need to ask you about someone." I wrapped the blue cloth and put it back in my satchel.

"Did you see Zhang Jinsheng's cousin again after that?"

"Never seen him before. He came to sell thumb rings that day, made three thousand yuan, took the money and left. As he left, I glanced at his back; he was wearing a gray windbreaker with a red letter embroidered on the left sleeve. He was as thin as a bamboo pole." Old Sun picked up the walnuts again.

"If you're looking for him, go to the secondhand market in the east of the city. There's a stall there that specializes in buying and selling old appliances; he used to help out at that stall."

The secondhand market in the east of the city is much more chaotic than the antique street near the City God Temple.

Stalls selling old cell phones, old TVs, and used air conditioners were packed together, with loudspeakers blaring "High prices for old appliances."

The air was filled with the smells of plastic, solder, and moldy cardboard boxes.

Old Liu followed beside me, covering his nose. The string of copper coins in his pocket swayed with his steps, and the hemp rope brushed against his trousers, making a very soft rustling sound.

We found the stall at the very back of the market.

A shed made of tarpaulin was filled with old-fashioned televisions, VCRs, radios, and several dusty sewing machines.

A man in his early twenties, thin, wearing glasses and a faded gray windbreaker with a red Z embroidered on the left sleeve, sat behind the stall.

He was fiddling with an old, disassembled radio, the solder joints on the circuit board gleaming.

"Buying or selling?" He didn't look up.

"I'm looking for you."

His hand stopped. The soldering iron hovered above the circuit board, a wisp of smoke rising from the melting solder wire, which he then blew away.

He looked up; his eyes behind his glasses were small, with a few thin red blood vessels visible in the whites of his eyes.

It wasn't from staying up all night; it was from having something on my mind that kept me from sleeping soundly every night.

Who are you?

"My surname is Qin. I visited Zhang Jinsheng's antique shop before his incident."

The soldering iron was put down.

He pushed the radio aside, placed his hands on his knees, his knuckles covered in old marks from rosin and solder.

"The police have closed the case about my brother; it was a heart attack."

"It's not a heart attack." I sat down on the cardboard box opposite him.

The shed fell silent.

The loudspeaker at the next stall was still playing "High-price buyback of old home appliances" on a loop. The sound came through the tarpaulin, muffled, like a shout from a great distance.

"That thumb ring belongs to my grandmother." His voice was very soft.

"Grandma had two thumb rings, one was an old one, and the other was a replacement. She wore the old one her whole life and then passed it on to my brother. She wore the replacement herself. My brother sold the old one."

"Who did you sell it to?"

"No. He sold it to an antique dealer for 50,000 yuan. I don't know who that dealer resold it to. I only know that three days after my brother sold the ring, he went around trying to buy it back. He said the ring was not right, and that someone was watching him."

He took off his glasses, wiped them with the cuff of his windbreaker, and put them back on.

"He called me the night before the incident. He said he went to Jingye Temple in the west of the city to see the old monk, who asked him to leave the thumb ring, but he refused. He said the thumb ring was worth 100,000 yuan, and someone had made an offer for it."

One hundred thousand... Zhang Jinsheng also told me one hundred thousand.

He couldn't bear to part with it.

"After he left, I canceled the lease on the apartment he rented. While packing, I found my grandmother's thumb ring under her pillow."

He took something out of his jacket pocket, clenched it in his palm, and then slowly opened it.

A jade thumb ring.

It is emerald green, with a warm and smooth texture, and a very light patina on the surface.

It wasn't a soul-collecting artifact—a grayish-white light emanated from the depths of the jade, warm and smooth, like embers in a winter stove.

It is the power of thought that the old lady has carried for her entire life.

"I sold this thumb ring to an old man surnamed Sun behind the City God Temple. Three thousand yuan. I don't need three thousand yuan." He clenched the thumb ring back into his palm.

"It was when I placed this thumb ring under my pillow that I dreamed of my grandmother every night. Not standing by the bed—but sitting on the threshold of our old home, fiddling with prayer beads and chanting. I couldn't hear what she was chanting, but I knew who she was chanting for."

"She's calling out your brother's childhood nickname," I said.

He didn't speak.

Someone outside the tarpaulin was calling out "Collecting old TVs," but he didn't respond.

The shed was piled high with old electrical appliances, and the dusty screens reflected the blurry shadows of three people.

"I've seen your brother's thumb ring," I said.

"The soul inside has been drawn out. Your brother's soul has also left that thumb ring and been reincarnated. The thumb ring that your grandmother enshrined at Jingye Temple will dissipate after the old monk keeps it with incense for a few years. She will no longer sit by your pillow every night."

He placed the thumb ring on his knees, with his hands folded over it, like an old woman sitting on a doorstep fiddling with prayer beads.

"When my brother was little, my grandma would sit on the doorstep every day waiting for him to come home from school." His voice was very soft.

"The threshold was made of bluestone, worn smooth by Grandma sitting on it for decades. When my brother came home from school, he would throw down his schoolbag and squat down by the threshold to tell Grandma about what happened at school. Grandma would listen while fiddling with her prayer beads, and she would stop when she heard something funny."

He held up the thumb ring, facing the sliver of light coming in from outside the shed.

The jade gleams with a warm, lustrous green in the light, like the first layer of moss growing on a doorstep in spring.

"I won't give this thumb ring to Jingye Temple. I'll keep it." He put the thumb ring back in his pocket.

"Grandma chanted Buddhist prayers her whole life, not for her own rebirth in the Pure Land—but for the safety of her grandson. My brother didn't survive. I'll save up the rest of her prayers for her."

It was already dark when I came out of the shed.

The loudspeakers at the flea market blared incessantly, and the colorful tarpaulins fluttered in the wind.

Old Liu walked beside me, the seven copper coins in his pocket dangling all the way, the hemp rope rubbing against his trousers, making a rustling sound like an old lady turning her prayer beads.

"Um—" a voice came from behind.

We turned around.

He stood at the entrance of the tarpaulin tent, the hood of his gray windbreaker pulled up over his head, the left cuff peeking out, the red Z logo shining brightly in the setting sun.

"My name is Zhang Jinsheng," he said. "My brother's name is Zhang Jinsheng. My grandma said that Jinsheng means 'saint' and Jinsheng means 'born.' She named her two grandsons one after praying for it, and the other because it was already there."

He pulled his hat down a little.

"If you ever need my help in the future, come find me here. My brother taught me how to repair electrical appliances. The most useful thing he left me isn't a thumb ring, it's this."

He raised the hand that was still clutching the soldering iron; the old marks from the solder were densely packed on his knuckles, like another kind of growth ring.