Yin Yang Diviner

On the bus back to Liuhe Town, Lao Liu fell asleep leaning against the window.

His head was tilted to the side, a little bit of glistening drool at the corner of his mouth, and the seven copper coins in his pocket swayed back and forth with the bumps of the carriage. The hemp rope rubbed against his trousers, making a rustling sound, like an old lady turning her prayer beads.

I leaned back in my chair, the Zhenyuan amulet in my bag and the bronze mirror at the wellhead lying side by side. The Zhenyuan amulet was slightly warm, while the bronze mirror at the wellhead was quiet and still, its grayish-white vapor gathering on its surface like a curled-up sleeping cat.

When I returned to the alley entrance, the shadow of the old locust tree was just short.

Second Grandfather sat at the stone table with a piece of yellow paper spread out in front of him. On the paper was a single character—not written with a pen, but rather smeared on the paper with his fingertip dipped in tea. The strokes were blurred by the water, and the edges were fuzzy.

It is the character "镜" (jìng).

"I'm back." He didn't look up. "Where's the stuff?"

I took the bronze mirror from my satchel and placed it on the stone table, next to the character "mirror" written on the tea. My second grandfather held the bronze mirror in his palm, turned it over, and saw a line of small characters cast on the back of the mirror, covered by green rust. He picked them out bit by bit with his fingernail.

I stopped halfway through peeling.

"Where did you get this mirror?"

"Old Sun's stall behind the City God Temple. He said that when he bought it, the mirror was covered with a layer of incense ash, and it took him a long time to polish it until it turned bronze."

The night he collected it, he dreamed of a well, with this mirror on its rim, face down towards the well opening. He tried to reach in and turn it over, and someone in the well sighed.

Second Grandfather turned the bronze mirror over so that the mirror surface was facing up.

The green rust mottled copper surface reflects the shadows of bamboo leaves and old locust trees, blurred as if seen through a layer of green water.

He rubbed the mirror back and forth with his thumb, and the green rust, warmed by his body heat, developed a very faint sheen.

"I've seen this mirror before," he said.

Fifty years ago. My second grandfather was eighteen years old and had just started his apprenticeship. His master's surname was Zheng, and people in the trade called him "Zheng the One-Eyed"—not because he had only one eye, but because he could see through things at a glance.

Zheng Yiyan had an old friend surnamed Su, who was a fortune teller. He set up a stall behind the City God Temple with a square table, a pot of tea, a copper ink box, and a small calligraphy brush.

Mr. Su does not charge for character divination, but those who come for divination must bring their own paper. He says that the energy on the paper represents the person's "intention," and using someone else's paper will disrupt that intention.

"Mr. Su spent his whole life interpreting characters, and he was most proud of three things."

Second Grandfather put the bronze mirror back on the table, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.

"The first case involved a woman who had lost her gold bracelet and came to have it interpreted by a fortune teller. She wrote the character '西' (west)."

Mr. Su glanced at it and said, "The bracelet is in the bellows." The woman went back to look for it and found it there.

The character "西" (west) is the outer shell of the character "风" (feng), hidden inside the bellows. It's not that it's lost, it's that it fell in and can't be taken out.

"The second thing is that a young man came to have his marriage fortune told and wrote the character '未' (wei). Mr. Su said that '未' is 'half red and half wood,' with red representing red and wood representing a coffin."

The girl you're about to marry will be in mourning before the wedding ceremony even takes place.

The young man immediately lost his temper, slammed his fist on the table, and stormed off.

Six months later he came again, without saying a word, and knelt in front of the stall and kowtowed three times.

The girl was engaged, but before the wedding, her father died. She observed three years of mourning, and the engagement fell through.

"And the third one?"

Second Grandfather did not answer immediately. The bamboo leaves rustled in the wind.

The shadow of the old locust tree moved from the stone table to the base of the west wall.

"The third one is me." He put down his teacup.

"I was eighteen years old that year, and I had just started my apprenticeship. My master told me to go to the back of the City God Temple to find Mr. Su and get something. When I went, Mr. Su was sitting behind his stall, with this square table in front of him and this bronze mirror on the table. He asked me to write a character."

"What did you write?"

"mirror."

The tea had seeped into the character "镜" (mirror) on the yellow paper, and the edges had dried, turning the strokes into rings of light brown water stains, like the crackles on old porcelain.

"Mr. Su looked at the character 'mirror' that I wrote and said something."

He said, "The character 'mirror' is composed of 'metal' on the left and 'end' on the right. 'Metal' represents strength, and 'end' represents the end. You used your life's strength to exchange for an end."

You know what the end result will be. I won't take your money; this mirror is a gift.

He gave me the bronze mirror, saying that the mirror had been pressing down on the well for many years, but it wasn't pressing down on the well itself, but on the "end" of the person inside. "End" means the end, the finality.

Before throwing himself into the well, the man took one last look at the well opening. That look remained at the well's edge, captured by the mirror.

He removed the mirror from the well, and the man's last glimpse of himself floated to the surface and vanished.

"What happened to Mr. Su afterward?"

"Then the political movement came. Fortune telling was considered one of the Four Olds, so the stall was smashed, the square table was chopped up and used as firewood, and the copper ink box was confiscated and smelted into copper."

Mr. Su was sent back to his hometown, and when he left, he only took a small calligraphy brush with him.

My master went to see him off, and he told my master that he had performed divinations on over three thousand characters in his life, and every single one of them had come true. Only the last character remained undivined.

"What character?"

"On the day he left, he dipped his finger in water and wrote a character on the wall of the City God Temple. He left before the water dried."

When my master arrived, the water stains had almost dried, and only a silhouette was recognizable.

Second Grandfather traced the character "道" on the stone table with his finger.

How should the character "道" be interpreted?

"The first step is the way. The head is the head, and the step is the path. Move your head out, and leave your body in place."

Mr. Su spent his entire life interpreting characters, and the last character he interpreted for himself was "走" (walk).

Second Grandfather stood up and held the bronze mirror from the wellhead in his palm.

"He gave me this mirror back then, but I didn't want it. Not because I didn't want it, but because I was afraid to. At eighteen, I couldn't bear the weight of that one glance. Fifty years later, it has returned on its own."

He handed me the bronze mirror. "You can bear it. The last glimpse of that person in the well has been captured by the mirror for many years."

The incense ash on the mirror was applied by Mr. Su later. He was afraid that if someone touched the mirror, it wouldn't be able to bear the weight of a single glance.

Now that the incense ash has been wiped away, the aura in the mirror is perfectly calm. That glance has dissipated, and what remains in the mirror is not just surprise—but stillness.

I took the bronze mirror. The surface was cold and mottled with green rust. The shadows of bamboo leaves and old locust trees swayed on the bronze surface, blurry as if seen through a layer of green water.

A grayish-white aura emanated from the depths of the mirror; it was not oppressive, nor malevolent, but rather a profound and tranquil peace.

The person in the well took one last look at the world, but that look was captured by the mirror and remained pressed against the well opening for many years.

Later, Mr. Su took the mirror and smeared it with incense ash. Then it fell into Old Sun's hands, and I brought it back.

Fifty years later, it has come full circle and returned to this stone table.

Is Mr. Su still alive?

"I don't know. After the movement ended, some people said he died of illness in his hometown. Others said he didn't die, but changed his name and continued to set up a fortune-telling stall behind the City God Temple in another place. Nobody went to look for him."

"Why don't you go look for it?"

Second Grandfather took out a camphor wood box from the house and opened it. Inside, seven old items—a Bagua seal, a copper bell, five-emperor coins, a peach wood sword, an ink line, a piece of wood struck by lightning, and a fetal induction bell—lay quietly on a dark red velvet cloth. He placed the well-mouth copper mirror inside, arranging it next to the fetal induction bell.

"My master once told me something before he passed away. He said that what people in this industry fear most is not not meeting a master, but having a master walk the path for them. Mr. Su gave me this mirror to point out a path for me. I didn't take it. Not because I didn't want to, but because the time wasn't right. When the time comes, the mirror will come back to me on its own."

He closed the box, and the scent of camphor wood wafted out from the cracks.

"The time has come. The mirror has returned. Tomorrow, go behind the City God Temple and find a fortune teller surnamed Zhang."

He is not Mr. Su. If Mr. Su were still alive, he would be over ninety years old. The man surnamed Zhang is Mr. Su's grand-disciple, who has been interpreting characters all his life without charging a fee.

Go find him; you don't need to bring any tissues.

"What should I bring?"

"Take that copper coin from your wrist."

The next morning, I took a bus into the city. The street behind the City God Temple was packed with people on Saturdays and Sundays, but it was deserted on Mondays.

The stall selling walnut bracelets was closed, the stall selling old books and newspapers only opened halfway, and Old Sun's stall was covered with plastic sheeting and weighed down with bricks at the four corners.

At the end of the street, the side gate of the City God Temple was open, and the smell of incense wafted out.

A square table was placed against the wall next to the side door.

It's not an old item; it's the kind of folding table that costs a few dozen yuan at a flea market, with a plastic cover on the tabletop and wood grain printed on it.

On the table were an enamel teacup, a small calligraphy brush, and a stone inkstone, the ink in which was half-dry.

Behind the table sat an old man, around seventy years old, thin, with a long beard, wearing a faded blue cloth jacket.

His eyes were half-closed, as if he were resting.

I sat down across from him at the square table. He opened his eyes, glanced at me, his gaze lingered on my face for a moment, then fell on my left wrist.

The copper coin was tied to his wrist; it was round on the outside and square on the inside, with the four characters "Tian Yuan Tong Bao" half-covered by his sleeve.

He didn't ask me to write. Instead, he took out a piece of finely cut paper from under the table, laid it on the table, stirred the ink in the inkstone with the tip of his brush, smoothed the brush tip, and handed it to me.

Write a single character.

I took the pen. The penholder was made of bamboo, smooth and shiny from being worn by my hands, with a small, faded red string tied to the end.

I held the pen tip suspended and wrote a single character on the rough-edged paper.

"mirror"

He looked down at that word. He stared at it for a long time.

The bell of the City God Temple rang out from the side gate, deep and resonant, striking the air one chime at a time.

He pressed the character "mirror" with his fingertip, slowly rotated it on the paper, and then released it.

"Left is gold, right is mirror. Gold is your copper coin, mirror is your copper mirror."

He looked up at me.

"The copper coin on your wrist protected you from two disasters. The bronze mirror in your bag gave someone their last look. Both items were given to you by the same person."

"The same person?"

"Master Su gave the mirror to your second grandfather. Your second grandfather left the copper coins to you."

A mirror pressed down on a well, a copper coin pressed down on a life. The one who pressed down on the well gained peace, the one who pressed down on a life gained disaster.

By carrying both of these with you, you are walking the path that two people didn't finish walking.

He folded the rough-edged paper into a small square and handed it to me, saying, "I'll keep this character 'mirror' for you."

When you've finished walking your own path, come back to me, and I'll return this word to you.

"Are you Zhang the fortune teller?"

He smiled. Not a polite smile, but a smile as if he had heard a name that hadn't been called in a long time.

"My surname is Zhang. I'm not a god, nor am I anything special. I just sit here and read people's characters."

He picked up the enamel mug, took a sip, and the tea leaves floated to the top and then sank back down.

"Did your second grandfather send you?"

"He told me to come find you, saying you've been interpreting characters your whole life. He didn't tell me to bring paper, but to bring copper coins."

"He's showing you around to familiarize yourself with the place." Zhang the fortune teller put down his teacup. "Once you're familiar with the place, you can lead people here to have their fortunes told. I've been telling fortunes for people my whole life without charging money. It's not that I don't want to, it's just a rule set by Master Su—for fortune telling, you can't charge money, because if you charge money, the readings won't be accurate."

The moment money gets involved, one's mind becomes skewed. When the mind is skewed, the characters one sees are one's own, not the characters of the person who came to visit.

He placed the small calligraphy brush on the inkstone, and the ink at the tip of the brush was absorbed by the stone inkstone, causing the brush tip to shrink into a single point.

"When you wrote the character 'mirror,' the tip of your brush paused twice. Once at the 'gold' radical and once at the bottom of the 'surprise' radical. The pause at the 'gold' radical was because the copper coin on your wrist was weighing down your brush. The pause at the bottom of the 'surprise' radical was because the mirror in your bag was pressing down on your intentions. The weight represents the weight, and the pressure represents the responsibility. When you carry both of these with you, your writing becomes heavier than others."

The bells of the City God Temple had stopped ringing. The scent of incense wafted out from the side door, mingling with the aroma of tea from the enamel mug, carried by the wind over the wall. Zhang the fortune teller folded up the legs of the folding table, turning the square table into a plastic board, and tucked it under his arm. He placed the enamel mug, his small calligraphy brush, and his inkstone, one by one, into a canvas bag, tied the opening tightly, and slung it over his shoulder.

"Are you coming again tomorrow?" I asked.

"I come every day. I come even in wind and rain." He lifted his canvas bag up.

"When Master Su left, he wrote the character 'Dao' on the wall. Dao means to walk, to move one's head outwards while leaving one's body in the same place."

He walked out with his head, but left his body on the street. I'll keep watch for him.

He walked westward along the base of the City God Temple wall. His figure in the blue cloth jacket faded further and further into the incense smoke, until he was almost invisible. Then he turned around and said something.

"Tell your second grandfather that Zhang Huaijing is still in the same old place."