Yin Yang Diviner

As the setting sun cast its last rays, it stretched a long, dark shadow over the old house's courtyard wall, like a giant beast lurking in the twilight, silently enveloping the three people in the courtyard.

As the autumn wind grew colder, it swirled and fell onto the bluestone slabs, carrying locust leaves. The string of seven copper coins lay quietly on the stone surface, their golden aura still flowing gently. But after Zhang Jinsheng uttered the words "one is missing," the warmth seemed to be covered by a layer of frost, revealing an undeniable incompleteness and stagnation.

Old Liu stood frozen in place, his body slightly hunched, his hands hanging limply at his sides, his knuckles pale and bloodless. His eyes, which had been red just moments before, were now completely devoid of warmth, his pupils unfocused, staring intently at the copper coins on the stone table. His lips trembled, repeatedly murmuring two words, his voice as soft as a wisp of wind that might dissipate at any moment:

"One missing...one missing..."

This word, like a blunt knife, slowly cut away all the hope that had just been ignited in him.

He spent months of painstaking effort, carrying it with him day and night, cultivating his mind with sincerity, and finally managed to cultivate the prototype of the magic artifact. He finally managed to get rid of the "burdensome" shackles, only to be told that everything was flawed from the very beginning.

If the energy channels are deficient and the spiritual essence is incomplete, it will backfire on its master.

These twelve words were like daggers to his heart, leaving him breathless.

He slowly crouched down, his knees bent, pressing heavily against the bluestone slab. The cold stone seeped through the fabric, sending a chill down his spine, but he seemed oblivious. His withered hands carefully covered the copper coins, his fingertips tracing the patterns on each one, his movements as gentle as if comforting a wounded child. In his eyes surged resentment, grievance, bewilderment, and a deep-seated helplessness.

"How could one be missing..." He looked up at Zhang Jinsheng, his eyes filled with tears, his voice pleading, "Uncle Zhang, I've searched all the secondhand markets in the west and east of the city, asked all the old stall owners, and they all say that there are only seven Qing Dynasty coins, the most authentic and the best at warding off evil. How could one Tongzhi coin be missing?"

Zhang Jinsheng walked slowly to his side, his back hunched, and his withered hand gently rested on Old Liu's shoulder. The hand was calloused, rough yet warm, carrying the comforting power unique to the older generation. He sighed, his aged voice tinged with the melancholy of twilight, and slowly explained, each word tearing open the untold secrets of the antique trade.

"Laymen only know about the Five Emperors Coins, but experts understand the Eight Emperors Coins."

"The Shunzhi Emperor founded the dynasty, the Kangxi Emperor ushered in a golden age, the Yongzheng Emperor succeeded him, the Qianlong Emperor reached his peak, the Jiaqing Emperor marked a decline, the Daoguang Emperor weakened the dynasty, the Xianfeng Emperor brought chaos, and the Tongzhi Emperor extended the dynasty's lifespan."

He curled his fingers and counted them one by one, his fingertips tracing the air as if depicting the rise and fall of a dynasty, his tone carrying a sigh of the weight of time: "The Tongzhi Emperor ascended the throne at the age of six and died at the age of nineteen, reigning for only thirteen years. During that time, the country was in decline, most of the mints ceased operations, and the number of Tongzhi Tongbao coins minted was less than one percent of that of Kangxi coins."

"More importantly, these coins were minted during a chaotic period and were tainted by the evil aura of war and turmoil. Most of them did not circulate for long before being melted down by the people and made into jewelry and bronzeware, and disappeared from the world."

"The coins that have survived to this day are either broken and dilapidated, or they are counterfeit coins made in later generations. The genuine Tongzhi coins with pure energy that can be used in ritual objects are extremely rare."

Old Liu's body trembled violently.

He abruptly lowered his head, his forehead pressed against the cold stone table, his shoulders heaving violently, suppressed sobs escaping his throat like those of a wounded beast, helpless and desperate. He wasn't an expert, didn't understand the history of coinage, didn't understand the fatal flaw of a missing vein; he only knew that the hope he had fought so hard for had shattered.

I stood up, walked over to Lao Liu, and bent down to help him up. His body was heavy and limp; he could only stand with my support. His palms were icy cold, covered in cold sweat, and gripped my wrists so tightly they almost crushed my bones.

"Yiheng, am I... destined to never be able to nurture this magical artifact?" He looked at me, his eyes desolate, like a wasteland swept by the autumn wind, devoid of any light. "Am I destined to always be the one who holds us back?"

These words struck at his deepest inferiority complex.

Looking at his red-rimmed eyes and the despair in them, I spoke calmly and without wavering: "If it's missing, we'll make up for it. If we don't have Tongzhi coins, we'll find Tongzhi coins. If one of the eight Emperor coins is missing, we'll gather all eight. That's all."

As soon as he finished speaking, Zhang Jinsheng looked up at me, a hint of approval flashing in his cloudy eyes, which was then replaced by solemnity. He slowly walked to the stone table, picked up a Xianfeng Tongbao coin, and ran his fingertips along the worn lines on the edge of the coin before slowly speaking, posing the second, even more fatal, problem.

"Qin boy, you're thinking too simply."

"Finding a Tongzhi coin is not difficult. What is difficult is finding a Tongzhi coin whose life force has not been interrupted."

He placed the Xianfeng coin back on the stone table, his withered fingers lightly tracing a broken line in the air, his tone chillingly cold: "I just said, of ten Tongzhi coins, nine have lost their life force. Do you know what it means to have lost its life force?"

I nodded slightly. My second grandfather had taught me the principles of Qi and Qi.

The vital energy of an ancient artifact is like the blood in a person; it must be continuous and unbroken for a living being to recognize its owner. If an artifact is melted down, damaged, or remade, its vital energy is severed, just as a person loses all their blood, becoming a lifeless object. Even if it is later pieced together and polished, it can never return to its original form; its vital energy dissipates and its soul is destroyed, never to be reborn as a true artifact.

"Most of the Tongzhi coins suffered from the destruction of being melted down during the Tongzhi period."

Zhang Jinsheng's voice grew clearer in the twilight, each word like an icicle piercing the heart: "Thrown into the furnace, melted into molten copper, made into bracelets, hairpins, and copper locks, circulating for a hundred years, then pried off from the jewelry and polished into the shape of coins."

"It looks like a Tongzhi coin, but its internal energy has long been broken. The broken energy cannot be reconnected or sustained. Even if you string it into the Eight Emperors Coins, it will only be like a rotten piece of wood, destroying the perfect energy of the other seven coins."

Old Liu felt ice-cold all over, as if he had fallen into an ice cellar, and his last shred of hope was completely crushed.

He released his grip on my wrist, staggered back two steps, and leaned against the rough trunk of the old locust tree. The bark of the trunk pressed against his back, but he felt nothing. He looked up at the darkening sky, the last rays of the setting sun falling on his face, half bright and half dark, outlining his despair and resentment.

"Then... even if we find it, it's useless?" His voice was hoarse, filled with a final struggle.

Zhang Jinsheng did not answer immediately, but turned to look outside the courtyard.

As dusk deepened, wisps of smoke rose from the streets and alleys of Liuhe Town, the aroma of cooking fires mingling with the cool twilight and seeping into the courtyards. His gaze drifted towards the east of the town, to Liuhe Town's most famous secondhand market. Quiet during the day, it transformed into a bustling hub for traders of old objects at night, a melting pot of all sorts, hiding both treasures and grime, as well as countless untold stories of brokenness and regret.

"It's not entirely hopeless."

He spoke slowly, breaking the silence and igniting the last glimmer of light in Old Liu's heart.

Old Liu suddenly turned his head, a flame instantly igniting in his eyes. He stared intently at Zhang Jinsheng, leaning forward and holding his breath, afraid of missing a single word.

"Ghost Market".

Zhang Jinsheng uttered two words in a solemn tone, "The Ghost Market in the east of Liuhe Town opens every new and full moon night. It contains many old objects that have been lost for hundreds of years, some genuine, some fake, some treasures with perfect vitality, and some dead objects with no vitality left. Tongzhi coins, perhaps they can be found there."

"But let me make this clear from the start."

He stepped forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over Old Liu, and spoke slowly and deliberately, issuing a warning and planting the most intriguing suspense of the chapter:

"Nine out of ten Tongzhi coins bought at the ghost market are coins from people who died once before."

"With its vital energy channels severed and its soul dissipated, even if you manage to find it, it's just a piece of scrap copper."

"To truly perfect the Eight Emperor Coins, you not only need to find them, but also learn one thing—"

"Give the copper coin to the one who has died, and you can reconnect their pulse and prolong their life."

"The method of receiving life is extremely dangerous. If you are not careful, not only will the copper coin not be able to save you, but your own life energy will also be devoured by the life-severing coin."

A sudden evening breeze arose, whipping up countless locust leaves that danced wildly in the air. The branches and leaves of the old locust tree made a mournful sound, like the whispers of countless departed souls.

Old Liu stood under the tree, his whole body tense. The despair in his eyes faded, replaced by a stubbornness that seemed to be a desperate gamble. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, his jawline taut, and the flames in his eyes burned ever brighter. Even if the road ahead was fraught with danger, he would not flinch.

He looked at me, then at Zhang Jinsheng, his voice hoarse but incredibly firm, as if he had made a life-or-death pact:

"I'll go."

"Whether it's money earned during a death or money earned after death, no matter how dangerous it is, I will find it."

"I want to collect all eight Emperor coins, I want to make a masterpiece, I want to stand shoulder to shoulder with them."

As dusk completely swallowed the setting sun and night fell, the old house was plunged into deep shadow. The string of seven copper coins lay on the stone table, their golden veins trembling slightly, as if waiting for the missing Tongzhi coin, waiting for a life-or-death struggle to reconnect with its spirit.

Meanwhile, the ghost market in the east of the city has already opened.

In the darkness, countless broken old objects lie dormant. The missing Tongzhi Tongbao coin, hidden in an unknown corner, is on its last legs, waiting for a person with a deep-seated obsession to fulfill a life-or-death pact.

No one knows whether Lao Liu's journey will bring him a glimmer of hope or a devastating disaster that backfires on him.

All we know is that with one of the eight emperors missing, there is no turning back on this path.