Yin Yang Diviner

The afternoon sun dispelled the chill of early winter, becoming warm and gentle, covering the bluestone slabs of the old house and baking the ground until it was cozy.

The clear laughter of children echoed from the alley entrance, mingling with the shouts of street vendors. The lively atmosphere of everyday life swept into the courtyard, dispelling the slight chill of the morning and filling the entire old house with a vibrant warmth.

I was sitting in the main room grinding Dragon Fragrance Ink. The ink slowly dissolved in the inkstone, and the rich fragrance of ink mixed with sandalwood lingered around my nose.

The Zhenyuan Ancient Mirror sat quietly on the desk, and the golden glow of the Eight Emperor Coins faintly emanated from behind the courtyard wall. It was Old Liu practicing his Qi in the courtyard, his breathing steady and without any trace of awkwardness.

Life settled down, free from haunted houses and evil spirits, from dangerous situations involving ritual objects, and from undercurrents of scheming. There was only the daily process of reflection and cultivation.

I thought this peace would last a long time, until the wooden door was gently pushed open and a small figure timidly peeked in.

It is Xiaoman (Grain Buds).

The little girl wore a light yellow cotton-padded jacket, with two round pigtails tied with pink velvet ribbons at the ends, making her chubby face look especially cute.

She clutched the faded cloth rabbit tightly in her arms, its ears crumpled from being squeezed, a constant reminder of her beloved.

Behind her, Sister Chen followed slowly, her eyes gentle, her aura calm, and her eyes full of doting and reassurance.

The mother and daughter stood at the door. Xiaoman timidly clutched the cloth rabbit, her small body slightly hidden behind Sister Chen. Her big, dark eyes looked at me, clear as a mountain spring, yet hiding a hint of timidity.

I put down the ink stick, stood up and went to greet her, softening my tone and speaking gently, afraid of disturbing the frightened little girl: "Xiaoman, it's been a long time."

The last time we met was during the Xiaoman disappearance case.

I used the divination technique to analyze the character "满" (mǎn, meaning full) and found her trapped under the bridge. I also glimpsed the deepest fear in this child's heart—being separated from her father, all alone, curled up in the darkness, enveloped by boundless loneliness and fear.

At that time, her eyes were filled with fear, and she was trembling all over, like a frightened fledgling bird, wary of everything around her.

At this moment, although there was still timidity in her eyes, there was also a childlike liveliness and brightness. Her aura was warm and stable, without the chill and disarray she had when she got lost. Clearly, that nightmarish experience was being slowly soothed by time.

"Uncle Qin."

Xiaoman spoke softly, her voice sweet like cotton candy. Her little hands were still tightly gripping the cloth rabbit, her fingertips exerting a slight force. Her little shoulders were slightly tense, but she still mustered up her courage and walked out from behind Sister Chen, taking small steps to stand in front of me.

Sister Chen stepped forward, gently patted Xiaoman's head, her eyes filled with gratitude, and whispered:

"Mr. Qin, Xiaoman is completely recovered. She no longer has nightmares at night and is no longer afraid to be alone. She keeps saying she wants to come see you and write you a word to thank you for finding her."

My heart softened, and I leaned down to look at the little girl in front of me. I gently rubbed her head; her hair was soft and warm, carrying the unique milky scent of a child.

"Okay, what character does Xiaoman want to write?"

Xiaoman raised her head, her bright black eyes looking at me. She pursed her lips, thought seriously for a moment, and then said, word by word, "I want to write the character 'Dad'."

This single word, though seemingly light, struck my heart like a small pebble, creating ripples that spread outwards.

I was slightly taken aback, but then I understood.

On the day she went missing, she was chasing after her father, who was wearing gray overalls, when she accidentally got lost and became trapped under a bridge.

Her father was the reason she got lost, the deepest concern in her heart, and the only obsession she held in that moment of fear.

I took her little hand in mine; her palm was soft and warm, a tiny bundle, carrying the warmth of a child.

He led her to the table, spread out a clean sheet of rough-edged paper, handed her a small wolf-hair brush, and patiently taught her how to hold the brush: "Come on, Xiaoman, write slowly, no rush."

Xiaoman nodded, her little brows furrowed tightly, her expression extremely serious. Her small body stood straight, her little hand holding the pen trembling slightly, yet exceptionally firm.

She carefully wrote the word "Dad" on the paper, stroke by stroke.

The handwriting is childish, the strokes are crooked and uneven, without any rules or finesse, yet each stroke is written with extraordinary force, the ink is deep and heavy, hiding a child's purest and most straightforward feelings.

I stood to the side, my Qi Observation Technique activating automatically. My gaze fell on the childish handwriting, and I instantly saw through all the emotions hidden within it.

The character 爸 (bà) has 父 (fù) on top and 巴 (bā) on the bottom.

Father is like heaven, a source of reliance, and a source of worry;

Ba means tail, to follow, to obsession.

The character for "father" in her handwriting is steady and weighty, reflecting Xiaoman's deep dependence on her father.

The character "巴" below has long, trailing strokes, like a little tail that can't be shaken off, hiding the footsteps she took that day as she chased after her father.

Hidden within it was the fear of waiting alone under the bridge, and the most primal obsession of a child—I want to stay with my father, I don't want to get lost.

Sister Chen stood to the side, looking at the words on the paper. Her eyes instantly reddened. She raised her hand to gently cover her mouth, trying to hold back her tears. Her eyes were full of heartache and bitterness.

She knew better than anyone how much fear and worry her daughter harbored within those words.

After Xiaoman finished writing, she put down her pen, looked up at me, a hint of trepidation on her face, and asked softly:

"Uncle Qin, my handwriting isn't very good... What does this character mean?"

I crouched down to meet her gaze, my eyes gentle, and lightly touched the character "巴" (ba) on the paper with my fingertips, explaining it slowly and deliberately in a language she could understand:

"Xiaoman, the character 'Ba' has a small tail."

"You thought of Daddy's gray overalls as your little tail, and that if you followed it, you wouldn't get lost. But that day, you lost your tail, so you squatted in the underpass and waited obediently, right?"

Xiaoman suddenly opened her eyes wide, her little body trembled slightly, she nodded vigorously, her eyes instantly reddened, her little mouth pursed tightly, trying hard not to let the tears fall, and she murmured an "Mmm".

That memory is the deepest scar in her heart; it hurts even with the slightest touch.

I raised my hand and gently wiped away the tears welling up in her eyes. My voice was gentle yet firm, shattering the last trace of fear in her heart.

"But Xiaoman, you must remember that a tail is never meant to follow, but to remember."

"You don't need to chase after your dad, and you don't need to be afraid of getting lost, because your dad will always be waiting for you, and home will always be waiting for you. If you remember your dad and remember home, you will never be lonely and you will never get lost."

I'm not saying this to a child, but to the obsession within the words, to the fear of being trapped under the bridge.

The meaning of character divination is not the shape of the character, but the human heart; the interpretation of character divination is not the strokes, but the obsession.

Xiaoman stared at me blankly, her dark eyes slowly fading away, her fear gradually dissipating, replaced by a bewildered understanding.

She looked down at the word "Dad" on the paper, her little hands gently stroking the strokes, her tense little shoulders gradually relaxing.

After a while, she raised her head and revealed a sweet smile, like sunlight breaking through the dark clouds—clean, pure, and healing.

"I know!"

"If I remember my dad and my home, I won't get lost!"

She reached out and hugged the cloth rabbit in her arms, hopping and skipping to Sister Chen's side, throwing herself into her mother's arms. All her timidity and fear were gone, leaving only the innocence and joy of a child.

Sister Chen held her daughter, tears finally streaming down her face. She bowed deeply to me, all her unspoken gratitude expressed in this bow.

As I looked at the childish "Dad" on the paper, and watched the trailing "tail" in the handwriting slowly unfurl, all the fear and obsession in the words vanished, leaving only pure warmth and peace.

The meaning of Xiaoman (小满) has been interpreted.

Xiaoman's knot in her heart has also been untied.

The mother and daughter lingered for a moment before smiling and saying goodbye. As Xiaoman walked out the door, she turned back and waved to me, her little face beaming with a bright smile, the red string on her wrist swaying gently like an inextinguishable light.

The courtyard fell silent again, and sunlight fell on the rough-edged paper, warming the childish handwriting. I raised my hand, carefully folded the paper, put it in my bag, and placed it next to the five rough-edged paper packets.

Mirror, mirror, wait, lie down, return, now, there is another dad.

Every word represents a human heart, a redemption, and a sense of fulfillment.

I thought this was just the end of a child's purest obsession, an ordinary matter of fortune-telling.

But the moment my fingertips touched the paper, I clearly sensed that deep within the handwriting lay a faint trace of childlike innocence, pure and flawless, yet subtly resonating with the aura of the fragment of the Soul-Suppressing Seal deep within the old house.

My heart skipped a beat, and my pupils contracted.

A pure Yin destiny, childlike worldliness, obsession forming words, and resonance of vital energy.

Xiaoman's destiny is far from that of an ordinary child.

This seemingly innocent little girl actually harbors a secret connected to the Soul-Suppressing Seal.