Yin Yang Diviner

When I scrambled out of the man-eating weeds of the old graveyard, my trouser legs were already soaked with dew and cold sweat, and my knees and forearms were cut by sharp blades of grass, burning with pain. But I didn't even have the strength to lift my hand to rub them; all I knew was to run forward as fast as I could.

The old cemetery behind me resembled a lurking beast, lying darkly on the slope behind the village. The broken tombstones revealed their jagged outlines in the night, like countless white fingers reaching out from the ground to pull me back. The sound of the wind whistling through the weeds turned into a mournful wail, mixed with the strange cries of unknown wild birds in the distance, piercing my ears and making every hair on my body stand on end.

I dare not turn back.

Even though I caught a glimpse of that golden shadow flashing by in the weeds behind me out of the corner of my eye, I gritted my teeth, straightened my neck, and ran wildly toward the lights at the village entrance.

Summer nights in the countryside are usually lively, filled with the croaking of frogs, the chirping of cicadas, and the chatter of every household. But at this moment, the world behind me seems to have been silenced by an invisible hand, leaving only my heavy breathing, the sound of my hurried footsteps, and a faint, fishy smell, like a maggot clinging to my bones, stubbornly sticking to my back.

That's the smell of wampee.

It followed me.

From deep within the old cemetery, we followed the path all the way to this dirt road leading to the village.

I was running so hard my lungs felt like they were going to explode, my chest was burning, and my legs felt like they were filled with lead, but the sounds behind me were becoming clearer and clearer.

It wasn't the sound of the wind, nor the chirping of insects.

It's footsteps.

One step. One step. One step.

It was perfectly in sync with my pace.

I move fast, it moves fast; I move slow, it moves slow; I suddenly stop, and the footsteps behind me also come to an abrupt halt.

My heart pounded in my throat, and the blood in my body seemed to freeze at that moment.

I stood frozen in place, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid even to swallow. The summer night wind, carrying dampness, blew by, but I felt icy cold all over. That chill didn't come from the weather, but from something unseen behind me, clinging to the back of my neck, creeping into my collar, making my spine numb.

Elderly people in rural areas often say that once a weasel becomes a spirit, it is very good at imitating people.

It follows you around, mimicking your walk, your breathing, and your cough. The moment you can't help but turn around, it will bite your neck off or steal your soul.

Turning back means certain death.

The thought struck me like a thunderbolt. I convulsed with fear, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face, blurring my vision. I was only ten years old. I didn't want to die. I didn't want the weasel to steal my soul. I wanted to go home, to find my grandma, and to have my great-uncle come and save me.

But I didn't even have the courage to look back.

I could clearly feel that it was standing less than three steps behind me.

There was no sound of breathing, no sound of speaking, only a pair of cold eyes staring intently at the back of my head. That gaze was filled with greedy malice, like the forked tongue of a venomous snake, licking at my soul again and again.

It is waiting.

Wait until I break down, wait until I turn back, wait until I deliver my soul to its mouth myself.

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms, the excruciating pain keeping me conscious to the last shred of my senses. I told myself, I can't turn back, I absolutely can't turn back. As long as I reach the village entrance, as long as I see the lights of my house, I'll be safe.

I took a deep breath, started running again, and ran towards the village like a madman.

The footsteps behind me immediately followed, perfectly matching my pace, like my own shadow, but this shadow carried a deadly chill.

The dirt road was full of potholes, and I almost fell several times, but managed to steady myself each time. The poplars and willows along the roadside looked like menacing monsters in the night, their branches swaying as if they wanted to reach out and grab me. The crops in the fields were a dark, dense mass, and when the wind blew, they rolled like waves, like countless spirits hiding in the shadows, watching my pathetic escape.

I never imagined that the few hundred meters from the back of the village to the old house would be so long.

It's as long as a lifetime.

Finally, I saw the old locust tree at the entrance of the village.

The stone mill under the locust tree was quiet. The village houses had already turned on their lights, and the dim yellow light shone through the windows, spreading warm patches of light on the ground. That was the warmth of human life, the positive energy that could dispel evil spirits, and my only salvation at this moment.

I used almost my last ounce of strength to scream out, "Grandma!"

His voice was hoarse and broken, tinged with sobs, and carried far in the silent night.

My house was the first one at the village entrance, with mud walls, a wooden gate, and a pomegranate tree in the yard. When Grandma heard my voice, she immediately ran out of the house, holding a half-finished shoe sole in her hand. The light from the kerosene lamp illuminated her anxious face.

"Yiheng! My dear grandson! Where have you been!"

When Grandma saw me, her face turned deathly pale.

I must have looked absolutely wretched at that moment: my hair was a complete mess, my face was covered in tears and dirt, my clothes were torn to shreds, I was trembling all over, my face was as pale as paper, and my eyes were filled with the fear of impending death.

I couldn't hold on any longer. My legs gave way, and I threw myself into my grandmother's arms, hugging her waist and bursting into tears.

"Grandma! Something's following me! It's a weasel from the old cemetery! It's following me! It wants to eat me!"

I cried my heart out, letting out all my fear, helplessness, and despair. Grandma's embrace was warm and comforting, the safest haven I'd ever known. But even nestled in her arms, I could still feel that chilling aura lingering outside the door, never leaving.

It is still waiting.

Wait until I step out of this house.

Grandma held me, her hands trembling. She was a native of the countryside and believed in these folk customs and taboos. As soon as she heard me say that the weasel from the old cemetery had come home, she immediately understood the seriousness of the matter.

"What a terrible thing to do! How could you go to a place like that!" Grandma's voice trembled with tears as she scolded me while patting my back with heartache. "That's a weasel spirit! A weasel spirit that has become a demon! If you offend it, someone will die!"

Hearing the commotion, Grandpa also ran out of the house. Grandpa was a taciturn farmer who rarely spoke, but at this moment, his face was frighteningly grim, and he dropped his pipe to the ground.

"Bring the child inside first! Close the door tightly!" Grandpa shouted in a deep voice. He immediately picked up his pipe, walked quickly to the front door, closed the two wooden doors tightly, bolted them, and then moved the stone block from the corner of the wall to block the door.

After doing all this, Grandpa turned to look at me, his brows furrowed: "You really saw a weasel? How big was it?"

I nestled in my grandmother's arms, sobbing as I said, "It was huge...much bigger than a regular weasel...its fur was golden...it stood on the grave and looked at me...and then it followed me back..."

"Golden fur, a hundred years of cultivation." Grandpa gasped, his face turning even more grim. "This is a yellow immortal who has developed sentience and has its eye on your destiny."

"Fate?" Grandma was stunned for a moment, then realized what she meant, her face instantly drained of color. "You mean... he was born on an unlucky day, in an unlucky month, and in an unlucky year, his soul is the purest, and that weasel spirit is trying to take his soul?"

I didn't understand what they meant by "fate" or "soul." All I knew was that the weasel wanted my life and was going to take me away.

I clung tightly to Grandma's clothes, crying even harder: "Grandma, I don't want my soul to be taken away, I don't want to die..."

"Don't be afraid, my dear grandson. Grandma's here, and Grandpa's here too. We won't let that thing hurt you in the slightest." Grandma hugged me, tears streaming down her face. Suddenly, she remembered something and looked up sharply at Grandpa. "Quick! Call the second son! Tell him to come right now! Only he can save Yiheng!"

The second son is my second grandfather.

Throughout the entire village, and even in the surrounding areas, everyone knew that Second Grandfather was a truly capable man. He could read feng shui, exorcise evil spirits, summon souls, and slay demons. Whether it was a haunted house or a troublesome monster, there was nothing Second Grandfather couldn't handle.

When I was little, whenever I was frightened, had a fever, or had a nightmare, my second grandfather would touch my head and chant a few incantations, and I would immediately feel better. In my little heart, my second grandfather was an omnipotent deity, someone who could save my life.

Grandpa nodded immediately, strode into the house, picked up the old-fashioned telephone on the wall, and dialed his second grandfather's number with trembling fingers.

The moment the call connected, Grandpa's voice trembled: "Second son, come home quickly! Yiheng has gotten into big trouble. He went to the old cemetery on the back slope and angered a weasel spirit. Now that thing has followed us home and is trying to take the child's soul!"

On the other end of the phone, the second grandfather's voice immediately turned serious, without the slightest hesitation: "I understand. Close all the doors and windows tightly, light three sticks of incense and place them under the child's pillow, have the child lie in bed, don't move, don't open their eyes, and don't speak. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Okay! Okay! We'll do it right away!" Grandpa hung up the phone and immediately started doing as his second grandfather instructed.

Grandma carried me to the earthen bed in the inner room, covered me with a thick quilt, and took out three incense sticks from the cupboard, lit them, and carefully placed them under my pillow.

The cigarette smoke curled gently, emitting a faint sandalwood scent, which made me feel a little more at ease.

"My dear grandson, listen to your second grandpa. Lie on the bed, don't move, don't open your eyes. No matter what sounds you hear or what you see, don't pay attention to them, understand?" Grandma squatted by the kang (a heated brick bed), holding my hand and repeatedly instructing me. Her hands were icy cold and covered in cold sweat.

I nodded, huddled under the covers, only my head sticking out, my eyes wide open, staring in terror at every corner of the room.

A kerosene lamp was lit in the room, its dim light illuminating only a small area. The corners, behind the doors, and next to the wardrobe were all shrouded in dark shadows. To me, those shadows became hiding places for a weasel. I always felt that the next second, that golden-furred weasel would jump out of the shadows and pounce on me.

That chilling aura still lingered in the room.

It didn't leave.

It was hidden inside the house, hidden in the darkness, quietly waiting for me.

Grandpa stood guard at the door, holding a hoe in his hand. It was the heaviest and most yang-energy-filled farming tool in the house. He stared intently at the door, his face solemn, ready to fight the weasel at any moment.

Grandma sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), constantly touching the top of my head, muttering incantations, all prayers for the gods and Buddhas to protect the child's safety, her voice trembling uncontrollably.

I huddled under the covers, trembling all over, tears streaming down my face.

I regret.

I really regret it.

If I hadn't listened to Dashanzi, if I hadn't stubbornly gone to the old cemetery, if I hadn't seen that weasel, I wouldn't have gotten involved with such a terrible thing, wouldn't have worried my grandparents, and wouldn't have been scared half to death.

But there's no going back.

That weasel spirit has set its sights on me, on my destiny based on the yin year, yin month, and yin day, and on my purest soul.

Unless my second grandfather comes, I will never be able to get rid of it.

I stared at the doorway, at the pitch-black night, with only one thought in my mind:

Second Grandpa, please come quickly.

Help me!

Just then, a soft sound came from outside the courtyard gate.

It wasn't the sound of the wind, nor the chirping of insects.

It was the sound of claws scratching at the wooden door.

"Shh...shh..."

Crisp, piercing, and exceptionally clear in the quiet night.

My heart stopped instantly, the hairs on my body stood on end, and I covered my mouth tightly, afraid to make a sound.

Grandma's face turned pale, and she hugged me tightly, her body trembling uncontrollably.

Grandpa gripped the hoe tightly, staring intently at the gate, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

The weasel started banging on the door.

It was outside the door, scratching at the wooden door in frustration, trying to break in and take me away.

"Shhh..."

The scratching sounds grew louder and more urgent, as if urging us on, threatening us, or mocking our cowardice.

I was so frightened that my whole body stiffened, and tears streamed down my face even more. My mind was filled with the cold eyes of that weasel in the old graveyard, the footsteps that followed me like a shadow, and its malice in trying to steal my soul.

I thought that by closing the gate tightly and placing it against the stone block, I could stop it.

But I forgot that it was a weasel spirit that had become a deity, not an ordinary wild beast.

These mundane obstacles cannot stop it at all.

It could break in at any time.

I huddled under the covers, closed my eyes in despair, and called out my second grandfather's name over and over in my heart.

Just when I thought I was going to die, a clear gong sounded outside the courtyard gate.

"Bang—!"

A deafening roar shattered the silence of the night.

The scratching sounds outside the door stopped instantly.

That chilling, bone-chilling aura vanished without a trace at that moment.

I suddenly opened my eyes and looked towards the doorway.

Grandma and Grandpa were also stunned, their faces showing disbelief.

It's my second grandfather.

Second Grandpa has arrived.

I knew that my savior had finally arrived.