Chapter Thirty-One: Old Liao’s Story

These past days, I have often observed Wang Zihao’s movements in secret. After all, with the lesson learned from before, I have no wish to see headlines like “Shocking: Young College Student Takes His Own Life for Love” in the news.

To my surprise, Wang Zihao’s college life has been perfectly normal, even markedly improved. He no longer frequents nightclubs, nor does he flirt or chat up other girls. It is as if he has become a different person—modest and composed. I know this is the effect of the Parting Ring, and I have no doubt that this predestined bond between a human and a spirit will find its happy resolution in the next life.

Today I am, as usual, idling away my time at the shop, curled up on the sofa watching TV with Old Liao. Unlike me, Old Liao is keenly interested in every kind of modern entertainment—sports, dramas, variety shows. In his words, a trendy man deals with trendy spirits; even in the underworld, one must keep up with the times. Otherwise, if a client brings up celebrity gossip and you can’t keep up, you might lose their business.

With a sudden crash, lightning and thunder split the sky. Before I could react, torrential rain was pouring down. From the surrounding apartment buildings came the shouts of people rushing to bring in their clothes and bedding. Reclining on the sofa, my eyes half-closed, I let the rhythm of a storytelling performance play through my headphones. As my head nodded, consciousness slipped away.

In a hazy dream, I seemed to see a figure in black robes waving to me from a distant, misty road. I ran forward with all my might, but at the end of the path, I found only a bronze mirror, with no trace of the mysterious figure.

Curious, I peered into the mirror. The yellowed surface rippled with faint waves, gradually coalescing into a blurry image. Opposite me stood the figure in a black cloak. Strangely, every move he made mirrored my own exactly. For some reason, he felt uncannily familiar. I reached out to touch the mirror’s surface; he did the same. Through the robe’s sleeve, I caught a glimpse of tattooed marks on his exposed wrist.

“Yin-Yang Embroidery!” I was certain it was a Yin-Yang Embroidery design, and judging by the redness around the edges, it was newly inked, still not healed.

This was the second time I had seen Yin-Yang Embroidery on someone else—the first was on Brother Wang, though his tattoo looked much older. Whether it was the work of another successor or my grandfather, I never knew. But the one on the mirror figure’s wrist was clearly new. “Could this be Grandfather’s handiwork? If I can find this person, perhaps I’ll find a clue to Grandfather’s disappearance!”

A deafening clap of thunder jolted me awake. The dream had felt so real—the strange figure in the mirror seemed as though he had stood before me just a second ago.

Looking down, I found a blanket lightly draped over me; Old Liao must have covered me while I slept, fearing I’d catch a chill from the rain.

I glanced over at Old Liao. He was staring dreamily at a battered old pouch in his hands. Judging from its workmanship, style, and fabric, it was as ordinary as could be—the type you could grab by the handful at any cheap street stall. He seemed not to notice I was awake, gently stroking the embroidered mandarin ducks on the pouch.

“Brother Liao, would you tell me your story?”

“You’re awake? Ah, there’s nothing worth telling. Let the past stay in the past.”

“Brother Liao, I only understood half of what Granny Hua divined for you last time. We’re brothers; whatever you’ve done before, I’ll walk with you to the end.”

Old Liao touched his eyes. “Little brother, do you believe in divine retribution?”

Thunder outside raged even more fiercely, white flashes illuminating both our faces. Divine retribution—the word felt so heavy, so powerless. Seeing my reaction, Old Liao continued.

“I am one who has been struck by heaven’s wrath.”

“What happened?”

“Heaven and earth are clear, the Dao follows nature. You’re new to this path—remember, everything has its cause and effect. It’s not that retribution never comes, just that its time has not yet arrived.” Brother Liao’s face was grave, his words slow and heavy.

“Did you do something wrong, Brother Liao?”

He didn’t answer, only lit a cigarette. In the dark room I couldn’t see his expression, only the glowing tip of his cigarette at his lips.

“I was once the youngest disciple of the Celestial Master’s sect at Clear Wind Monastery, and the only one of true lineage. Gifted from a young age, I was seen as a prodigy destined to inherit the title of Celestial Master. In my arrogance, I held no one in regard. I foolishly believed that all arts of the Yin path, all Daoist methods, were beneath my feet. I was intoxicated by worldly desires, forgetting every teaching of the Dao.”

“My reputation and abilities brought me to the service of the wealthy and powerful, divining fortunes and averting dangers for them. With each prediction fulfilled, my fortune grew. Enchanted by wealth, I lost sight of the principles I should have upheld. Do you know why I spoke to you the way I did after I saw the look in Xiao Wei’s eyes? Because in him, I saw my own former self—swollen with pride and conceit.”

“My business grew, my boundaries faded. I stole clients from my peers, and saved evildoers who should have died. Until one day, while casting a Six Lines divination, the tortoise shell suddenly shattered. From that day on, I lost the power of Six Lines divination.”

“Perhaps I revealed too many secrets of heaven, or helped too many who should not have been helped. From that day forward, I suffered divine retribution. Only when I realized I was experiencing the Five Decays of Heaven and Man did I finally understand—but by then, it was too late.”

Old Liao stubbed out his cigarette, coughing heavily. Noticing my confusion, he let out a wry laugh. “The Five Decays of Heaven and Man: soiled clothing, wilting hair, sweat under the arms, a stench to the body, and unease in one’s seat. These are only the outward signs. My fortune, my vitality, are quietly ebbing away—that is heaven’s punishment, what people call divine retribution.”

“At first, I approached you with an ulterior motive. I hoped to use your Yin-Yang Embroidery to deceive the heavens.” Old Liao fixed his gaze on me, speaking each word slowly and clearly.

I said nothing. This was the first time I had glimpsed so deeply into Old Liao’s heart. I knew he had already paid dearly for his misdeeds.

“My wife… she too was killed by my enemies, using sorcery, because of my mistakes.” Old Liao stared emptily at his pouch.

“Don’t worry, Old Liao. I’ll do everything I can to help you break free from the Five Decays of Heaven and Man.” I stepped forward and patted his shoulder.

He managed a wan smile, lit another cigarette, and murmured, “If she too has not entered the cycle of rebirth, and if we are blessed to meet her again, let’s have a Parting Ring embroidered for us as well.”