Chapter 76: The Twin Prodigies of Yin and Yang

Niu Dahuang took a drag from his cigarette and said, “That possibility can’t be ruled out. But we don’t have the skill to enter the netherworld; all we can do is search for her in Baiqiao Town and hope this has nothing to do with the underworld. Madam Wang has dealt with yin and yang matters for years, offending plenty from the other side. If she really was dragged to the netherworld, I fear…”

That was exactly my worry. Had I known, I should have advised Madam Wang to stay at Baiqing Temple or the Mountain God Shrine, at least to keep out of sight for a while.

Baiqiao Town is an ancient place. It’s called Baiqiao because a river winds through it, and there are nine bridges of white marble connecting the east and west banks. The town is steeped in legend—one particularly marvelous tale says the river, though barely ten meters wide, is treacherously deep and has drowned many. In the Qing Dynasty, a Taoist surnamed Ma settled here. He performed rituals to summon nine white dragons from beneath the water; locals believed these dragons were evil, responsible for the drownings, devouring their victims. Out of compassion, the Taoist transformed the nine dragons into the nine marble bridges.

Everyone in Baiqiao Town knows this story. Niu Dahuang and I first heard it at a restaurant, listening as a local recounted it to visiting tourists. Afterwards, we made a point of examining one of the marble bridges ourselves. The bridge was ancient, carved from white marble, with clear marks of chiseling—proof, I thought, that the legend was just that, a fabrication meant to entice outsiders.

After seeing the bridge, Niu Dahuang and I wandered through the town. We noticed many solitary Taoists living here. They dressed like ordinary folk but wore Eight Trigram talismans at their waists. Niu Dahuang explained this was a common accessory for roaming Taoists.

On our way, nearly half the people we saw wore these Eight Trigram talismans. By this measure, perhaps half the town’s population are Taoists, and there may even be secular Taoist families. Yet, if Baiqiao Town is home to so many practitioners and Taoist clans, why do locals go to such lengths to invite Madam Wang for yin-yang rituals?

Something is amiss.

The town was bustling, but besides the Taoists and a few tourists, most residents appeared gloomy and listless.

With Madam Wang missing and no sign of Weiyang, we were completely in the dark, left with no clues. We had no choice but to ask door to door, especially the shopkeepers along the street, if they’d seen someone arrive on a white horse. Their answers were uniformly negative.

Yet their responses felt evasive, as if hiding something. At last, the owner of a noodle shop said he hadn’t seen anything, but his child piped up, claiming he had seen an old lady pass by on a white horse.

I hurried over to ask, but the noodle shop owner dismissed the child’s words, saying no one rides horses these days, and glared at him to silence him.

Leaving the restaurant, Niu Dahuang and I agreed—Madam Wang had indeed come to Baiqiao Town, though her whereabouts remained unknown.

Then Niu Dahuang remarked, “Did you notice, in the shops we visited, some had a small coffin inside or at the entrance?”

That detail was hard to miss—I’d seen it myself, especially in that noodle shop, where the small coffin seemed freshly lacquered black.

The coffins were small, scarcely longer than a meter, fit only for a child.

It seemed Baiqiao Town was troubled.

We entered another shop, a souvenir store. While Niu Dahuang browsed, he asked the owner, “Madam, what’s the purpose of that black box in your shop?”

The middle-aged woman scowled at him and promptly chased us out without a word. Niu Dahuang wondered if he’d said something wrong, but she ignored him, shutting the shop instead. From outside, we heard crying.

“Mom, I don’t want to be a yin-yang child! Don’t send me to the Ma family, I’m scared!” a child’s voice sobbed.

“Child, I don’t want to either, but what choice do we have? Your father is long gone—if he were here, the Ma family wouldn’t dare bully us!” The woman’s voice broke as she wept.

I wanted to knock and inquire, but Niu Dahuang stopped me, pulling me aside. “If this could be spoken about, we wouldn’t have been thrown out. Even if we ask, we won’t learn anything. Still, both mother and child mentioned the Ma family—perhaps that’s where the problem lies.”

When Niu Dahuang mentioned the Ma family, I suddenly recalled an incident from before. When I sought to marry Weiyang, a Taoist family named Ma had meddled. Could this be the same Ma clan?

I told Niu Dahuang, and he nodded, thinking it possible.

Unfamiliar with the area, we could only ask around about the Ma family. They seemed locally renowned—asking a random person, we learned the Ma estate was just west of the ninth bridge, with an imposing gate and grand courtyards.

With directions in hand, Niu Dahuang and I prepared to investigate.

But before we reached the Ma family, we saw a commotion at a doorway ahead—shouting, and a child’s cries.

We circled through a narrow alley and saw a boy, about ten, clutching an adult’s leg, sobbing uncontrollably, pleading not to be sent to the Ma family, not to become a yin-yang child, not to live in a coffin.

The adults were resolute. The man said, “Being chosen as a yin-yang child is your honor, our family’s good fortune. Living in a coffin brings promotion and wealth—what’s wrong with that?”

The boy held tightly to the man’s leg, who grew impatient and raised his hand to strike him. I stepped forward, grabbing his wrist. “He’s so young—why make him sleep in a coffin?”

The man looked me up and down, glanced at Niu Dahuang behind me, and snorted, “It’s my family’s business, none of yours! Get lost!”

“What’s a yin-yang child? Why do you all send your children to the Ma family?” I pressed.

“Who are you?” the man asked, wary.

“Never mind who I am. This child is your flesh and blood—have you thought about his feelings? Forcing him to sleep in a coffin—isn’t that cursing him to die?” My emotions rose as I spoke.

The man fell silent, unsure how to answer. He suddenly crouched down, clutching his head, torn with anguish.

The woman rushed over, hugging the child, sobbing.

The man lowered his head. “It’s not that we curse him. It’s that he really won’t live long. If chosen as a yin-yang child and sent to the Ma family, there’s no hope for him.”

I asked, “What’s really going on?”

He sighed, wiped his eyes, and looked us over. “You two aren’t locals, are you? You probably don’t know what’s happening here. Ma Zhenxing is alive again, the river god is seeking a bride… Come, this isn’t something to discuss outdoors. If the Ma family hears, none of us will survive.”

He signaled to the woman to open the door.

I glanced at Niu Dahuang; he nodded subtly, and we followed the man into his house. Once we were seated, he excused himself to fetch tea. I said it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted, then left, locking the door behind him.

“Hurry up and tell the Ma family we’ve caught those two!” he called. The woman responded and went out immediately.

“Hey, brother, why are you locking the door?” I asked, but he ignored me. Of course, this door couldn’t hold Niu Dahuang and me. Since he was calling the Ma family, and we meant to visit them, it was the perfect opportunity to meet them.

Yet just then, a cold wind swept outside.

Through the crack in the door, I saw the man who had locked us in collapse to the ground with a thud. Where had that sinister gust come from? Could it be Weiyang? I looked around but saw no trace of her.

The child from the house hid behind the main door.

I called him over and asked him to unlock our room. He hesitated little and opened it.

I asked, “You don’t want to be a yin-yang child, do you?”

He nodded.

I told him, “If you come with us, you won’t have to go to the Ma family as a yin-yang child.” But the boy shook his head. “I can’t leave. If I don’t become a yin-yang child, the Ma family will kill my parents.”