The Days I Walked as a Yin-Yang Master: Secrets and Spirits

More than ten years later, my grandmother had six children in total, and my father was the youngest of them. That talisman, wrapped in a pouch, was hung on him at birth. Over the years, it passed through the family and eventually came into my possession. When I was little, around five or six years old, I was quite mischievous and didn't take the talisman seriously. Fortunately, since it was wrapped in a pouch and tied with several red strings, I never lost it. I still cherished the pouch, though there was one time when I was tempted by sweets. I swapped the pouch with the chubby kid from the neighboring yard for a bag of Pop Rocks. When I got home, my dad found out. Without hesitation, he gave me a good thrashing and then spent five yuan to buy the pouch back from that chubby kid. After getting it back, he immediately tied it around my neck and sternly warned me that if I ever lost it again, he would beat me to death.

I almost tried to explain to him that the pouch wasn't worth the money, considering the bag of Pop Rocks only cost fifty cents. But when I saw my dad's angry face, I didn't dare to say a word. And so, the years passed. When I was in my third year of middle school, my grandfather passed away. I muddled through high school and remember it was when I was seventeen, just starting my second year.

Because my grades were poor and I spent more time doodling in my textbooks than studying, my dad decided to send me to a vocational high school in the county to study art. People who went to vocational high school were mostly like me—those who cried and resisted school from the start. They went there just to get a diploma or, if they were lucky, get into a second-tier university.

I, however, went to high school with dreams of the girls in their summer skirts. Heh heh. I'm sure many of my peers felt the same way, because the frustrations of adolescence are powerful, and we often imagine that the three years of high school are filled with lustful, rose-colored fantasies.

But when I actually got to high school, I realized that things weren't as ideal as I imagined. Yes, there were beautiful girls, but they were all taken. The lesson was that the good ones were always someone else's. By the time I reached my second year, I had figured it out: with no money and no looks, if I could find a girl who wasn't exactly beautiful but not bad either, and experience my first love, I'd be content. Yet, despite lowering my standards, I remained single.

It's a sad story, really. There were only eleven students in my art class, and just two of us were boys. The other guy, besides me, spoke with a limp wrist and earned the nickname "The Ying-Yang Man." Even so, I still couldn't find a girlfriend. Despite being plain-looking, the 9:2 ratio didn't work in my favor, and no one took an interest in me.

Thankfully, I had two art teachers who were quite righteous. The first time I ever had a teacher who allowed us to smoke during class was with these two—Old Jia, who taught sketching, and Old Zhang, who taught color theory. Both were nearly ninety years old, but still drank every day, and after getting drunk, they would pass out cigarettes to us. I remember one afternoon during a sketching class when the principal passed by our studio and saw us eating sunflower seeds while Old Jia, drunk, was reading "The Plum in the Golden Vase," which he had borrowed from the school library. The principal asked Old Jia to step outside and have a word with him, but as soon as Old Jia went outside, without a word, he slapped the principal twice. The principal was stunned. When he asked why, Old Jia simply replied, "I can't stand you pretending to be an idiot!" He then grabbed a chair and tried to rush back inside. Luckily, the principal ran fast, and we pulled Old Jia back, telling him not to get impulsive and ruin his career. Afterward, Old Jia mumbled and returned to his room to continue reading his book. When he sobered up, he realized the trouble he was in and went to apologize to the principal. The principal, apparently frightened, accepted his apology and said, "It's fine." Old Jia, overjoyed, insisted on buying the principal a drink, but the principal refused, likely fearing another slap. After that, the principal never came back to our studio, and we were left to our own devices.

So, we couldn't help but admire the carefree personalities of our teachers. Despite not having a girlfriend, I was content with my easy-going life.

One summer morning, Old Jia and Old Zhang told the eleven of us that we were going to do outdoor sketching for the day. I was excited because anyone who's studied art knows that summer and fall are perfect seasons for plein air painting. But in reality, the trip was more about enjoying nature, eating, drinking, and relaxing. While there might be a little sketching involved, it was mainly an excuse to avoid real work. After hearing the news, the girls in the studio were chattering excitedly. Old Zhang pulled me and Yang Xu (the "Ying-Yang Man") aside and gave us some money, asking us to empty our sketch bags and buy some white wine, peanuts, sausages, and seasoning for lunch.

The sketch bags were large enough to fit ten or more bottles of beer, so we headed to the nearby warehouse market to buy everything we needed. After loading up, we grabbed our bikes and rode to the school gate, where the girls and the two old teachers were already waiting. We all then rode to a scenic spot by the river near the outskirts.

This river, called Ba Cha River, was a tributary of the Yalu River, which has many smaller streams. Not far downstream was the Nen River. The water was clear, and even now, some people come here to release turtles for good fortune. However, most of those doing the releasing were probably just finding a convenient excuse for their own benefit, since the turtles they released would later be caught by fishermen downstream and sold back to those same people. This river was also known by the locals as "Little White Tomb."

According to old stories, during the Republic of China period, there was a severe drought one year, with no rain at all until July. The Ba Cha River was nearly dried up, and the crops failed, forcing many people to flee in search of food. In August, a strange event occurred—a thunderclap on a clear day, followed by a white dragon falling from the sky. This caused a stir, and people from nearby villages came to see.

It was said that when the dragon fell, it was already dying. A man wearing a yellow hat appeared and claimed to be a water deity who had been banished for breaking the heavenly laws. He was too weak to survive, but he asked the villagers to cover him with wet grass mats. Strangely, the dragon's body kept growing longer, and the villager instructed them to start covering it from both ends. When they did, the dragon passed away. The man said that despite the dragon being dead, they should still give it a water burial. The villagers drummed and paraded, carrying the dragon's body to the river. As soon as the dragon entered the water, the sky grew dark and heavy rain poured down, filling the river. The villagers rejoiced, believing the dragon had saved them, but when they tried to find the man who had helped them, he had disappeared. It was later believed that he was a deity who had descended from heaven to help them through their hardship.

Since the dragon's body was buried in the river, people began calling it "Little White Tomb." This river had many other mysterious stories associated with it, but I'll save those for later.

The air in the countryside was fresh, and as we rode our bikes along the road lined with greenery, wildflowers were in full bloom, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. It was a pleasant feeling.

I listened to the "Ying-Yang Man" chatting with the girls, while Old Jia and Old Zhang discussed where to go for a massage in the evening. I couldn't help but think how nice it would be if I had a girlfriend, sitting behind me on the bike, holding onto me as we rode through this beautiful scene. But, returning to reality, I realized that all I had behind me was a heavy sketch bag.

Around noon, we arrived at Ba Cha River. Old Jia and Old Zhang told us, "Girls, get ready to sketch. If you're not interested, you're free to do as you please. Boys, start preparing for lunch."

Hearing this, Yang Xu and I weren't happy. Damn it, in this class, the two of us were pretty much treated like slaves with no rights as men. So, I turned to Old Zhang and said seriously, "Teacher Zhang, we're here for outdoor sketching, right? Surrounded by such beautiful nature, I really want to paint! Can't you understand how deeply I'm driven by my passion for art?"

Old Jia didn't hesitate—he kicked me in the butt. "Paint my ass! When have you ever painted? Hurry up and go catch some frogs!" he scolded.

I had no retort, so I rubbed my sore butt and started searching for frogs with Yang Xu by the river. I thought to myself, "Looks like Old Jia isn't as stupid as I thought. He saw right through my excuse."

The frogs Old Jia had us catch weren't toads, but a type of frog from the stream by the river. They were delicious when roasted and perfect for drinking.

They were especially abundant in June and July, during their breeding season. The trick to catching them was to wade into the water barefoot, stirring up the stream. The frogs would be startled and emerge from the rocks or sand. Once they settled down, we'd quickly catch them, then throw them onto the shore to kill them.