Chapter Two: The Prelude to Initiation

Continuing from where we left off, we moved into a small two-story building. The stairway was very dark, and at that time, I was still an elementary school student who was terribly afraid of ghosts and the dark. Every time I went to the bathroom, I had to pass through that seemingly bottomless dark corridor, which always felt strange to me. Each time I walked by, an inexplicable chill would run through me.

In the first few months after moving in, whenever I went to sleep, I could sense a gust of wind passing by me. I could feel something touching me, then a pressure would settle in front of me, so heavy it made it hard to breathe. After that, I would bury myself deeper under the covers, too afraid to come out until I absolutely had to. Strangely enough, from that time on, for several years, I didn’t dream at all when I slept. Meanwhile, my health deteriorated—I often ran high fevers and felt very weak. Back then, I didn’t think much of it.

One day, while going to the bathroom, it was as if something suddenly clicked in my mind—an awakening of sorts. I laughed to myself, thinking, why am I afraid of the dark and ghosts? I have no grudges with them; why would they want to harm me? If they do want to hurt me, is it because of some conflict between us? The cycle of cause and effect, good and evil, rewards and retribution—if so, I’ll just pay them back. If they can kill me, I’ll become a ghost too, and I’ll have more resentment than they do!

From that moment on, I was never afraid of ghosts or the dark again. Naturally, I became braver and even started to seek out those dark, scary places. Instead of fear, I felt curiosity—I wanted to explore, to understand, to see clearly.

I often walked alone along dark paths. Sometimes I would feel a gust of wind brush past me, but it was different from usual—it was like something crawling over my body. Then, from the inside out, my body would start to warm up, even in winter. I found this strange, especially since I tend to feel cold easily.

Once, while playing in the square, I met an older guy who practiced traditional Chinese medicine. He became the one who introduced me to the fundamentals. Because my family had a tradition in Chinese medicine, we connected quickly. I saw him performing divination by counting finger movements, so I ran over to ask about it. He told me it was a form of divination called Xiao Liu Ren and taught me some of it. When I got home, I threw myself into studying it diligently—though honestly, I was slow to understand and it took a long time to digest.

I would often try divining for fun. At first, my readings were quite accurate; I could find things and predict events with precision. Gradually, accuracy waned—what’s commonly known as the “newbie protection” period ended—and I stopped practicing altogether. That was until one time I successfully divined something serious: my grandfather’s passing. I couldn’t believe it. For the first time, I felt sorrow not because of a wrong prediction for myself, but because I was right.

During the pandemic, we drove straight to my ancestral home. I met relatives I had never seen before. I saw my grandfather lying there motionless, and how I wished I knew something that could save him or at least buy more time.