“Huh…” Liu Dashao was just about to get up to look around when he suddenly realized his left hand was gripping something. Lifting it up, he saw it was indeed the jade pendant.
At this moment, the small object was quietly lying between his fingers, unremarkable. However, given that strange, dreamlike experience, the curious Liu Dashao decided to bring the kerosene lamp closer to examine it.
Under the lamp’s glow, the jade pendant was entirely yellow—not the bright yellow of an emperor’s dragon robe in picture books, but a dull, earthy shade. How to describe it? It was like the stubborn yellow stains on an old woman’s teeth from years of smoking a pipe. Far from beautiful, it actually made him feel nauseated. After all, who would feel comfortable holding something that looked like a big yellow rotten tooth? There were no special patterns on the pendant, only a strange creature carved on its front. Truthfully, Liu Dashao had always disliked this pendant, but he had worn it since childhood and eventually just got used to it.
Actually, this jade pendant had quite an interesting origin story. According to his mother, Wang Guihua, when she was in the mood for storytelling, she’d say Liu Dashao now looked slender and delicate, like a young lady, but when he was born, he weighed over nine jin (about 18 pounds), and from the moment he arrived, he caused quite a stir in the family. Why? Because he cried—nonstop, incessantly, crying so loudly it seemed to shake the heavens and darken the earth, with no pause for breath, day or night. The whole family was terrified, rushing about, trying everything to soothe him, even his grandfather, a traditional Chinese medicine doctor, was at a loss.
Just when the family was in chaos, a loud knocking suddenly echoed at the door. Liu Laoshi opened it and saw an old man dressed in tattered Taoist robes, wearing dark glasses, and holding a bamboo staff—he appeared to be blind. Liu Laoshi asked what he wanted, and the blind man said he was starving, his belly pressed against his spine, and he hoped Liu Laoshi could give him something to eat. Now, Liu Laoshi was a genuinely kind-hearted person, and since he had just welcomed a son who would carry on the family line, he readily agreed. He told his wife to serve the old blind man a large bowl of rice, along with a plate of pickled vegetables and cured pork—a generous meal. The blind man was deeply grateful, bowing repeatedly and saying, “Good people receive good rewards.” But the blind man could really eat—after finishing one bowl, he asked for a second, and so on, until he had devoured four bowls. Liu Laoshi was so stunned he nearly popped his eyes out, quickly checking the almanac, wondering if a hungry ghost was wandering by.
After finishing his meal and taking a sip of water, the blind man started chatting casually with Liu Laoshi. It turned out he was a Taoist priest wandering from Mount Longhu. Originally, he had enough travel money, but he was terrible with directions. He had rarely descended the mountain in his entire life, and this time he wandered too far and got lost. With no special skills, he had fallen into poverty and ended up in this pitiful state.
Midway through the conversation, the blind man asked Liu Laoshi why the baby kept crying so loudly that it was unbearable to listen to. He even added that if not for the crying, he might have eaten another bowl. Liu Laoshi then briefly explained how his son had just been born but wouldn’t stop crying. Unexpectedly, the blind man furrowed his brow and asked if he could take a look—he might be able to help. Though the blind man’s appearance was shabby, even more disheveled than a refugee, there was a certain air of mystical elegance about him, like Jiang Ziya from the classic tale *Fengshen Yanyi* (The Investiture of the Gods)—so Liu Laoshi respectfully invited him inside.
After carefully examining Liu Dashao’s palm and foot lines and inquiring about his birth date and time, the blind man began moving his left thumb rapidly between his middle and index fingers, like counting money. His lips moved rapidly too, muttering incantations as if performing an extremely complex mathematical deduction. After a while, he finally stopped and pulled Liu Laoshi aside, saying, “You’re lucky to have met me. This child was born far too strangely. Normally, a person has three souls and six spirits—an unchanging rule of the ages. But your son broke the rules, missing one soul and one spirit, leaving only two souls and five spirits. He’s neither fully human nor ghostly—it’s damn messed up.” Then the blind man paused and continued, “The reason this child keeps crying is because he’s not a complete person. Not quite human, not quite ghost, he can see things from both the human and spirit worlds. His eyes are sharper than a second-sight medium’s. Wherever he goes, he sees ghosts. Of course he’s scared—how could he not cry?”
Liu Laoshi panicked and quickly asked what to do. The blind man said his own spiritual power wasn’t enough to solve the problem, but perhaps his master, the old Celestial Master, might have a solution—unfortunately, he had passed away. However, the blind man had devised a temporary solution: using a spell to temporarily seal the child’s dispersing soul, trapping his yang energy inside his body so it wouldn’t escape. This would protect him from the suffering of second sight until he turned twenty and also prevent his yang energy from dissipating completely, which could cause him to die young. Liu Laoshi didn’t understand, so the blind man gave an analogy: “It’s like blowing up a balloon. If you seal the air inside, it stays inflated. If you don’t seal it, it deflates.” This time, Liu Laoshi finally understood.
The blind man said he needed to prepare and perform a ritual. Liu Laoshi, grateful beyond words, treated him like a revered ancestor, feeding him well. The next day, the blind man bought yellow paper, a peach-wood sword, red candles, and other ritual items. He also asked Liu Laoshi to reluctantly sacrifice his prized rooster for breeding. The blind man collected a full bowl of the rooster’s blood. That day, he wielded the peach-wood sword, painted numerous talismans with a brush, and pasted them all over the house. He also drew crooked, strange patterns all over the young Liu Dashao’s body, invoking various deities and spirits in a chaotic ritual that lasted for hours before finally finishing. Strangely enough, after this ritual, the baby stopped crying, and his eyes looked much brighter.
In rural areas, a boy was considered the family’s most precious treasure. The whole Liu family was overjoyed, nearly kneeling to kowtow to the blind man in gratitude. But the blind man stopped them, saying, “No need for kowtows. Kneeling won’t fill my stomach. Just prepare a few steamed buns for me.” Before leaving, he took off his cherished jade pendant and hung it around Liu Dashao’s neck, saying it would protect him from evil spirits and ensure his health. He also said the boy’s fate was a mix of good and bad fortune, full of both danger and blessings, that he had the destiny of a celestial being, and was fated to have a connection with the Celestial Masters sect. Perhaps in the future, he would achieve fame and fortune. Hearing his son might become rich and famous pleased Liu Laoshi, but the part about having a connection with Taoism made him uneasy. He certainly didn’t want his only heir to become a useless Taoist priest. The blind man didn’t argue, just smiled and shook his head before leaving.
That was the story of this jade pendant. Later, as Liu Dashao grew older, he learned that the creature carved on the front of the pendant wasn’t a demon, but a mythical beast from ancient legends called a Pixiu. With the head of a dragon, the body of a horse, and scaled feet, it resembled a lion with gray-white fur. The Pixiu was fierce and mighty, said to patrol the heavens and prevent demons, monsters, and plagues from disturbing the celestial realm. Thus, it became a guardian deity revered in Taoism.
But whether it was truly a guardian deity or not was debatable. Judging from the jade’s quality, it was clearly a cheap, low-grade trinket, the kind you’d find at a roadside stall for a few coins. Whether it was psychological or real, over the next decade, Liu Dashao never saw any ghosts or spirits again while wearing the pendant, and his health was excellent—he could even fight off five people at once. It wasn’t until he encountered the events at Lingguan Temple that he once again saw those long-forgotten terrifying things.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage