Within the black wooden outer coffin glowed a faint, dim green luminescence. I quickly directed the beam of my diving flashlight toward it, revealing a bronze figure covered in verdigris nestled among the decaying wood. The figure appeared to be the kind of effigy common in ancient burials—where the tomb owner, for some reason, was not interred with their actual remains, but was instead represented in the coffin by a human-shaped figure cast in gold, jade, or bronze, clothed in the deceased's actual regalia.

I steadied myself, brushing away the rotted wood from the bronze figure’s face, and completely dismantled the ancient wooden casing. Looking closely again, my confusion deepened. This did not seem to be a mere effigy, because an effigy was never considered a mingqi (burial object meant to serve the deceased in the afterlife); it held the status of the tomb owner themselves. Such figures were always treated with utmost reverence, required to be sculpted with solemn features and distinguished bearing, and were exceedingly rare—almost nonexistent in modern viewings.

Yet, the bronze figure encased in black wood had no discernible features whatsoever—just a large, vaguely humanoid bronze lump. Bronze tempered with Yin Fire could retain its metallic integrity even after a thousand years underwater, its greenish hue seeping into bone and muscle. The countless bronze slaves we had seen beneath the Divine Seawood were cast with lifelike precision; this figure, however, was utterly simplistic, its contours and texture barely visible. Strangest of all, the entire body was riddled with honeycomb-like perforations, filled with black seabed sand that seemed to coalesce the bronze within. I truly could not fathom what manner of entity this was.

Gu Cai reached out and lifted the bronze humanoid. It possessed four arms, supporting a jade disk at impossibly balanced angles. Beneath the disk were several jade pillars, their cores featuring rotating grooves. This jade disk and its pillars were exquisitely crafted, entirely carved over with ancient seal script depicting insects and turtles—all charting the numbers and signs of the Yi (I Ching). It seemed profoundly mysterious, yet despite my astonishment, I couldn't immediately discern its purpose; it looked like an ancient secret implement designed for divination and consultation.

Turning back to the wooden coffin, nothing else remained, save for a protruding bronze stump hidden beneath the fossilized coral ironwood, which seemed designed to anchor the bronze figure. Fatty, Gu Cai, and I positioned the bronze figure onto the stump amidst the dim, rippling water. With the disk of myriad (hexagram) changes held aloft, the figure’s posture was indescribably bizarre and inscrutable. None of us could tell what it was doing; it didn't quite resemble an act of fortune-telling or casting hexagrams.

I reflected that while I had delved into many ancient sites and tombs, encountering countless oddities, this was a case of an old hand meeting a new puzzle. The secrets beneath this coral tree were too numerous; random guesswork here was useless. The only option was to take it back and consult Shirley Yang; her mind was always so clear, perhaps she could unravel the enigma.

However, I doubted I could accurately describe the complex divination disk to her, so I signaled that we should take the entire apparatus up for disassembly and thorough examination. With a gesture, Fatty, Gu Cai, and I floated the bronze figure to the surface. Shirley Yang, Uncle Ming, Duoling, and the others had been waiting anxiously atop the coral reef. Seeing us bring up a bizarre, strange-shaped bronze figure, they rushed over to help.

Once the statue and the disk were dragged onto the shore, we caught our breath and recounted our underwater experiences. At the critical points, Uncle Ming and the others visibly paled upon hearing about the sheer number of Jiaoyu (mermaid-like creatures) below. It was only due to the grace of our ancestors that we hadn't taken the dead fetuses down with us; otherwise, we might have crossed into the realm of ghosts and spirits by now.

Finally, I mentioned the fossilized coral ironwood at the bottom, which was not much smaller than the largest spiral coral. It was embedded in a massive rock resembling an ancient ding cauldron, encircled by several bronze tripods. Further in, there were suction-like abyssal holes and strange, swirling currents—a place only fish and dragons could navigate. Since we weren't fish, we couldn't investigate what lay deeper inside.

Hearing that we hadn't found a way out underwater, Uncle Ming’s spirits sank. He sighed, lamenting that whatever one was fated to have, one would have, and believing in fate was essential. To risk death gathering eggs from the ‘Sea Eye’ had resulted in a venture from which they might never return. Despite acquiring so much Qingtou (the valuable substance), in the end, it was all like the moon reflected in the water—a mere illusion. Knowing this, they might as well have returned to Hong Kong; even if bankrupt, setting up a wonton noodle stall on the street would at least guarantee a reliable meal.

Fatty suddenly realized the gold watch salvaged from the Marie Celeste was missing. Fatty prized real gold and silver above all else and always wore it. He wondered if he’d dropped it in the Divine Wood tunnel during the darkness. Losing the watch put him in a terrible mood, and Uncle Ming’s dejected speech only fueled his anger. He immediately cursed, "Spit out your rotten shit, Uncle Ming! When we get back, you won't get a single piece of your Qingtou. Since you’ve already given up, you can go sell your wonton noodles later..."

I intervened, trying to calm them. "Enough. Now is not the time for regrets or musing over fate. What we do—calling it a trade based on skill is nonsense; we’re gambling with our lives. We knew the risks before we came. Since we dared to come, we were already prepared to carry our heads tucked into our belts. But until the crucial moment, we must never speak lightly of sacrifice."

At this point, Shirley Yang had meticulously examined the bronze figure and its disk, and asked, "Old Hu, do you know what this is used for?"

I shook my head. "It's hard to say. It looks like a secret device for divination and charting hexagrams. But observing the underwater scene, it does bear some resemblance to an ancient mechanism. If the inscription on the Nine-Legged Ding is accurate, the ancients valued what came after death immensely, pouring their heart and energy into arranging a secret passage to the Moon for eternal life after passing. But first, too much time has passed, and corrosion underwater has erased crucial clues. Secondly, I cannot imagine the function of this disk; it lacks any markings for the Zhen trigram, only hundreds of dense, empty holes—the most vital hexagram components are missing..."

Hearing this, Shirley Yang suddenly looked up at me and asked, "What did you just say?" I started, replying, "The disk is missing the most crucial hexagram components... why?"

Shirley Yang turned the spindle beneath the jade disk, and the symbols representing the hexagram numbers shifted. "You’ve hit the nail on the head—it’s the absence of hexagrams. But I realized this disk functions like a combination lock; you need to set the code precisely before the hexagrams appear. Perhaps only when the hexagrams are fully displayed can the bronze figure activate the hidden mechanism underwater."

I slapped my forehead—things were becoming increasingly confusing. Why hadn't I thought of something so obvious? But I turned the disk in my hands and ran into a new problem: if it was a combination lock, what was the password? Although I could see that the rotating spindles beneath the disk were marked with codes corresponding to the "Three Arts" (Taiyi, Qimen, Lianren), these "Three Arts" are the collective term for the highest level of predictive calculus derived from the Book of Changes. Their underlying principles draw from the Heavenly Stems, Earthly Branches, the River Chart, the Lo Shu Square, the Bagua, and numerical symbolism—ultimately all stemming from the Yi. During the Zhou and Qin dynasties, this system was called "Yin Fu"; in the Han and Wei periods, it was known as "Liu Jia." Its variations are infinite. If Zhang Yingchuan were here, perhaps he could decipher its mysteries, but I couldn't even grasp the basics. Shirley Yang didn't grasp how profoundly complex these numerical systems were, still assuming I could unlock this so-called 'combination lock.'

Seeing my helplessness, Shirley Yang encouraged me, "Don't worry. Think carefully. Many of the burial artifacts of the Hantian Shi lineage bear the Zhen trigram mark, and the great cauldron underwater corresponds to Zhen as well. Perhaps the hexagram on this jade disk needs to correspond to this sign. So, try to figure out how to make the Zhen hexagram appear on the disk."

My mind had been a complete mess, but her calm guidance cleared my thoughts considerably. Shirley Yang inherited the bloodline of the prophets and sages of her family; she possessed an inexplicable, keen intuition regarding any situation she faced. While she couldn't predict the future like an oracle, she could almost always isolate the key elements amidst a chaotic jumble of clues.

Her suggestion seemed to spark something in me. I immediately instructed everyone to remain silent, softly reciting the core mantra from the Sixteen-Character Esoteric Art of Yin-Yang Feng Shui: "The numerical principles divide into Jiazi, divine mystery hides within ghosts..." I lowered my head to fiddle with the ancient jade disk. The symbols on the rotating spindles crisscrossed densely; they were holographic symbols deduced from various symbolic entities in time and space—the so-called jishu (numerical principles).

These symbols, representing the chaotic disarray of time and space, could be organically arranged and constructed to deduce different spacetimes—that is, the hexagrams generated by the jishu. A valid hexagram required at least the inclusion of Tian (Heaven), Di (Earth), Ren (Man), Gui (Ghost), Shen (Spirit)... among these jishu. The most elusive element was Shen (Spirit), representing that mysterious force in the unseen realm capable of influencing success or failure. Most of these hexagrammatic principles are now lost. The sixteen characters my grandfather left me in the incomplete Sixteen-Character Esoteric Art of Yin-Yang Feng Shui represented the symbols for the jishu within the Sixteen Innate Hexagrams. The current schools of the Yi tradition are nowhere near as detailed or profound as the ancient methods. By this measure alone, this jade disk brimming with hexagram numbers was an invaluable treasure.

Even a master of divine intuition like Zhang Yingchuan, constrained by the limits of his energy and spirit, would eventually exhaust the jishu. Yet, holding this jade disk, I found the generative jishu within it seemed endless. The hexagram numbers deduced by King Wen through tortoise shell divination could manifest all phenomena in the cosmos—even modern computers would likely fail to calculate them.

Fortunately, I already knew the required hexagram was "Zhen above, Zhen below" (Double Zhen). Therefore, I only needed to work backward to deduce the configuration. Otherwise, within the "Three Arts"—which were as complex as "the algebra of Taiji generating all things"—even if all of us racked our brains, we wouldn't be able to derive a single hexagram.

Uncle Ming watched breathlessly, but after a long while, seeing no progress from me, he couldn't help but ask, "Hey, Hu kid, if you can't work it out, that's fine, but don't use too much force and break this jade disk. I bet this thing could fetch hundreds of millions at auction in Hong Kong..."

Just as I grasped a thread of thought, Uncle Ming interrupted, igniting a spark of frustration. I told Fatty to cover Uncle Ming’s mouth; the man was just causing trouble at a crucial moment. I scratched my head, trying to recall my train of thought, and had to consult Shirley Yang again. If the Yi contained numerical concepts, and these were not born from thin air but evolved from jishu, then "Zhen above, Zhen below, shaking a hundred li" implied that the Zhen hexagram secretly contained the number "Hundred." But how exactly was this derived? If we could reverse-engineer the jishu from the number "Hundred," it would be exactly what we needed. Otherwise, in hexagram phrases without explicit numbers, such as those signifying "crossing a great river safely" or "gathering in the wilderness," although we knew they were derived from jishu, we had no idea where the numerical basis lay. Moreover, each hexagram was a relatively closed and independent system, like a different spacetime. Knowing how to derive one hexagram didn't allow us to extrapolate and derive others.

I explained to Shirley Yang that this line of reasoning was viable. For example, the phrase "Three days, two lands, and relying on number" (San tian liang di er yi shu): San is three; the number of Heaven is five; the number of Earth is five; three and two perfectly combine to make five, and 'relying' achieves the numbers of Heaven and Earth. Furthermore, three is an odd number, representing Yang, and two is an even number, representing Yin. The number three is a combination of one and two—oddness within evenness. The number two is a combination of one and one—evenness within oddness—perfectly reflecting the principle of Yin relying on Yang. Thus, phrases like "Three days, two lands, and relying on number" hold profound meaning, where nearly every character conceals a mystery, perhaps all derived from tortoise shell divination.

Shirley Yang was delighted. "Isn't that a very good explanation? Since you understand this principle, hurry up and derive the hexagram on the jade disk! We need to see it so we can figure out a solution." I replied helplessly, "The general idea is right, but it’s still as hard as ascending to heaven. I only know the interpretation of 'Three days, two lands, and relying on number' because I once heard Zhang Yingchuan mention it. Asking me to deduce the sign of Zhen myself is asking for my life! These cyclical, beginning-and-ending jishu—without the guidance of a master and decades of ascetic study in the Book of Changes—how could an ordinary person possibly understand them? I have failed the people and the Party, and I fear I will fail you all this time too. This disk, however miraculous, requires a master capable of responding to its changes and inspiring its wonders. In my hands... it’s useless. If only I had studied harder back then; regret is too late now." As my words ended, Gu Cai, who had been observing quietly, stepped forward and said somewhat uncertainly to the group, "Zhen above, Zhen below—is that perhaps the fourth hexagram in the Innate Hexagram sequence... one Yang and two Yins?"