"Huh…" Young Master Liu was just about to get up to search when he realized his left hand was clutching something. Raising it, he saw it was none other than this jade pendant.

At that moment, the small trinket lay quietly in his grasp, utterly unremarkable. However, given the dreamlike, yet not-quite-a-dream experience, the thoroughly curious Young Master Liu decided to bring the kerosene lamp closer to examine the object.

Under the lamplight, the jade was entirely yellow, but not the imperial yellow of the robes in the picture books. It was a dull, earthy deep yellow—how to describe it? It was much like the indelible yellow stains on the teeth of an old woman who smokes dry tobacco. It possessed no aesthetic appeal whatsoever; instead, it made him feel nauseous. After all, holding something resembling a large, jaundiced tooth in one’s hand would make anyone uncomfortable. The jade held no special patterns, only a carving of a strange creature on the front. Truthfully, Young Master Liu himself disliked the pendant, but having worn it since childhood, he had grown accustomed to it.

As for the pendant’s origin, it did have a history. According to what his mother, Wang Guihua, used to gossip about when restless, Young Master Liu, who now appeared slim and graceful, almost like a young lady, weighed a hefty nine catties (over nine pounds) at birth. And from the moment he was born, he gave the entire family no peace. Why? Crying—nothing but incessant, earth-shattering, sun-obscuring crying. From day to night, he never paused for breath, terrifying the whole household into frantic efforts of coaxing and holding, leaving even his grandfather, a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner, utterly helpless.

Just as the family descended into chaos, a loud series of knocks sounded at the outer door. Old Man Liu opened it to find an elderly man dressed in ragged Daoist robes, sporting dark sunglasses perched on his nose and gripping a bamboo stick—apparently a blind man. Old Man Liu asked what he wanted, and the blind man claimed he was hungry and had nothing to eat; his stomach was sticking to his back, and he hoped Old Man Liu would spare some food. Old Man Liu was known for being honest and kind-hearted, and having just welcomed a son to continue the Liu family line that day, he immediately agreed without a second thought. He instructed his wife to ladle a huge, full bowl of rice for the old blind man, along with a small dish of pickles and some cured meat—a truly generous meal. The blind man was overcome with gratitude, bowing repeatedly to Old Man Liu and proclaiming that good deeds receive good rewards. But that blind man could truly eat! One bowl wasn't enough; he asked for a second, and back and forth they went until he had consumed a full four bowls before declaring himself satisfied. This nearly caused Old Man Liu’s eyeballs to pop out, and he quickly checked the almanac, thinking perhaps a hungry ghost was making its rounds.

Setting down his bowl and taking a sip of water, the blind man began a desultory conversation with Old Man Liu. It turned out he was a traveling Daoist from Mount Longhu. He had enough travel money initially, but being directionally challenged—having rarely left the mountain in the better part of his life—he had wandered too far, gotten lost, and with no trade skill to fall back on, he had fallen into destitution until that day.

Midway through his tale, the blind man asked Old Man Liu why the baby was crying so incessantly, saying the noise was so upsetting that he might have eaten another bowl of rice if he hadn't been so unnerved. So, Old Man Liu briefly recounted the birth of his son and the continuous, relentless crying. To his surprise, the blind man frowned and asked if he could see the child, suggesting he might be able to help. In Old Man Liu’s estimation, though the blind man was sloppily dressed—more counter-culture than a refugee—there was an air of otherworldly dignity in his movements, strongly resembling Jiang Ziya from the Investiture of the Gods (to which Jiang Ziya would surely object with immense pressure). Thus, he respectfully invited the elder into the house.

After meticulously examining Young Master Liu’s palm and sole prints, and inquiring about his birth time and date, the blind man incessantly pinched back and forth between his thumb, middle, and index fingers, as if counting money, while his lips moved rapidly, muttering something in a way that suggested a highly complex mathematical deduction. After a long pause, the blind man stopped his hand movements and pulled Old Man Liu aside. “Today you were destined to meet me,” he said. “Your child’s birth is too damn strange. Humans have three hun souls and seven po spirits—that is the immutable rule of ages. But your son insists on disregarding the rules; he was born missing one hun and one po. Now, he only has two hun and five po. He’s neither man nor ghost—it’s truly screwed up.” The blind man paused, then continued, “The reason your child cries constantly is because he isn't a complete person. Not a man, yet not a ghost, naturally he can see things in both the Yin and Yang realms. His sight is sharper than a standard Yin-Yang eye, and he sees ghosts wherever he goes. Wouldn’t that frighten him into constant crying?”

Old Man Liu grew anxious and quickly asked the blind man for a solution. The blind man replied that his own cultivation was insufficient, and he had no recourse. Perhaps his master, the Old Celestial Master, would have a solution, but sadly, he was dead. However, the blind man had devised a method that treated the symptoms but not the root: temporarily sealing the perpetually dispersing soul energy, using magic to lock his yang energy inside the body, preventing it from escaping. This would spare the child the agony of the Yin-Yang eye until he reached twenty, and also preserve his yang energy, preventing premature death from its total dissipation. Old Man Liu didn't understand, so the blind man offered an analogy: "It's like blowing up a balloon; if you plug the air inside, it stays inflated. If you don't block the air, it deflates." Now, Old Man Liu understood.

The blind man stated he needed to prepare and perform a ritual. Old Man Liu profusely thanked him and treated him like an ancestor, providing the best food and lodging. The next day, the blind man procured yellow paper, a peach wood sword, red candles, and other paraphernalia. He then instructed Old Man Liu to painfully sacrifice the family's prize rooster—the one kept for breeding—and collect a large bowl of its blood. That day, the blind man, carrying the peach wood sword, painted numerous talismans with a brush and plastered them all over the house. He then drew crooked symbols all over Young Master Liu’s tiny body, invoking this deity and warding off that evil spirit, laboring for several hours until the grand work was completed. Strangely, after all that commotion, the baby actually stopped crying, and his eyes seemed much brighter.

In the countryside, giving birth to a son was the backbone of the family, and Old Man Liu’s family was so thrilled they were nearly kneeling to kowtow to the blind man. The blind man stopped them, saying kowtowing doesn't buy food; just preparing some steamed buns or the like would suffice. Before leaving, he took off his personal jade pendant and hung it around Young Master Liu’s neck, saying it would bless him, ward off evil spirits, and ensure good health. He added that Young Master Liu’s natal chart was a mix of danger and fortune, making him destined for the path of immortals and connected to their Celestial Master lineage. He suggested the boy might achieve fame and wealth later. Old Man Liu was happy to hear his son might become rich and noble, but he wasn't keen on the part about being connected to some Daoist; surely, he wouldn't let his family's sole heir become some damned Daoist priest? The blind man didn't argue, just smiled, shook his head, and departed.

This was the story of that jade pendant. Later, as Young Master Liu grew, he learned that the creature carved on the front was not some mere monster, but a mythical beast from ancient lore called the Pixiu—dragon head, horse body, Qilin feet, shaped like a lion, with grayish-white fur. The Pixiu is fierce and majestic; legend holds that it patrolled the heavens, preventing demons, monsters, and plagues from disturbing the Celestial Court, thus becoming a protective deity revered in Daoism.

However, whether it was a protective deity was debatable. Judging purely by the jade’s texture, it was certainly low-grade stuff, the kind of cheap trinket found on street stalls. Whether it was psychological or actually effective, in the decade that followed, Young Master Liu, while wearing the pendant, indeed never saw any ghosts or strange creatures again, and his health was robust; he could take on five in a fight. It wasn't until the incident at the Lingguan Temple that he encountered those long-absent horrors once more.