Chapter Two: The Yin-Yang Diagram

I always had a feeling deep down that things weren’t so simple. In my mind, Grandfather was nothing more than a kindly old man with graying hair. Although he’d been strict when teaching me traditional crafts like Chinese painting and embroidery as a child, he had never once mentioned anything about “Yin-Yang Embroidery” or the like.

But thinking back, Grandfather did enforce a number of taboos when I was learning to paint. He forbade me from painting the pupils on a dragon’s eyes, from drawing golden or black dragons at all, and insisted on misty ink washes for their surroundings. “What, are you afraid the dragon will fly away?” I used to grumble to myself. There were countless such rules: never fill the whole canvas with a demon, never paint skulls with blood, depict tigers differently depending on whether they were ascending or descending a mountain. As a child, I simply treated these as odd stories.

Turning the black box at my side over in my hands, memories of childhood came rushing back. I seemed to recall seeing this very box when Grandfather was embroidering for clients. I’d wanted to open it once, but he’d scolded me sharply and forbidden it.

It was odd, too, that Grandfather’s tattoo shop never advertised and rarely had much business. Yet whenever a client did come, they were always deferential and paid handsomely. That was one of the reasons I agreed to take over the shop—I naively thought it was a lucrative line of work. But since taking over, business had been so slow I’d regretted it a hundred times over.

With a click, I undid the box’s clasp. Inside lay two books, their covers—one black, one red—resting quietly. The black one was titled “The Ancient Manual of Yin-Yang Embroidery.” The red book bore no title at all, but its texture marked it as an antique. As I opened the black manual, I was stunned: almost all the designs were ones I’d practiced drawing as a child.

“Well, Grandfather, you old fox—you’d been planning to set me up from the very start…” I muttered, reaching for his letter. At the end, he’d written a single line: “If you’re confused, go find Uncle Jin.”

Since dropping out of school, I’d scraped by on the streets, and my instincts told me things were far from simple. All I’d wanted was a lazy, easygoing life—inking tattoos, enjoying music, soaking in a bath, and if I ever got bored, just renting the shop out or hiring an assistant. Dealing with mysterious, supernatural matters was never part of my dream.

Uncle Jin, whose real name was Jin Shiba, was a streetwise character. He’d frequented our neighborhood since I was small, starting out as a petty gangster. He was a master with all kinds of blades, from cleavers to machetes, wielding them as easily as breathing. When the city began its crackdown, most of his crew scattered to the winds, but to this day, everyone in the neighborhood still called him Old Eighteen.

While Grandfather was alive, Uncle Jin had started a business—running a dye workshop that supplied all the tattoo parlors and art studios in the district, including our own little shop.

“Hey, nephew! Nephew! I’ve brought you a customer!” Speak of the devil. Uncle Jin swaggered into the shop, calling out loudly.

“Uncle Jin, I was just about to come find you.”

“Heh, I brought you some dye. And someone’s coming soon for a tattoo—a big client this time.”

“By the way, Uncle Jin, do you know anything about Yin-Yang Embroidery?” I asked abruptly.

His face froze. “Yin-Yang Embroidery? Never heard of it.”

I waved Grandfather’s letter in front of him.

Uncle Jin studied it for a moment, then grabbed the teapot on the table and gulped the contents down. “Alright, I suppose it’s time you knew. Yin-Yang Embroidery is a mystical art. With it, one can alter fortune—at best, gaining wealth and luck; at worst, defying fate itself.”

“…”

“I’m serious. Your family is renowned for it. Did you really think this was just an ordinary tattoo shop? Let me see the Yin-Yang manual.” As he spoke, he picked up the black book from the box.

“Everyone has a fate and a flow of fortune. Yin-Yang Embroidery forcibly alters those by means of tattooing. There are two types: Yang Embroidery and Yin Embroidery.

“Most of the business your family did was Yang Embroidery. That involves tattooing gentle spiritual motifs—each design and its placement highly particular. Your grandfather must have taught you those rules. Yang Embroidery works subtly, nourishing the body and one’s fate, gradually bringing about the desired outcome—wealth, status, even romance.”

“As for Yin Embroidery…”

Knock, knock, knock! A shrill male voice came from outside. “Master Jin, are you in there?”

“Ah, Boss Zhao, come in!” Uncle Jin quickly shoved the manual back into my arms. “See to the customer—this one’s important. He’s loaded.”

I scrutinized the man who entered. He was a bald, middle-aged fellow, his face creased with a fawning smile. “Ah, you must be the famous Boss Zhang! Your reputation as a master of Yin-Yang Embroidery is legendary!”

“Huh?” I shot Uncle Jin a fierce glare. He just chuckled and gave me a subtle signal.

“So, Boss Zhao, what kind of tattoo did you want?”

He glanced around furtively, as though afraid of being overheard, then leaned in, the thick gold chain around his neck glinting. “Lately, I think I’ve attracted something… unclean!”