SES Chapter 205 Part 2

Fortunately, nothing happened.

Mu Dai made a soft sound of surprise. “It’s… so shallow?”

The mystic had measured it earlier—the wooden box was about thirty centimeters tall. But once the lid was open, the depth was no more than five centimeters.

There had to be a false bottom.

Inside lay a wooden board, densely packed with characters and diagrams. The surface was divided into tiny squares, each about one square centimeter. One corner was left empty, clearly meant to allow the small blocks to be removed one by one.

It resembled a child’s sliding puzzle, just with far more pieces. Once the board was removed, two square depressions of about one square centimeter appeared in the smooth bottom of the box, both engraved with kite motifs.

Another of Lu Ban’s works?

The mystic’s heart stirred. He pried out one or two blocks from the empty corner—it took no effort. Each square was movable. The backs were all engraved with kite designs, subtly different from one another: some kites raised their heads, others lowered them. It reminded him of the stone lions on the Marco Polo Bridge—seemingly identical, yet no two were the same.

The mystic grew excited. “I get it. This is like a movable-type printing board. Each piece can be removed. On the bottom are kite symbols—you have to choose two of them and press them into the recessed squares. Once they’re in place, the hidden compartment should open. In other words, this box still has a mechanism.”

Wan San frowned, thinking that Lu Ban was really showing off too much. Yes, yes, we know you’re brilliant. Couldn’t you be a little more low-key? Fine, the silver-eyed bats and the Four-Archway Viewing Platform were elaborate enough—but even a wooden box had to be mechanism upon mechanism?

Luo Ren suddenly thought of something. “This movable-type board is a lot like movable-type printing. But if I remember correctly, movable-type printing was invented by Bi Sheng in the Northern Song dynasty. That’s nearly a thousand years after Lu Ban.”

Cao Yanhua snorted. “Brother Luo, you still don’t understand Lu Ban? Classic case of keeping everything to himself. He built a wooden bird that could fly—did he pass that technique on to anyone? Who’s to say he didn’t invent movable type first and just never said a word? That’s why Bi Sheng ended up inventing it centuries later. If Lu Ban had any sense of sharing, Chinese technology would’ve advanced by leaps and bounds—America wouldn’t have been the first to land on the moon.”

Hard to tell that beneath Cao Yanhua’s fragile pride was such a blazing patriotic heart.

Luo Ren smiled wryly, then reminded the mystic, “See what the board actually says.”

The mystic nodded, pulled out a folding magnifying glass from his satchel, adjusted his own glasses, and bent over the board. The longer he looked, the stranger his expression became. Finally, he said, “Little Radish, get some paper and a pen. We need to draw this out.”

They’d set out in a hurry and hadn’t brought paper. Luo Ren pulled out a spare ground cloth from the tent, motioned for everyone to spread it out, and tossed two fluorescent markers on top.

The mystic ignored everything around him, frowning as he studied the board, then glancing up at the tent ceiling, deep in thought.

The board wasn’t long, and it was passed around quickly. When it reached Yan Hongsand, she balked at the screenful of archaic characters and ant-like strokes. She only caught sight of a yin–yang Taiji diagram before passing it to Mu Dai and saying to the mystic, “Why don’t you explain it?”

The characters were tiny, and Mu Dai felt dizzy looking at them. Cao Yanhua leaned in beside her, muttering, “What is this stuff? What’s he even saying? Why do people look like pancakes…?”

By the time it reached Wan San, he didn’t even bother to look. He handed it straight to Luo Ren. Someone would explain it anyway—more efficiently this way.

Luo Ren took it but didn’t hand it back. “Explain it while I look.”

The mystic picked up a marker, popped the cap, and seemed to consider how to begin.

“This wooden board shows a yin–yang twin-fish Taiji diagram. Historically, it’s said that the Taiji diagram was drawn by Master Chen Tuan during the Song dynasty. But because the diagram is so simple, we can’t rule out that someone drew it even earlier.”

He crouched over the ground cloth and drew a yin–yang symbol. His hand was unsteady, the outer circle wobbling like a squashed egg.

“The Taiji diagram suggests cyclical continuity, head and tail connected. The entire diagram rotates in reverse. Some say it represents the universe’s macroscopic mode of thought, reflecting the movement of celestial bodies and the laws governing all things. It encompasses space and time, contains everything—basically, you can apply it to anything.”

Yan Hongsand wanted to laugh, but the mystic was so serious she didn’t dare.

The mystic stared at the drawing. “The words on the board are said to be written by Laozi. He talks about people. He says—People are Taiji.”

Luo Ren laughed softly. That explained Cao Yanhua’s earlier comment about people looking like pancakes. The “pancake” was the Taiji diagram.

“When he said that, he casually drew a picture and said, ‘This is a person.’”

As he spoke, the mystic tapped the flattened egg-shape on the cloth with the back of the marker.

Cao Yanhua muttered, “Didn’t know Laozi was an abstract artist. That’s one abstract-looking person.”

Luo Ren studied the drawing for a long time, then nodded. “It really is a person.”

The mystic was delighted. “Finally, someone cultured. See how smooth this conversation is? Talking to uncultured people is just painful.”

As he spoke, he cast a disdainful glance at everyone except Luo Ren.

Luo Ren explained, “I once heard that ‘Taiji’ refers to the earliest stage of the universe, before yin and yang differentiated.”

“Applied to humans, before birth, a person is wrapped in amniotic fluid—indeed, a kind of ignorant, chaotic state.”

“The Taiji diagram connects head to tail, carrying yin and embracing yang. It also implies the union of husband and wife, the interaction of yin and yang. That’s how all people are born.”

The mystic let out a breath. Luo Ren’s explanation really was clearer.

He picked up the thread again.

“Laozi goes on to say that all people—any person—when first born are… basically like products from an assembly line. Different appearances, but the same essence. The essence is identical.”

Cao Yanhua was startled. “Laozi already knew about assembly lines back then?”

The mystic was abruptly interrupted and nearly exploded. “It’s a metaphor! A polite metaphor! A vivid analogy! If you don’t understand, don’t talk!”

Cao Yanhua sulked. Mu Dai sat cross-legged, chin in her hands, her brow furrowed. “But my master told me that people’s essences aren’t the same. Some are good, some are evil. For example, me and Leopard—are our essences really the same?”

The mystic slapped his thigh. “Excellent question! That’s the key point. Little Pocket, even though you’re not very educated, you often manage to bridge ideas and inspire discussion. Truly a brick of wisdom.”

Mu Dai rolled her eyes, wishing she could throw a brick at his head.

The mystic laid it bare. “Laozi says that a person’s essence is the human heart.”

Yan Hongsand objected immediately. “I agree in principle, but saying the essence is the same—how is that possible? Is Mu Dai’s heart the same as Leopard’s?”

The mystic nodded. “The same. Completely the same. Identical. I mean the base of the heart.”

He pointed at the crooked Taiji diagram. “Laozi believed that the human heart is like a yin–yang twin-fish. Good thoughts and evil thoughts are both hidden inside, innate like genes—evenly balanced, half and half. But they’re all dormant, unopened.”

“Put simply, when a newborn enters the world, there’s no such thing as ‘human nature is good.’ There’s no awareness at all. But gradually…”

He deliberately glanced at Yan Hongsand. “Gradually, they get activated.”

A spark flashed in Yan Hongsand’s mind, as if she’d almost grasped something—then lost it.

Wan San chimed in, “The word ‘activate’ is pretty spot-on.”

The mystic continued. “To what extent each side is activated varies widely—depending on constitution, family, upbringing, education, moral standards, sense of awe, and so on. Even the kindest person harbors evil thoughts; even the most heinous criminal may not have completely lost their humanity. What ultimately manifests depends on whether the east wind overwhelms the west, or the west wind overwhelms the east.”

Luo Ren nodded. “Some people kidnap, others rescue. Some commit crimes, others catch criminals. Some destroy, others build. Outside oil companies, environmental activists protest year-round. People go crazy for fur—some for profit, some for fashion, some to protect animals. But you can’t judge everything with one sweeping statement. An evil person can suddenly achieve enlightenment; a good person can falter in a single thought.”

Toward the end, he laughed softly. “Sometimes, this world is so fascinating it becomes absurd.”

Mu Dai hesitated before asking, “So… the ominous slips are…?”

Luo Ren looked down at the board in his hand. “The last line says: the mechanism at this level is ‘concise words.’ Those concise words are the key to the Seven-Star Killing Array.”

Yan Hongsand stared blankly at the two recessed squares at the bottom of the box. “Concise words… The sixth slip didn’t have any. The other five did…”

She counted on her fingers. “Blade, water, hanging, mouth, earth. Five of them.”

Luo Ren shook his head. “No. If I’m right, those earlier ‘concise words’ were only surface-level. After the sixth ominous slip was subdued, all of them were hidden away—perhaps to make room for the most fundamental concise words.”

“And those are?” Wan San asked.

Wan San took the board from Luo Ren, snapped a clear photo of it with his phone, then cleared a space around him. He removed the movable blocks one by one, arranging them neatly as before, then picked out two from the center.

Human heart.

All the chaos, the life-and-death struggles, blades and water, earth and rope, verbal condemnation and physical punishment—these were all appearances, all tools. The force hidden behind them, driving everything forward, was always the same two words:

The human heart.