The Time Traveler: An Immortal Who Bears Yin and Yang
I carry two trigrams within me as I journey through the river of time.
The warm jade trigram on my chest holds the words “Life,” “Harmony,” “Peace,” and “Healing.” It has let me treat wounded soldiers amid the flames of war, concoct antidotes during plagues, and seek out grain seeds in times of famine. With it, I have eased the suffering of laborers in the Qin dynasty, listened to the poetry of the prosperous Tang, and guarded the kiln fires that gave life to Song porcelain.
The baleful trigram branded into my soul bears the words “Slaughter,” “Devour,” “Annihilate,” and “Destroy.” It grants me immortality and a thousand faces. I have been a god of death on the battlefield, a poisoner in the palace, and a ruthless warlord in times of chaos. I witnessed the smoke rising from the burning of books and burying of scholars, took part in the coup at Xuanwu Gate, and stood amid the flames of Red Cliffs, watching with a cold smile.
For thousands of years, I have used the power of the baleful trigram to topple dynasties, then the mercy of the warm trigram to clean up the wreckage. I have played countless roles: general, physician, poet, assassin. Every change of dynasty has been another struggle between the two trigrams of yin and yang within me.
Now I sit atop a skyscraper, gazing down at a world I helped shape with my own hands. The warm jade trigram in my hand glimmers faintly, while the baleful trigram in my chest still stirs restlessly.
Immortality is no blessing. It is an eternal war against oneself. I am both the physician of history and its disease. In the next millennium, which face should I wear as I confront this world, so familiar yet so strange?
After all, I am both history’s guardian and its curse. This war will never end.
With two pieces of gossip in my arms, I travel through the torrent of time. The warm jade bagua on my chest hides "sheng", "harmony", "ning" and "healing" - it allows me to treat wounded soldiers in wars, prepare antidotes in plagues, and search for grains in times of famine. I used it to soothe the pain of labor in the Qin Dynasty, listen to the poems of the prosperous Tang Dynasty, and guard the kiln fires of Song porcelain. The evil hexagram imprinted on the soul is engraved with "kill", "devour", "destroy", and "exterminate" - it gives me eternal life and thousands of faces. I was once a murderer on the battlefield, a poisoner in the palace, and a hero in troubled times. I have witnessed the burning of books and the humiliation of Confucians, participated in the Xuanwu Gate Incident, and stood in the firelight of Red Cliff and sneered. For thousands of years, I have used the power of the evil hexagram to overthrow the dynasty, and then used the kindness of the wen hexagram to clean up the mess. I've played countless people - generals, healers, poets, assassins. Every change of dynasty is another game between the Yin and Yang hexagrams in my body. Now I sit on top of a skyscraper and look down on the world that I helped shape. The Wen Yu Ba Gua in his hand shimmered, but the evil Gua on his chest was still ready to move. Eternal life is not a gift, but an eternal war between oneself and oneself. I am both the doctor of history and the focus of history. In the next thousand years, which face should I use to face this familiar yet unfamiliar world? After all, I am both the guardian and the curse of history. And this war will never end. Sixteen hexagrams The stars move beneath the ice, and the tides rise and fall in the ley lines. The hexagram has never been annihilated, but there are sixteen cracks within the sight of mortal eyes. Hidden hexagram The seven hexagrams are hidden, hidden in the unborn morning, unshed tears, and unfulfilled thoughts. They are the mercury on the back of the mirror, the trembling outside the strings, and the unstained paper fibers in ancient books. The hidden hexagram promotes the first fetal movement and determines the final direction of the dream; it writes and burns all drafts. Someone stares at the palm of his hand when he is young, and the lines on his palm are gradually fading - that is the hidden hexagram that is changing your destiny. Xian Gua The nine hexagrams are manifested in the light of rebirth of a broken blade, the sudden singing of a mute, and the sound of cracking roots when ruins bloom. The hexagram is the floating shadow on the ice, the entity of the bell, and the inevitable scar of every revelation. It makes prophecies fulfill themselves and makes the smoke from the altar rise vertically to the sky. When you count the grains of sand, the wind has changed the dunes; this shows that the hexagram is breathing. [On the occasion of hidden appearance] Hexagram 16 has no name. It is the intersection of hidden and visible blades, the chord of an instant. When the undercurrent of the hidden hexagram breaks through the thin shell of the explicit hexagram, the sixteen hexagrams complete a heartbeat—all things are therefore both determined and unstable. I dare not calculate all the hexagrams, because the way of heaven is beyond the sixteenth century; I dare not express the way clearly, because you and I are just spots formed by chance when the hexagrams flow. (The hexagrams are always rotating. Your doubts at this moment are exactly the trajectory of a certain hidden hexagram.)