# Part One
I have always suspected that there are two dragons in my body. Recent events have made me more convinced of this.
According to their whispered confessions in my ear, one is called Yin, and the other is called Yang.
The first time I truly felt their presence was when I was riding my bike, on a dark night last week. The sky was dark, the streetlights hanging low, casting dim light that made it almost impossible to see the direction of the road signs indicating North or South. The car lights on the road acted as my guiding light, barely helping me distinguish between passing cars and pedestrians. I rode cautiously, thinking I knew the way home.
Having committed the sin of having cold fruit tea right after dinner, “I shouldn’t have drunk it,” considering my lackluster physique and delicate stomach. I felt something stirring inside me, a chill.
Later, I sneezed multiple times during dinner, my nose running, clearly indicating that something was gaining the upper hand.
As the bicycle moved forward, my feet pedaled the pedals on their own. Suddenly, I snapped back to reality, with large beads of sweat forming on my arms, itching as they stuck to my skin. The sound of wind howling in my ears seemed to come from nowhere. Before I could react, the wind had entered my shirt, poured into my pants, and seeped into my pores.
I almost thought my eyes were playing tricks on me as the wind pushed the droplets on my arms along. The droplets, seemingly infused with the kinetic energy of the wind, floated up drop by drop, gathering slowly in mid-air. I was too captivated by the water ball in front of me to look at the road. The transparent sphere formed by the droplets rippled gently, as if fish were swimming within.
A sound of rushing water abruptly brought me back from my reverie. I immediately planted my feet firmly on the concrete, halting the bike—there was a thick rope protruding from the water ball! The rope, made of water, was as thick as a thumb, with a pointed end, circular patterns on top, and several blunt spikes. Could it be a sea cucumber? I struggled to find a scientific explanation in my mind, but frustratingly, my brain was blank at that moment. The water-filled ball paid no heed to me, standing rigid on the bike, gradually expanding. With a “pop,” a small head, a pair of wings, and two claws emerged from the water ball.
“A snake!”
A sharp voice resounded in my mind, “I’m not a snake, I’m a dragon, for real.” I shuddered as the voice felt like a cold streak running from the back of my neck down to my ankles, icy and chilling.
“What… what dragon?”
“From the way arises the Taiji, giving rise to two polarities.”
“Can you explain that more clearly?”
“All things have Yin and Yang, and you are no exception.”
“Are you a part of me?”
“Indeed.”
“So, am I truly a descendant of dragons?” I hurriedly asked.
There was no answer. A raindrop fell on my arm, cool and silky, not sure if it was from the suspended water ball.
# Part Two
I felt a chill, a sense of encountering something sinister. As soon as I got home, I brewed a pot of small chaihu decoction and gulped it down. Still feeling inadequate, I fetched a basin of hot water—soaking my feet—is perhaps a way to drive out the chill and dispel any demonic spirits, especially that self-proclaimed “Yin” serpent.
Drawing a circle on the steamy water’s surface with my feet, it felt a bit too hot. After several attempts, I finally managed to immerse my feet in the water. The sensation of soaking my feet in hot water felt soothing and relaxing, with a popular saying circulating: all the body’s blood vessels pass through the soles of the feet; if warmed by hot water before circulating throughout the body, it can create a sauna-like pleasure on the body’s meridians. I even felt a wave of warmth traversing my spine, battling against the cold that crept in while cycling.
Just like how an ice cream bar melts under the sun, soaking my feet in hot water made my back, neck, arms, and lips all steamy. Sweat circled on my T-shirt, hung in strands on my neck, and dotted my arms. Just as I wondered if this sweat formed yesterday’s dragon, a deep sigh suddenly inserted itself into my thoughts, “It’s warm…”
I had almost grown accustomed to communicating with people via brainwaves.
Yet, out of instinct, I inquired, “Who?”
I couldn’t remember steam ever obscuring my vision so much during a foot soak, making it hard to know where to place my nose—the steam nearly suffocated me. My glasses were completely fogged up, so I had to take them off and squint with my nearsighted eyes to locate the source of the sound.
No response.
The steam seemed to stir as if it had a life of its own, and I faintly saw rows of small spikes emerging from it, somewhat familiar. Yes, these were the spikes on the little dragon from yesterday! Could it be…
Before I could ponder further, the shape of a small dragon appeared in the steam, entirely made of white vapor. Under the amber halogen lamp in my room, the little creature was particularly conspicuous. I thought, under an incandescent light or under the sun, he might be invisible. It seemed he had no tangible form, merely outlined by flowing vapor. Due to my inability to wear my glasses, I couldn’t make out what filled the lines of the vapor. It probably wasn’t cotton.
“I’m called Yang.”
# Part Three
Since then, I haven’t seen “Yin” or “Yang” again.
But recalling their appearances, I can almost be certain that they both originated from my body and eventually returned to my body—just forgot to mention that “Yang” somehow got sucked back into my stomach in one breath—perhaps they still linger in some part of my body, maybe even everywhere.
Perhaps one day, Yin or Yang will prevail, and they will appear once more.