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Every man must have something he follows—something that serves him as a lodestar.
I Ching , Hexagram 17 (Sui/Following), fifth line
Robin passes under red lanterns and past the colorful shops, restaurants, and a small florist displaying a beautiful blue orchid in the window. Locating the alleyway from the address she’d been given, she then moves along the neverending row of glass storefronts, feeling still uncertain about the reason that had brought her to London’s Chinatown.
Strike did not know she was about to meet an expert on the ancient book they had stumbled upon in their newest case. Partly, it was because she wasn't sure he'd think it a good way of spending company hours, but she was also aware of barely acknowledged reasons that had made her seek the meeting on her own.
It is therefore with some trepidation and a hint of guilt that she approaches the correct door and rings the doorbell. The door is opened moments later by a middle-aged woman of slim build and dark blond hair. Somewhat surprisingly, the woman’s features put Robin in mind of one of her father’s cousins, an aunt that she had been fond of, but had not thought about in a long time.
“Hi,” she says, unsure. “I have an appointment with Ms. Wang?”
“Yes - you’re Robin, right? That’d be me. Come in.” She opens the door wider, and Robin steps inside. She supposes her surprise must show, because Ms. Wang smiles sympathetically and says, “The surname is my husband’s. I’m Constance, but feel free to call me Connie.” She closes the door behind them.
Robin enters a heavily carpeted and decorated room. Photo frames and bibelots occupy a dresser along the furthest wall, books are stacked on a coffee table in between a set of armchairs, and ornate plant vases decorate the corner. The walls, too, are partially covered in works of art, some of which are Chinese paintings and some landscapes, with the exception of a wall filled with a large bookshelf. “Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Robin says.
“Can I offer you anything? Water? Tea?”
“Tea would be good, thanks,” Robin says, curiously eyeing the large tomes on the bookshelf.
She points Robin to a small table by the window. Rays of sunlight coming in through the glass stretch across the room and onto the carpets.
“Is your husband also an I Ching expert?” Robin asks, when Constance comes back with a steaming teapot and two cups in a tray.
“Not really,” she says, unbothered. “He’s not as interested as I am. A prophet on their own land, I suppose.”
“Oh,” Robin says. “Doesn’t it cause trouble, if you care about it and he doesn’t?”
“Oh, no,” she replies. “He certainly cares. So, Robin,” she says. “You told me you need help for an investigation?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Robin starts, focusing her mind on the case. “I can’t tell you much about it, but these figures have popped up –” Robin pulls a piece of paper from the envelope she was carrying and hands it over. The paper shows a stack of six black lines, some of them broken in the middle. “And we realized they were I Ching hexagrams,” Robin says, a note of question in her voice.
“Dispersion,” Constance whispers under her breath, her eyes on the figure, before raising them to Robin again. “Yes, you’re correct.”
“The thing is,” Robin says, “We’re eager to understand whatever we can, but it’s not proving easy. To be honest, my partner is not keen on this stuff either, and we’ve already had some previous experience, that, well...”
Constance takes a sip of her tea.
“Are you?”
“What?” Robin asks.
“You say your partner is not keen on this,” she continues. “What about you?”
“Oh,” Robin says. “I… have nothing against it, I guess.”
“Have you tried using it yet?”
Robin opens her mouth but hesitates. “I… ‘tried’ would be the correct word.” Her stomach twists at the memory of her attempt of using the Chinese oracle, and what it had entailed.
“Not having much success understanding it?”
Robin takes a breath. “It’s pretty complicated, isn’t it? All the figures and lines and the poetry…”
Her comment is met with a smile.
“‘The fault of the Book of Changes is that it is inscrutable…’ so says an old commentary on Chinese Classics. And yet… Do you know who Richard Willhelm is?”
“Willhelm… he translated the I Ching to German?”
Constance nods.
“He says something interesting about the I Ching, which I find valuable as he was also a ‘foreigner’ like us. He says that if you’re looking for something complicated in the book, you’ll never understand it. It speaks about common things that everyone experiences in their lives. For instance, that hexagram you showed me warns that egotism can push people apart, and advises on how one can dissolve it.”
“I will… keep that in mind,” Robin says.
Constance smiles again. It’s a gentle smile, however, not a patronizing one. “Was it a diary you found?”
Robin suddenly lands her mug on the plate.
“Sorry, how –”
“It’s a common habit of people who use the oracle to record their readings - it’s how you really learn to understand it, by looking back afterwards.” After a moment, she adds, “Perhaps I should say that I do not possess clairvoyance or anything of that sort. I don’t really get why, but people get confused…”
“Right,” Robin says, mentally shaking herself. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“No worries. Well, what can I help you with today?”
Robin hesitates, then takes another piece of paper out. “We did find a diary. But to be honest, what I most wanted help with is this. It looks like a poem of some sort? I don’t know why, but I keep going back to it....” She hands the paper to Constance. It is a photocopy of a handwritten note, in a mixture of English and hexagrams.
Constance takes the paper out of her hand, and studies it for long minutes. “Most curious…” she mutters. When she finally raises her eyes to Robin, there is a discomfort that had not been there before. “What have you made of this?”
“Not much,” Robin admits. “I think, from research, that ‘The Master’ is Confucius. And I identified the hexagrams as 23, Split Apart; 52, Mountain; and 11, Peace. But I couldn’t decipher the symbols in the second-to-last line - I identified the second one, the flipped water trigram, but not the first - so I'm afraid the general meaning is lost on me.”
Constance nods, her gaze going back to the paper for a moment. Then she stands up and walks to the bookshelf on the opposite wall. “I think you’re right about Confucius,” she says. “I recognize some references to his Analects. In fact, your author seems well versed on Chinese Classics…” She opens one of the books and runs her finger through the pages, until it seems she finds what she was looking for. “Have you heard,” she then starts, while returning with a couple of books, “of Feng Shui?” She pronounces it differently from what Robin has heard before, so that it takes a moment for her to recognize the words.
“Yes...” Robin starts slowly. “Something about house decorations?”
“Not quite,” she replies, slightly amused. “But yes, that’s what I was referring to. Again, it’s much simpler, and yet more profound, than people would have you think.” She takes her seat again before continuing. “Feng Shui is the Chinese wisdom about how the Chi - energy, vital force, there’s many meanings - flows in one place. Today there’s myriad rules and different schools, but its most basic, and most important principle, refers to the words that form its name. Feng , wind. Shui , water. The Chi disperses with wind, and finds rest on the limits of water.” She flips the book she’d been reading to Robin; the page shows a table depicting the evolution of Chinese ideograms. She then points to the penultimate line in the poem. “The symbol you mention there is not the water trigram upside down. It is an ancient form of the ‘water’ ideogram. The one next to it is the ancient ideogram for ‘wind’.” Indeed, Robin recognizes with excitement both figures from the poem. Constance pauses before continuing, “That poem seems to allude to the presence - or rather, absence - of Feng Shui in pivotal points of Confucius’ life.”
Robin, who was looking at the paper, trying to catch up, raises her eyes.
“How so?”
“Few people know this,” she continues, “but Confucius was an outstanding musician, and an excellent singer.” Robin feels herself raise her eyebrows in surprise. “The poem you have is referring to one of his songs, famous for good reason, which starts with the line ‘ The mountain T’ai wears away ’ - Mountain Ta’i, you see, was considered sacred in ancient China.” She then points to the second line of the poem. “Hexagram 52, as you identified, is Mountain; Hexagram 11, Peace, is called, in Chinese, T’ai. Hexagram 23 is Splitting Apart, which talks about a mountain collapsing. The song about Mountain Ta’i crumbling is Confucius’ last song… which he composed when he felt he was about to die. ”
Robin stares at the paper, digesting this information, before turning to Constance. “I see the connection to Confucius,” she says. “But what has Feng Shui to do with it?”
“Feng Shui had a very particular purpose in ancient China,” Constance responds. “It was so that elderly people could find the best place to rest. Just like we have this ideal of the idyllic retirement, so did the ancient Chinese. The life of man with its needs remains eternally the same …” She speaks with the intonation of reciting a citation, then trails off. “Records about Confucius’ life show something very interesting about his final years. He never did find such a place, literal or metaphoric, to live in his old age. He was cast away from his province of origin, and overlooked by the people of power when he lived. The only offers he got didn’t come from the correct source, so he had to reject them. That was a famous point of anguish for him then.”
“Anguish?” Robin asks, surprised. “Confucius?”
Constance smiles kindly. “People assume wise men don’t suffer, and somehow don’t wonder where they got their wisdom from…in his own words,” she adds, “People can learn by reflection, imitation, or by experience… which is the bitterest.”
Robin is silent for a moment.
“There’s quite a bit about suffering on the I Ching, isn’t there?”
For the first time, Constance laughs lightly.
“Well - we can get back to that if you want.”
“So if I’m following…” Robin thinks aloud. “It seems the person who wrote the message was worried about their future?"
“Yes,” she says, “I believe so.”
“But what were they worried about, exactly?” Robin asks, trying to contain her excitement at a possible discovery. “That they… won’t reach old age?”
“Quite possibly,” Constance replies. “Although…” She trails off and is silent for a moment. “Let me show you the first treatise on Feng Shui. ” She points to Robin one of the books she’d taken off the shelf. It was a thin volume, in an orange cover. It said ‘A translation of the ancient Chinese The Book of Burial ( Zang Shu) by Guo Pu (276-324)’.
“The Book of Burial?” Robin asks. For some undefined reason, the title makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
“Like I said, Feng Shui was about finding an adequate place to… rest. First and foremost, it was a geomancy practice for finding the best site for a grave.” She opens the book and shows an illustration of a landscape drawn in stylized, ancient Chinese ink strokes. A circle had been drawn on top of a section of it. The legend said, ‘Feng shui analysis of a site, with an auspicious circle.’
“That was extremely important for Chinese culture, and in many ways, it still is.” She reflects for a moment before continuing. “One of Confucius’ main concerns was restoring ancient rites… including those of burial. When his mother died, he decided she was to be buried in the same grave as his father, in the province of Fang, from where his ancestors had originally come.” She takes a sip of tea before continuing. “But that presented a problem: His father had died twenty years before, and was buried in another province.”
“What did he do?” asked Robin, who had expected no talk about ancient graves when she’d approached the door earlier, and yet had her curiosity considerably piqued.
“Well, he was relieved from the problem by an old woman in the neighborhood. She told him that the coffin had only just been put into the ground, as a temporary arrangement, and not regularly buried. On learning this, he saw it to convey both coffins to Fang, and put them in the ground together. But then came a new problem.”
“Oh?”
“In ancient times,” she said, “people raised no tumulus over graves. But Confucius was a man of the past as much as present, and he thought he ought to have something by which to remember the place of rest of his parents.” She pauses. “So he raised a mound over the grave,” she said, “Yes - ‘four feet high’, according to the Classic of documents. He then went home, leaving his disciples to oversee the completion.”
Robin takes a breath. “I’m guessing the story doesn’t end here, either.”
Constance shakes her head.
“The disciples were late to join him, because there’d been a heavy rain. When they did, they did not bear good news. The rain had washed down the mound, running over the grave.”
There was silence for a moment, while Robin pondered the information.
“I see what you mean now,” said Robin. “So the poem could be not only about fearing not reaching old age, but about not having…”
“...a resting place,” Constance completed. “Likely to be a metaphor, I’d say; but if taken literally… yes.”
Robin is silent for a moment. “That is chilling,” she says, and accordingly, she feels a waft of air from a crack in the window. "I'd never have gotten that by myself…" She was surprised at the possible meanings of the message, but also at how they could come off something that at first had looked so innocent.
“There’s clearly something troubling about it, though, isn’t there?” Constance ponders. “After all, you picked up on it. Your instincts were right.”
“Well, I can’t take all the credit,” Robin said, her mind still a bit far. "It was in the diary along with hexagrams, so a poem seemed out of place."
Constance nods and hesitates before speaking. “If I may ask - I will understand, of course, if you can't disclose," she says. "The person who wrote it…”
Robin sighs. "I wish I could placate you," she says, biting her lip while deciding what to tell her. "The extent of what I can say is… we're investigating a disappearance at the moment."
Constance takes a sharp intake of breath, seeming distressed. For a few moments, there’s a lull in the conversation. Suddenly, she gets up, and Robin senses the movement is supposed to help her compose herself. "Well," Constance says, "I feel more tea is in order. Would you like some more, too?"
Robin nods, her mind wandering, while Constance disappears from view and clanking sounds are heard in the kitchen.
When she comes back and sits down, she pours both of them more tea and says, "What else could I offer you help with?"
Robin notices the specific phrasing as an opening to continue. Having since gathered her thoughts, she has an idea of what to ask.
“I did wonder - If you looked at…?" she starts, then pauses. "I was thinking,” she says more firmly, “about the diary we found.”
“Which is, if I may say,” Constance says, in a careful tone, “a resource you should not overlook, regardless of what your partner thinks. I think you should not have to believe in anything to understand how it may prove useful to glimpse at the state of mind of the person who wrote it.”
“Yes, that was what I was thinking,” Robin says. “So, do you think it could tell you something?”
She pauses briefly before speaking.
“Because of the mutating nature of the text, an I Ching consultation is much like a lock and key,” she explains, hesitantly. “You really need to know the situation fully to interpret the answer.”
Robin nods, disappointed.
“That said," she continues, "I could tell you about a hexagram in broad terms, whether it is considered auspicious or not, what general situation it refers to… if it would help.”
“Yes,” Robin says quickly. “I would like that.”
She retrieves the first page she’d shown Constance. It is blank but for the six lines forming the hexagram which the woman had called ‘Dispersion’. A circle had been drawn in the middle of the sixth line, which, Robin had learned from research, denotes a moving line, though she wasn’t yet quite clear on what that meant.
“This is the last entry in the diary. All of them have a date and at least a few words in lieu of a question, and though I haven’t looked at all of them, at least some seem quite mundane. Like, ‘How to proceed in the meeting today’, or, ‘What to expect from the trip’...”
Constance nods. "Those seem like typical, and well formulated, I Ching questions, to me.”
“This one though…” Robin continues. “It has no date, and no question. It's just sitting there by itself–” But she cuts herself short, because at that moment, an idea crosses her mind. “Unless…? I don’t have the diary here to check, but…” She says, picking up again the photocopy of the poem. Though she feels Constance’s eyes on her, the woman doesn’t ask questions, instead waiting patiently. Robin lays the two pages side by side, then moves one on top of the other so that the photocopied spines align perfectly.
She raises her eyes to Constance. “I’d not noticed the last hexagram is in the very next page after the poem,” she says. “Could… could it be the missing question?” She asks, then repeats the poem’s last line: “ ‘If he couldn’t find Feng Shui, how can I ?’”
Constance looks at the photocopied pages, pondering. “It’s certainly not orthodox or anything, but… I can’t really see why not? In fact,” she adds, “I could perfectly see someone writing that poem to purge their feelings and then, overwhelmed by the question, deciding to pose it to the I Ching , as a way to placate their heart. Could you not?”
“Yes,” Robin says, the thrill of the discovery buzzing through her. “Yes, I could…”
They look at each other for a moment. Then, for the first time in their meeting, Constance takes the copy of the I Ching that had been sitting next to her on the table and opens it. “Well, let’s see what the oracle says about it…” She flips to the right page. “59, Huan, or Dispersion. How interesting,” she says, sounding genuinely impressed. She raises her eyes to Robin, who waits eagerly for what she has to say. “This may not be confirmation for you, but…” She points to the top of the page, which depicts the hexagram. “As you probably know, every hexagram is made of two trigrams - three line figures representing elements of nature - on top of each other. The hexagram Dispersion is made of the trigrams K’an below, and Sun above. Wind over water.”
“Wind over – Feng Shui,” Robin exclaims.
Constance nods. “If indeed the poem was the question, then the person receiving this hexagram would likely see this as the signpost of a meaningful answer… As if the book had said, ‘I understand your question, here’s your answer.’”
“I think I’d be freaked out to get that,” Robin admits. “Does that type of thing happen a lot?”
“I’d say so, yes,” Constance says, laughing slightly. “Although I have to say, this use of the trigrams is a bit surprising, even for me…”
“What does a moving line mean?” Robin asks, her mind momentarily leaving the case and going back to her single, troubling attempt at using the I Ching. “I couldn’t quite understand what it, or what to take into account when getting one, to be honest.”
“That’s at the very heart of the Book of Changes,” Constance explains. “When a line moves from broken to single - yin to yang - or vice-versa, the hexagram is changing into another one, indicating that change is also happening in your situation. And that’s, after all, precisely what the book sets out to describe. The predominant view,” she continues, “is that, when getting a line, the divination will be found in it, while the hexagram will provide context. The meaning of the new hexagram might also be taken into account.”
Robin reflects on this. “And if one gets more than one moving line?”
“That’s often tricky, isn’t it?” Constance smiles. “Sometimes they can be seen as progressing in sequence, or as reflecting multiple facets of a complex situation.”
“I see,” Robin said, though she was not quite sure she was, indeed, seeing. “In this case, then,” she asked, “the answer will likely be in the changing line?”
“That’s right,” said Constance. “Let’s have a look.” She flipped the pages to find the sixth moving line, and began reading.
Nine at the top means:
He dissolves his blood.
Departing, keeping at a distance, going out,
Is without blame.
The idea of the dissolving of a man’s blood means the dispersion of that which might lead to bloodshed and wounds, i.e., avoidance of danger. But here the thought is not that a man avoids difficulties for himself alone, but rather that he rescues his kin—helps them to get away before danger comes, or to keep at a distance from an existing danger, or to find a way out of a danger that is already upon them. In this way he does what is right.
“Wow,” Robin couldn’t help but say. “That’s… literally advising how to escape from danger?”
“Indeed… and you can be certain they took the threat seriously,” Constance says. “The hexagram is turning into 29… the Abysmal. The water trigram is doubled, and water here represents danger.”
“So if they got that and intended to follow the advice…” Robin thinks aloud, her mind running through possibilities. “They could simply have made a run for it? Ran away… disappeared?” The idea is very appealing in its implications, and, despite her better judgment, gives her hope for the safety of the man they were searching for.
“It seems possible,” Constance says, though she sounds unsure. “Do you have any clue about how they might have interpreted the ‘rescuing his kin’ bit?”
“I do, actually…” said Robin. “Why?”
“Because, if the person is taking the reading seriously,” she said, “Couldn’t it just as easily have sent them in the other direction?”
Robin is silent for a moment. “You mean… towards danger, in order to save someone, before they thought of themselves?” Constance nods. “Yes,” Robin says, feeling suddenly defeated. “Looking at it that way…” she shivers slightly.
Perhaps because of her crestfallen tone, Constance adds, kindly, “But you know… The point of the Abysmal, just like the line before, is how to escape from danger. Perhaps, with these warnings, they were able to find a way out in time.”
“Perhaps…” Robin says, though her momentary surge of hope had mostly disappeared.
Constance grimaces regretfully.
“I wish I could help you more.”
“No,” Robin says, quite firmly. “This has been… incredibly helpful. Really.”
Constance smiles, and waits.
For some reason, Robin doesn’t move either. She’s absently folding the photocopy and storing it again in the envelope she’d retrieved it from. Finally, after a few moments, she hesitantly starts, “I really don’t want to waste more of your time…”
Constance has just refilled her teacup, and takes a sip before carefully placing the cup in the saucer again.
“Perhaps you haven’t noticed,” she says, “But I don’t mind this at all.”
Robin smiles nervously, still not sure how to breach the subject.
“Is it the attempt at a reading you made?” Constance suggests.
“I… yes,” Robin admits. “I don’t normally get wound up about this sort of thing, but I came out very confused. And honestly, a bit unsettled.”
“And, I suppose,” Constance says, “our conversation about burial sites and danger didn’t help?”
Robin laughs lightly. “I do understand it all a bit better, I think, but to be honest… yeah.”
“What was the question you asked?” Constance takes another sip of tea.
“Well - I didn’t really ask a question, per se…”
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “But did you have a problem in mind?”
“Yes…” Robin says. “I think I did. I broke up a relationship recently,” she says. “And I’m not quite sure I made the right decision.”
Though she made it seem as if she’d asked the question after breaking up, that was not quite what had happened. Moments before her ex-boyfriend had arrived for what she had anticipated as a difficult, and definite, conversation, and feeling herself still in doubt, she’d been seized with a similar impulse as she’d been once before, on her last birthday.
Just as she’d done with Tarot cards before heading to Shakespeare’s Head, she’d retrieved the coins that she’d bought while researching the case and thrown them six times to get an I Ching reading. So impressed she’d been by the answer, that it'd given her the final push she needed to settle her decision; and only later, as she poured over it again, did it occur to her she might have misinterpreted it. As she thinks of this now, she’s forced to ask herself just how badly the need to settle this doubt had been, and the extent to which it might have, in truth, motivated this visit.
“Well,” Constance says. “Let’s see if that’s context enough. Do you remember what your answer was?”
“Yes,” Robin says, speaking with certainty for perhaps the first time in their whole conversation. “It was hexagram 17… lines two and three.”
“Interesting,” Constance murmurs, flipping through the tome and finding the correct page. “Here it is: 17, Following. Wonder if I’m remembering correctly…" She quickly runs her eyes through the couple of pages, taking longer on the reading of the lines. Then she raises her eyes to Robin.
“Forgive me my frankness,” she says. “I have to say, from your words, I was expecting something very different. Did you really not understand the meaning behind this answer?”
Robin feels a surge of embarrassed heat spreading from her neck upwards.
“I… thought I might be misunderstanding it.”
“No,” Constance says slowly. “I don’t think you were. But the I Ching can be confusing even when the words are clear, especially when you’re just getting to know it. No harm in going over it, if you’re in doubt.”
Robin nods gratefully.
“There’s a line in the I Ching that says only those who are themselves open to being influenced, can in turn influence others. Following offers similar advice about being a leader, about… being followed.” She turns her eyes to the book and reads aloud, “‘ If a man would rule he must first learn to serve.’ I think you get the picture.”
Robin nods in agreement, listening attentively.
“I tend to think,” she continues, “in a relationship reading, it can mean… someone might be simply… following your lead. An attitude you’re seeing in another may actually be them mirroring yours.”
“Huh,” Robin says, shifting in her chair.
“Now, the lines…” Constance continues. She reads aloud again. “ Six in the second place means: If one clings to the little boy, One loses the strong man.” She casts a glance at Robin before continuing. “ Six in the third place means: If one clings to the strong man, One loses the little boy.” This is really quite straightforward, I would say.”
“Well, it might have been ,” says Robin, frustrated, “If I’d gotten one of those. What on earth do I make of getting both? ”
“ In friendships and close relationships an individual must make a careful choice, ” Constance quotes from the second line. “Every choice has two sides.”
“But -” Robin starts, and her voice falters, before she continues in a lower tone. “The lines talk about two men. How can I know which one is him?”
“Hmm,” says Constance. “Yes, that is tricky. It’s the true difficulty of the I Ching , after you get used to its style - seeing your situation, your place in it.” She pauses. “Interestingly, there’s an old story about that issue that concerns this very hexagram… A noblewoman consulted the oracle about a marriage prospect, and got Following as a result,” she recounts. “It was judged as a very favorable reading by the fortune-teller. As the hexagram possesses the four great virtues, he judged it very auspicious that she followed her suitor and get married.’” She pauses. “However, the woman said she didn’t possess any of those virtues; that her situation was not compatible with this hexagram. She decided to wait for another opportunity… Like I said, it’s all about being able to adapt the reading to your particular situation.”
Robin sits back in her chair, feeling a bit disheartened.
“I don’t feel like that’s something I remotely know how to do,” she says, “and I’m guessing it’s not something you can help me with, either.”
“Well…” she starts, pondering deeply. “What strikes you as important there?”
Robin is silent for a moment, not sure where to even start. “I guess… I was wondering about the age thing. Should I take it literally?” Robin asks.
“Yes… That does seem like the defining characteristic of the two characters, doesn’t it?” Constance agrees. “The little boy and the old man. And if you look at the hexagram, you’ll find this indication again: an old man shows deference to a young maid, and she follows him.” She pauses. “It might make sense to take it literally - but it just as likely might mean to symbolize one’s attitude to life… Either way, yes, that can be helpful in contrasting them.”
Robin frowns. “Contrasting who?”
“The two men,” Constance says plainly. When Robin stares at her blankly, she continues, “Of course this may be hypothetical, as in comparing your boyfriend to what you seek in a companion.” She pauses. “I’d advise you to be clear on whether it is, however, as that may have great stakes in the answer…”
“I’ll keep that in mind… ” Robin says, feeling warm in her face again, and letting out a frustrated breath. “This does not actually get easier, does it?”
Constance laughs. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I was hoping it would. I think you may be missing something important there, though.” She starts reading from the book again. “‘ When the right connection has been found, a certain loss naturally ensues... But in his heart he will be satisfied, because he will find what he seeks and needs for the development of his personality… He must know what he wants and not be led astray by momentary inclinations’.”
“So basically… follow your heart?” Robin can’t help but ask.
“As opposed to your mind?” Constance smiles. “You know, the ancient Chinese didn’t make such a distinction. They had a single word for it: Shen , the ‘light in the eyes’. I’m sometimes not sure whether the distinction does us any favors…” she trails off, distracted, then turns to Robin again. “Well - the I Ching does talk about following you heart , ” Constance says, after a moment of reflection. “It tells us that ‘the original impulses of the heart are always good, so that we may follow them confidently’. It’s important to notice, however, the operative word there,” she adds, looking at Robin, “Which is ‘original’. According to this view, not everything instinctive corresponds to this higher nature, but only that which is… right . That’s why, in my opinion, following one’s heart requires quite the deep investigation…”
Robin, who had been listening in the hopes of getting a more definite answer, sighs. “I suppose it’s indeed something for me to find out on my own…”
It’s Constance’s time to be momentarily silent.
“Well… would you like to try another question?”
Robin stares at her then, hesitating, afraid that her mind was already filled enough with the strange sayings of the book. Then, on an impulse, she says, “In for a penny…”
Constance nods and takes the cups and saucers from the table, placing them in a coffee table close by. She then takes a bamboo mat, unrolling it upon the wooden surface in front of them, and a little pouch, from which she retrieves the tree coins that now seem reasonably familiar to Robin. These are different, however; smaller, with more delicate engravings. She’s suddenly glad that, if anything, she’ll get to witness Constance performing the casting, for future reference.
Constance holds the coins in her hands and takes a deep breath, her eyes closed. Then, she looks into Robin’s eyes.
“What is the question? Choose carefully how you want to phrase it.”
“Oh,” Robin says. “Do I really have to… phrase it?”
Constance tilts her head, her finger running over the coins. “Every source will indeed advise you to, because it sets limits for the interpretation. Of course you’ll get an answer either way,” she says, thoughtfully. “And, in my experience, the I Ching has a way of answering the question in your heart. The problem is,” she continues, “If you don’t state the question clearly, you can pretend, after you get the answer, that you never really asked it.”
“Hm,” Robin says. “Yes, I see what you mean.” She opens her mouth so as to place the question, but, in that moment, with Constance holding the coins and looking at her with solemn eyes, she somehow feels like this is an opportunity that deserves to be valued. She suddenly doesn’t want her question to focus on Ryan.
“I…actually…” she starts. “What’s a really good question to ask the I Ching ?”
Constance has smiled many times today, but none, Robin thinks, a smile as genuine as this one.
“About anything in particular?”
“Not really?” Robin says. “About my future, or…general advice…” She says lamely, feeling foolish, but Constance takes her seriously, and looks at her in a way that makes her think there’s nothing foolish about her inquiry.
“If it’s about the future,” Constance says, “I might ask, ‘What can I expect from this situation’, or ‘going forward’? Does that sound like what you were looking for?” As Robin seems to hesitate, she then asks, “Why did you go to the I Ching, in the first place?”
Robin thinks for a moment, searching within herself for the answer to this question.
And, through images of pristine beaches, stairs and the back seat of a cab, she finds it; not in something she wants , but rather in something that she doesn’t. It’s a sensation she knows well, one as insidious and stinging as inky poison; a feeling which, being usually preceded by a whirlwind of lights and movements she responds to with a strange stillness, resembles a sort of blindness.
“I guess,” Robin says, “I wanted to know if I was making a mistake.”
Constance studies Robin for a long while.
“I wish I knew the question that would tell me that plainly,” she smiles. “But one approach to the I Ching I quite like is to ask: ‘What should I know about this situation?’ It has often led me to see things I’d previously not.”
“I like that,” Robin says. It felt more like getting a new perspective, rather than a prediction about the future. Constance nods and holds her hands closed above the mat, holding the coins, and looks expectantly at Robin, who gets the cue.
“What is one thing I should know," Robin starts, then, after a slight hesitation, "regarding my relationships?" She'd almost skipped the direct reference to her love life, but Constance's words about stating the question clearly had prompted to include it.
Constance drops her eyes to her hands, shakes them, and lets the coins drop onto the mat. Two of the coins fall on the same side, and one coin on the other. She takes a pen and a little notebook and scribbles a solid line.
She repeats the process five more times, silently, her pen drawing a line from each casting, from bottom to top. After Constance finishes casting, she takes a look at the figure that has been formed. Robin notices that all lines are solid but the second, and that the fifth has been marked with a circle in the center, denoting a moving line.
“Fellowship,” Constance says softly, opening the book on the corresponding page. Once again, she skims the pages beforehand. When she looks at Robin, a soft smile plays at her lips, and her eyes look a bit shiny.
“Like I said,” she says, “We always end up being answered the question that’s loudest in our hearts, even if we haven’t yet articulated it…”
Robin takes a breath in anticipation before she starts speaking again.
“A peaceful union of men ,” she reads. “This hexagram is about a very harmonious type of relationship. Such a kinship requires something beyond individual interests to be based upon: a concern that is universal, the goals of humanity… If unity of this kind prevails,” she continues, “ even difficult and dangerous tasks, such as crossing the great water, can be accomplished.”
Robin is silent for a moment. “I don’t understand how that tells me something I should know,” she says, and immediately hears in her protest echoes of another one: Peace isn't a problem. She reaches for her cup of tea, upon realizing her mouth was dry.
“Perhaps it doesn’t,” Constance says. “As I was telling you before, when you get moving lines, you’ll likely find the answer there, while the judgment and image provide context. The answer you got, indeed, is about a relationship.”
“And what does the moving line say?” Robin asks, and, irrationally, she can feel anticipation in her own accelerating heartbeat.
“I think you should read it yourself,” Constance says, turning the book to Robin and pointing to the correct moving line. Robin starts reading.
“Nine in the fifth place means:
Men bound in fellowship first weep and lament,
But afterward they laugh.
After great struggles they succeed in meeting.
Two people are outwardly separated, but in their hearts they are united. They are kept apart by their positions in life. Many difficulties and obstructions arise between them and cause them grief. But, remaining true to each other, they allow nothing to separate them, and although it costs them a severe struggle to overcome the obstacles, they will succeed. When they come together their sadness will change to joy. Confucius says of this:
‘Life leads the thoughtful man on a path of many windings. Now the course is checked, now it runs straight again.Here winged thoughts may pour freely forth in words,There the heavy burden of knowledge must be shut away in silence.But when two people are at one in the inmost hearts,They shatter even the strength of iron or of bronze.And when two people understand each other in their inmost hearts,Their words are sweet and strong, like the fragrance of orchids.’”
“What do you think?” Constance asks, very quietly, after several moments.
Robin, startled, realizes she has tears in the corner of her eyes and wipes them discreetly.
“I… that’s beautiful,” she says, a little choked. “It sounds good…right?” she asks for confirmation.
Constance is silent for a long time.
“What most people think of as good… is to get what they wish for. Do you agree?” She asks, and Robin nods. “And that is one thing. But to some people, and I think you’re one of them, life can be a struggle between what you want… and what is right. I know it’s often been the case for me…” She smiles sadly. “Even Confucius, who was above most things concerned with the correct and proper way of doing things - and paid, for it, the price of never getting exactly what he hoped for - well, even he went against what was seen as correct occasionally… as when he placed the mound over his parent’s grave, only to see the rain wash it away.
"The thing is," she continues, "we can’t always know if something is right or not. Life doesn't work that way, does it? We often just do our best and then carry on, in the limbo of not knowing, waiting to see if the storm will pass or for it to carry our feet from under us… ” She takes a reflective pause. “But at the end of his life, Confucius did achieve a special understanding. He said that he ‘could follow his heart’s desire without transgressing what was right.’ That, in my opinion, is the best anyone can expect from life…” she trails off for a moment, before concluding: “And precisely the type of situation this line seems to describe. And when such sincerity of feeling causes heart and destiny to align…Well, nothing is impossible...”
Robin is momentarily speechless, and only finds her voice again to try to placate one last doubt. “Does it mean…” she starts. “I mean, I was thinking about my ex-boyfriend earlier - do you suppose…?”
“That, I really cannot say,” Constance answers thoughtfully. “But… He must know what he wants, ” she recites again, then looks at Robin meaningfully, her gaze focusing, Robin notices, on her wet eyes. “Was it really about him you were thinking of, as you read it?”
Robin bites her lip and doesn’t reply, her eyes dropping to the text again.
When two people are at one in their inmost hearts…
*
Robin’s at the door, having already thanked Constance profusely again; words that, not surprisingly, were met with a smile and a kind comment. When she crosses the threshold, however, she turns to her one last time.
“Connie," she calls. "This last reading we did…have you ever gotten that particular line before?”
“In fact I have,” she says. “More than once.”
They share a look, and Robin is sure she understands what she’s really asking.
“I’ve seen it fulfilled,” she continues, her eyes wandering over Robin’s shoulder to the street beyond. “And I’ve seen it… not.” She finds Robin’s eyes again, and her gaze is laced with some sort of wistfulness.
“Why do you think that is?” Robin asks.
“Using the I Ching to know about the future,” she replies, “is not as wise as using it to know what to do.”
They look at each other for a moment, unflinchingly, and Robin nods, conveying that she has understood.
Constance smiles one last time, then closes the door.
As Robin starts her way towards the office, her phone buzzes. She retrieves it from her purse and sees a text from Strike.
Fancy a pint to catch up? S
Smiling, Robin texts back:
You read my mind. Have some news myself. R
Within a minute, she gets back:
Figured. You’ve been awfully quiet.
She chuckles and starts putting her phone away. Then, as the word ‘ following’ flashes through her mind, she unblocks it again and adds:
Looking forward to it. x
She puts her phone away and resumes walking. Strangely, as eager as she is to tell Strike all she has discovered, she finds herself filled not of thoughts of the case, but of movements of another density, as if they occupy her heart, not her mind. Swirling images of deep oceans to be crossed, iron barriers to shatter, insurmountable tasks even wiseman couldn’t accomplish and the inexorable burden of the knowledge of the end…
Then, coming to her as subtle as a flowery scent, she discovers, very alive in herself, a familiar impulse. And though she’s not before made the connection, it inexplicably seems, now, to thread together completely different moments in her life: from her decision to stay at the agency with Strike, to the certainty she’d had of breaking up with Ryan, until she started questioning it, ultimately leading her to the visit she had paid today. And, by the same measure, she’s aware of all the times it was absent, or rather, made absent by her own willingness to shut it down.
It is not absent now, and she knows where it leads.
So she makes her way towards it, following the sweet, strong fragrance of orchids as it leads her to Denmark Street.
He who follows with conviction the beautiful and the good may feel himself strengthened by this saying.
I Ching , Hexagram 17 (Sui/Following), fifth line