Chapter 29: The Root of the Matter (1/2)

In the afternoon, I packed the books into my green satchel—after the break - in, I dared not leave these ancient tomes unattended. Heading to a nearby hospital, I underwent seven or eight tests: complete blood count, liver function, chest X - ray, ECG—all to rule out sudden death. My yang lifespan had been forfeited, and even good health couldn't guard against abrupt illnesses.

Though the Heavenly Master Talisman offered temporary protection, Old Wang's insistence on a checkup hinted at doubt. A middle - aged female doctor listened to my chest, examined my eyes and tongue, then pressed my internal organs. Finally, she scribbled on my chart and handed me a prescription: "Moderate anxiety due to stress." Medications: Librium, Fenarol.

Leaving the clinic, I sighed. I knew the real cause, crumpling the receipt in the elevator.

Becoming a feng shui master only to forfeit my lifespan—truly a 奇葩 (oddity) in the trade. Gazing at my reflection, the black qi over my forehead confirmed my approaching end.

Tears welled up as I dialed Grandpa, recalling his joy over my admission letter and the feng shui grave he'd found. I owed him everything, yet risked leaving him to mourn my death. The call went unanswered, so I texted: "Eat more congee for your stomach. Still coughing? Quit smoking—take care at 80+." Closing my phone, I broke down.

Just then, Old Wang called, urgency in his voice. "Turn on the news! Now!"

"I'm in the hospital—just tell me."

"You'll regret it. Strange epidemic in Zhoujiazhuang—many dead."

I was stunned. I'd overseen the Taoist temple construction, using the Celestial Stems Five Harmony Chart to suppress the Plague God. As long as incense burned, the village should be safe.

Keeping Old Wang on the line, I dashed through the hospital, begging nurses for a TV. Diving into the 值班室 (staff room), an old guard was already watching news footage: medics rushing stretchers, a masked reporter saying, "I'm at the disaster site—Zhoujiazhuang's strange illness is under treatment. Practice hygiene..."

The report avoided casualties. The guard noted, "Ambulances aren't entering—if it were mass deaths, they'd hide it. The village is hanging by a thread."

Thanking him, I called Old Wang. We concluded my lost yin virtue was linked, but I couldn't fathom why. I hadn't disturbed the Plague God—why bear the blame?

Crossing Shenyang from Tiexi to Dadong, we met at the train station. Old Wang arrived by bus an hour late, leaving me seething but silent. On the train to Tongliao, he whispered, "Pray Zhoujiazhuang survives. Hundreds of lives—this karma could kill you."

I shook my head. Practitioners of yin - yang and feng shui face heavenly retribution for harming lives—usually shortened lifespan or disability. If hundreds died by sorcery, the sin was enormous. My survival meant villagers might still be clinging to life.

A thought struck me: I'd done good, so why was this happening? Four hours later in Tongliao, no taxi would go to Zhoujiazhuang—money meant nothing.

Zhou Jianguo answered my call, sobbing, "Master! I went to Shenyang but couldn't find you. You said it was solved—why are people dying?"

"Stay calm. We're in Tongliao—pick us up at the station."

As we waited, Old Wang mused, "Dabao, what if someone used sorcery against you? Like... life - swapping sorcery, where an evil master switches your fate with theirs, making you bear their sins."