duyong

I was born in the 1980s, and officially stepped into the world of Feng Shui in 2006. Over the past decade, I’ve witnessed mysteries that most would never believe.

In 2013, over 100,000 fish died mysteriously in Liaozhong Reservoir…
In Tower Bay Street, spirits marched in a ghostly parade…
In Wenguantun, shadowy markets rose at dusk…
And in front of the Shenyang Imperial Palace, a ghostly princess once sat in her palanquin.

Were these the workings of nature — or something far more ancient and unseen?

In ten years, I’ve saved lives — and yes, I’ve ruined some too. Feng Shui is like a blade: it bears no evil or virtue. The darkness lies in the hearts of men.

This book is not written to boast about my mastery or to chase after the sensational. I write to share a truth:

Feng Shui can nurture life — or destroy it. There is no good or evil in the art itself. Only in the human heart.

Tales of Folk Feng Shui Mysteries

Climbing the "death-character" door using childhood mischief skills, I pushed over the brick chimney. Removing the top stroke of the "death" character broke its malevolence. For the "human-fiend" over the shrine, I had Old Wang help me cross a beam over the ancestral tablet—transforming "human" into "great," nullifying the fiend.

I piled all flammable items over the blood pool in the yin-gathering land and set them ablaze. The fire crackled with explosive pops. These feng shui formations were easy, but the yin road (gravel path) and Nine-Nail Soul-Locking Formation kept us caged.

After finishing, Old Wang sniffed sharply. "Brace yourself—something's coming."

His words fell as my kylin windchime trembled violently, ringing for half a minute. Gale-force winds slammed the front doors, dropping the temperature. Yin fog rose, engulfing us. Then, suona music wailed outside.

"Funeral dirge!" we gasped in unison.

Funeral music guides the dead—ancient players blew from procession to burial, easing souls' worldly attachments and reminding them they'd died. Unaware spirits often harmed living relatives, like children falling ill after seeing a deceased ancestor.

"We fell for it," I laughed bitterly. "Ghosts celebrate, dirges mourn—they're holding a funeral for us!"

Old Wang frowned. I pointed to the spirit tablets. "We fixated on the coffins—our names are on those tablets. Check the oil lamp—it holds our life talismans."

The brightest candle was a soul-guiding lamp. The suona confirmed Zhou Jianguo awaited the hour. The Nine-Nail Formation trapped us while he prepared a "living funeral"—luring us to our deaths, sending us to the netherworld.

Soul-guiding lamps burned for seven days, guiding spirits to the afterlife. Without one, spirits lost their way. As the suona rose and fell, Old Wang's yang fires dimmed—two out of three extinguished. Mine vanished entirely, sustained only by a thread of vitality.

Old Wang flipped the oil lamp, yanking out yellow talismans. "My birth chart! That bastard dares hold a funeral for me!"

"Words won't help. These talismans are death warrants. I've doomed you, Master Wang." Writing living names on yellow funeral paper was cursed—burning them under a death lamp sealed our fates.

Among Zhou clan tablets, our names stood out. Zhou Jianguo never meant to let us live. Once the village died, he'd funeralize us too—my waning yang energy couldn't withstand the final push.

Old Wang tensed. "You're a feng shui master, Li Xiaozhang's grandson—no way out? Your grandpa was a legend."

Recalling Grandpa's words, living funerals prey on the 气运衰弱 (气运衰弱,weak fate). My forfeited lifespan and Old Wang's twilight years left us vulnerable. "Once the dirge stops and the door opens, hell spirits will welcome us. When they send us off, Yama's messengers will claim our souls—we'll walk the Yellow Spring Road together."

Chapter 31: Reaping Lives Alive (2/2)