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

Following Old Wang's instruction, I bit my tongue and spat a mouthful of blood onto the straw doll. He placed it on the ground, solemn - faced, pointing at it like a sword. "Now!"

Yin wind howled harder. Squinting, I saw the doll catch fire, burning to ashes. Ox - Head and Horse - Face clamped their chains where the doll had been, trapping a faint shadow in the wind before vanishing.

With the messengers gone, the temple fell silent. The spirits remained prostrate, as if nothing had happened. My racing heart calmed—Old Wang's life - substitute had saved us from the living funeral.

Substitutes are common among practitioners. Celestial servants in Journey to the West used straw or paper dolls to stay on earth, avoiding heavenly patrols. Mortals also use them for the dying or sick children, symbolizing crossing the Naihe Bridge in their stead—though only for those whose lifespans aren't yet due.

But Old Wang had paid a price. He now panted, face ashen, 瘫软 (limp) on the ground—gone was the vigorous yang energy from before.

I rushed to help him. "Master Wang, what's wrong? You were fine!"

"I used Maoshan's Rejuvenation Technique," he wheezed. "It cost me lifespan. I don't have long."

My mind went blank. How could this be? Guilt welled up—if not for him, I'd be on the Yellow Spring Road. Tears stung my eyes.

He sensed my distress. "Stop moping—I won't die yet. Talk to Liu Changsheng. See if he'll let go of his grudge. The messengers said you need to be ordained to live out your years, but your lifespan is too short even for Maoshan."

His words plunged me from relief to despair. All my struggles hadn't saved my lifespan.

Speaking of lifespan, here's a story: In a village, a baby boy was born with purple clouds, chirping birds, and even the family dog walked upright—signs of a divine being. Six fortune - tellers called him a deity incarnate, destined for wealth.

Raised on flattery, the boy grew arrogant and idle, abusing his parents. At 20, drunk with friends, he boasted of the gods' favor. When they mocked him, he bet on gambling—winning every game, then taunting them. A furious friend stabbed him to death.

So goes life: fate is fixed, but squander it, and even heaven's gifts mean nothing. I was the sixth fortune - teller for this boy—the only one who saw his short life, and nearly got beaten for it.

Chapter 34: What Is the Heavenly Way? (1/2)