Chapter 37: Maoshan Sorcery (1/2)

This shocked me. No wonder Old Wang had risked his life for me—there was a hidden bond. No wonder he'd asked if I was Li Xiaozhang's disciple at our first meeting—they were 同门 (fellow apprentices).

Watching Liu Changsheng peel off his scalp, holding it in both hands, sent chills down my spine. The 百会穴 (Baihui acupoint) at the top of the head holds the body's essence and vitality. In martial arts novels, "three flowers gathering at the crown" refers to unblocked qi here; after death, the soul departs through this point. Now Liu used his soul and lifeblood as an incantation.

His yin-yang funeral was a deadly trap: yin funeral for spirits, yang funeral for the living. But it needed living sacrifices—Old Wang and I became offerings. As "lone yin cannot thrive," only yin-yang union unleashes its full power. Yet heaven's will prevailed: I bore the village's karma, and Liu, taught by my grandpa, now returned what he'd learned.

Fate seemed to decree that what Liu learned must be repaid. With my grandpa gone, I reclaimed it. Now he chanted the Heaven-Earth Purification Incantation, reverting Zhoujiazhuang's calamity to heaven's original design.

Above the silent village, dark clouds gathered. A cool night breeze carried moist earth, thunder rumbled, lightning slashed the sky. Liu's incantation never stopped. By lightning's glow, his miserable, horrific face evoked pity.

Yin spirits wailed. When raindrops fell on them, it was like sulfuric acid—steam rose from their forms. I noticed Liu's lower body was 溃烂 (decaying), the rot spreading upward. As his chanting continued, dogs howled, creating an apocalyptic atmosphere.

Old Wang sighed, "Once this incantation starts, no one can stop it. Rain harms spirits, lightning strikes men. When he rots to death, heaven's wrath will end."

Torrential rain poured, lightning crashed. When gales blew, bolts struck homes, setting fires. This village had been hell on earth, its sins summoning lightning. Liu, unwilling to let it survive, wagered his life to draw heavenly wrath. How many would die was now in heaven's hands.

Old Wang and I stood before Liu until dawn, watching him decay. When the rain cleared, Zhoujiazhuang lay in ruins.

"Let's go," Old Wang said.

Pointing to Liu's bones, I said, "Master, I want to bury him."

He sighed, "Very well. We share the same 师门 (school), but Liu's three souls are annihilated, his seven 魄 (spirits) sent to the netherworld—no reincarnation."

I wasn't too concerned. Often, burying the dead brings peace to the living. In the temple, I found a straw mat to wrap Liu's bones. Under a beam, I unearthed a sheepskin map showing Zhoujiazhuang's terrain, marking acupoints in star patterns. A spot between two mountains was circled—I knew this was the true grave site. Though Zhoujiazhuang was barren, Liu, living here for years, understood it better.

Leaving the temple, we saw flash floods and landslides from yesterday's rain. Wailing families confirmed that mostly young adults had died. No matter Liu's defiance, he couldn't change heaven's will.

Gazing at the broken dragon veins, I shook my head. Old Wang asked, "What's wrong?"

Pointing to the west, I said, "That huge round stone on the hill was washed down by the landslide. Exposed rock now forms a 'double blade fiend crossing' with the isolated mountain—dooming the village to extinction."

"Stop meddling," Old Wang warned. "You just got your lifespan back—don't squander it. I can help once, not twice."

"I know, Master. If they rebuild the temple where the ancestral shrine stood and plant pine trees, they can avoid disasters. Otherwise, the village will face minor calamities every 30 years, major ones every 60, till it's destroyed." As a feng shui master, I saw what others couldn't—but acting on it risked revealing heaven's secrets. Telling Old Wang was safe—he was my master, protected by our patriarch.

Unable to take the bones on the train, we bundled them up and took a taxi to Shenyang. After texting Zhao Na, we headed for the crematorium. When I dropped Liu's bones in the director's office, his face paled. "Dabao, we're friends, but I can't help you destroy evidence."

"Uncle Chen, I wouldn't kill a chicken—let alone a person. Help me cremate these."