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

The ghost's wail sounded like a cool breeze to ordinary ears, making hair stand on end without reason. Granny Yin shivered, asking where her daughter was.

Understanding dawned. Xiuxiu's obsession—failing to register marriage—trapped her. Unresolved, her 怨气 (resentment) barred reincarnation, forcing her to suffer daily. Now she'd shifted blame to her mother.

"I get it." I unfastened my green satchel, setting aside yang items. "Enter. As long as you don't reincarnate, she's still your mother. Filial piety comes first."

Xiuxiu stared in disbelief. "You'll help me?"

"Your obsession lingers. I'll take you to Li Bo, let you be his wife." This was the "accumulate yin virtue" Grandpa had mentioned. Maoshan Sorcery Annals say unfulfilled wedding vows breed stronger 怨念 (resentment) in female spirits—if untreated, they turn malevolent.

"Thank you, Master." Xiuxiu wept, vanishing into my satchel. Its material—neither yin nor yang—sheltered spirits from yang energy.

I briefed Granny Yin: Xiuxiu needed to see Li Bo to reincarnate. The old woman, already aged 20 years in grief, knew she had at most five years left, her life force exhausted.

Too drained to find Zhao Na, I went home. The next morning, I called Li Bo using Xiuxiu's number. Background noise blared.

"I'm Xiuxiu's cousin. I need to meet you." Directness seemed best given their history.

Silence. "Wait a second." The noise faded. "What do you want? I'm getting married today—busy."

Married? A year after Xiuxiu's death? I felt for Xiuxiu but kept calm. "Just three minutes. I know you're wedding, but she loved you. I just need to give you something."

He sighed, torn. "Okay, but hurry. Ceremony starts soon at Marriott Hotel."

Hanging up, I hailed a cab. Northeastern weddings often start at 10:28, 10:58, or 11:28. Twenty minutes should suffice—but a car crash caused a hour-long delay. Panic set in—if the ceremony began, the 喜字 (double happiness) would block Xiuxiu. Her anger might force me to exorcise her, inviting karma.

I urged the driver, but traffic crawled. Every minute counted—only Li Bo's promise to "marry" Xiuxiu could dispel her 怨念. If I failed, her wrath would become my burden.

Chapter 39: The Female Ghost's Wish (2/2)