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

Throughout history, yin-yang masters and Maoshan Taoists have upheld justice—today we'd call them busybodies. But our trade stresses aligning with heaven's will, cultivating karma for the next life. Righting wrongs is our duty, hence why I helped the ghost fulfill her wish. As the saying goes:

Three paths lie before you—take the middle one.

Good and evil each find their reward,

The righteous path prevails through trials.

[Here I condemn indifferent onlookers.]

Back to the matter: with the wedding ceremony nearing, I grew anxious. Yin Xiuxiu lingered due to obsession—obsession breeding resentment could make her dangerous. "Master, how much longer?"

"Kid, I'm more anxious than you!" the driver groused. "Shenyang's always 堵车 (traffic jam). Some new drivers cause accidents, then block roads for insurance photos. Once on the Second Ring Bridge, a minor scratch took two hours to settle—100 yuan could've fixed it!"

My heart sank. If too late, I'd have to call Old Wang for 超度 (exorcism). I had no control over her crossing the "immortal bridge."

("Immortal bridge": a red brick or paper bridge symbolizing the Naihe Bridge; crossing means entering the netherworld, while lingering means unfulfilled wishes.)

"I need to attend a wedding—any shortcuts?" I pointed to a side road.

"Illegal—we'll wait. 40-50 minutes maybe."

I slapped 500 yuan on the dash. "Get me to Marriott by 10:28. This should cover fines." Lying, I added, "My ex is marrying today—I need to wish her well."

The driver's attitude shifted. "Respect, bro! Men should be magnanimous. Keep the money—just cover the fine." He spun the wheel, speeding through alleys, dodging cameras.

Arriving at Marriott, I saw a rainbow arch. Dashing inside, two attendants stopped me. "Wedding's on the second floor," one panted as I burst into a hall where an 80-year-old sat amid cheers—his birthday party, not a wedding.

Sweating, I raced to the second floor. The hotel had seven mulberry pots— a "wealth attraction formation" by a yin-yang master. Mulberry is a "five yin tree," unsuitable for homes but good for businesses.

I placed peach pits in the pots, took soil, and chanted:

"Heaven and earth's origin, root of all qi,

Forming yin and yang, embracing the universe.

Yin prevails, yang wanes— 道法自然 (the way follows nature).

By Supreme Lord Laozi's edict—seal yang energy!"

Instantly, the hotel chilled. Everyone's three yang fires frosted over. "Turn down the AC," an attendant muttered.

This was a feng shui incantation to lock yang qi, used for scorching "yang - doomed" lands.

"Sir, what are you doing?" an attendant asked. I opened my satchel, and Xiuxiu emerged.

"Yin Xiuxiu, your soul should be in the netherworld. Out of mercy, I'll help you resolve your obsession. Possess the bride briefly—say your piece. Misbehave, and I'll annihilate you."

Chapter 40: The Wedding Scene (1/2)