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

His son's idea made sense—we didn't need a statue to quell Liu Zixuan's resentment. The Ma family had bricks and cement for their unfinished wall. "Your son is right," I said. "Build a 2 - meter wall before the coffin—urgent."

With many masons in the village, the chief led them. By afternoon, a wall stood. Using charcoal, I drew a faceless man—my art skills resembled talisman scribbles. Villagers gathered, eyeing me skeptically.

"Release Er Gou," I ordered. Pointing to the wall, I yelled: "Li Mingjie, Governor of Fengtian—do you admit your crimes?!"

Er Gou gaped as I chanted, "Charcoal for bones, paint for form! Reincarnated 怨不断 (endless resentment)! By Tai Shang Lao Jun's edict, summon Li Mingjie now!"

After three shouts, women shrieked: "It's kneeling!" The charcoal figure slowly knelt. Er Gou wept, cursing the wall. "Spit on the wall," I told villagers. "Children can urinate—no fear."

As the chief organized spitting, Er Gou raged for ten minutes. "Li Mingjie suffers public scorn—isn't that enough to quell your 怨气?" I demanded.

He staggered, knelt, and tearfully said: "Thank you, Your Majesty. My 怨气 is gone—I can reincarnate."

I tossed a chicken bone: "Hold this in your mouth."

"Long live the Emperor..." He crawled, sucked the bone. His face 扭曲 (twisted), and within three minutes, he vomited black water and the bone, retching violently.

"Stay back!" I blocked the crowd. "This is '怨秽 (malevolent taint)'—harmful to the living."

As they retreated, Er Gou vomited for five minutes. A jade pendant emerged in the slime. I picked it up—it was "death jade" from Yunnan, trash to jade smiths but a talisman magnet in Maoshan lore. Carved with a "Qiongqi" (a malevolent beast), no wonder it bred a zombie.

The figure wasn't Li Mingjie—it was a proxy, a soulless wraith I'd summoned. Keeping it too long would be sinful.

Clutching the jade, I warned the chief to burn the corpse. The Ma family couldn't stay; Ma Li went south to work, Ma Hong to Shenyang—her 面相 (facial features) hinted at prosperity.

Three days in Zuohe Banner, the chief rallied villagers to donate. On the third morning, I took Liu Changsheng's ashes to the Hidden Dragon Tomb with the chief's son.

Chapter 52: Yuan Hui: Malevolent Taint (2/2)