Chapter 53: Sealing the Acupoint (1 / 2)

The village head's son — let's call him Da Biao for now — was surprisingly strong. Aside from his foul mouth, he was actually pretty decent. On this journey, he even helped carry the Qingnang (medicine pouch), proving himself quite enthusiastic. Since we set off early, we didn't really feel the full force of the late autumn heat. After navigating the mountain paths and narrow trails, we finally arrived at the dragon's mouth of the Hidden Dragon Acupoint around noon.

He chugged some bottled water, wiped his sweat, and said, "My dad told me to follow you and lend a hand. Whatever work you got, just let me know. Oh yeah, Master, about that Er Gouzi from the other day—what the hell happened to him? He's been unconscious for days. And that weird stuff that went down? It was freaky as hell."

I sat down beside a rock. Ever since the day he placed that Soul-Summoning Talisman on Mali's wife, I could tell this kid had guts. From his face, it looked like he was destined for a comfortable life. I smiled and asked, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

Da Biao gave me a helpless look and handed me the water bottle. "Master, come on, after what we saw the other day, how can I not? I wish I didn't believe—but I don't have a choice now. And with Er Gouzi unconscious like this, I can't even get a full hand for mahjong."

"Er Gouzi got hit by yin energy. Serves him right for being greedy and prying open a dead man's mouth. A little suffering is deserved. On the seventh day, tell his mom to hang his clothes, prepare a bowl of 'inversion rice,' and call his soul at the village crossroads. His soul hasn't gone far—it's just been pushed out," I explained.

I hadn't told anyone earlier, partly because I wanted Er Gouzi to learn a lesson, and partly because on the seventh day, a soul becomes particularly restless and untethered. The chances of calling it back are much higher. At this point, Da Biao was already looking at me with admiration.

The reason I came to the Hidden Dragon Acupoint was to seal the acupoint. As I mentioned before, burying someone in a true dragon acupoint requires the perfect combination of time, location, and human harmony. In a 60-year cycle, only one day aligns perfectly. If you miss it, you must wait another full cycle.

Missing the auspicious hour might be forgivable for a True Dragon Acupoint — even if the burial is off-timed, future generations can still prosper. But this was a Hidden Dragon Acupoint. Liu Changsheng's goal was to reincarnate, which meant the timing had to be spot-on. All powerful geomantic sites are protected by spiritual beasts. In other words, if your ancestor is buried in a blessed feng shui site, their descendants are invisibly protected by a spiritual beast.

Even though this wasn't a true dragon site, the presence of a guardian beast was all but certain.

After finally climbing the low hill, I pulled out my compass and scanned the surrounding mountains. In feng shui, valleys collect yin energy. The best burial spots appear when you exit a valley and reach an open plain. This acupoint was exactly at such a transition — a wide ming tang lay ahead, surrounded by five towering peaks. During heavy rains, water would flow from all directions, forming a configuration known as Five Tigers Bow to the Dragon. It was originally an auspicious spectacle of a dragon raising its head — but without water, the five tigers turned into five blades. Great fortune became great misfortune.

Da Biao asked, "So, Master, what are we doing here? You seriously plan to build a temple in this godforsaken place?"

Refocusing myself, I replied, "Exactly. And in a bit, I'll need your help with some heavy lifting." I handed him eight bronze nails.

Standing beside the hill split by an earthquake, I began pacing slowly with the compass to pinpoint the positions. Each time I stopped, I had Da Biao drive in a nail to lock down the qi veins. When the eighth bronze nail was hammered in, a warm breeze suddenly gusted from the crack in the hill — so soothing it sent a shiver down the spine.

Da Biao peered down in amazement. "Whoa! Why's the wind so warm here? Is there a hot spring down there?" He shouted into the crack a few times and picked up a stone to throw in—but I grabbed his arm just in time.

"What's up?" he asked, puzzled.

I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. After all the work to locate and seal this acupoint, the last thing I needed was a random rock ruining it.

"This place can't be disturbed. We'll cover it with branches and leaves for now. It can't be reopened until we begin construction on the temple. Got it?" I said seriously.

"But why?" he asked, still confused.

"Don't ask why—just obey. Or I'll tell your dad," I threatened.

The moment I mentioned the old village chief, Da Biao immediately backed down. Later, I learned it wasn't that he was afraid, but rather that he was deeply filial. Despite doing poorly in school, he had never once made his father angry.

By the time we finished everything and returned to the village, it was already late afternoon.

As soon as we entered the village, we were stopped and led to the village committee office. Inside, the village accountant sat at a square table, waving us over. He adjusted his glasses, fiddling with some sheets of lined paper. When we walked in, he stood and smiled, "You're back. The money came through—every household contributed."

"It worked?" I asked, surprised and delighted. This was a matter of life and death for me. Only fellow geomancers understand the horror of Heaven's Retribution.

In our profession, there's a taboo called the "Day of Killing the Master" — a date when feng shui practitioners are forbidden from using the compass or reading feng shui. On that day, we must eat vegetarian food and limit all activities. The reason? Our understanding of heaven and earth draws divine punishment.

If I stood by and let this calamity pass without intervention, I'd be cursed by such "killing days" every year. I'd never be able to practice feng shui again—and worse, my life would be in constant danger unless I renounced the craft entirely and joined a Buddhist or Taoist order, devoting myself to incense and prayer.

The accountant tallied things up. Including the 20,000 yuan contributed by the village head himself, the total came to 180,000 yuan — still 20,000 short of the goal.

I looked at the village chief. He looked at the accountant. The accountant looked at Da Biao. Honestly, we all knew: every household was hurting financially. No one wanted to contribute unless they were pressured — and that spooky incident at the Ma household had everyone shaken enough to open their wallets.

I sighed. "Alright, I've still got 20,000 yuan. Let's put it all into building the temple."