Chapter 118: The Filial Son

The old lady sat beside the girl's grave, crying with deep regret. But is there such a thing as regret medicine in this world? An innocent child, who never even experienced the splendors of life, was killed by the one closest to her.

What shocked me even more was that after several decades since her death, the girl harbored no resentment. I pictured that lonely afternoon when the little girl took sleeping pills and fell asleep peacefully. I was filled with sorrow. But what surprised me most was that all these years, she had never harmed a single living being. Compared to humans, which is more terrifying — ghosts or the cruelty of the human heart?

I put my hands together in prayer and bowed, murmuring "Infinite longevity and blessings." Suddenly, the old lady stopped crying and gazed into the empty distance, murmuring, "Hong, is that you, Hong? Mom is coming to be with you." Then her head tilted, and a spirit emerged from the crown of her head, taking the little girl's hand, and they departed into the distance.

When her son rushed over, shouting his mother's name, I said to Zhang Bin, "Call the police later. You and the officers handle it. Cremate the remaining bones. I still have some things to do."

When he asked what, I pointed to the bridge and warned him it wasn't fully settled yet. We had to do an exorcism to prevent further troubles. Having witnessed ghosts and gods, Zhang Bin already regarded me as a supernatural being. Whatever I said, he would never object.

According to folk tales, movies, and books, all yin-yang masters share one trait: after finishing their work, they never leave their name or contact info, because only by selfless giving can one accumulate good karma.

However, the matter with Kun Ji was not over yet. I climbed to the construction site, just as the bridge deck was being sealed. I found the hollow in the middle of a stone slab and placed the coffin inside. I pierced it top-down with a copper spike, then scattered nails all around.

I took out the birthdate talisman of Wang Yi, lit it, and scattered the remaining ashes partly inside the gaps and partly into the air.

Having done all this, I faintly heard Kun Ji's wailing. Taking a deep breath, I bowed to the sky three times and solemnly said, "Great Patriarch above, I know that those who cultivate the Dao should be compassionate, but I, Zhang Dabao, cannot repay hatred with kindness. Grace is grace, hatred is hatred. Blood vengeance must be repaid with blood. I humbly ask for your forgiveness!"

As soon as I finished shouting, the once clear sky darkened. In the windless night, clouds surged like massive waves. I stood facing the sky, knowing any feng shui master who uses feng shui techniques to harm three generations is doomed to divine punishment.

The "three generations" means three lifetimes or harming descendants for three generations will all suffer heavenly retribution.

No matter if Kun Ji was a shaman or a commoner, if I had harmed him only in this lifetime, relying on being Wang Yi's disciple, I would avoid punishment. But now I had artificially created a hell. Unless Wang Yi's ghost life ends and he reincarnates, Kun Ji would forever suffer torment in the eighteen levels of hell.

I sighed deeply, took out the Seven-Star Sword, stood beneath the surging clouds, slowly cut my finger, and let drops of blood fall on the small coffin—signaling the completion of the formation.

Suddenly, thunder exploded in the sky and the wind rose. My eyes calmly watched the heavens. From childhood, I have known that a true man must know what to do and what not to do. One must not fear karma to the point of losing all courage. I had thought of living cautiously like Yuan Beitang, but after long contemplation, I rejected that.

The wind intensified. As I waited quietly for the impending heavenly punishment, a warm sensation spread across my neck. Through blurred vision, I seemed to see a faint cyan light appear between the dark clouds, splitting the towering waves apart. The angry celestial phenomenon calmed, stars reappeared, and it was as if nothing had happened.

My anxious heart finally settled. I sighed, knowing I had just escaped the punishment. It is said that feng shui kills without a knife, but harming three generations is forbidden—and retribution comes swiftly.

I recall a feng shui master in our trade whose only son was beaten to death by two village boys in a fight. The old man sought justice but was beaten too. The other side claimed his son was stealing and died by accident. Despite compensation, the culprits were only sentenced to a few years.

The feng shui master couldn't let his son's death go unavenged. After numerous lawsuits without results, he secretly found the family's ancestral tomb, dug it open, took out the coffin, scattered bone nails inside, tied red strings into the coffin, performed cat corpse worship and cat blood corpse summoning, then drove a stake through the tomb.

Soon after, the two brothers of that family suffered mysterious deaths: the elder pierced by an iron rod in prison labor reform, the younger accidentally died by hitting a wall corner after coughing. Their two sons also died, one in a car accident, the other drowned. Only an old mother remained, lonely till her death.

But the feng shui master who disturbed the ancestral tomb died the very night he did this. This is the fate of those who use feng shui to harm three generations.

If you ask whether anyone has disturbed feng shui without dying, killing invisibly and avoiding divine punishment—yes, such people exist. But old Zhang can tell you—they are like mad dogs. Unless absolutely necessary, I never want to deal with them.

I covered the coffin and left the bridge without a word, found my bicycle, and feeling somewhat relieved, rode amidst the bustling traffic to better blend into society. No matter what today brought, I had helped that girl reincarnate. I wondered how much good karma I had gained.

My next stop was Cien Temple in Shenhe District. Going there at night was definitely not to pray. No need to go into details about the location—it was built in the second year of the Later Jin Tiancong era (1628), expanded and restored in the Qing Shunzhi, Daoguang, and Republican periods. It is the largest Buddhist temple remaining in Shenyang, facing east, covering more than 12,000 square meters.

Unlike Shisheng Temple, which is a national temple, Cien Temple is a royal temple. I came here because the second paper slip pointed to an evil ghost that had recently been terrorizing people here.

You might think, why would ghosts be dumb enough to cause trouble near a temple at night? Don't they know death is near?

Actually, ghosts come out at sunset, roaming at night looking for suitable victims. Temples are also the places with the most ghosts.

Everyone who's visited temples must have seen the towering walls surrounding them. They are to keep out ghosts. Believe it or not, the temple's "leaders" built them to prevent vengeful spirits from returning to haunt.

So at night, the worst places to stay are near temples—especially for couples.

Anyway, I arrived near Cien Temple. The gates were already closed, and many shops selling Buddhist items in the alley were closed. Only a few scattered vendors chatted about national affairs. The alley was quiet.

I leisurely rode my bike like on a sightseeing trip. This ghost was interesting; it targeted filial sons. According to the Night Roaming God's instructions, it had already committed two sins: once possessing a man who came to pray for his mother's safety, and after returning home, beating and scolding his parents until his mother died of anger.

The other possession was a woman, similarly unreasonable and changed in temperament, though no major disaster happened. According to the note's annotation from the Night Roaming God, if I didn't go soon, the outcome would be grim.

I admired the Night Roaming God's kindness; someday I would find a good place for him.

Walking along the road by Cien Temple, the peak activity of malevolent spirits was between 9 PM and 2:30 AM, with most attacks happening between 1:30 and 2 AM. That's biological law—they're more frenzied then.

At the end of the street was a Buddhist supplies shop still lit. I parked beside it and heard arguing inside. A loud female voice scolded, "You're so old you've turned into a dog! Can't even count ten yuan. You lost ten yuan today—was it your fault?"

Another voice replied, "Why would I steal ten yuan? I'm too old for that. I'm in poor health—don't upset me or no one will care if I die!"

The woman retorted harshly, "Who cares if you die? I could get insurance money and funeral fees. You're almost sixty! Why are you wasting food alive? Can't even settle accounts!"

Outside the door, a golden retriever sat with its head low, front paws covering its ears like a human, looking distressed.

I knelt beside the dog and petted its head. It instantly perked up and licked my hand.

I said, "Does your owner feel off?"

The golden retriever rubbed my palm with its head. Dogs are humans' best friends and can see things invisible to people. When a dog barks without reason, especially after midnight, you should be cautious.

"Want to save your owner?" I smiled.

The retriever stood up, shook its fur, and looked at me hopefully. It was simple—I carry a pure qi that ghosts can't detect when I'm not attacking, but dogs can smell it. The old saying "dogs bite scoundrels" means dogs have sensitive noses that can tell good from evil.

"One dog might not be enough. See if you can call some friends. I'm worried the ghost splits and escapes to hurt others," I added.

The dog seemed to understand, wagged its body, and ran off.

I laid out seven copper coins on the ground, setting a Beidou (Big Dipper) formation to block ghosts. Then, I strode toward the shop.