Chapter Fifty-Seven: Feng Shui and Boundless Wealth

It turned out that the person who had just called was a wealthy patron. He asked Uncle Mao to arrange the relocation of a grave tomorrow, promising generous rewards once the matter was settled.

Uncle Mao looked at me with a radiant smile and said, “Xiaodong, are you interested in coming along tomorrow to see this so-called art of feng shui with me?”

Faced with such a good opportunity, I certainly wouldn’t let it slip by. I smiled and nodded, replying, “You really want to take me? That’s wonderful.” And so, I agreed to accompany Uncle Mao tomorrow to witness the feng shui ritual.

Actually, the art of feng shui is different from the Maoshan arts. Feng shui primarily concerns itself with arranging formations; a famous book on the subject is “Qi Men Dun Jia.” While it can’t be used to capture ghosts or drive away evil spirits, it can, through its formations, foster family prosperity and wealth.

Equally legendary is the lost art of “Divination,” but this technique has vanished for over a century. Though many other divination methods exist beyond these two books, most are frauds; even when someone gets it right, it’s often just a coincidence uttered by the fortune-teller.

Although Maoshan arts also include fortune-telling, they are mainly dedicated to exorcism and demon expulsion, and their divination is far from precise. In contrast, “Qi Men Dun Jia” is practiced by some within Maoshan circles, and Uncle Mao is one of them.

In today’s society, all sorts of wealthy people wish for their descendants to thrive. They spend lavishly to find renowned feng shui masters nearby. It seems Uncle Mao is fairly well-known in the region.

Since I could easily graduate from the academy, I thought it better to witness this true art of feng shui firsthand. So I returned to school, arranged my affairs for tomorrow, and compressed two days’ worth of tasks into one. Night fell quickly; after classes and washing up, I collapsed onto my bed, contemplating the mysteries of the universe.

Truth be told, I hadn’t slept well in ages. Yet that night was extraordinary—I didn’t have any of those strange dreams, nor did any wizard whisper unsavory spells in my ear.

A new day dawned, and the thunderous voices of the twin tigers echoed in our ears, marking the start of another busy day.

I went to the classroom and signed in as usual, but didn’t linger. Instead, I left the academy, flagged down a taxi by the roadside, and headed straight for the outskirts, arriving at Uncle Mao’s residence.

Uncle Mao’s home was indeed impressive—a stretched Mercedes parked at the door, showing how willing the wealthy patron was to spend.

I lowered my head as I approached Uncle Mao. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, and even Wang Sheng and Tong Xuan wore splendid outfits, while I was clad in a comfortable SpongeBob suit.

Uncle Mao, seeing me arrive, paid no heed to my attire, but smiled at me and continued his conversation with the man opposite. Wang Sheng glanced at me, snickering in a rather sly manner.

Tong Xuan, that carefree girl, strode over and exclaimed, “Ah haha! So Mr. Zombie is a bit of a fresh spirit! Who would have guessed? Let me tell you, I actually really like SpongeBob!” With that, she tugged at my clothes, her face full of cuteness, leaving me quite exasperated.

We boarded the extended Mercedes, and after a dusty journey, arrived at a desolate region dozens of kilometers outside the city. Looking around, it had its share of wind and water.

The car drove another two hours, finally reaching a cemetery built from white marble.

Once out of the car, Uncle Mao surveyed the surroundings, grabbed a handful of earth, and said directly, “This feng shui formation is called ‘Wealth Supreme.’ There are few in the world who can lay such an array. Whoever chose this grave for the elder must have been no ordinary person.”

No sooner had Uncle Mao finished speaking than the portly man beside him chuckled, “Uncle Mao truly is a master of Qi Men Dun Jia, seeing through the feng shui at a glance. Then could you tell me why our Li family business hasn’t been thriving lately?”

Hearing it was the Li family, a prominent clan in City Z, I couldn’t help but be startled—was this Li Fei? Although the Li family wasn’t a corporate giant, its members were outstanding, well-known in City Z, and some even held positions in the State Council.

After listening to Li Fei, Uncle Mao clicked his tongue and said, “Though the array is perfect, it lacks one of the five elements. The Five Ghosts Wealth and Ten Ghosts Guard formations have been broken by nature, the yang energy is leaking. If the family isn’t prospering now, in a few years, something serious may happen.”

Li Fei was alarmed at the prospect of disaster and replied, “I’ve noticed the grave is not as it once was. I invited you here today, Uncle Mao, to seek your advice and see what we should do. If you can resolve this, the Li family will surely reward you handsomely.”

Uncle Mao’s mustache twitched at the mention of a reward; he seemed invigorated, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the power of money.

He instructed Wang Sheng to fetch props from the car, saying he would set up an altar and perform a ritual, much like the legendary Master Lin Zhengying.

The ritual might have seemed meaningless to ordinary people, but to me, it was different. I saw Uncle Mao forming seals with his hands, chanting, “The mystery of yin and yang is hard to fathom; all returns to the nine palaces. If you understand the principle of yin and yang, the universe is in your grasp.” Though the incantation was obscure and broad in scope, its potency was unknown. A strange and intricate diagram emanated from Uncle Mao, sweeping across the cemetery several times.

When I glanced at Uncle Mao again, his expression was grave. I didn’t know why, but apparently Tong Xuan noticed his furrowed brow as well. She walked over and asked, “Uncle Mao, what’s wrong?” After a few days together, it seemed she had become part of this small family—perhaps still scheming over that altar.

Uncle Mao looked at Tong Xuan, then, in front of Li Fei, said solemnly, “Tong Xuan, you and Xiaodong, check if there’s moss growing on the back of all the graves over there. If so, sprinkle these things on them.” With that, he handed her a gray pouch.

Tong Xuan weighed the pouch carefully, nodded, and walked toward me. As she passed Wang Sheng, she gave him a flirtatious look; I saw he was nearly bewitched.

She grabbed my arm, leading me toward the cemetery a hundred meters away. The path was dim and gray, and I worried that corpses might suddenly leap from their graves.

When we arrived, Tong Xuan relayed Uncle Mao’s instructions, then stood at the center of the graveyard and looked around. The sight startled us—behind every white marble tombstone, lush green moss flourished.

Tong Xuan frowned, scooped up some moist earth from a patch of grass, and said, “Yin soil bears no life, the five insects must perish. I suspect what lies beneath these mounds is no longer simply dead bodies.” With that, she scattered the contents of the pouch, then left without looking back, heading straight for Uncle Mao.

I followed behind, still baffled by her words, so I hurried to catch up and ask for clarification.

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