Tales of Folk Feng Shui Mysteries

"Jiang," I called out to her.

"What?" She kept her head down.

"By the way, what exactly does this Yicheng monk do? He seems pretty powerful," I asked curiously.

"You... you bastard!" She spun around angrily and ran off after Yicheng, leaving me dumbfounded. I shrugged helplessly—did I say something wrong?

The suburban road wasn't fully paved yet. Though neat, the recent rain had left mud splattered all over us as we followed behind Yicheng and the others.

Back in the village, Grandpa Cui excitedly shouted, "Everyone, thank you for helping my Hai! This here is the living Buddha we just invited—his divine powers are amazing!"

The old man's constant praise made me touch my nose in irritation. Had he forgotten that without me, his grandson would have been dead long ago? Though I felt annoyed, I said nothing and stayed to the side.

Yicheng's booming voice rose: "Villagers, evil spirits have caused trouble and disturbed your peace. But today, if we want to help Grandpa Cui overcome this crisis, we will need everyone's support. I thank you all for your kindness."

Damn it! That monk made me uneasy. How could he call the weasel a demon without first hearing the full story? If the five great immortals heard this, they'd be furious.

Besides, the fault here was with old Cui's family. I held my tongue, while the villagers, having witnessed Hai's madness, already treated Yicheng like a savior. After all, no one wanted to get caught up in this mess.

Yicheng continued, "Everyone, bring your dogs to old Cui's yard and help carry his grandson back. I will help him recover. Please keep your doors closed until the next day at dawn."

I vaguely understood Yicheng's plan. When Cui Hai was brought in, Yicheng placed a hand on his forehead and recited sutras thrice, and to my surprise, Hai woke up. This method puzzled me somewhat — since body and soul are connected, if Hai wasn't dead, the displaced soul should be able to return within a day.

Cui Hai wept loudly in relief, and both he and Grandpa Cui kowtowed repeatedly to Yicheng. By evening, Yicheng accepted only a bowl of plain porridge, eating nothing else.

He sat cross-legged in the yard, his back broad and straight, eyes closed while chanting sutras and moving his prayer beads. Hundreds of dogs from the village gathered in Grandpa Cui's yard, surprisingly quiet and orderly, like soldiers waiting for commands.

Since we met, Jiang Shiyu had barely spoken to me for over four hours. Suddenly she asked, "Zhang Dabao, what do you think Master Yicheng is doing?"

"What else but preparing for battle? You'll see tonight," I said.

"Battle?" Jiang Shiyu looked puzzled.

Grandpa Cui answered for her, explaining how dogs were the weasel's greatest fear. When he hunted in the mountains, his hunting dogs scared the weasels like cats scaring mice.

"That's right, there will be a show tonight," I said.

Yicheng continued his sutra chanting as night fell. At midnight, strange sounds came from outside. Everyone was on high alert, peeking out windows. Countless weasels sat on Grandpa Cui's yard walls, their eyes glowing green in the dark, quietly howling and adding an eerie tone to the night. The village dogs moved quietly behind Yicheng.

Moonlight spilled over the land as Yicheng sat broad and firm in the center. Slowly standing, the dogs began to stir. Suddenly, Yicheng turned, his blade-like gaze freezing me, for I saw no mercy in his eyes.

He said coldly, "Among Buddhas, there are compassionate Bodhisattvas and wrathful Vajras. The Vajra's wrath subdues demons; the Bodhisattva's kindness cares for all beings. Now, you demons terrorize humans—before greater disaster unfolds, this humble monk will plant the Buddha's seal, sparing your life only if you accept it! Otherwise..." His voice dropped, frost seeming to fill the air, "you will be reduced to ashes!"

At once, the dogs erupted, barking wildly as if ready to attack. Then the largest black weasel emerged from the pack.

I watched as it sniffed, then suddenly stood on its hind legs, claws folded, head thrown back in a stiff bow. The other weasels on the rooftops followed suit.

A chill ran down my spine — this was the weasel performing the moon worship ritual. Things were about to get deadly...!