Tales of Folk Feng Shui Mysteries

The villagers around us were shouting all kinds of curses, some even yelling that they should beat the father and son to death. But the village head was a sensible man; he firmly stopped the crowd from taking justice into their own hands.

Everyone agreed that calling the police immediately was the right thing to do. But there was one complication: the large fire still burning at the shadow temple. In rural areas, "Everyone is responsible for forest fire prevention" posters are everywhere; if the police came now, the fire would have to be put out immediately.

I suggested to the village head that we lock up the father and son for now, and once the fire burned out in two days, we could turn them over to the authorities. As for the girl they'd kidnapped, the village head sent her to the clinic for a check-up and dispatched a young man to the next village to find her family.

Once the crowd had mostly dispersed, I proposed locking the two in a house. But some villagers objected, insisting that such vile people should be kept with animals—so we locked them in the sheep pen instead. Coincidentally, that day a ewe gave birth to six lambs. The villagers were astonished since most ewes only have three at most. The mother licked her newborns and lay down to nurse them, while villagers helped feed them. This alone wasn't strange—the strange part was yet to come...

But before that, let's talk about the shadow temple.

Zhao Dadan was still unconscious from the knockout powder, so I went back to check on the temple at night. Around the Eight Trigrams Soul-Nailing Stakes, I saw a fox and a crow pacing just outside the red string boundary.

Just like the saying "Qin Hui had three good friends," the snake spirit was evil, but it clearly had allies—the fox and crow. When they saw me, they fled into the forest in fear.

Standing outside the stakes, I checked the red string and flames. Inside the temple, three faint spirits endlessly circled, appearing eerily sinister. I reminded the men watching the fire to leave at midnight; seeing ghosts then could seriously affect one's health. But of course, there are always thrill-seekers who don't believe in such things.

Sure enough, shortly after I left, a few village lads decided to explore the haunted temple at midnight. By then, I was already fast asleep at the village head's house. The next morning, the village head woke me with the news: five boys went ghost-hunting; four came back soulless with blank stares, and one was bedridden with severe illness.

I quickly dressed and stepped outside to find a large crowd gathered. Though the lads had disobeyed, I couldn't just let them suffer—so I organized visits to each of their homes.

I knew the Eight Trigrams Stakes disturbed the souls of those killed by the snake spirit; at midnight, those ghosts would wander within the red string boundary. Though they couldn't leave the circle, seeing their horrific forms was enough to frighten the soul out of anyone.

Ghosts often appear as they died: those killed in accidents look mangled; beheaded victims appear headless, still searching for their heads; those who died of poison bleed from their eyes, nose, and mouth. These vengeful ghosts, tortured before death, looked terrifying.

Those young men's symptoms were classic signs of soul fright: feverish, vacant eyes, purplish lips, pale faces.

"Can they be saved?" the village head asked anxiously.

"Yes, but we need to organize a soul-calling ceremony tonight. They were just scared out of their wits," I sighed. "Why don't people listen? They knew there were ghosts and still went looking. Don't they know what 'death' means?"

"Is it really that scary?" he asked.

I replied, "How about you try going at midnight?" The village head shook his head so hard it looked like a rattle drum. He then asked if I could help him with selecting a burial time. That was simple enough: check the almanac for an auspicious hour—so I agreed.

I instructed the families to prepare fifteen bundles each of incense paper and spirit money, but they had to burn them at separate crossroads to avoid confusing the ghosts. Each family needed a few people with loud voices, carrying clothes on bamboo poles, setting off in different directions (east, south, west, north), and making sure their paths didn't cross. They would coordinate by phone.

I chuckled to myself—here I was, basically leading a grand "superstitious ritual" in the 21st century. Had this been during the Cultural Revolution, I'd probably have been executed without knowing why.

That night, it was quite a spectacle: a mighty procession calling for souls, making the whole village chaotic until dawn. Thankfully, all the boys' souls were recovered.

According to their own accounts, they'd seen four women and two men near the temple at midnight, each covered in blood and their intestines trailing, crawling toward them for help. Four fainted on the spot; one survived only because he ran away.

That side story settled, I spent three days in Ma Village, treated like an emperor. Zhao Dadan carried off the corpse on time to meet the auspicious burial hour, leaving by hired cart.

Some might ask: why not drive directly with the corpse to save time? But corpse porters must keep moving on foot to maintain their body's yang energy. If they sit still, the corpse's yin energy can cause it to reanimate, endangering the porter's life. So every trade has its rules.

During those three days, the kidnapped girl was reunited with her family. Surprisingly, they refused to report the crime, saying it would shame their daughter and make it impossible for her to face others in the future.

Everyone was powerless to change their minds. Seeing the frail, pitiful girl, I felt a surge of anger—and stormed off to the father and son's home myself.

I dragged the son from the sheep pen and beat him, shouting, "You're not even human! You should be chopped up and fed to dogs!"

Big Tooth groaned, "I know I deserve death, but what choice did I have? With a father like mine, what could I do?" He even sounded like he was blaming his father.

"You little bastard, who are you calling out?" the shepherd barked back.

The two argued bitterly, revealing the father's dark past: as a young man, he frequented prostitutes and often came home drunk, beating his wife. When Big Tooth was ten, his father killed his mother in a drunken rage. They lived in poverty together until two years ago, when a Daoist came by seeking alms. The father invited him in, and the Daoist foretold that the old man would die alone, and the son would end up in prison. The only way to change their fates, he said, was to worship a god—promising instant wealth.

A superstitious man, the shepherd obeyed. At midnight, he carried offerings to the shadow temple. The very next day, while working his field, a fox dug a hole revealing an ancient tomb filled with gold and silver treasures. The father sold the loot but, afraid of rumors, built a house far from the village with a secret tunnel to hide the treasure.

Wealth corrupted him: he bought a young bride, locked her in the cellar, but within a month, he dreamed of the Daoist demanding a living sacrifice. Terrified, he killed the girl and offered her to the temple.

His son learned of this later and made his own deal with the ghosts. When the father found out, he beat him—but Big Tooth, desperate and broke, fled to the village head's house, where he raped the village head's daughter, then went on the run. The father and son kept in touch, abducting people to sacrifice for the temple. But the temple's demands grew too extreme, frightening Big Tooth enough that he stumbled into me by accident.

Hearing this, my anger flared. I dragged the father out of the sheep pen and beat him too. By the time I was done, I'd worked off my rage, and the fire at the temple had nearly burned out.

Gathering my gear, I went once more to the shadow temple, where hundreds of villagers had gathered—men, women, old, and young. Before everyone, I stepped to the Eight Trigrams Soul-Nailing Stakes and cut the red string with a pair of scissors.

Suddenly, a fierce wind howled, sand and stones stinging our eyes. The once-clear sky darkened with black clouds. As the wind roared, I glimpsed six figures—four women and two men—kneeling before me. They kowtowed three times, then drifted into the sky. A sharp-eyed child pointed up, shouting about seeing people, but his parents quickly slapped him silent.

Strangely, as soon as the six souls vanished, the wind stopped. I drew a Breaking Ground Talisman, burned it, prayed to Heaven, took a pickaxe from a villager, and struck the ground hard. A wave of sinister energy surged up the handle into my mind, but the force was weak—I only swayed slightly before regaining composure.

I thought to myself: that Tai Sui was fierce—still so much yin energy even after three days of burning. By breaking the ground, I'd released the residual evil. Just like a developer's groundbreaking ceremony, where a feng shui master chooses an auspicious time for a powerful figure to strike the first blow for good fortune.

I raised my hand and declared: "This is the spot—everyone, start digging!"