Tales of Folk Feng Shui Mysteries

Professor He's words sent a chill through my body. The long-awaited mystery was finally about to be revealed—why did my grandfather disappear? I took a deep breath to calm my pounding heart. Mao Shi gently patted my shoulder, his gaze kind as he said, "For us Daoists, the most important thing is to keep a calm mind. The Dao follows nature. Just now, your emotions fluctuated a bit, which isn't good. For all of us to be gathered here, you can imagine the danger ahead. You must first take good care of yourself."

"Thank you, Second Senior Brother," I said sincerely.

He smiled. "No need for thanks, we're family. But, little junior brother, I noticed your steps are weak, your qi and blood depleted—have you lost vital essence recently? Once this is over, come back with me to Hong Kong, and I'll help you replenish it."

I gave a bitter smile inwardly. Even if I restored my essence, my lost lifespan wouldn't return. My top priority was to find the Nine Dragon Gate, earn a great merit, and reclaim my lost lifespan. As for the ancestral promise about "leaping to immortality," beyond shedding my Daoist robes, I hadn't given it much thought.

I hadn't told Mao Shi about the punishment that cost me years of life—not because I was hiding it deliberately, but because if he knew, he would surely perform the forbidden Seven-Star Life-Borrowing Ritual for me. That would cross into taboo territory; Grandmaster once told me I was a man fated to meet calamities—if I spoke of it openly, I'd risk breaking heaven's mandate and bringing disaster upon myself.

We followed Professor He into the elevator, where he asked how my dragon-tracing work had gone. I could only laugh bitterly: "I haven't traced a damn thing!" I told him how I'd been delayed in Ma Village, slaying the living corpse, killing the snake spirit, and losing precious time for investigating the dragon veins. Professor He sighed, saying I'd failed to do my preliminary work properly.

Since we were on familiar terms, we bantered a bit. But when we entered the hotel's rented conference room, the previously noisy space fell instantly silent. Dozens of eyes turned on me, making me feel self-conscious. Xingzhan, sitting at the head of the table, waved to me. "Sit. Now everyone's here." Then, as if introducing me to the others, he continued, "This is Zhang Dabao, new head of the Maoshan Secret Sect and grandson of Li Xiaozhang."

A buzz of whispers spread among the gathered experts. They were discussing my identity and my grandfather's disappearance. A middle-aged woman with a tattoo on her neck suddenly stood, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Did you kill our Li clan's witch doctor?"

My heart skipped a beat—an enemy, here of all places?

Admitting it would be asking for trouble. She had no evidence, so I lied with a straight face: "I don't know any witch doctor."

"What about Fu Wei and Li Qian?" she demanded.

"Never heard of them."

"Fine. Fine. Fine!" she spat, glaring at me with murderous rage. Xingzhan intervened: "Madam Gui, is there a misunderstanding here? Zhang Dabao may be Maoshan's leader, but my information says he doesn't actually know any real Daoist combat arts—just some basic feng shui from his grandfather."

"Yes, there must be a misunderstanding," I added, feigning ignorance.

Madam Gui, who looked about fifty with a sickly greenish complexion, was even more terrifying when agitated—like a hanged ghost, her bulging eyes reminiscent of a horror movie crone. She hissed, "Listen, boy. My partner and I raise a pair of 'Mandarin Duck Ghosts'—female and male ghosts bound together. My female ghost sensed her mate's aura on you. You… must pay with your life!" A red light flashed; a wave of bloody, stifling air rushed at me. I hadn't expected the old hag to attack so suddenly; her questions were just a distraction. If that red light struck me, I'd be dead or crippled.

Cold sweat streamed down my face, needles pricked my back. I hastily reached for the dragonscale snake skin to block it, but I was too slow. At the last moment, a tiger's roar thundered past my ear—a massive pale-blue tiger phantom shredded the red light in an instant. Madam Gui coughed up blood, and I gasped in relief. Beside me, Mao Shi stood with one hand extended toward her, green light flickering from his palm as blood-red talismans appeared and dissolved into the air.

I was stunned. Forming a Tiger Phantom requires chanting incantations, inviting spirits, and shaping the seven souls into the image of a green tiger—since green corresponds to wood, it's mild in nature, allowing better control without harming the practitioner's own souls.

"Roaaar!" The tiger roared again, pouncing on Madam Gui, its huge claws pinning her chest. Her face turned ghostly white. I saw the murderous intent burning in Mao Shi's eyes—he wanted her dead.

The tiger was astonishingly solid, rivaling even the power displayed by Master Wang Yi.

Madam Gui twisted her head, spitting blood again. Someone beside her hurried to intervene. "President Mao, please calm down!"

Mao Shi sneered coldly. "Calm down?" His eyes swept the room arrogantly, completely different from his gentle demeanor with me. His voice was razor-sharp: "Zhang Dabao is my junior brother. Anyone who touches him dies by my hand!"

I couldn't believe my second senior brother, who had just lectured me about staying calm, could be so domineering. A thin, middle-aged man stood up, pointing at Mao Shi: "You were expelled from Maoshan long ago. This has nothing to do with you—Madam Gui's pair of ghosts wouldn't make such a mistake."

Mao Shi laughed instead of getting angry. He clasped his hands behind his back; the giant green tiger leaped in front of him, staring down the thin man with a low growl, ready to pounce. I was most shocked that his tiger phantom could stay so stable for so long—it was incredibly powerful.

"A master is a master for life," Mao Shi said firmly. "As long as Zhang Dabao is my junior brother, he will always be my junior brother. I don't care about Daoist politics—I'm vice president of the Hong Kong Yi Studies Association now. Whoever wants to touch him will have to get through me first. You all know who I am—and you know what the Daoist world is capable of."

His words were almost irresistible. But then Xingzhan slammed the table, his voice booming: "Everyone sit down!"

Instantly, the entire room fell silent. Even Mao Shi turned back, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, sorry—business first, personal matters later. I didn't kill Madam Gui. We follow the leader's command."

I was left wondering what crime Mao Shi had committed to get expelled by Master Wang. But given their secret communication, it couldn't be anything too serious. Mao Shi and the other powerful experts had made one thing clear when Xingzhan slammed the table: no matter how strong these mystics were, they still answered to the state.

This was the power of royal authority—like how, in the Tang Dynasty, Prime Minister Wei Zheng was said to have beheaded the Dragon King in a dream. Most people who read Journey to the West think it's about Wei Zheng's personal power. But in truth, it was about the strength of the Tang Empire—because the emperor held supreme authority over the mortal realm, he could command even the supernatural. Had it been Emperor Yang of Sui instead, Wei Zheng would've been the one wetting his pants.

Back to the meeting: whether it was witches, shamans, or insect masters, these traditions ultimately trace back to ancient shamanistic practices dating as far as the Xia Dynasty—long before Laozi. When Emperor Huang fought Chiyou, Chiyou himself was a great shaman.

But let's return to our mission in Jilin.

Mao Shi's domineering display ended with Xingzhan's shout. I saw Mao Shi clench his fist, and his tiger phantom dissolved instantly. He patted my shoulder reassuringly. "Our secret sect has a tradition passed down for thousands of years—we only bully others, never get bullied. If you can't handle something, I'll back you up. And if I can't, we'll find our senior brother. I don't believe anyone would dare cross him!"

Wait—did I not only have a fiercely protective second senior brother, but also an even more terrifying senior brother above him? That sounded badass.

Xingzhan cleared his throat. "This minor dispute doesn't need Master Hu involved. Let's stay focused." He seemed reluctant to bring up our senior brother at all. When I glanced around the room, I noticed the others looked equally uneasy at the mention of him. Could he really be that formidable?

Around the long conference table sat fourteen people, including Xingzhan and Professor He. Besides the eleven experts I'd already seen, there was a white-haired old man whom Mao Shi whispered about: "That's Zhang Ting, the nation's greatest thief since the founding of the PRC. He once infiltrated the military intelligence bureau to steal top-secret files."

Though everyone had arrived, Madam Gui was taken to the hospital. The large, dimly lit conference room became eerily quiet, adding to the air of mystery. But her departure had no impact on the main agenda—had I not met Mao Shi today, they'd still have continued as planned.

Suddenly, Professor He switched off the lights. Behind Xingzhan, a giant projector flickered on, casting a hazy glow. Turning sideways to address us, he said, "You are all among the nation's finest talents. What we're about to discuss is of utmost importance and must remain absolutely confidential—even from your own sects or clans. Any leak will bring certain destruction upon you. Do you understand?"

No one uttered a word. On the screen appeared footage of a mysterious laboratory—its location indiscernible, but it exuded an air of secrecy. Xingzhan exhaled deeply. "This operation is classified at the highest level."

He cleared his throat. "In 1973, Yuan Beitang and Li Xiaozhang retrieved a map. After years of decoding, the target was determined to lie in Changbai Mountain. Because the mission was top-secret, only a few people ever knew. Our researchers recently pinpointed the location—an ancient tomb or city, we don't know. But they were trying to rescue an unknown creature isolated there."

An unknown creature? Was it… an alien? I wondered how this related to my grandfather.

"But just as we prepared a rescue, the only person who knew the lab's exact location died suddenly of a heart attack. Desperate, we turned to Feng Shui master Li Xiaozhang. He found it—and messages came out from inside. Although we recovered some data, everyone inside the lab was dead, and the trail went cold again. So your task has two parts: first, locate the laboratory; second, be aware that intelligence suggests a foreign group will also arrive at Changbai Mountain."

He paused, face grave.

But he never said what my grandfather had taken—or what was so important in that lab. My anxiety boiled over, and I blurted out, "Director Xing, what exactly did my grandfather take?"

All eyes turned to Xingzhan, waiting silently. Just then, the door creaked open, and Yuan Beitang entered slowly, hands behind his back, his expression solemn. "He took the dragon," he declared. "A living dragon!"