The place where the wall bricks had fallen was still cordoned off with warning tape.
When Chen Yao ran his morning route the next day, he deliberately detoured to that section of old wall along the riverside path. The municipal department had enclosed the danger zone with blue barriers, and temporary safety netting had been added to the wall top. Several elderly morning exercisers stood nearby discussing, saying the wall was built in the 1970s and should have been repaired long ago.
"That young man yesterday was really lucky," one old man gestured. "The cement block must have weighed twenty pounds. When it fell, he just happened to trip and fall—almost cost him his life."
"Indeed, I saw it with my own eyes," another old woman added. "The way he fell was strange. Didn't look like tripping, more like... deliberately throwing himself sideways."
Chen Yao stood at the edge of the crowd, listening to these words. The post-rain morning air was crisp, sunlight filtering through wutong leaves, casting dancing light spots on the ground. Everything looked utterly normal, like any small urban accident caused by aging infrastructure.
But he knew it wasn't.
He turned and left, walking slowly along the path. No headphones today—he was listening to his own breathing and heartbeat, to his footsteps on the damp ground, to how the distant city noise was sliced into fragments by the morning wind.
He had barely slept after returning from the old house last night.
He sat at his apartment desk, spreading out the three Qianlong tongbao, his grandfather's annotation book, and his own plotted great luck chart, analyzing them like anomalous data. Reason still fought its last stand: wall brick falling was probability, dodging was instinct, hexagram fulfillment was coincidence plus psychological suggestion.
But some things couldn't be explained by probability.
Like that sensation before he fell—not a decision after deliberation, but his body reacting before consciousness. Like hand touching fire and jerking back without brain involvement. But dodging falling debris wasn't instinctive reflex; that required calculating trajectory, choosing direction.
Unless... there was another operating system in the body.
Chen Yao recalled his childhood training in hexagram reading. Then he was only seven or eight, required to sit in the study every afternoon memorizing the sixty-four hexagram names, statements, and line texts. One wrong character, one palm strike with the ruler.
"Hexagram images aren't memorized," his grandfather often said, "they're 'seen.' You paint the hexagram in your mind, it moves on its own, tells you where it's blocked, where it's open."
Young Chen Yao hadn't understood, only found it tedious. But his memory was good, so he memorized quickly. One day, his grandfather told him not to memorize, just to look at the hexagram.
It was Shuihuo Jiji (水火既济/Fire and Water Already Across), Kan above Li below. Grandfather asked: "What do you see in this image?"
Chen Yao stared at the six lines, three solid (Yang) and three broken (Yin), interlaced. He suddenly said: "Like... like a bridge, piers in water, bridge deck being burned by fire."
Grandfather was silent a long time, then touched his head: "Yes. Jiji is about crossing rivers, initially auspicious finally chaotic. Piers in water mean unstable foundation; deck being fire-roasted means surface suffering. You see—the hexagram itself tells you the problem."
From then on, Chen Yao's ability to "see" hexagrams grew stronger. He could see the turning point of "dragon excessive with regret" in Qian's six Yang lines, sense the gradual change of "treading on frost, solid ice arrives" in Kun's six Yin lines. Hexagrams were no longer abstract symbols but dynamic energy landscapes.
But at twelve, he actively stopped.
The trigger was a small matter. The neighbor's cat went missing, asked his grandfather to calculate if it could be found. Grandfather cast Tianhuo Tongren (天火同人/Heaven and Fire Fellowship), said the cat went southeast, would be found within three days. Next day, the cat was indeed found in a small park southeast, but leg injured, limping.
Chen Yao could already read hexagrams then. He asked his grandfather: "Tongren is 'fellowship with people,' cat found, why injured?"
Grandfather looked at him, eyes complex: "Because the 'auspicious' of finding the cat required some 'inauspicious' to exchange. The hexagram showed: the cat's leg injury corresponded to... the cat-losing family's little daughter would have fever three days later, but recover quickly."
"So the cat's leg, exchanged for the child's fever?"
"Not exchange, but... balance." Grandfather chose his words carefully: "Karma has weight. Where this side lightens, that side grows heavier. What we do is only prevent weight from concentrating on one person, one matter."
Chen Yao couldn't accept it. That cat was affectionate, often sunning in their courtyard. He imagined it limping and hiding in the park, and imagined the little sister's discomfort from fever. Why must it be so? Why couldn't the cat return unharmed, and the sister not get sick?
"Because the world doesn't operate that way." Grandfather finally said: "If you want something to 'increase,' something else must 'decrease.' This is the Dao."
That night, Chen Yao made a decision: he would learn no more of this. He would see no more of these invisible "exchanges," know no more the price of "gain" behind every "loss." He would study mathematics, physics, knowledge that was clean, certain, free of ethical dilemmas.
He succeeded. Excellent grades to top university, data science major, then into an internet company, using algorithms to predict user behavior. In his world, everything could be quantified, optimized, find the "Pareto optimum"—making the whole better without harming anyone.
Until yesterday.
Until that luopan needle pointing at him, that annotation book with "borrowed life to live," that fulfilled Guai hexagram, and that cement block falling from the sky.
"So I still didn't escape." Chen Yao spoke to the morning river, voice low.
He took out his phone, clicked Zhou's address and location. The construction site was in the newly developed western suburbs, some distance from downtown. Appointment was ten o'clock, now eight-thirty.
Should he go?
Reason said: Don't go. This has nothing to do with you. You're a data analyst, not a feng shui master. Site has problems, find engineers, safety inspectors, even police.
But another voice asked: If his grandfather really did something there? If those "anomalies" are residual effects of past intervention? If... those currently injured workers are paying the price for some past "adjustment"?
Chen Yao stopped walking.
He recalled the cold records in the annotation book: "Such year such month such day, adjusted such position for such client, effect seen. Also recorded: three days later, such person at such place suddenly such illness." Two records side by side, separated by only one page.
If Zhou's construction site was such a record's continuation?
He opened the ride-hailing app, entered the destination.
The car flew over the elevated highway. Chen Yao watched the city skyline passing outside, those glass curtain walls gleaming in morning light. A world built by logic and efficiency, every building's height, every road's width, every traffic light's timing, all precisely calculated.
But beneath this glossy order, did another older, more obscure system still operate? Like computer underlying code, invisible to users but determining everything on screen.
The construction site arrived.
The barriers were high, spray-painted with luxurious renderings of the development: "Yunjin Mansion—Saluting Urban Elites." Security at the entrance, Chen Yao gave Zhou's name, was admitted inside.
It differed from his imagination. Not the dusty, chaotic construction site he expected, but unusually neat. Materials stacked orderly, roads hardened and flat, even green belts. But few workers, several tower cranes motionless, excavators stopped, only a few workers chatting in the distance, atmosphere oppressive.
Zhou's office was a temporary board room, but inside was properly furnished—redwood desk, leather sofa, tea set on the coffee table. Zhou Zhenghua himself was around fifty, slightly overweight, heavy bags under his eyes, suit wrinkled, looking like he hadn't slept.
"Mr. Chen, you've come." He rose to greet him, palm sweaty when they shook hands. "Thank you for coming, really... I had no other way."
Chen Yao sat. Zhou busied himself making tea, hands slightly trembling.
"Mr. Zhou, you said on the phone there was another incident at the site?"
"Yes, the tower crane." Zhou Zhenghua poured tea, some splashing out. "Yesterday afternoon, crane number three's arm suddenly rotated on its own. Workers below at the time, fortunately dodged quickly, no one hurt. But the operator in the cab was terrified, said the control lever didn't move, the machine moved by itself."
"Mechanical malfunction?"
"Checked. Manufacturer came too, said everything normal." Zhou Zhenghua lowered his voice. "This is the third 'accident' this month. Last week, basement of building two suddenly seeped water, pumped dry then came back up, water quality testing... how to say, had a strange smell, not sewage, not groundwater. Before that, a worker on night shift said he heard crying from underground."
Chen Yao listened quietly. These phenomena individually could be explained: mechanical failure, geological issues, psychological effects. But combined, appearing at the same site—especially if, as his grandfather said, this was a "karmic sediment pool"—
"Mr. Zhou, when did you seek my grandfather?"
"Three years ago, when the project just acquired land." Zhou Zhenghua recalled. "Then survey found ancient tombs below, considerable scale. I worried about construction impact, so through introduction found old Mr. Chen. He came to look, said here... earth qi unclean, needed handling."
"Did he handle it?"
"He did." Zhou Zhenghua nodded. "Old gentleman performed rites, changed construction drawings, reset groundbreaking timing. Over two years very smooth after, until last month."
"Did my grandfather say anything special then? Like... precautions, or warnings?"
Zhou Zhenghua thought: "He said, if further anomalies within three years, must stop immediately, cannot move underground things further. Also said... if truly unsolvable matters arose, could find him, or find his descendant." He looked at Chen Yao. "Old gentleman mentioned then, he had a grandson, special fate pattern, might be able to resolve this situation in future."
Chen Yao's heart tightened. His grandfather had anticipated even this?
"Can I see the site? Especially where the ancient tomb was found."
"Of course, of course." Zhou Zhenghua rose. "I'll take you."
They crossed the site. Chen Yao noticed: the deeper they went, the weaker that "neatness" became. Ground began showing fine cracks, some with dark green moss growing, out of season. Air carried faint smell, like rust mixed with earth.
The tomb location was now a large pit, protected backfilled, with a rain shelter above. A sign at the pit edge: "Cultural Relics Protection Zone, Strictly No Earthwork."
Zhou Zhenghua pointed at the pit: "Tomb is Ming Dynasty, an official's family tomb, well preserved. Archaeological team finished excavation, we backfilled per regulations. Old gentleman said, tomb itself no problem, problem was... below the tomb."
"Below there's more?"
"Old gentleman didn't specify what, only said it was 'accumulated resentment,' older than the tomb. Tomb built above actually served suppression. We moved earth, broke the seal." Zhou Zhenghua smiled bitterly. "How could I understand such things then, only found it mysterious. But now... I believe."
Chen Yao approached the pit edge. He closed his eyes, trying to "see" this place as he had "seen" hexagrams in childhood.
At first only darkness. Then, vague images emerged: dark, viscous, oil-like things, flowing slowly deep underground. They were pressed by a thin, faintly glowing "membrane." Some places in the membrane were broken, black things seeping upward through the breaches...
He snapped open his eyes, stepping back.
"Mr. Chen?" Zhou Zhenghua asked with concern.
"Nothing." Chen Yao shook his head, but his breathing was slightly rapid. That vision was too real, not imagination. "How did my grandfather handle it then?"
"He performed rites here, used many talismans, buried things." Zhou Zhenghua pointed at the pit's four corners. "Southeast northwest each buried a copper box, contents unknown. Old gentleman called it 'Four Images Suppression,' could temporarily seal below things, let them slowly dissipate."
"Temporarily how long?"
"He said... five years maximum."
Chen Yao calculated. Three years since handling, five year limit, two years remaining. But anomalies already appearing, meaning the "Four Images Suppression" effect was decaying, or damaged by something.
"Mr. Zhou, has any earth been moved on site recently? Even small scale?"
"No, absolutely not." Zhou Zhenghua affirmed. "Since old gentleman's instructions, I strictly forbade anyone from moving this area. Even approaching forbidden."
"Other places on site? Any new pits, piles driven, or... anything buried?"
Zhou Zhenghua hesitated: "Other places... normal construction yes. Last month dug a septic tank at northeast corner of site, does that count?"
Northeast corner.
Chen Yao's heart sank. In feng shui, northeast is the "Ghost Gate" position, Gen trigram, governing stillness and accumulation. Digging here, especially a septic tank for filth storage, was practically opening an outlet for underground "accumulated resentment."
"Take me to see."
The septic tank was already built, cement cover sealed. Position at site edge, near the wall. Chen Yao approached, that rust-earth smell grew stronger. He crouched, touched the cement cover edge—wet, not rainwater, seeping vapor with faint fishy smell.
"When was it built?"
"Mid last month."
"After building, anomalies began?"
Zhou Zhenghua thought, face changing: "Yes... roughly a few days after that."
Chen Yao stood. His gaze swept the site, brain rapidly integrating information: "accumulated resentment" below ancient tomb, Four Images Suppression seal, northeast Ghost Gate position septic tank breaking local balance, seal accelerating leakage, causing various "anomalies."
But one key question: his grandfather's "Four Images Suppression," was it "suppression" or "dilution"? Annotation book said, for sediment pools, prioritize dilution. If dilution, then seal's purpose wasn't permanent containment, but slow release, natural dissipation.
Then septic tank construction might accidentally accelerate this process, causing "release" to become "eruption."
"Mr. Zhou, I need quiet awhile." Chen Yao said. "You return to office first, I'll look here."
Zhou Zhenghua started to speak, stopped, finally nodded and left.
Chen Yao alone by the septic tank. From his backpack he took out the three Qianlong tongbao. This time, he no longer asked "will there be trouble," but asked: "How to handle the 'accumulated resentment' here?"
Shake coins, scatter.
First: two heads one tail, Young Yin.
Second: one tail two heads, Young Yang.
Third: two heads one tail, Young Yin.
Fourth: two tails one head, Young Yang.
Fifth: two tails one head, Young Yang.
Sixth: two heads one tail, Young Yin.
Lower trigram: Young Yin, Young Yang, Young Yin—Kan (坎/Water).
Upper trigram: Young Yang, Young Yang, Young Yin—Xun (巽/Wind).
Xun above Kan, Fengshui Huan (风水涣/Wind Water Dispersion).
Huan hexagram. Statement: "Huan, success. The king approaches the temple. Favorable to cross great rivers. Favorable to be steadfast." Image: "Wind moving over water, dispersion. The ancient kings offered sacrifice to the Lord and established temples."
Huan, meaning dispersion, dissipation, unblocking. Wind over water, blowing apart what has gathered. Seemed auspicious, corresponding to "dilution" thinking.
But look at moving lines. Sixth line (top) is moving, Yang changing to Yin. Changed hexagram becomes: Kan above Kan, Kan repeated.
Kan trigram, danger upon danger.
Huan hexagram top line statement: "Dispersing his blood, departing far, going out, no blame." Meaning: dispersing bleeding wounds, leaving danger far behind, going out, no disaster.
But after line change, whole hexagram became double danger Kan. What did this mean?
Chen Yao calculated in mind: Huan speaks of疏散, but top line changing implies疏散 process may have "bleeding wounds" (dispersing his blood), and finally falls into deeper danger (changed to Kan).
Dispersion causes harm. Not dispersing, accumulated "resentment" continues erupting, harming site workers.
Dilemma.
He put away coins, looked toward ancient tomb pit direction. Sunlight reflected off rain shelter, dazzling glare. Site still quiet, but that quiet held something taut, like a string pulled to limit.
Phone vibrated. Zhou's message: "Mr. Chen, just received call, a worker didn't come to work this morning, family said he started fever and talking nonsense last night, kept shouting 'don't press me'... could this be related?"
Chen Yao gripped phone.
Dispersing his blood.
Already beginning?
He looked up, toward site's four directions. His grandfather's buried "Four Images Suppression" should be at those positions. If he wanted to reinforce seal, or guide "resentment" to dissipate more safely, he needed to find those four copper boxes, check their condition, perhaps do something.
But he didn't know how. His grandfather hadn't taught him specific techniques, only hexagram reading.
Perhaps... hexagram reading was enough?
Chen Yao closed eyes again, this time trying to clear mind, only imagining whole site layout—ancient tomb center, Four Images Suppression at four directions, northeast septic tank like breached dam opening. Then on this image, overlay the Huan hexagram just cast: wind moving over water.
Wind from which direction? Water flowing where?
He "saw" wind coming from southeast, carrying warm breath (Xun is wind, southeast). Water flow (Kan is water) originally pressed under tomb, now seeping from northeast breach. If could make southeast wind stronger, blow across whole site, perhaps could blow out seeping "water vapor," disperse, dilute, rather than let it gather into harm.
But how to make "wind" stronger?
Chen Yao opened eyes, walked toward site southeast direction. There stacked some construction materials, steel pipes, templates, cement. He reached southeast corner, closed eyes to feel—indeed, this position's airflow seemed more unobstructed, could feel slight breeze on face.
He crouched, brushed away surface gravel and loose soil with hands. Dug about twenty centimeters down, fingertips touched hard object.
A copper box, palm-sized, surface oxidized black, carved with blurred patterns—Qinglong (青龙/Azure Dragon), eastern Qinglong of Four Images.
Box unlocked, he gently opened.
Empty inside.
No, not completely empty. Box bottom layer of thin, gray-white powder, like incense ash or some ground mineral. Powder center, a small, already corroded copper coin—Kangxi tongbao.
Chen Yao touched a little powder with finger, brought close to smell—very faint sandalwood scent, much like his grandfather's study.
He returned box to original position, covered with soil. Then went to southwest, northwest, northeast three directions. Southwest dug up Baihu (白虎/White Tiger) copper box, northwest Xuanwu (玄武/Mysterious Warrior), northeast Zhuque (朱雀/Vermilion Bird).
Four copper boxes, all empty, only ash and one coin each.
But northeast corner Zhuque box, condition clearly different. Box body had fine cracks, inside ash was dark red, like mixed with blood. Coin also more corroded, nearly crumbling.
Northeast, Ghost Gate, septic tank.
Seal weakest here, already eroded.
Chen Yao stood at northeast corner, looking at Zhuque box in hand. Cracks clearly visible in sunlight. He recalled Huan hexagram top line statement: "Dispersing his blood, departing far, going out."
Blood already appeared—that fever-talking worker.
Next then? "Departing far, going out" (leaving danger far behind), or falling into repeated Kan?
He didn't know.
But he knew, he must do something. Not because he believed these, but because—if all this was real, then harm currently occurring had partial roots in his grandfather's intervention three years ago. And he, his grandson, possibly "inheriting the enterprise," couldn't turn and leave.
Chen Yao returned Zhuque box to soil, but didn't completely bury it. He stood, walked back to office.
Zhou Zhenghua anxiously pacing, saw him return, immediately approached.
"Mr. Zhou," Chen Yao said, voice calm even he was somewhat surprised, "I need you to do several things."
"Please say!"
"First, immediately evacuate all workers from site, at least three days. Wages paid, reason you make up."
"Second, contact archaeology department, apply for secondary protective treatment of ancient tomb area, say new seepage hazard discovered."
"Third," Chen Yao paused, "I need zhusha (朱砂/cinnabar), yellow paper, new brush, and... a bowl of clean nuomi (糯米/glutinous rice)."
Zhou Zhenghua's eyes widened: "You are going to..."
"I'll try," Chen Yao said, looking out window at that quiet-overly-quiet site, "to bring the wind, over."
He said this, himself startled.
Bring the wind over—this sentence, too much like something his grandfather would say.
Glossary for Chapter Three
Fengshui Huan (风水涣): "Wind Water Dispersion." Hexagram 59, composed of Wind (Xun) over Water (Kan). Symbolizes dissipation, unblocking, and the dangers of improper dispersal.
Gen (艮): The Mountain trigram, associated with the northeast direction, stillness, and accumulation. Known as the "Ghost Gate" in feng shui.
Qinglong/Baihu/Xuanwu/Zhuque (青龙/白虎/玄武/朱雀): The Four Images—Azure Dragon (east), White Tiger (west), Mysterious Warrior (north), Vermilion Bird (south). Celestial guardians used in directional suppression arrays.
Zhusha (朱砂): Cinnabar, mercury sulfide ore. Used in rituals for its association with fire element and ability to "settle" or "suppress" spiritual disturbances.
Nuomi (糯米): Glutinous rice. Traditional material believed to absorb negative energies and serve as temporary buffer against spiritual contamination.
Yinguo (因果): Cause and effect; the karmic structure of events. In the novel, a manipulable energetic system rather than merely philosophical concept.
Qi (气): Fundamental life force or energy flow. Its proper circulation determines fortune and harmony; its stagnation or misdirection creates harm.