Chen Yao's palms were slick with sweat when he hung up the phone.
Outside the window, the city was steeped in the gloom before the storm. His own face reflected in the glass—twenty-five years old, clear features, but with a hunted confusion in his eyes. Zhou Zhenghua's voice still echoed: "...another incident at the construction site, this time a crane. No one was hurt, but... Old Mr. Chen said, if there were further anomalies, I could come to you..."
You.
The honorific tightened Chen Yao's throat. He wasn't "you." He was just Chen Yao, a data analyst who wrote SQL queries to parse user behavior, not someone who handled "anomalies."
But his grandfather's letter was in his backpack. "A merchant surnamed Zhou will certainly seek you within three years."
Not within three years. Today. On this day when he had cast the Guai hexagram and dodged the cement block.
He needed to return to the old house. Not because he believed in such mystical things, but because—if the "anomalies" at Zhou's construction site truly connected to his grandfather, if that place was indeed some kind of "karmic sediment pool" as his grandfather had described—then there must be clues left in that study.
At minimum, he needed to know what his grandfather had done back then.
He grabbed his backpack and went downstairs to hail a cab. Rain had begun to fall, fine needles slanting against the car windows, blurring the streetscape into watercolor smears. The driver was a talkative middle-aged man, chattering about weather, housing prices, his child's cram school. Chen Yao made vague sounds of agreement, eyes fixed on the window.
The old house was in the old district south of the city, an enclave of late Qing and early Republican architecture not yet swallowed by the demolition wave. Blue-gray brick and tile, narrow alleyways, streetlamps diffusing into amber halos through the rain curtain. The car couldn't enter; he got out at the alley mouth, opened his umbrella, and walked into the wet night.
The moment he pushed open that heavy door, the sandalwood scent surged toward him like a physical entity.
Not the crisp fragrance of fresh burning, but the aged, paper-and-wood-saturated, faintly sweet-decayed scent of long-settled incense. It permeated every inch of the house's air like an invisible veil, separating inside from outside into two worlds.
Chen Yao stood on the threshold, inhaling this familiar-yet-alien breath. The last time he had smelled it was three years ago, at his grandfather's funeral. Before that, childhood.
He reached up to switch on the entryway light. In the amber glow, the hall's arrangement remained unchanged: the faded plaque "Dao Fa Zi Ran" (道法自然/Nature follows the Dao) centered above, the offering table below now empty—the spirit tablets and incense burner removed after the funeral. On either side, rows of master's chairs with armrests polished smooth by touch. On the right armrest of one, there was still the shallow scar he had carved at seven with a pocket knife, a crooked character resembling Yao (爻).
His grandfather hadn't scolded him then, only stared at that mark for a long time, saying: "Yao means intersection. Where Yin and Yang intersect, fortune and misfortune begin. Your cut, too, is a kind of hexagram."
Young Chen Yao hadn't understood. Now, he walked over, fingers brushing that scar, the wood warm.
He went straight to the study.
The study's light was brighter. He entered, opened all the windows, let the rain-wind blow in. Dust danced in the slanted light columns like countless tiny hexagrams reorganizing.
He was looking for the Zang Shu ("葬书"/Book of Burial).
The annotation book had mentioned Zhou's construction site as a "karmic sediment pool," a term that unsettled him. He needed to check his grandfather's interpretation of the Zang Shu, especially regarding "abnormal qi accumulation." Before meeting Zhou, he wanted to understand as much as possible what his grandfather had actually done.
The bookshelf stood against the wall, floor to ceiling. He searched along the labels, fingers passing Collected Explanations of the Zhouyi, Jing's Yi Transmission, Synthesis of the Three Fates, until under the "Landform and Qi" classification he found Guo Pu's Zang Shu. As he pulled it out, a thin booklet beside it fell to the floor.
He picked it up. It was a hand-copied Huo Zhulin ("火珠林"/Fire Pearl Grove). The title page bore his grandfather's inscription: "Divination shortcut method, yet too direct and exposed, losing the Zhouyi's original roundedness. Use with caution; especially forbidden to judge life and death."
Opening it, the inner pages had many vermillion circles and dots. Beside the line "Ghost line holds the world, doubt and harm to oneself," his grandfather had annotated: "Not truly ghosts, but the image of karmic reverse impact. Holding the world means the self bears it."
Chen Yao stared at this line. Ghost line holding the world... if one cast this image, it meant the querent was currently entangled by unfavorable karma. His grandfather said "not truly ghosts," but "karmic reverse impact."
He returned the Huo Zhulin and focused on the Zang Shu. Many slips of paper were tucked between its pages, all his grandfather's handwriting. Beside the line "Qi disperses when encountering wind, stops when bounded by water," his grandfather wrote: "Dispersion is the beginning of stopping; stopping is the opportunity of dispersion. The way of feng shui lies in adjusting the speed of flow, not seeking permanent fixation. Forcing stopping must accumulate stagnation; forcing dispersion must lead to exhaustion."
Further on, at the chapter "Burial rides the living qi," the annotations grew dense:
"Living qi is not living qi, but the smooth state of causal flow at the intersection of time and space. Riding living qi in burial is actually placing the deceased's remaining 'karmic weight' where flow is slower, allowing natural dissolution without crashing into the living. Yet if the earth meridian itself already has 'stagnation' (ancient battlefields, plague grounds, wrongful imprisonment sites), then living qi does not exist, but becomes a 'dead qi sediment pool.' Moving it is like stirring a cesspit; turbid qi rises and harms surroundings."
"I once saw a place in late Qing: villagers dug a channel and found an ancient pit of ten thousand skeletons, untreated. Within three years, able-bodied men in the village contracted strange diseases one after another, dying or going mad. Later a Daoist was invited to perform rites—actually using talismans as guides to slowly drain the accumulated 'dead qi' into mountain and river meridians. This was 'dilution,' not 'elimination.' Yet the Daoist who presided... vomited blood and died before completion—daichang (代偿/compensation)."
Chen Yao's back chilled. His grandfather's description matched his intuition about Zhou's construction site perfectly. But what chilled him more was that final word: daichang.
The feng shui master pays with himself to dilute accumulated malevolence.
This was different from his understanding of "transfer." Transfer was diverting calamity elsewhere; dilution was bearing it oneself to neutralize, to carry.
He closed the Zang Shu, his gaze roaming the shelves. He needed more information. About daichang, about "karmic weight," about how his grandfather actually viewed this "family enterprise."
His eyes fell on the top shelf, an inconspicuous zitan wood box. In childhood, his grandfather had never let him touch that box. Once he had tiptoed to reach it and been sharply scolded—the sternest he had ever seen his grandfather.
Chen Yao fetched the ladder and climbed up. The box had no lock, only a brass clasp. He carefully opened it.
Inside were no treasures, only a stack of old booklets tied with silk thread. The top one's cover bore his grandfather's neat regular script:
Shouyi Zhai Zeli: Seventh Generation Supplement ("守一斋则例·第七代增补"/Shouyi Zhai Regulations: Seventh Generation Supplement)
He untied the thread and opened to the first page.
Not incantations or techniques, but a series of "operational regulations":
"One: Before accepting any case, must first calculate the client's Bazi. If the chart contains Kongwang (空亡/Emptiness), Guchen Guasu (孤辰寡宿/Lonely Star and Widow's Lodging) without rescue, do not accept. Such fates have weak karmic connection; forced intervention easily causes complete 'disconnection,' reducing them to kongke."
"Two: After adjustment, detailed records required: client Bazi, matter requested, method used (hexagram, orientation, hour), time of effect. On separate page, record daizhe (代价承受者/price-bearer's) Bazi (if known), effects suffered, duration. Two pages must remain together, never separated."
"Three: Every winter solstice, review all cases of the year, calculate 'net profit and loss.' If loss exceeds profit, reduce case volume next year and self-bear partial yezhai (业债/karmic debt) through fasting, charity, or self-harming health to balance."
"Four: Strictly forbidden 'double transfer'—that is, after transferring A's misfortune to B, then transferring B's misfortune to C. This triggers karmic chain reactions, eventually backfiring on oneself and creating uncontrollable kongke proliferation."
"Five: When encountering 'sediment pool' type great malevolence, prioritize 'dilution' over 'transfer.' Dilution requires using oneself as medium, time-consuming and spirit-draining, with risk of shortened lifespan. Yet this is the virtue upon which Shouyi Zhai stands; cannot be entirely abandoned."
Chen Yao turned page after page. These "regulations" were cold, rigorous, full of self-constraint and even self-punishment. They read less like a sorcerer's secret manual and more like a hazardous materials handling manual, or radioactive substance disposal protocols.
In the latter half of the regulations appeared many case summaries, all "lessons from violations":
"Sixth month of Renwu year (2002), adjusted ancestral grave for Zhao, greedy for merit and haste, transferred without sufficient dilution. Three months later, Zhao's eldest son severely injured in car accident; transferred 'misfortune' fell on his business partner, causing bankruptcy. This was the embryonic form of double transfer; though not explicitly violated, karmic entanglement had deepened. Note: self-damaged left ear hearing for three months to balance."
"Winter of Bingxu year (2006), accepted Qian residence malevolence case. The site was a Ming-Qing execution ground, deeply accumulated. Should have declined, but family finances were desperate, accepted forcibly. Used 'Seven Stars Guiding Path' method to forcibly shift malevolence; though temporarily settled, next spring Qian's young daughter suddenly hysterical, treatment ineffective. Investigation: shifted malevolence attached to the residence's ancient well, which connected to underground river, seeping back into the house. This is my life's great regret; though I tried hard to remedy afterward, the young girl was permanently damaged. Note: after this case, swore never to accept 'sediment pool' type dangerous sites."
Chen Yao's fingers stopped on this page. Bingxu year, 2006. He was ten then. He remembered that spring, his grandfather had been away from home for a long time, returning thin and haggard, left leg slightly lame, said he had fallen. But the exhaustion in his eyes, that deeper something, couldn't be explained by a fall.
So this was it.
He set down the Regulations and took out the second booklet from the box. This one was older, indigo-blue thick paper cover, no writing. Opening it, the pages showed different eras of handwriting, from neat standard script to flowing running script, to his grandfather's dignified regular script.
This was a summary of work logs from successive Shouyi Zhai masters.
The earliest entry, signed "Shouyi" (守一), dated "Chongzhen Renwu year" (1642), only one sentence:
"Hungry. Borrowed tomorrow's meal for today. Full. Yet how to cook tomorrow?"
Chen Yao stared at this. Chongzhen Renwu year, the Ming dynasty collapsing, great famine across the land. "Borrowed tomorrow's meal for today"—borrow tomorrow's food for today's consumption. Literal meaning, or... metaphor for "borrowing life"?
Further on, entries grew more numerous:
"Kangxi Wuyin year (1698), Shouer recorded: Father (Shouyi) in later years appeared foolish, yet whenever asked, could point to Cantong Qi page such-and-such, line such-and-such, without error. As if person was empty, yet learning had entered bone. Is this the final state of 'borrowed life'?"
"Qianlong Xinsi year (1761), Shousan recorded: Adjusted residence for salt merchant, received one hundred taels silver. Yet that winter, mother coughed blood and died. Hexagram showed: adjusted good fortune, taken from kinship. From this established regulation: never cast hexagram for closest kin."
"Xianfeng Gengshen year (1860), Shouwu recorded: Chaos times, techniques cheap as dirt. For a mouthful of food, could shift disaster for others. Yet each shift, nighttime tinnitus worsened, like ten thousand ghosts whispering. Only then knew: shifted disasters had not disappeared, only temporarily stored at ear's edge. Debt, must be repaid."
Page after page, Chen Yao turned through, as if watching a condensed family history. Each generation "Shou-X" struggled with the same dilemma: exchanging survival or profit for technique, but every exchange left debt. Some tried to regulate (establish rules), some recorded prices (self-damage), some fell into numbness (techniques cheap in chaos).
Until his grandfather, Chen Shouyi, seventh generation.
Grandfather's recording style changed. No longer concise records, but filled with reflection, questioning, even confession:
"Minguo 37th year (1948), accepted dock gang case. Then war everywhere, gangs powerful, had no choice. Yet methods used were excessive, causing enemy family to die violently. Though not by my hand, the hexagram was cast by me, karma guided by me. For three years after, nightmares of blood seas without end."
"Yiwei year (1955), movements beginning. Fate calculation viewed as feudal dregs, yet secret seekers more numerous. All wished to 'hide' beyond the waves. I helped several, yet the price... unspeakable. Only note: from then on, my fate gradually 'faded,' in official records and documents, often omitted. Not forgotten by people, but karmic weight self-diminished."
"Renchen year (1962), great famine. A woman begged to extend life for sick child, knelt weeping three days. My heart softened, broke precedent to help. Yet life borrowed must have source. That winter, a youth drowned in neighboring county, Bazi matching hexagram's indicated 'lender.' Though I killed not Boren... after this case, swore never to accept 'life extension' requests."
Chen Yao read with difficulty breathing. These records were too concrete, too real, carrying the dust of eras and the blood of individuals. This wasn't fictional story, but a family over hundreds of years, writing with their own fates an experimental report and confession about "intervening in karma."
He returned the generational logs to the box, his fingers touching something hard at the bottom.
He took it out: a dark wooden tablet, about a foot long, three inches wide, half an inch thick. The wood was heavy, warm to touch, as if often rubbed. The front was smooth, without a single character.
Nameless spirit tablet.
Chen Yao had heard of this. Shouyi Zhai's symbol, no name inscribed, only the state of "guarding the one." Successive masters, before death, would write their true names in blood on the tablet's back, then pass it to the next generation. The tablet itself bore no writing because—according to his grandfather—"names and forms are all empty, only yinguo is real."
He turned the tablet over.
Sure enough, there was writing on the back, dried dark red, deeply soaked into the wood grain. The bottom line was his grandfather's hand: "Chen Shouyi, died Xinwei year Yiwei month Dinghai day." Above, six lines of earlier writing, ink or blood traces already faded, but still discernible:
Chen Shouye (Shouliu), Guangxu Wushen year...
Chen Shouheng (Shouwu), Xianfeng Xinyou year...
Chen Shoujing (Shousi), Jiaqing Gengchen year...
Chen Shoupu (Shousan), Qianlong Guiwei year...
Chen Shouzhuo (Shouer), Kangxi Guiwei year...
Chen Yi (Shouyi), Kangxi Wuyin year...
Seven generations.
Chen Yao's gaze rested on the topmost name "Chen Yi." This was the first generation, the one who in late Ming famine "borrowed tomorrow's meal for today." He lived to the Kangxi period, at least eighty years. But Shouer's record said he appeared "foolish" in later years.
The price of borrowed life.
Thunder rumbled outside, rain falling harder. Chen Yao held the nameless tablet, feeling the weight transmitted through the wood, spanning hundreds of years. This wasn't a piece of wood, but a compressed family history, seven generations' choices, prices, struggles, and unfinished questions.
He returned the tablet to the box, closing the lid.
Now he understood. Shouyi Zhai wasn't a mysterious esoteric family, but a family in the cracks of history, using dangerous techniques to survive while constantly attempting to define ethical boundaries for them. They weren't prophets, more like tightrope walkers over abysses, holding tools they had forged that could save lives or kill.
And his grandfather's letter said he was "a sign of inheriting the enterprise, an opportunity for resolving it."
What did that mean?
Chen Yao walked to the desk, opened the annotation book again, to the page with "borrowed life to live." His Bazi: Xinsi Renchen Wuxu Bingchen.
He recalled Synthesis of the Three Fates on the Wuxu day pillar: "Kuigang day, nature upright and rigid, yet severe punishment and injury." "Bingchen hour pillar: "Day pillar Kuigang, hour pillar encountering again, extreme rigidity easily breaks."
Extreme rigidity easily breaks.
And his grandfather was Dinghai day pillar, soft Yin water.
Chen Yao sat down, found his grandfather's chart paper and pen from a drawer. Relying on childhood remnants of memory, he began to plot his own Bazi four pillars, ten gods, great luck cycles.
When he reached the great luck cycles, his fingers stopped.
Male chart, year stem Xin is Yin, great luck goes reverse. From month pillar Renchen, reverse to...
First great luck: Xinmao (2001-2011)
Second great luck: Gengyin (2011-2021)
Third great luck: Jichou (2021-2031)
Fourth great luck: Wuzi (2031-2041)
Third great luck, Jichou. Currently active.
And Jichou, with his day pillar Wuxu, formed heavenly comparison earthly punishment—stem Ji earth and Wu earth as比肩, branch Chou earth and Xu earth相刑.
Xing (刑/punishment), in fate calculation means torture, harm, repeated entanglement.
What made Chen Yao's back chill more was that Jichou great luck's Chou, with his hour pillar Chen, and the Chen and Xu already in his Bazi branches, together formed "Chen Xu Chou Wei" four storages complete—known in fate calculation as "four storages opened, heaven and earth overturned," the most turbulent pattern most prone to fundamental change.
Usually appearing in late-life great luck.
And he, twenty-five, had crashed into it.
"Borrowed life to live..." Chen Yao murmured. His Bazi was already fierce with punishment, and he entered heaven-and-earth-overturning great luck so young. This didn't seem like a naturally formed fate pattern, but rather... carefully "designed" or "activated."
For what?
To "inherit the enterprise"? Or to "resolve it"?
His phone vibrated. Zhou sent a message: "Mr. Chen, tomorrow morning ten o'clock, construction site office, convenient?"
Chen Yao stared at the screen, rain tapping the window frame. He recalled his grandfather's words in the Regulations: "When encountering 'sediment pool' type great malevolence, prioritize 'dilution' over 'transfer'... this is the virtue upon which Shouyi Zhai stands, cannot be entirely abandoned."
Also his grandfather's warning in the letter: "His situation is extremely dangerous; be cautious in accepting."
But there was a second half: "If you must..."
He slowly typed his reply: "Yes."
Sent.
Then he looked up, toward the zitan wood box on the top shelf. In darkness, it was only a vague outline.
But Chen Yao knew: the booklets inside, that nameless tablet, and the seven lines of names on its back, were now quietly watching him.
As successive Shouyi Zhai masters had watched for over three hundred years, this eighth generation possible successor.
And he, hadn't even finished his first lesson.
Outside, lightning tore the night sky, momentarily illuminating the study.
Chen Yao saw: on the desk, that brass luopan's needle trembled slightly in the thunder-light.
Still pointing at him.
Glossary for Chapter Two
Zang Shu ("葬书"): "Book of Burial." Classic feng shui text by Guo Pu (Jin Dynasty), foundational for "burial geomancy" theory.
Daichang (代偿): "Compensation" or "substitution payment." The price paid by the practitioner when using dilution rather than transfer methods.
Kongwang (空亡): "Emptiness/Death Emptiness." Inauspicious stars in Bazi indicating weakened fate connection.
Guchen Guasu (孤辰寡宿): "Lonely Star and Widow's Lodging." Inauspicious stars indicating isolation and weak social bonds.
Kongke (空壳): "Empty shell." A person whose karmic narrative has been depleted through repeated transfers.
Yezhai (业债): "Karmic debt." The accumulated obligation created by each intervention.
Shouyi Zhai Zeli ("守一斋则例"): "Shouyi Zhai Regulations." The family's operational manual for ethical boundaries and technical procedures.
Chengye (承业): "Inheriting the enterprise." Formal acceptance of family tradition and its debts.
Jieye (解业): "Resolving the enterprise." Theoretical transcendence of family karma.
Renzhang (认账): "Acknowledging the debt." Recognizing complicity without repayment or atonement.
Kuigang (魁罡): "Chief Star and Heavenly Stem." Special day pillar indicating upright rigidity but vulnerability to breaking.
Xing (刑): "Punishment/torture." A destructive branch relationship in Bazi indicating entanglement and harm.
Chen Xu Chou Wei (辰戌丑未): "Four Storages." The four earth branches; when all appear, indicates fundamental life upheaval.