The talisman was still pasted on the concrete cover of the septic tank, trembling slightly in the night wind.
Chen Yao stood at the door of the prefabricated house, the flashlight beam cutting through the darkness, aiming straight at the inconspicuous concrete square in the northeast corner. Twenty minutes had passed since he had pasted the talisman. During this time, there were no more strange knocking sounds, nor any new seeping of dark red liquid.
But the sweet, fishy smell in the air was still there, fainter, but still discernible.
He should leave. Mr. Zhou had already left, the workers had evacuated; this construction site was now completely deserted. He could lock the door of the prefabricated house, take a taxi home, take a hot shower, and put this eerie night behind him.
But his feet seemed nailed to the ground.
In his backpack, the three Qianlong Tongbao coins felt heavy. The annotation book was in the outermost layer. The letter from his grandfather was neatly folded, placed in the inner pocket. All of these things were pushing him in a certain direction—not away, but deeper in.
He turned off the flashlight, letting darkness completely swallow him. His eyes needed time to adjust, but darkness also had its advantages—it weakened visual interference, amplifying other senses.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The smell of rust, earthy dampness, sweet fishiness. And... a very faint, musty smell similar to old books, drifting from the direction of the ancient tomb pit.
The sound of wind. Not ordinary night wind, but a flow that made a slight whistling sound as it passed through gaps in the structures. That whistle had a certain rhythm, like... breathing?
Chen Yao opened his eyes. He decided to do another divination. Not for any other reason, just to confirm the direction of his next action.
He walked back to the prefabricated house and turned on the light. The light was glaring, instantly dissipating the keenness he had cultivated in the darkness. But he needed light.
The three copper coins slid from his palm, rolling and spinning on the coffee table before finally stopping.
First cast: Two heads, one tail. Lesser Yin.
Second cast: Two tails, one head. Lesser Yang.
Third cast: Two heads, one tail. Lesser Yin.
Fourth cast: Two tails, one head. Lesser Yang.
Fifth cast: Two heads, one tail. Lesser Yin.
Sixth cast: Two tails, one head. Lesser Yang.
Lower trigram: Lesser Yin, Lesser Yang, Lesser Yin — Kan ☵ (Water).
Upper trigram: Lesser Yang, Lesser Yang, Lesser Yin — Zhen ☳ (Thunder).
Upper Zhen over lower Kan: Thunder over Water, the hexagram Xie (解, Deliverance).
Chen Yao stared at the hexagram. Hexagram Xie (Deliverance). The Judgment says: "Deliverance. Success in the southwest. If there is no longer anything where one is going, coming back brings good fortune. If there is still something to do, hastening brings good fortune." The Image says: "Thunder and rain set in: the image of Deliverance. Thus the superior man pardons mistakes and forgives misdeeds."
Xie means relief, release, liberation. Thunder and rain cleanse impurities. This seemed like a positive hexagram, pointing toward resolution.
But looking at the changing lines: this time there were none; all six lines were still. The hexagram was stable.
Stability... was that good or bad? In the context of the Deliverance hexagram, stability could mean "no action needed," or "the time is not yet ripe."
Chen Yao frowned. He had asked, "What should I do next?" The answer was "Xie" (Deliverance), but at the same time, "no action needed." A contradiction?
He opened the annotation book, finding his grandfather's note on the Xie hexagram:
"Xie means to disperse. However, dispersion requires 'force'—Thunder provides movement, Rain provides moisture; the two interact to create cleansing. If thunder does not come, rain does not fall, then 'deliverance' is just empty talk."
"When this hexagram appears in divination, one must assess the situation: if external forces are already prepared (thunder and rain are about to come), then one can act accordingly, cleansing accumulated problems; if external forces have not yet arrived, then it is better to wait quietly for the right moment. Reckless action will lead to further blockage instead."
External forces. Chen Yao mulled over the term. What were the needed "external forces" here? Thunder? Rain? Or something more abstract?
He put away the coins and looked out the window. The construction site was silent as a graveyard. No thunder, no rain, only endless dark night.
So, according to the hexagram's hint, he should "wait quietly," awaiting the right moment.
But what about the feverish worker? The potential dangers at the site? Could they wait?
Chen Yao paced in the room. The light cast his shadow on the wall, distorting with his movements. He felt an unprecedented anxiety—clearly seeing the problem, having tools (even if half-understood), yet being told by the hexagram to "wait quietly."
Was this what his grandfather often called the "hexagram paradox"? You divined for guidance, but the hexagram itself could become a new constraint.
He stopped pacing, his gaze falling on the cinnabar and yellow paper on the coffee table. The things Mr. Zhou had left now seemed like a silent invitation, or perhaps a test.
Should he use them?
Chen Yao sat down, picked up a piece of yellow paper, then put it down. He didn't know how to draw truly effective talismans; the house-pacifying talisman from the afternoon was more for psychological comfort. Moreover, his grandfather had warned in the annotations: "Talismans are not child's play; every stroke moves causality. Drawing a talisman is like opening a lock; if the lock or key is wrong, at best it's ineffective, at worst it backfires."
He didn't have the key for this lock.
So, what else could he do?
Chen Yao closed his eyes, trying to recall his grandfather's cases dealing with similar problems. The annotation book recorded many, but most were vague or required specific materials, rituals, or even specific times.
One record caught his attention:
"Wuyin Year (1998) Spring, handled an old dye-works site in the west of the city. The site was a mass burial ground from the late Qing/early Republic era, later turned into a dye-works, polluted underground with chemical dyes, accumulating filth for a century. After developers broke ground, workers had frequent nightmares, machines malfunctioned for no reason."
"Solution: Did not use talismans. Only planted locust trees at the four corners of the plot (locust wood, 'ghost wood,' can absorb Yin). Dug a shallow pond in the center, channeled in living water (taken from the clear river three kilometers away), placed thirty-six black pebbles in the pond (taking the number of the 'Heavenly Stem'). Used water as a guide, wood as absorption, stones as anchors, constructing a simple circulation. Three years later, two locust trees died, but the site's foul energy was completely dispersed, development proceeded smoothly."
The thinking in this case was clear: not forcibly "driving away" or "suppressing," but constructing a system, giving the accumulated foul energy somewhere to go, a path to follow. Water guided, wood absorbed, stones anchored, forming a closed loop.
The principle of the Four Symbols Seal should be similar, just more refined.
So, what was the problem with the Four Symbols Seal at this site? Chen Yao had checked in the afternoon; all four bronze boxes were there, but the Vermilion Bird box at the northeast corner had cracks, and the powder inside had turned dark red.
The cracks might be physical damage, or a sign of being "eroded." The change in powder color indicated the "Qi-guiding powder" inside the box had failed or deteriorated.
And the method of repair? The annotation book didn't say. Perhaps Grandfather believed that once the Four Symbols Seal showed this degree of damage, it couldn't be repaired, only rebuilt—which required more preparation and deeper involvement.
Chen Yao sighed. Back to square one: he was incompetent.
Just then, he heard a sound.
Not knocking, not wind. It was... whispering.
Very low, very indistinct, as if coming from far away, or sounding directly in his mind. The content was unclear; only some intermittent syllables could be caught, mingling with the night wind, appearing and disappearing.
Chen Yao pricked up his ears. The sound seemed to come from... the direction of the ancient tomb pit.
He grabbed the flashlight and pushed open the door. Cold wind rushed in, carrying that sweet, fishy smell. The whispering became slightly clearer in the wind but still incomprehensible. Not Chinese, nor any familiar language; more like... a moan? Or a prayer?
He walked toward the pit. The flashlight beam drew a trembling trail in the darkness. The ground underfoot was uneven; he walked slowly, straining his ears to catch that strange sound.
The closer he got to the pit, the clearer the sound. Now he could tell it wasn't one voice, but many voices overlapping—men, women, old, young—all murmuring in a low, monotonous rhythm.
The rain shelter was just ahead. The flashlight beam shone on it; the white plastic sheet billowed in the wind, making a rustling sound. The whispering seemed to come from under the shelter.
Chen Yao stopped about five or six meters from the pit's edge. Reason told him not to get closer; it might be unsafe below. But curiosity—or some deeper pull—kept him from turning back.
He turned off the flashlight.
Darkness instantly swallowed everything. The whispering, without visual interference, became more prominent, welling up from deep below, like groundwater seeping through rock cracks.
Chen Yao closed his eyes, trying not to "listen" to the content of the sound, but to feel its "texture."
These weren't the voices of living people. They weren't.
Living voices had warmth, emotional fluctuations, pauses for breath. But these... were flat, cold, like fragments of a tape stuck on infinite loop. And they didn't come from a single point, but permeated up from the entire pit area, as if the land itself was "vocalizing."
The memory of the land.
This thought suddenly sprang into Chen Yao's mind. His grandfather had mentioned this concept in the annotations: "Earth veins have memory, especially where baleful energy has accumulated. Centuries of accumulated resentment, millennia of blood and tears, are all imprinted in the soil and stone. When triggered by fate, they 'echo.'"
Echo.
So these whispers weren't ghosts, not supernatural entities, but "recordings" of painful events that happened on this land in the past? Because the tomb was disturbed, because the Four Symbols Seal was damaged, these confined "memories" were leaking?
Chen Yao felt a chill. If this was true, then the knocking sound he heard from the septic tank in the afternoon, the dark red liquid he saw, might also be some kind of "echo"—not something actually knocking below, but a "knocking" from some past moment being replayed.
And the worker's feverish delirium, shouting "Don't press on me," "So heavy"... Was it because he inadvertently "received" these echoes? Like a radio tuned to a frequency it shouldn't be?
This explanation made Chen Yao feel slightly relieved. At least, this wasn't a haunting, not something beyond logical understanding. It was a malfunction in the causal structure, an information leak.
But the problem remained: how to fix it?
He turned the flashlight back on. The beam shone on the rain shelter. The whispering weakened the moment the light came on but didn't disappear completely, becoming a persistent low hum in the background.
Chen Yao walked to the other side of the pit. Here, farther from the septic tank, the sweet, fishy smell in the air was much fainter. He crouched, shining the light carefully on the pit wall.
The backfilled soil looked solid, but near the bottom, there were fine cracks. The cracks were as fine as spiderwebs, unnoticeable unless looked at closely. Chen Yao leaned in and saw the edges of the cracks were darker, as if soaked by some liquid.
He reached out, his fingertip lightly touching a crack.
Cold. Not the chill of night wind, but a damp coldness seeping up from deep underground. And the texture felt somewhat... sticky.
Chen Yao withdrew his hand, looking at his fingertip under the light. A bit of dark soil, nothing unusual. But something felt off.
He stood up, took a few steps back, surveying the entire site. In the night, the silhouettes of the tower cranes, material piles, and temporary structures stood silently. The septic tank in the northeast corner was hidden in darkness; the talisman he pasted in the afternoon should still be there.
A thought suddenly flashed: The Four Symbols Seal needed four points to form a cycle. The Vermilion Bird box at the northeast corner was broken, causing a break in the cycle, allowing turbid energy to leak from there. So, if he could establish a temporary "substitute point" at the northeast corner, could he temporarily restore the cycle and stop the leak?
Even if it couldn't be fully repaired, it could at least buy time—time, which might be the "external force" he needed.
But how to establish a substitute point? He couldn't draw talismans, couldn't set up arrays; all he had was...
Chen Yao looked down at his backpack. Inside were the annotation book, the three coins, and... his grandfather's letter.
The letter.
He suddenly remembered the line his grandfather wrote at the end of the letter: "Do not believe in the fortune or misfortune indicated by hexagrams, but observe the structure of cause and effect."
And the earlier line: "Your Eight Characters are special, covertly matching those of First Generation Chen Yi. This is an omen of 'inheriting the profession,' but also an opportunity to 'resolve the profession.'"
Special Eight Characters. Matching Chen Yi.
Chen Yao's heart jumped. He thought of a crazy possibility—if his Eight Characters truly resonated with Chen Yi's in some way, could his own self be a "node"? A node that could be temporarily connected to the Four Symbols Seal?
Like in a circuit, a damaged component could be temporarily bridged by a human body.
The idea was absurd. How could a human body be used as a feng shui anchor?
But his grandfather's words echoed in his ears: "Acknowledge the account... you must see the source of the vibration, not avoid the manifested waves."
The source of the vibration. Perhaps not physical vibration, but disturbance at the causal level. And he, because of his special Eight Characters, might be particularly sensitive to such disturbances, and also particularly... influential?
Chen Yao felt his palms sweating. He needed to verify.
He walked back to the prefab room, took out paper and pen from his backpack, and quickly wrote down his Eight Characters: Xinsi, Renchen, Wuxu, Bingchen.
Then he recalled Chen Yi's Eight Characters. The annotation book should have them; the births and deaths of successive Shouyizhai masters were recorded on the back of the wordless tablet. He flipped through the annotation book, found the line for Chen Yi: "Chen Yi (Shouyi), Kangxi Wuyin Year..."
Kangxi Wuyin Year was 1698. The exact month, day, and hour were unknown, but the Year Pillar could be determined: Wuyin.
Wuyin.
Chen Yao looked at his own Year Pillar: Xinsi.
Heavenly Stems: Xin Metal conquers Wu Earth. Earthly Branches: Si Fire generates Yin Wood.
Not identical, but with generative and controlling relationships. And, most importantly—Chen Yi in his later years "seemed foolish," as if consciousness had been hollowed out, leaving only an empty shell of knowledge. Could that be the ultimate price of "borrowing life"? Mortgaging all one's "narrative weight" to preserve knowledge?
And himself, "borrowing life to be born"...
Chen Yao didn't dare think further. He put away the paper and pen, taking a deep breath.
Now he needed to make a choice: believe this crazy idea and try to use himself as a temporary node to connect to the Four Symbols Seal; or stop here, leave the site, wait for Mr. Zhou to find another method tomorrow?
The whispering still drifted in the wind. Distant city sounds carried faint sirens, reminding him this was a real world with real problems to solve.
Chen Yao walked out of the prefab room, looking again toward the northeast corner. In the flashlight beam, the septic tank's concrete lid lay quietly, the talisman on it somewhat loose, one corner flapping in the wind.
He thought of the feverish worker, Mr. Zhou's desperate eyes, the cold records of prices in his grandfather's annotation book.
Then he thought of the hexagram he had cast: Xie hexagram. Thunder over Water, Deliverance. Thunder and rain act, deliverance.
Perhaps, he was that "Thunder"? Or, he needed to become that "Thunder"?
Chen Yao took a step toward the northeast corner.
With each step, he could feel slight, almost imperceptible vibrations coming from the ground beneath his feet. Not an earthquake, more like... resonance. As if each step was plucking a certain string of this slumbering land.
Reaching the septic tank, he crouched, peeling off the nearly detached talisman. The cinnabar red was still vivid in the dark.
He carefully folded the talisman and put it in his pocket. Then, he extended his right hand, palm down, hovering about ten centimeters above the concrete lid.
Closed his eyes.
Tried to "feel." Not with touch, but with some more internal perception—like "seeing" hexagrams in childhood.
At first, only darkness and cold. Then, some blurred images surfaced: dark, viscous flow seeping upward from deep below, passing through soil, through concrete, accumulating beneath the lid. They were seeking an outlet, seeking cracks, seeking any channel to vent.
And deeper down, there was more. Like a black sea, pressed beneath rock layers, slowly churning. The four bronze boxes of the Four Symbols Seal were originally like four pipes inserted into this black sea, guiding its slow release. But now the pipe at the northeast corner was broken; the black sea was rushing out faster from here.
Chen Yao's breathing slowed. He tried to imagine his hand not as flesh, but as an... interface. An interface that could temporarily replace the damaged bronze box.
He didn't know how to do it, only by instinct, focusing his attention on his palm, imagining it glowing, heating up, forming an invisible "plug" to block the leaking gap.
Time passed. Night wind scraped his cheeks, bringing the smell of rust from the distant site and the nearby sweet fishiness. His arm began to ache, but he dared not move.
Then, he sensed a change.
Not a physical change. The concrete lid didn't move, the liquid didn't recede. But the "pressure" welling up from underground seemed to... weaken? Like a leaking tire, the leak hole temporarily held; it still leaked, but slower.
At the same time, Chen Yao felt a slight dizziness, like standing up suddenly after crouching too long, but more prolonged. And a chill spread from his palm up his arm, reaching his heart.
He opened his eyes and withdrew his hand.
His palm bore no marks, but the skin was covered in a fine layer of cold sweat, quickly cooling in the night wind. The sweet, fishy smell had indeed faded; the whispering was almost inaudible.
Did it work? Or was it psychological?
Chen Yao didn't know. He only knew that at this moment, the site felt "quieter." That intangible, tense pressure seemed alleviated.
He stood up, legs feeling weak. The dizziness remained but wasn't severe. He looked at his palm—an ordinary hand, nothing special.
But during those few minutes, he had indeed "done" something. Not drawing talismans, not chanting incantations, just... existing. Using his own existence as a temporary regulatory node.
Was this the beginning of "acknowledging the account"? Admitting his connection to this land, to this causality, then taking on a tiny bit of it in his own way?
Chen Yao turned and walked back to the prefab room. His steps were heavier than before, but his heart held a strange calm.
He knew this was only temporary. He didn't understand the principle, didn't know how long it would last, wasn't even sure if it was truly effective. But at least, he had tried. In his only, incomplete way.
Locking the prefab door, he took a last look at the site. The night was still deep, but the whispers could no longer be heard.
He took out his phone and sent a message to Mr. Zhou: "Temporarily stabilized, but won't hold for long. Find a real solution as soon as possible."
Sent.
Then he walked out of the construction site gate, heading home.
The city was still asleep. Streetlights diffused in the damp, cold air, the streets empty. Chen Yao walked on the sidewalk, his shadow lengthening and shortening beneath him.
His palm still retained that chill, as if he had held a piece of ice.
Borrowing life to be born, he thought. Perhaps from today, he would begin to learn how to pay the interest on this borrowed life.
And the first lesson, he had already taken—on the construction site in the deep night, using his palm as a talisman, his own self as the anchor.
Glossary for Chapter Five
Hexagram Xie (解): The 40th hexagram of the I Ching, symbolizing "Deliverance," "Release," or "Dispersion." It often indicates relief from tension, solving a problem, or liberation from a difficult situation, typically after a period of conflict or obstruction (often represented by the preceding hexagram, Jian, Obstruction). The imagery is thunder (Zhen) above water (Kan), suggesting a storm that clears the air.
Earth Veins (地脉): A concept in traditional Chinese geomancy (Feng Shui). It refers to invisible channels or pathways in the earth through which vital energy (Qi) flows. They are considered analogous to meridians in the human body. The quality and flow of Qi in these veins determine the auspiciousness of a location.
Echo/Memory of the Land (地脉有忆): A concept introduced in the text suggesting that traumatic or intense events can leave an energetic or informational imprint on a location. This "memory" can, under certain conditions (like disturbance of the site), manifest as auditory, sensory, or even psychological phenomena for sensitive individuals. It blends the Feng Shui idea of residual energy with a more modern, almost parapsychological, concept of place memory.
Node (节点): A term used metaphorically (and borrowed from systems theory/network science) to describe a point within the causal or energetic network where influence can be concentrated or exerted. Chen Yao hypothesizes that his unique Bazi might make him a potential "node" that can interact with or temporarily substitute for a damaged component in the Four Symbols Seal array.
Resonance (共鸣): The phenomenon where one vibrating object can cause another to vibrate at the same frequency. In the context of the story and metaphysics, it refers to a sympathetic vibration or alignment between two entities (like Chen Yao's energy signature and the Shouyizhai heritage, or his Bazi and that of the founder, Chen Yi) that allows for connection or influence.
Interface (接口): A modern metaphor used by Chen Yao to conceptualize his attempted action. He thinks of his hand/presence not in mystical terms, but as a functional component—an "interface"—that can temporarily plug into and stabilize the failing energy system (the Four Symbols Seal).
Acknowledge the Account (认账): As introduced earlier, this is the core principle left by Chen Yao's grandfather. It involves moving beyond simple action (like performing a ritual) to a deeper level of understanding and accepting responsibility for one's place and actions within the web of cause and effect. Chen Yao's act of using himself as a temporary anchor, consciously accepting the cold and discomfort, is his first practical step towards "acknowledging the account" rather than just technically intervening.