Where the wall bricks had fallen, caution tape still cordoned off the area.
When Chen Yao went for his morning run the next day, he deliberately passed by that section of old wall on the riverside path. The municipal department had surrounded the danger zone with blue barriers, and temporary protective netting had been added to the top of the wall. A few elderly people exercising nearby were discussing how the wall was built in the 1970s and should have been repaired long ago.
"That young man yesterday really had his life saved," one old man gestured. "The concrete block must have been twenty pounds. When it fell, he just happened to fall over, missed it by a hair."
"Indeed, I saw it with my own eyes," another auntie chimed in. "The way he fell was strange, didn't look like a trip, more like... deliberately throwing himself sideways."
Chen Yao stood on the periphery of the crowd, listening to these words. The morning air after rain was crisp and clear; sunlight filtered through wutong leaves, casting dancing light spots on the ground. Everything looked perfectly ordinary, like any minor accident caused by aging urban infrastructure in any city.
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, the sound of footsteps on damp ground, 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 coins, his grandfather's annotated volume, and his own great luck chart, analyzing them like anomalous data. Reason was still putting up a last stand: wall crumbling was a probabilistic event, falling and dodging was instinctive reaction, the hexagram coming true was coincidence plus confirmation bias.
But some things couldn't be explained by probability.
Like the sensation before he fell—not a decision after thinking, but his body reacting before consciousness. Like touching fire, the hand withdraws immediately without brain processing. But dodging falling objects isn't an instinctive reflex; it's a complex action requiring trajectory calculation and direction selection.
Unless... there was another operating system in the body.
Chen Yao recalled his childhood training in divination with his grandfather. Back then he was only seven or eight, required to sit in the study every afternoon memorizing the sixty-four hexagram names, statements, and line statements. One mistake meant one strike on the palm with a 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 flowing."
Young Chen Yao didn't understand, only found it tedious. But his memory was good, and he quickly memorized them. One day, his grandfather told him not to memorize, but to look directly at the hexagram.
It was the "Water and Fire Ji Ji" hexagram, Kan above Li below. His grandfather asked: "What does this hexagram image look like to you?"
Chen Yao stared at those six lines, three complete (Yang lines), three broken in the middle (Yin lines), interlacing above and below. He suddenly said: "Like... like a bridge, bridge piers in water, the bridge surface being burned by fire."
His grandfather was silent for a long time, then patted his head: "Yes. Ji Ji hexagram is originally about crossing rivers, auspicious at first, chaotic at end. Bridge piers in water mean unstable foundation; bridge surface roasted by fire 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 "arrogant dragon has regrets" in Qian hexagram's six Yang lines, feel the gradual change of "treading on frost, solid ice arrives" in Kun hexagram's six Yin lines. Hexagram images were no longer abstract symbols to him, but dynamic energy pictures.
But at age twelve, he actively stopped all this.
The trigger was a small matter. The neighbor's cat went missing, and they asked his grandfather to calculate if it could be found. His grandfather cast the hexagram, got "Heaven Fire Tong Ren," said the cat went southeast and would be found within three days. The next day, the cat was indeed found in a small park in the southeast direction, but its leg was injured, limping.
Chen Yao could already read hexagram images then. He asked his grandfather: "Tong Ren hexagram is 'harmony with people,' the cat was found, so why was it injured?"
His grandfather looked at him, his eyes complex: "Because the 'auspicious' of finding the cat needed a little 'misfortune' to exchange. The hexagram showed the cat's leg injury corresponded to... the family's little daughter having a fever three days later, but recovering quickly."
"So the cat's leg was exchanged for the child's fever?" "Not exchanged, but... balance." His grandfather chose his words carefully, "Karma has weight. When one side becomes lighter, the other becomes heavier. What we do is just prevent the weight from concentrating on one person, one thing."
Chen Yao couldn't accept it. That cat was very friendly, often came to sunbathe in their courtyard. He imagined it hiding in the park with a lame leg, and imagined the little sister's discomfort when she had the fever. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn't the cat return unharmed, and the sister not get sick?
"Because the world doesn't work that way," his 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 no longer see those invisible "exchanges," no longer know that every "gain" had a "loss" marked behind it. He would study mathematics, physics, knowledge that was clean, certain, free from ethical dilemmas.
He succeeded. He tested into a top university with excellent grades, studied data science, graduated and entered an internet company, using algorithms to predict user behavior. In his world, everything could be quantified, optimized, finding the "Pareto optimum"—making the whole better without harming anyone.
Until yesterday.
Until that compass pointing at him, that annotated volume with "Born on Borrowed Time," that fulfilled Guai hexagram, and that concrete block falling from the sky.
"So I still didn't escape," Chen Yao said softly to the morning river.
He took out his phone, clicked on the address and location Zhou sent. The construction site was in the newly developed western suburbs, some distance from the city center. The appointment was ten o'clock; it was 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. If there's a problem at the construction site, find engineers, safety supervisors, even the police.
But another voice asked: If his grandfather really did something there back then? If those "strange occurrences" are sequelae left by that intervention? If... those workers getting hurt are paying the price for some "adjustment" made years ago?
Chen Yao stopped walking.
He recalled those cold records in the annotated volume: "Such year such month such day, adjusted such direction for such client, effective. Also recorded: Three days later, such person at such place suddenly contracted such illness." Two records placed side by side, separated by only one page.
If Zhou's construction site was also such a continuation of a record?
He opened the ride-hailing app and entered the destination.
The car flew over the elevated highway. Chen Yao watched the city skyline passing outside the window, those glass curtain walls gleaming in the morning light. This was a world built on logic and efficiency, every building's height, every road's width, every traffic light's timing, all precisely calculated.
But beneath this glossy order, was there another set of older, more obscure rules operating? Like the underlying code of a computer, invisible to users but determining everything displayed on screen.
The construction site arrived.
The barriers were high, with luxury renderings of the development spray-painted on them: "Yunjin Mansion—A Tribute to Urban Elites." There was security at the entrance; Chen Yao gave Zhou's name and was let through.
Inside was different from what he imagined. Not the dusty, chaotic construction site he expected, but unusually neat. Materials were stacked orderly, roads were hardened and flat, there was even green space. But there were few workers, several tower cranes stood still, excavators parked, only a few workers chatting in the distance, the atmosphere heavy.
Zhou's office was a temporary prefab, but the interior was nicely decorated—rosewood desk, leather sofa, tea set on the coffee table. Zhou Zhenghua himself was around fifty, slightly overweight, with heavy bags under his eyes, his suit wrinkled, looking like he hadn't slept.
"Mr. Chen, you're here." He stood up to greet him, his palm sweaty when they shook hands, "Thank you for coming, really... I had no other way."
Chen Yao sat down; Zhou busied himself making tea, hands slightly trembling.
"Mr. Zhou, you said on the phone there was another incident at the site?" "Yes, yes, the tower crane." Zhou poured tea, some splashing out, "Yesterday afternoon, the arm of tower crane number three suddenly rotated on its own. There were workers below at the time; fortunately they dodged quickly, no one was hurt. But the operator in the control room was terrified, said the control lever didn't move, the machine moved by itself."
"Mechanical malfunction?" "Checked, the manufacturer came too, said everything was normal." Zhou lowered his voice, "This is the third 'accident' this month. Last week, the basement of building two suddenly seeped water, pumped dry and it came back up again, water quality testing... how to say, had a strange smell, not sewage, not groundwater. Before that, a worker on night duty said he heard crying from underground."
Chen Yao listened quietly. These phenomena individually could all be explained: mechanical malfunction, geological problems, psychological effects. But combined together, appearing at the same construction site, especially—if this place really was the "karmic sediment pool" his grandfather spoke of.
"Mr. Zhou, when did you seek my grandfather's help?" "Three years ago, when the project just acquired the land." Zhou recalled, "The survey then discovered ancient tombs below, quite substantial in scale. I was worried about affecting construction, so through introduction found Elder Chen. He came to look, said here... the earth qi was unclean, needed handling."
"Did he handle it?" "He did." Zhou nodded, "The elder performed a ritual, changed the construction drawings, re-set the groundbreaking time. For over two years after, everything went smoothly, until last month."
"Did my grandfather say anything special at the time? Like... precautions, or warnings?"
Zhou thought: "He said, if there are more strange movements within three years, must stop immediately, cannot move anything underground. Also said... if something unsolvable really happens, could find him, or find his descendant." He looked at Chen Yao, "The elder mentioned then that he had a grandson with a special fate pattern, who might be able to resolve this situation in the future."
Chen Yao's heart tightened. His grandfather even anticipated this?
"Can I see the site? Especially where the ancient tomb was discovered?" "Of course, of course." Zhou stood up, "I'll take you."
They walked through the site. Chen Yao noticed that the deeper they went, the weaker that sense of "neatness" became. Fine cracks began appearing on the ground, some with dark green moss growing in them, out of place for this season. There was a faint smell in the air, like rust mixed with earthy fishiness.
The ancient tomb location was now a large pit, already backfilled for protection, with a rain shelter built over it. A sign stood by the pit: "Cultural Relics Protection Area, No Excavation."
Zhou pointed at the pit: "The tomb is Ming dynasty, an official's family tomb, well preserved. After the archaeological team finished excavation, we backfilled according to regulations. The elder said then, the tomb itself was fine, the problem was... what was below the tomb."
"There's something below?" "The elder didn't say specifically what, only said it was 'accumulated resentment,' older than the tomb. The tomb built above actually served as suppression. When we broke ground, we broke the seal." Zhou smiled bitterly, "How could I understand these things then, I only found them mysterious. But now... I believe."
Chen Yao approached the edge of the pit. He closed his eyes, trying to "see" this place like he "saw" hexagrams in childhood.
At first only darkness. Then, some 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 were seeping through the breaks, spreading upward...
He opened his eyes sharply, stepping back.
"Mr. Chen?" Zhou asked with concern.
"Nothing." Chen Yao shook his head, but his breathing was slightly rapid. That image was too real, not like imagination. "How did my grandfather handle it back then?"
"He performed a ritual here, used many talismans, buried things." Zhou pointed at the four corners of the pit, "Buried a copper box at each of southeast, northwest, northeast, southwest. I don't know what was inside. The elder said, that's called 'Four Images Suppression' (四象镇), can temporarily seal what's below, let it slowly dissipate."
"Temporarily—how long?" "He said... five years at most."
Chen Yao calculated the time. Three years since handling, five-year limit, two years remaining. But strange occurrences were already appearing, indicating the Four Images Suppression was weakening, or had been damaged by something.
"Mr. Zhou, has there been any ground broken recently at the site? Even small scale?" "No, absolutely not." Zhou said firmly, "Since the elder's instructions, I've strictly forbidden anyone from moving this area. Not even approaching."
"What about other parts of the site? Any new pits dug, piles driven, or... anything buried?"
Zhou hesitated: "Other parts... normal construction yes. Last month dug a septic tank at the northeast corner of the site, does that count?"
Northeast corner.
Chen Yao's heart sank. In feng shui, northeast is the "Ghost Gate" (鬼门) direction, Gen trigram (艮卦), governing stillness and accumulation. Digging a pit at this direction, especially a septic tank for storing filth, was practically opening a discharge outlet for the underground "accumulated resentment."
"Take me to see."
The septic tank was already built, cement cover sealed. Located at the edge of the site, near the wall. Chen Yao walked close; the rust-earth-fish smell was stronger here. He crouched down, touched the edge of the cement cover—it was wet, not rainwater, seeping moisture with a faint fishy smell.
"When was it built?" "Mid-last month." "After it was built, the strange occurrences started?" Zhou thought, his face changing: "Yes... just a few days after that."
Chen Yao stood up. His gaze swept the site, his brain rapidly integrating information: "accumulated resentment" below the ancient tomb, Four Images Suppression seal, northeast Ghost Gate direction septic tank breaking local balance, seal accelerating leakage, causing various "strange occurrences."
But there was still a key question: Did his grandfather use "suppression" or "dilution" with the Four Images Suppression? The annotated volume said, for sediment pools, prioritize dilution. If it was dilution, then the seal's purpose wasn't permanent sealing, but allowing slow release and natural dissipation.
So the septic tank construction might have accidentally accelerated this process, causing "release" to become "eruption."
"Mr. Zhou, I need some quiet." Chen Yao said, "You go back to the office first, don't leave anyone here."
Zhou wanted to say more, but finally nodded and left.
Chen Yao stood alone by the septic tank. He took out the three Qianlong Tongbao from his backpack. This time, he no longer asked "will there be trouble," but asked: "How should the 'accumulated resentment' here be handled?"
Shaking the coins, scattering them.
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 trigram (坎卦), water. Upper trigram: Young Yang, Young Yang, Young Yin—Xun trigram (巽卦), wind.
Upper Xun lower Kan, Wind Water Huan (涣) hexagram.
Huan. Hexagram statement: "Huan, success. The king approaches the temple. Favorable to cross the great river. Favorable to be steadfast." Image statement: "Wind moves over water, Huan. The ancient kings offered sacrifice to the supreme deity and established temples."
Chen Yao stared at the hexagram. Huan means dispersion, dissipation, unblocking. Wind over water, blowing apart what has gathered. This seemed like a good omen, corresponding to the "dilution" approach.
But looking at the line images. The top line (top nine) was the moving line, Yang line changing to Yin. After the change, the hexagram became: upper Kan lower Kan, Kan as water, double Kan.
Kan trigram, repeated dangers.
Huan hexagram's top nine line statement: "Dispersing his blood, departing far, going out, no blame." Meaning: dispersing the injury of bleeding, leaving far and going out, no misfortune.
But after the line change, the entire hexagram became double Kan of repeated dangers. What did this mean?
Chen Yao deduced in his mind: Huan speaks of dispersion, but the top line changing implies that during the dispersion process, "bleeding injury" may occur (dispersing his blood), and eventually one falls into deeper danger (changing to Kan).
Dispersion causes injury. Not dispersing, the accumulated "resentment" will continue to erupt, hurting site workers.
Dilemma.
He put away the coins, looking toward the ancient tomb pit. Sunlight reflected off the rain shelter, dazzling. The site was still quiet, but that quiet contained something taut, like a string pulled to its limit.
His phone buzzed. Zhou sent a message: "Mr. Chen, just received a call, a worker didn't come to work this morning. His family said he started fever and talking nonsense last night, kept shouting 'don't press me'... could this be related?"
Chen Yao gripped his phone.
Dispersing his blood.
Had it already begun?
He looked up, toward the four directions of the site. His grandfather's buried "Four Images Suppression" should be at those positions. If he wanted to reinforce the seal, or guide the "accumulated 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 how to read hexagrams.
Maybe... reading hexagrams was enough?
Chen Yao closed his eyes again. This time he tried to empty his mind completely, only imagining the entire site layout—the ancient tomb in the center, Four Images Suppression at the four corners, the northeast septic tank like a breached dam. Then, he overlaid the Huan hexagram image he just cast onto this: wind moving over water.
Wind from which direction? Water flowing where?
He "saw" wind coming from the southeast, carrying warm breath (Xun as wind, southeast). Water flow (Kan as water) originally pressed under the tomb, now seeping from the northeast breach. If he could make the southeast wind stronger, blow across the entire site, perhaps it could disperse and dilute the seeping "water qi," rather than letting it accumulate into harm.
But how to make the "wind" stronger?
Chen Yao opened his eyes, walking toward the southeast of the site. There were some construction materials piled there, steel pipes, templates, cement. He walked to the southeast corner, closed his eyes to feel—indeed, the airflow here seemed more unobstructed, feeling a slight breeze on his face.
He crouched down, brushing away some gravel and loose soil with his hands. Digging down about twenty centimeters, his fingertips touched something hard.
It was a copper box, palm-sized, surface oxidized black, engraved with blurred patterns—a dragon, the eastern Azure Dragon of the Four Images.
The box had no lock; he gently opened it.
Inside was empty.
No, not completely empty. At the bottom was a thin layer of gray-white powder, like incense ash, or some ground mineral. In the center of the powder lay a small, already corroded copper coin, Kangxi Tongbao.
Chen Yao touched a bit of powder with his finger, brought it close to smell—extremely faint sandalwood scent, very similar to the smell in his grandfather's study.
He put the copper box back in place, covering it with soil. Then he went to southwest, northwest, northeast in turn. At southwest he found the White Tiger copper box, northwest the Black Tortoise copper box, northeast the Vermilion Bird copper box.
All four copper boxes were empty, only ash and one coin each.
But the Vermilion Bird copper box at the northeast corner was clearly different. The box body had fine cracks; the ash inside was dark red, as if mixed with blood. The coin was also more severely corroded, almost crumbling.
Northeast, Ghost Gate, septic tank.
The seal was weakest here, already eroded.
Chen Yao stood at the northeast corner, looking at the Vermilion Bird copper box in his hand. The cracks were clearly visible in sunlight. He recalled the Huan hexagram top nine line statement: "Dispersing his blood, departing far, going out."
Blood had already appeared—the feverish, delirious worker.
What next? Was it "departing far, going out" (leaving and going away), or falling into repeated Kan?
He didn't know.
But he knew he had to do something. Not because he believed in these things, but because—if all this was real, then the harm currently occurring had partial roots in his grandfather's intervention three years ago. And he, his grandfather's grandson, was someone who might "inherit the profession."
Even if only possibly, he couldn't turn and leave.
Chen Yao put the Vermilion Bird copper box back in the soil, but didn't completely bury it. He stood up, walking back to the office.
Zhou was pacing anxiously; seeing him return, he immediately came forward.
"Mr. Chen," Chen Yao said, his voice calm even to his own surprise, "I need you to do several things."
"Please say!" "First, immediately evacuate all workers from the site, at least three days. Pay wages as normal, make up whatever reason you want." "Second, contact the archaeology department, apply for secondary protective handling of the ancient tomb area, say you discovered new seepage hazards." "Third," Chen Yao paused, "I need cinnabar, yellow paper, new writing brush, and... a bowl of clean glutinous rice."
Zhou's eyes widened: "You're going to..." "I'm going to try," Chen Yao said, looking out the window at that overly quiet site, "to bring the wind over."
After saying this, he himself was startled.
Bring the wind over—this phrase, it sounded too much like something his grandfather would say.