Chapter 52

Chapter Fifty-Two Crossing the River

Crossing the River

Speaking of zombies, their history is indeed long; in our grave-robbing trade we call zombies "great zongzi," and this name was not casually given—after a person dies, they are supposed to rest in peace upon burial; if they do not rest in peace, they become zombies.

A good feng shui burial site for the dead not only allows the deceased to rest peacefully, but also brings blessings and fortune to descendants, making the family prosperous, business thriving, and the household tranquil.

However, some places are unsuitable for burial; if one buries the dead there, the deceased will not find peace and may even bring harm to others. "Not resting in peace" can be divided into two situations.

The first is when the mountains are fierce and the waters evil, the terrain chaotic—such places are extremely unsuitable for burial. Once ancestors are buried there, the family will fall into disorder: lightly, wives and daughters become licentious, homes burn and granaries are destroyed; heavily, daughters fall ill, sons are imprisoned, and descendants die out.

The second situation does not harm the descendants of the deceased, but only makes the deceased restless, their corpse remaining undecayed for hundreds or thousands of years, becoming a zombie that brings endless calamity. Of course, this is not due to good embalming technique, but rather to the location and environment of the tomb.

In feng shui, the two most important aspects are "form" and "momentum." "Form" refers to the terrain and mountain shape where the tomb is located; "momentum" refers to the state in which this terrain and mountain shape manifests.

When "form" and "momentum" are opposed, the earth's energy becomes blocked and feng shui falls into disorder, producing phenomena contrary to natural law. Corpses buried in the earth that do not rot but become zombies are the most typical manifestation.

Pangzi laughed and said: "This is truly interesting—it seems there really is some theoretical basis for it, quite fitting."

Da Jin Ya did not treat these matters as jokes like Pangzi did; he was very interested in them, asked for details, and sighed: "Good feng shui spots are indeed hard to find. Any place with perfect form, momentum, and qi is already taken. Over China's five thousand years of civilization, how many dynasties have there been? If we gathered all the emperors together, we could probably form a reinforced connection, and adding imperial relatives, there still wouldn't be enough dragon veins to bury them all."

I explained to Da Jin Ya: there are countless dragon veins in China, but few suitable for burial. The Dragon-Seeking Manual says: "The great way of the dragon moves with truth; drifting and hiding reveals the dragon's body. The dragon begets nine sons, each different in temperament, nature, talent, and appearance."

This dragon vein is no different—compared to the nine sons of the dragon, it is far more complex. Kunlun Mountain can be said to be the source of all dragon veins in the world; all mountain ranges can be seen as branches of Kunlun.

These branching offshoots can each be seen as independent dragon veins. The rise and fall of the earth's energy is the dragon; the dragon refers to the "form" of mountain ridges. Given the vastness of the world, dragon-vein forms are innumerable. However, depending on the differences in "form" and "momentum," these dragon veins vary greatly—some are ominous, some auspicious, some fortunate, some malevolent.

Judging by form alone, it may indeed be a dragon vein, but analyzing by momentum reveals distinctions: sinking dragon, hidden dragon, flying dragon, soaring dragon, gliding dragon, group dragon, returning dragon, ocean-going dragon, returning dragon, crouching dragon, dead dragon, concealed dragon, and so on.

Only those dragon veins with a form like a great cauldron lid covering the earth and momentum like a great wave embracing the world—auspicious dragon heads—can bury kings. One level lower can serve for the burial of a thousand chariots. The rest, though still dragon veins, are unsuitable for burying royalty and nobility; some malevolent dragon veins are not even fit for burying ordinary people.

Da Jin Ya asked again: "The subtleties here are truly endless. Master Hu, do you really believe these dragon veins work? Consider Qin Shi Huang, the one emperor of all ages—his Qin Mausoleum must have had excellent feng shui form and momentum. Why then did the dynasty change hands by the time of Qin Er Shi?"

I said: "The dragon vein's form and momentum are only one aspect. From the perspective of heaven and earth's nature, it makes sense, but I think it unsuitable for application in human society. The flood of history is not decided by feng shui. If one insists on explaining it with feng shui principles, one can also say: isn't there a saying that feng shui turns? These great mountains and rivers are natural products, born of nature, so we must follow nature. Building massive mausoleums requires immense labor—moving mountains, digging hills—truly exhausting the capabilities of the age. Yet natural changes cannot be altered by human power—earthquakes, floods, river course changes, mountain collapses, ground fissures—these greatly affect both 'form' and 'momentum,' possibly overturning the original layout entirely. Who knows what will become of a site once auspicious? Perhaps in a few years, an earthquake will reverse the momentum, turning a good omen into a bad one. This is fate playing tricks—something humans cannot control."

The three of us ate and drank, chatting away, and before we knew it, several hours had passed. The restaurant's patrons gradually increased; those coming here for mutton hot pot were after liveliness and atmosphere, and as the crowd grew, it became somewhat chaotic.

We had nearly finished our meal, so we agreed to temporarily stop doing business at the antique market, prepare for two days, and then go together to Shaanxi to collect antiques.

Since this trip was to a remote county town, though not to deep mountains or old forests, we did not make excessive preparations, keeping our belongings as simple as possible. The three of us took the train and arrived in Xi'an.

Last time, when we came with Professor Chen and others, we were in a hurry and left in less than a day. This time we had no task, purely sightseeing, and visited several famous sites such as the Stele Forest, the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda, and the Bell and Drum Towers.

After leisurely sightseeing for three or five days, I had originally planned to first visit Li Chunlai's hometown, but in Xi'an I heard some news: this year's rainfall had been extreme, the Yellow River's water level had surged, causing a yellow disaster, and along the southern bank near Zhuangling, many ancient tombs had been unearthed by floodwaters. We discussed it and decided to change our plan—first cross the Yellow River and head south.

So we took another long-distance bus southward, told the driver we wanted to go to Gu Tian County via the Yellow River. The bus broke down midway, delaying us four or five hours. After driving another stretch, the driver stopped the bus at a spot by the Yellow River and said: "To go to Gu Tian, you must first cross the river. The ferry landing ahead is still far off, and now it's nearly dark. Even if you reach the landing, there will be no boat. This year the water is high, and this river stretch is relatively narrow—originally a small ferry point. If you want to cross, you can try your luck here, see if there's still a boat. If luck is good, you can cross before dark, find an inn, and sleep."

I thought that made sense—better than reaching the upstream ferry only to find it dark and unable to cross, which would delay us another day. So I got off the long-distance bus with Pangzi and Da Jin Ya and sat by the river waiting for a boat.

After the bus left, we three felt a bit regretful—this place was too damn desolate, not a single person on the road. Regret came too late; all we could do was go to the riverside and look for a boat to cross.

Even before we reached the riverbank, we heard the water roaring like thunder. Drawing near, we were all startled—we had only heard that this year's rains were heavy, but we hadn't expected this stretch of river to be so wide, with turbid waves surging to the sky. The river water looked like yellow mud, churning and rolling eastward. I don't know if there used to be a ferry here, but even if there was, it must now be submerged.

We picked an open spot to view the Yellow River's scenery. At that moment, dark clouds gathered in the sky, and a fine rain began to fall. Our clothes were thin; I and Pangzi were still tough, but Da Jin Ya shivered slightly.

Pangzi took out a bottle of baijiu, had Da Jin Ya take two sips to drive out the cold, lest he fall ill. Then I took out the beef jerky and other food we had bought and ate it, cursing the long-distance bus driver for being heartless—surely he disliked our trio being noisy and had tricked us into getting off before we even arrived. Damn it, where would one find a boat to cross the river here?

Gazing at the surging great river beneath my feet, I couldn't help but worry. When I served in the Lanzhou Military Region, I had seen local villagers use sheepskin rafts to cross the river, but here there isn't even a shepherd, let alone a sheepskin raft.

For now, we had no choice but to wait miserably in the rain. I also drank two large mouthfuls of baijiu; the chill in my body eased somewhat. Time passed, the heavens and earth grew dark and boundless, fine rain drifted everywhere, blown by the wind into countless crooked threads. Suddenly I recalled my former comrades-in-arms. Seeing the river grow even more turbulent and mighty, the longer I looked, the more I felt oppressed and irritable inside, and I couldn't help but shout at the Yellow River at the top of my voice.

I didn't even know what I was shouting—just that shouting made me feel relieved.

Pangzi and Da Jin Ya followed my example, cupping their hands around their mouths and shouting loudly. We all found it funny; the gloom brought by the fine rain lessened considerably, and before long we had finished two bottles of baijiu.

Pangzi might have had a bit too much to drink, and emboldened by the alcohol, he said: "Lao Hu, now that we're at the Yellow River's edge, shouldn't we sing a couple of verses of those melancholy 'heavenly wanderer' songs?"

I mimicked the local accent and said to Pangzi: "You, a fat brat, understand nothing—so dull. Not herding sheep, what heavenly wanderer songs are you singing? Listen to me—I'll give you two rounds of Qin opera."

Pangzi finally got hold of my weakness, and without missing the chance, he teased me: "Lao Hu, you don't even understand six—what are you doing singing Qin opera here? Haven't you heard the saying, 'Drink a ladle of Yellow River water, sing a heavenly wanderer song'? This is the rule: wherever you go, you sing the song of that mountain."

I snapped: "Where did you dig up all those foul words? Drinking Yellow River water—would you dare drink that? I, your mother, only know drinking Changsha tap water and eating Wuchang fish."

Da Jin Ya quickly stepped in as peacemaker: "Let each person sing one line—whoever wants to sing what, sings what. Anyway, there's no one here, so it's not disturbing the peace."

Pangzi said boldly: "I'll sing two lines of 'teardrop sand cave' first—you two listen. If you find it pleasant, give me a good one in return."

I asked: "You haven't drunk too much, have you?"

Pangzi paid no attention to whether anyone wanted to listen, grabbed an empty liquor bottle, held it to his mouth like a microphone, was about to stretch his neck and belt out a tune, when we heard the sound of an engine from afar—a small boat coming from upstream.

We three quickly stood up, waved our arms by the riverbank, and hailed the boatman to stop at shore.

The people on the boat clearly saw us, but they kept waving their hands, indicating they couldn't stop here. We waited a long time, and finally a boat came along—how could we let it pass? Otherwise, we'd be stuck in the cold rain, not knowing how long we'd have to wait.

Pangzi pulled out a wad of cash, held it up, and waved his arms at the people on the boat. Sure enough, money can make ghosts turn millstones. Ahead there was a river bend where the water flowed gently, without turbulence. The boatman brought the boat to a stop.

Pangzi went over to discuss the price. It turned out this boat was carrying machine parts and such, heading downstream to repair a large ship. Recently the water had been high, and unless the situation were urgent, they wouldn't risk coming out.

Besides the boatman, there was also his son, a boy in his early teens. We agreed to pay double the fare to have them take us to the vicinity of Gu Tian County on the opposite bank and let us disembark there.

The boat's cabin was filled with machine parts, leaving no room, so we three had to sit on the deck. At last we had found a boat. After crossing the river, we would find an inn, take a nice hot shower, eat a bowl of steaming buckwheat noodles, and rest properly. Earlier we had crouched by the riverbank for two hours, and we had indeed frozen quite badly.

The river water rushed by, and we were enjoying the pleasant scene when suddenly the hull shuddered violently—as if we had struck some huge object in the river. I was then discussing with Pangzi what to eat, and this jolt nearly made me bite my own tongue.

The rain from the sky was no longer a slanting wind and fine drizzle; dark clouds rolled overhead, lightning flashed and thunder roared, and the great rain poured down like water from a tipped bucket. The boatman hurried to the bow to inspect what we had hit.

In the deep part of this river, there should be no reefs, and we were going with the current—yet we had struck such a huge object, which was truly abnormal.

The boatman had just glanced at the bow when the hull immediately lurched again. Everyone clung tightly to the boat's gunwales, fearing we would be swept into the river by the momentum. The boat rocked continuously, river water splashed in, and everyone swallowed a mouthful of yellow mud soup.

I had drunk quite a bit of liquor on the riverbank, and now my head was dizzy and swollen. Being splashed by river water cleared me somewhat, and I hurried to spit out the river water that had flooded my mouth. I felt indescribably nauseous and sick, yet I saw the boatman already shrunk into a ball from fright—he was the boat's operator, and now terrified like this—what would become of the boat?

I tried to pull him up, but the boatman, trembling like chaff in a sieve, refused to stand, his face full of terror. I asked him: "What's wrong with you? What is there in the river?"

The boatman, shaking like sifted chaff, pointed outside the boat and said: "The River God has revealed his holy power—he's probably come to claim this boat of ours."